#and gets in touch with as many of them as possible

[lukolathoughts]

Nicola loves the girls, the gays, and Luke Newton.

Dearest gentle readers,

Well! What an interesting few days. I'm not sure where to even start. I just want to let Jakeholes know, this isn't the blog for you, so it's best you move along now before you start foaming at the mouth.

In my first blog, I touched on subtext and reading between the lines. This is something I teach to my students and encourage their critical thinking skills. I will give out a photo and ask my students to 'infer' from what they can see in the photograph. 'Inference is a process of deriving logical conclusions from premises known or assumed to be true. It is also a guess or an opinion that is formed based on the information that you have.' In an exam, if I gave the students a photograph and they simply told me that all they could see was that the sky was blue, the grass was green, the lady is wearing a green coat and the man a hoodie and a baseball hat, they would not get very many marks.

However, if they described what they could 'infer' from the photo, such as that handhold does not look genuine and his fingers are stiff, their laughter seems over the top, the man isn't wearing a coat in January. They seem to be looking directly at the photographer, they never make eye contact in any of the photos. This would get them some more marks. Then if they went that one step further and asked WHY to all these points and backed it up with a statement explaining why - they would get even more marks. For example, why isn't the man wearing a coat in January? This could suggest the weather is not that cold in London at the moment, or the this picture might be from an earlier time period. They could look at the shop displays for evidence. Why does the lady never make eye contact with the man, could it infer that she is uncomfortable doing so or the thought never occurred to her? Why are they looking directly at the photographer? Could it possibly indicate they knew the paparazzi were there? And why would they want the paparazzi to take their photo's? What do you say to that class? Are they a couple happily in love? Write me a story on it, one, two, three go! They say a picture paints a thousand words.

Now since Deux Moi dropped the photos just as I was cooking the kid's tea (British slang for dinner) I have once again been glued to Twitter. I had to take a break for a bit and ensure my offspring didn't starve, but I thought oh god another shitshow and the day isn't even over. But I open Instagram and I swear I had the best laugh I have had all day really. I'm not sure when these photos were taken. The weather does look mild to be January and Jake is wearing a hoodie, but my husband is stupid like this and walks around in board shorts. In January. In Wales. When I tell you it's baltic cold, I mean it. But men apparently don't feel the cold especially if you're 24 and plastered to the side of your bestie or PR girlfriend, however you prefer. Us Brits love analysing the weather, probably because it's so shit here. So the timing is not really the issue for me. What made me laugh was was those two belly-laughing in some London alleyway looking like, 'look at us, we're so funny, everything is hilarious haha.' This was quite surprising to me as I genuinely did not realise Jake had a sense of humour, especially around Nic. What did she say that was so funny? We know she has the ability to make Luke belly laugh just by scratching her nose really. It was almost as if it was all a bit orchestrated for the cameras they were staring directly at. 'Smile and laugh for the camera Jake! You've been framed!'

So what was this? A PR set up that Nic and Jake were clearly aware of? Call me sceptical, but I've never seen anything so obviously fake and staged in all my life. Well except the motorbike segment on Graham Norton on the 13th of December last year. I have thought a lot about this and I know I might get some hate, but it's my opinion and I'm sorry Nic if you ever read this. Another thing us English teachers like to do is DESCRIBE things. Describe it to me Peter, or it didn't happen. Touch, smell, sound, taste, sight. Those are the five senses and if you write me a story, you bet your ass they better be in it or it's an F for you. So Nicola, describe to me how it felt racing through London on the back of a motorbike driven by a geriatric, Guinness drinking granddad (do you like my use of alliteration here fellow English teachers?). Graham Norton - 'we have a picture of you on the bike!' Erm, no you have a picture of Nicola stood next to the bike with her thumbs up. There was a video released by her PR company simultaneously that shows Nicola in a STUDIO sitting on the bike and it moving very, very slowly. We do not see her whizzing away up the road on the back of said bike into oblivion, screaming like Michelle Phieffer in Grease 2, clutching on to cool rider Guinness granddad for dear life. In fact, when asked about the experience she recalls literally nothing. If it was me, I'd have been like OMG Graham I almost died! The wind was howling, I was freezing, all I could hear was the rush of wind and the honking horns of cars. All I could see was the glare of lights and traffic and I tasted my own tears through fear.

Watch it if you don't believe me. There was nothing. Am I positive it didn't happen? Actually yes, show me the footage and I'll believe. Why did she go through this elaborate scheme? I have my theories and I will not share them here. I have said enough. But I did get an image in my mind of Luke in Rome rubbing his forehead and thinking, what is she up to now? He was probably secretly a bit proud.

Ok back to tonight's debacle. After the shit show that was Luke's disastrous family weekend than had more taps dripping than the Leaky Cauldron in Harry Potter, I find it highly convenient these photos drop today of all days. I know that Nicola HATES Deux Moi and the feeling I believe is mutual. Wouldn't DM have looked at these photos logically and thought, well these two look like besties out for a stroll? I suppose she does not care, whatever sells right? Was this to yet again spite Nicola?

Or was this Nicola who saw everything that Luke endured this weekend, and quietly told her PR team to 'drop' the photos of me with Jake to divert some attention away. Did she come charging in on her white horse (motorbike) to save the day? There is also the highly suspicious tanned photo of Nic at the WT premiere and then Luke's photo from the funeral, (I do not condone this by the way and I was upset for him this morning and his invasion of privacy) which also shows a bit of a red, sunburned face. Did Nicola once again panic and try to control the narrative? I am lately still picking up on her nervous, scared energy in my readings. She is very nine of swords in her head. Losing sleep etc.

I do love a good mystery and folks, I guess if you are reading this and nodding and not screaming obscenities at me through your screen, I guess you are stuck here with me on the ship for the long haul. I actually loved these photos tonight as it gave me a good laugh and and it proved to me even further that Jake is to Nic what Kurt Hummel is to Rachel Berry. Besties. It is also quite ironic that the first pap pics of them last October dropped the week his trailer for WT dropped and these photos land the week his film is released! What are the chances! Coincidence, Sherlock?

PS. No I do NOT believe Antonia was at Luke's family member's funeral. We have to stop treating this girl like the bogeyman. Let her go and live her life. Luke is living his I have no doubt.

PPS. It is not homophobic to recognise someone is gay. I INFER this from his own Instagram and his friends and partner's posts. I am fed up of being called homophobic when I have a lot of gay friends and two gay cousins.

PPPS. Luke and Nic sitting in a tree, KISSSING. I see you Nic, you savvy little mamma ;,)

[osamucide]

⊹ I KNOW

I WILL PRETEND THAT I DON’T KNOW OF YOUR SINS UNTIL YOU ARE READY TO CONFESS . . . ft. Osamu Dazai

wc: 2.1k

cw: gn!reader, implied/referenced dissociation+anxiety+self harm+scars+past suicide attempts, hurt/comfort but it's him so of course it's a little unhinged, mentions of dying and being dead, mentions of kidnapping but it's not serious, minor suicidal ideation but it's romantic i guess? non-sexual nudity/intimacy, showering together, lots of kisses, just unbandaging a fragile Dazai and covering him in kisses

reid: draft i been sittin on. how many times will i do an iteration of unwrap and clean him. idk. a million billion. i love him so bad

He’s looking down at his hands—or his wrists, or his fingers, or the spaces between his fingers; you’re not sure. But he’s looking down, emptily, when you nudge the cracked bathroom door further open.

He’s sitting on the lid of the closed toilet. He has no shirt on. His bandages are unraveling at each end of their respective reaches. It’s long past time they should be changed, long past time the flesh beneath them breathe and be washed.

Changing the bandages is just something that has to be done; he will not give them up, nor will he give up the habit evidenced beneath them, and you’ve been with him long enough to know this is how he survives. The bandages do the holding-together when you’re not there to, which is far more often than he’d like. Ideally, he’d be able to shrink you down and keep you in his pocket for safe-keeping and take you out whenever he needs, like a good luck charm; he’d be able to have you on his arm all day, every day, but that’s not possible when you’re an adult with a job and a life. Like him. Right? Right.  He’d shuck this skin sooner than the habit, anyway, so, like showering, it’s just something that has to be done.

He doesn’t particularly love when you watch him do it, or offer to do it for him, but you certainly drive off the impulses, hazes, and tremors that come with doing it alone. So, he lets you.

He didn’t always; he went out of his way, bent over backwards for a long time to make sure you never could, much less had to. Somewhere deep down, though, beneath that resolve and the facade stilted upon it, he knew he couldn’t hide his ugliness from you forever.

Despite the normality—the domestic intimacy that standing beneath the water with you suggests now, so much that he has to admit it stills the expansion of the ever-growing black hole inside him—he still always fears it’ll be the last time you want to look at it.

“Osamu?” you mumble from the doorframe. 

He does not move, does not look at you over the white noise of the shower running—if he’s noticed you’re here, he doesn't show it. You move to him, slowly, like approaching a skittish cat.

Before you touch him, you bend down—beneath the sink are the rolls of fresh bandages, the clean, new ones that make him look less like a mummy unearthed from Victorian times and more like what he understands himself to be in his purest form: a basket case of the modern era, the worst gift you unwrap every Christmas and birthday and have to pretend to fawn over until it’s safe to be rid of it. You’ll never be rid of him, he thinks regretfully while you shuffle next  to him; he’ll never get by without you now, and it almost makes him wish he never met you in the first place, just so he never could’ve inflicted himself upon you.

But you never send him back. Dazai can’t seem to understand, even with all that sharp intelligence of his, that you don’t ever plan to.

Four rolls. One for each of his legs, one for both of his arms, the rest for miscellaneous spots like around his neck or across his chest or wherever else he decides he needs them this time. That’s how many you set on the counter before you land in front of him, your hands pushing his hair back, your proximity forcing his cheek to lay tired against your stomach while those hands curl around the backs of your legs and pull you closer to stand between his.

You cradle Dazai’s head like you’re some sort of saint. To him, you might as well be.

Thumbs brushing his temple and the base of his skull, you speak again, just as quiet. “Come on, let’s wash.” Or, let me unwrap you and look at all that ugliness. He can’t help that he doesn’t move for a firm fifteen seconds; why would he want to, when you hold him so sweetly like this?

But eventually, he rises.

You don’t feed him formalities or those silly questions anymore when you do this. No more can I? Or, you’re gorgeous, or, is this okay? He doesn’t want those during this, you’ve come to find out; you’ll tell him you love him plenty in a few minutes, when he’s only marginally more ready to receive it, but right now you go to work like a tinker repairing a broken doll. Your touch is objective, but not cold or clinical. You treat him with a tenderness he couldn’t have fathomed until he knew you.

After he steps out of his slacks, you loosen the strips with one hand and twirl them around the other; they accumulate in a graying mass of two or more weeks worth of sweat, and you place them in the trash, softly, like you adore and respect those, too, as he skitters past you toward the water for a sense of cover. He knows you’ll be in right after him, but at least the light behind the shower curtain is dimmer. When he disappears, it’s as if he was never there. 

But he says, “I’m okay,” unprompted, as you step beneath the water. 

He is, really. It’s just jarring when it’s the focus.

The process of becoming accustomed to vulnerability is often more painful than the vulnerability itself, Dazai has learned. While the realization can be sudden, like the flipping of a switch, the vulnerability on its own can actually be quite nice. Peaceful. He knows this because you showed him—continue to show him.

He’s just a man in the shower with his beloved, so, now you’ll talk to him.

“I know,” you say. And you do, really. The hardest part is over, and he’s practically pranced through it this time. You crack a smile. 

And he mirrors your smile, not so bright and smug as under normal circumstances but soft and searching. Dazai reaches for your arms, your waist, and pulls you into him; the water hits your back—hot, how he likes it—and you tuck your head into his shoulder and wrap yourself around his middle, whispering I love yous into his shoulder.

It's peaceful. He sways you ever so subtly.

But in true Dazai fashion, he'll shatter the peace. Ever the disruptor.

“I'm sorry you have to love this part of me, too.”

The ugliness, he means. Not just the marred and keloided skin that maps out his history of self-destruction, but his resignation to it. The scabs that touch the small of your back are freshly healing and peeling. If you didn't have him beneath your watch right now they'd probably be scratched open, raw and bleeding again, but as previously mentioned, your presence staves off the itching need to do so.

The tips of his fingers squeeze you when you pull back to look up at him, sliding your hands up his shoulders and behind his neck to link.

“I love every part of you,” you murmur as his forehead dips to rest against yours. Your stunted slow-dance deepens as he sighs himself back into his body, back into the clearer image of you in his grasp. “Don’t be sorry about it. Wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to.”

The demons snap at his ankles, though. “What if you change your mind one day?”

If he was a hair more insane, he might take you hostage. Keep you to himself forever, and never let you leave. But that would take the peace out of it, he thinks. Your volition makes it all sweeter. You want to be here. You want to love him.

He just doesn’t want that to change.

You hum patiently, although hating when he what ifs. That’s the plague of the ever-moving mind he keeps, you suppose; so intelligent, but so restless. “I don’t think I will.”

You don’t think you will, but that doesn’t settle the insecurity that’s settled in his stomach like a coiled snake. 

You don’t think you will, but you will. He knows you will, because that’s how it’s fated to unfold for him. 

Your short words don’t corral him away from the snake, but the less you treat him like he’s a gaping wound, the better. You see it. You don’t cry or gasp or lament or promise how you could never leave him, will never leave him; you don’t like to make promises that reach beyond your control.

The human existence is so strange and fluid, and while you’re confident you won’t tire of him, well, your reciprocated touches aren’t the only things stitching you together, you know; there’s a world, much larger than both of you, that you live in, and a universe even more incomprehensible and its whims are fickle—but they’re also serendipitous. Everything is a miracle, if you think about it. A big, beautiful mistake. You don’t know how much he buys into this, and you’d rather him not read into it as an excuse not to answer with a resounding I’ll never leave you, my love, so you just do what you always do best: spin it in a direction his troubled mind can find solace in, pair it with kisses that have all your soul for him to inhale, and promise what you can: your hope. 

You start with his lips. The best place, arguably; one of your hands tilts his chin toward yours and you kiss him softly, simply. Dazai responds hesitantly, still holding onto you tight. You kiss him for minutes, until he's humming, until his grip loosens comfortably and his shoulders untense and his palms rest on either of your hips.

You have a habit of kissing him silly, literally. Your lips move against his and he feels high. His head gets light, and his hands get restless, and between the short puffs of air he draws in through his nose he croons at the way your fingers push his hair back, trail down his neck. 

“I’m confident,” you say, sliding across his cheek to beneath his ear while he grabs at you in soft and absent-minded desperation, “that I’ll love you ‘til the end of my days.” 

“But what if the e—”

“I’m certain—” You cut him off, first with speech and then with a kiss before you begin pressing your lips into a necklace around his throat, “—that I want to get old with you.” On one side, you bite softly. “That I want to die with you.” You bite the other. “That I want to be buried next to you.” 

Osamu’s breath catches on the words buried next to you. Of course it’s crossed his mind before that if you were to go before him, he certainly wouldn’t be long after you. The thought that you want to live a full life with him before any of that can happen, however, makes his heart swell almost uncomfortably, like it’s no longer meant to fit inside his chest—like it wants to crawl up his throat and go home to yours. It will one day, you say, when you’re rotting next to each other. He wants to melt at the idea of it. 

“And then… I don’t know what, if anything, will happen after that. But it’s my purest hope—” You traverse from one shoulder, across his collarbones, stopping only above his sternum to finish, “—that I’ll be with you forever,” before making your way to the other. He’s a mistake you’d make again and again, given the opportunity. If reincarnation is real, you’re sure of it, more than anything—you will.

And you know not expect anything but speechlessness from Osamu until after you’ve kissed a circle around that heart of his that’s beating so frantically for you, until after you’ve brought his knuckles to your lips, all twenty-eight of them, until after you’ve made your way back up one arm just to kiss down the other, until you’ve bent to scatter kisses across his stomach, his hips, until you’ve knelt to descend the ladder marking each of his thighs, until you’ve sat at his feet with your arms looped around the backs of his knees with your head pressed against him like he’s the saint this time. You sit at the feet of a sinner and make him taste redemption. It tastes like the shower water that’s touched your skin and the dinner you both ate before wandering into this strange place between his disillusion and his sheer need. You kiss him back into his humanity.

When you stand, level with him again, he smiles that smile you love so much—not the cocky, performative smile nor the uneasy, misgiving one that wants to trust but has forgotten how to but the smile that’s altogether subtle and plain and sad and the most radiant thing you’ve ever known. Every time he falls apart, you just stitch him right back up what he’s always wanted to be: loved, held, loving and holding. 

Osamu touches your lips with his fingertips like you’re not quite real, like you’ve not just reminded every other inch of him that you very much are; he speaks, not a progenitor of pretty promises himself—but he owes you forever, he thinks, as long as it’s what you want. “Thank you.” 

You laugh once, breathy, in no need. “Thank you,” you echo, “for being the most wonderful thing to love.” 

Not the easiest, you both know—but it’s just something that has to be done, and there’s no law forbidding you from reminding him how beautiful he is in the process. Until you can be buried next to him. There’s hardly anything keeping forever from beginning right now. 

He holds you, and you hold him, and he feels clean. 

[that-one-anxious-mango]

sweet negotiations

summary: terry finds himself in a series of negotiations and comforts with his wife after a key asset in their home is compromised.

pairing: terry richmond x black reader (Dallas)

content: fluff, allusions to nsfw acts, some mild crying (hormones)

a/n: hello there and welcome! after looking for some more fluffy terry fics and almost crashing out when I couldn't find them, I decided to just start writing some that will all take place in the same universe titled ' thunder and lightning', which will follow you, terry, and the antics of domestic and kinky married life. this is the first of many to come. so enjoy, like, comment, and reblog :)

" I said no." Terry, his voice soft and tired, sounded off the freshly painted sage green walls of nursery, “ Now, stop pouting and hand me the second screwdriver on the chair, please.” 

But instead of moving to fulfil his request, you stay planted in your spot by the door, still pouting, possibly harder now as you looked down to inform your companion of the mistreatment.

“ You hear that, muffin? You hear how Daddy is being mean to us.” You playfully patted at your swollen stomach, while being sure to throw your husband an extra pouty expression—bottom lip puckered and all. “ Why won’t he be nice and feed us, huh?”

In this moment of time you were about five months pregnant with yours and Terry's third child. And while he absolutely adored seeing you like this, barefoot, in one of his old band shirts and low shorts, with a scarf on your head, and thick bifocals sitting neatly at the bridge of your nose as carried his baby. He could do without the sullen expression on your face as an accessory.

“ Baby, ain’t nobody being mean to you by telling you that you can’t have a half a pint of ice cream for breakfast.” Terry's eyes glance at you, before turning his attention back to the half done wooden crib he was working on. “ Now, if you want me to make you some eggs, toast, or oatmeal. I will. But you ain’t having that this early in the morning.” 

“ If at all today. Need to watch what you’re eating more carefully, Mama.” He reminded you. “ Remember what Dr. Kaltura said about watching excess sugar and salt intake. This is serious.”

Quickly the words of your OB flashed through your brain after it had been found that your blood sugar had been a tad higher than she’d liked, a fate that had carried on from your previous pregnancy with your twins into this one.

And of course the minute your husband had caught wind of this, he had come out of retirement from the sugar task force as he now micromanaged and policed every and all things you consumed for the foreseeable future.

“ But Terryyyy.” You whined, “ That’s what both of us want, Poppa.”

Still despite your efforts, he wouldn’t budge.

“No. She doesn’t want that. You do’.” He pointed out, getting up to grab his needed tool,“ Besides, there isn’t anymore anyway.”

“ Yes, he absolutely does. “ You slyly corrected your husband’s wishful thinking, “ And what do you mean there isn’t anymore? Did you throw out my ice cream, Richmond?! Cause I would absolutely hope that’s not what you’re insinuating.”

He sighed, noting the way your eyes turned wild at the thought of your husband touching your beloved sweet treat.

He knew better.

Cause that would be too far and he knew it.

“ No, ma’am.” He simply said, moving back to his work, “ Not this Richmond.” 

“ However, our dear Teensy Richmond may have eaten the rest of it last night after dinner for dessert when you went upstairs to take your bath.” He referred to one your soundly sleeping six year old daughters just down the hall. 

Immediately a frown found a home on your face as you said, “ Wha—I thought I left out pieces of the pecan pie for ya’ll to have. Why were there cute tiny little grubby hands on my ice cream, Poppa?!!”

You huffed, recalling how you had distinctively cut and plated three different pieces of a pecan pie, one large and two small, for your little family to consume after a delicious dinner of lamb chops and smothered potatoes with smoked asparagus.

“ You did.” He confirmed your thoughts , “ But our baby requested to have her pie…a la mode. Which meant a scoop of some of your rocky road was needed as that was the only ice cream left in the freezer.”

“ And as you know, our Tiny Richmond isn’t too fond of rocky road. So she had hers plain jane with glass of milk.” He furthered his explanation.

And although you wanted to be mad at your baby’s little sweet tooth, you couldn’t be, because she got it honest. Still you couldn’t shake off this strange and sudden feeling of…well sadness…that coursed through your body at the thought of the empty ice cream container sitting downstairs in the garbage.

“ Yeah, but if you only gave Teensy a scoop of it. And Tiny didn’t have any, there should be some left.” You tried rationalizing in the same manner of if Johnny had two apples…

Until it came to you, “ Unless…”  

You looked to him and as if he could really read your thoughts, he held a sheepish expression on his face, as he knew what was next to come, “Terrance seriously?!” You hadn’t meant to, but you stamped your feet lightly against the shiny hardwood floor. “ I can’t believe your big eared ass ate my ice cream.”

And just like that your brief moment of sadness has morphed into hormone filled rage.

To which your husband found oddly adorable doing his best to keep a smile off his face, remorse riddled in his tone when he said, “ I’m sorry, Precious. She didn’t wanna eat alone. And since Tiny wasn’t going to have any, I may have had a scoop…or two myself to help finish it off. But it’s okay. We can get more at the store later.” He reasoned, screwing in nut B to pole B. 

By now he was expecting his thunderous woman of a wife to do what she does best, which is make noise about the fact that the rest of her brood ate the ‘ one damn thing the baby allows her to keep down’, but instead he was surprised to look over and see you standing there silent—with tears collecting just at the edge of your waterline. Frown deep. Shoulders slumped.

“ Baby….” He called out in a knowing tone, looking at the way your mouth had slightly turned down and your arms had wrapped around your body, “ C’mon now, Precious. It’s alright. ”

But almost as if it was the release words for your tears, you quickly found your fingertips becoming increasingly wet from wiping the streams away from your cheeks as you began to head toward the door. Slightly embarrassed at your lactose driven waterworks.

Getting up with a sigh, he wasted no time making his way over to you, big hands coming to cup your waist and guide you over to the creme rocking chair, moving all the tools on it to the floor.

It didn’t take long for him to sit and guide you on his lap, an arm wrapped tight around your waist while a calloused hand came to rub against the damp soft apple of your cheek. 

“ C’mere, pretty baby.”  He pecked your lips, tasting the salt of your tears, “ You know I don’t like it when my woman is unhappy. Especially when you’re crying.” 

“ I just can’t help it.” You mutter, partially frustrated with your inability to get a hard grasp on your emotions. “ I just really wanted it. And I mean I know it’s not that serious enough for me to be crying over. And it may seem dramatic but- ” 

“ But it made you upset and that’s okay. You don’t have to explain or try and justify you wanting to cry to me, Baby. It’s fine.” He affirmed, a hand coming to rub at your belly, “ I know this one has those emotions a tad high, and I’m sure Teensy and I blowing up your ice cream stash ain’t helping.” 

A smile fainting at your lips, at the thought of your husband and daughters sitting at the dining room table, talking and laughing over their late night dessert. 

“ So once the twins wake up and we have breakfast we can all take a family trip to the store and grab some more, alright?” He said. 

“ Mmm. And some more Oreos? And Miss Vickie’s Jalapeño?” You rubbed your eyes before looking at him intently, a smirk playing on his face, “ Ya’ know for the pain and suffering caused.” 

“ Hmm. I see.” A hand traveling to your thigh, “ Well for your pain and suffering I am willing to offer you a pint…not a a half baby…but a full pint of rocky road, with a bag of the chips.”

“ Mmm. But what about my Oreos.” You mused. 

He shook his head, “ Nope. Not on the table, beloved. Too much sugar.”

“ Mmm. I dunno. Doesn’t sound fair. I mean I already was owed the ice cream. And while the chips are a good gesture of faith. I feel I deserve more for this indiscretion.” 

He was silent, still smiling at the determination in your filled out cheeks when he said, “  Fine. Counter offer. Pint of the rocky road, bag of chips, and I’ll throw in a bubble bath and personal back massage from yours truly after dinner.” Your breath hitched, feeling a hand slip underneath your bottom to palm the bit of exposed skin you had peeking from under your night shorts. 

“ Just for the record. What kind of massage would this be? ” You coyly inquired, knowing full well what kind he meant.

He moved his mouth to your ear, “ One with a guaranteed happy ending. For us both it seems.”

And how could you deny that? 

“ Fine. I accept your counter offer with the added addition that oil will be used for my massage.”

“ Of course m’am. No other way I’d do it.” He assured, rubbing circles in your thighs. 

“ Good.” You said.

“ Great.” He one upped, “ Now, how should we close this deal? I say with a kiss.”

“ Mmm. “ You hummed, “ I dunno. I think I may need more than a kiss to seal it. And I also think we may need to try out and see how sturdy this chair is. Ya’ know for safety reasons.” 

“ And do you suggest we do that?” His voice low.

“ I dunno.” Your lips find his cheek then his ear, “ We’re already seeing how much weight it can hold, but I wonder how much…rocking or bouncing it can take.”

“ Right, safety reasons.” He mumbled across the skin of your neck, “ Well if that’s the case then—” 

“ Poppa? Mommy? ” The little voice called out from the hallway.

“ WHERE ARE YOU?!” Another yelled, ceasing both yours and Terry’s movements completely , and instead invoked laughter amongst the two of you as he helped you climb off of him and shuffle to the door to collect your late night little ice cream bandit and morning hallway screamer.

[yandere-daydreams]

Little silly thought in my head about yan jjk men

Geto when you're well behaved (ie too terrified to even look at anyone else) takes you to a nail salon with the girls and gets you and him matching manicures (this man absolutely gets acrylics just look at him)

Gojo has them come into the estate and speeds fifteen hours debating on what colour will suit him best as you tell them to file your nails to be as sharp as they possibly can, hoping to jam them in his eyes if he won't pick a style already

Nanami does it for you himself, with a supermarket at home gel nail kit, making sure you look soft and domesticated as possible, with no claws to fight back with. He probably picks some boring tasteful pink as well or French tips.

tw - implied non/con, controlling behavior.

you get me, anon. maybe a little too well but we'll talk about that later.

it's all about their core motivations, i think. geto wants you trained; not domesticated, not smothered, but hyper-aware that your actions have predictable consequences. he doesn't particularly enjoy being in room full of sweating, screaming, simpering monkeys, but seeing you sit so prettily in the seat closest to him, your teeth grit and your jaw set as you politely answer your stylist with the curt, rehearsed answers he gave you permission to use - it's nothing short of heavenly. he has to maintain his appearance - if not for his daughters, then for his congregation - but it's nice to have a well-trained lapdog to keep him company, while he attends to such necessary inconveniences.

gojo, on the other hand, wants you nothing short of pampered. it's awful, how much money he spends on lavish gifts you'll never touch, what great lengths he goes to to find beauticians who won't ask too many questions. he calls it bonding, makes you comment on all fifty-seven colors and styles he considers, and if a manicure doesn't warm your heart to him, that's alright. he'd do anything for you, get anything for you, so long as it can fit inside of the little world he's built for you and him. this specific method just has the added benefit of giving you something pretty to bury in his skin the next time he adopts more primal ways of showing his love.

nanami's the worst of all. despite everything he says about keeping you safe, about making you feel loved, all he really wants is to leave you declawed. he rationalizes it as maintenance, reminds you that he's only doing what he believes is best, but it'd be a lie to say there isn't a hint of satisfaction as he cuts and files nails still flecked with his blood down to harmless, rounded edges, as he coats your last real weapon in shapes of rose pink and baby blue. you could take to biting him, but you and nanami both know he'd be just as quick to file down your fangs if he thought you would use them against him. best to save yourself the effort and make yourself into the doe-eyed, docile creature he's willing to whittle you away to find.

[imujings]

Talk Talk by Charli xcx gives me so much vernon vibes!! every time i listen to it i just make up a little scenario with him in it! CONGRATS ON 100 FOLLOWERS!!💗

but we've been keepin' this a secret and you're surrounded by friends and i'm just wonderin' what they know

wc <1k. warnings some cursing, party scene, suggestive (mentions of mutual masturbation, allusions to sex lol), petnames (babe), situationship. jay’s musings thank u ml :,) here is buzz cut vernon for u!!

The bass of the music makes your ears ring, vibrations reverberating through your nerves down to the bone. It’s blinding here in the club, the neon lights hurting your eyes and forcing you to squint through the heavy smoke filled air. Your drink sloshes around in your cup unsettlingly.

Your outfit feels a little bit too tight, like you can’t get enough air, and you try to steady your breath. There was no more time for feeling self-conscious. You were on a mission tonight—no matter how much you usually hated this kind of scene, you were determined to see it through.

Or rather, see him through.

You hear him before you spot him. It’s embarrassing, really, how your body reacts to the stimuli that is his presence. The music gets a little duller, the lights a little dimmer, and your senses become heightened. Laughter that could belong to no one other than Chwe Hansol reaches your ears, clear and resolute.

He’s standing around people you can only assume are his friends—there’s so many of them it only makes the situation even more overwhelming. One in particular is leaning against Hansol, his arms wrapped around the man’s bicep, and something in your heart stirs.

Flashes of green alight your vision, and only by blinking do you realize it’s caused by the club lights rather than the jealousy curling in on itself inside of you.

Hansol and you were, for lack of a better term, talking.

You two had met on a dating app a little while ago, swapping movie recommendations and indulging in jokes about how the world has gone to shit. Conversation between you two was easy, light; he never made anything feel forced and it left you reeling every time a notification popped up on your lock screen.

However, what did leave you frustrated was his poor attempts at hiding that he was making any excuse possible not to see you.

You asked to grab some coffee downtown at a new place that opened up? He was coincidentally quitting coffee for awhile. You wanted to go see the screening of a newly released movie? He already made plans to see it with some of his other friends. Every offer to meet up in person was shot down, not unkindly, by the man.

And quite frankly, you were tired of it.

You wished—no, craved—that he would just talk to you about what he was so seemingly afraid of. It was evident that he harbored enough care for you to send you updates about his life, from a reel he found funny to what retirement plan he wants to follow.

That, and he would FaceTime you during after hours, spent from long days at his work but still awake enough to hear you whine about goodness knows what. There were even nights that ended in you gasping for breath, your fingers sticky from your release, Hansol’s own groans echoing softly through the speakers of your phone.

“I wish I was there with you,” you murmured once after such an intimate moment. “To touch you. Make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

He was silent on the end of the line for a breath, before his voice, still shaky and low intoned, came through the call. “One day. Promise, yeah?”

That was maybe two weeks before tonight. Hansol, of course, then rejected your attempt to ask him out to dinner, saying he was out of the state at the time visiting family.

Convenient, wasn’t it?

When you heard that he was attending a party this weekend, one hosted by someone you recognized as a mutual friend, you practically begged your bestfriend to let you tag along.

So, here you were, looking dumbfounded at the man only a few feet in front of you.

His buzz cut looked better on him than it did in the pictures. You knew he had gotten one, him excitedly sending you selfies of before and after—it was the most wound up you’d seen him since the initial conversation you two had about Star Wars. But you didn’t think that his new hairstyle, paired with a silver chain and thin white tank, would instantly make heat churn in your lower stomach.

Focus, you remind yourself.

Taking a deep breath to recollect yourself, you walk with purpose towards him. His friends take notice of you first, their eyes widening, and the one that’s wrapped around Hansol’s arm backs away slightly.

His eyes meet yours, and time stands still.

“Hello,” you drawl, leaning into his personal space as you blink up at him with what you hope is a charming smile. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Hansol’s mouth is parted, eyebrows raised, his eyes drinking in your club outfit and the way the light reflects in your dilated pupils. He swallows. Hard.

“Hey,” he says, arm reaching around your waist and giving your hip a squeeze. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

Your lips curl into a smirk and you slowly trace a fingernail along his knuckles. “Yeah. Heard of it and wanted to see what the commotion was all about.”

“Not much commotion until now.” Hansol’s hand doesn’t stop his ministrations, making you hum as your body moves on its own to press against his.

Your eyes catch the way his jaw tightens imperceptibly. A giggle slips past you.

“I’ve been wanting to finally meet you in person,” you pinch his bicep. “You keep escaping my traps.”

Hansol’s eyes, wild and wide, flicker around to see if anyone is watching you two. When his gaze meets yours again, it’s dark.

“Well, I’m here now. Wanna get out of here?”

You toss your head back into the air and laugh, a sound that makes Hansol tighten his grip on you and grin at.

“To do what? Talk about why you’re avoiding me?” you tease.

He leans in close, breath tickling your ear.

“Nah, babe. We’ll talk later. Gotta show you just how lucky I am first.”

want to queue a song?

[marsmaximoff]

🪩; club pentagon 𖦹₊⋆☾

content warning: ‘long haired’ fem!reader. suggestive. drugs, alcohol.

word count: 1.4k 💜

author’s note: y’all idk what’s happening to me. like i swear when i watched the show i didn’t care about him. in fact i didn’t even like him. and now i can’t stop thinking about his hot face and hands 😔 expect more fics to come cause i’m going crazy. btw, i apologize for the possible mistakes as english is my third language. enjoy <3!

divider by @strangergraphics <3

the colorful lights create a shiny veil over the club. the music reverberating throughout the place, accompanied by loud, excited screams and intoxicated voices, acts as a barrier to the real world.

while i wait for my friend to come back from the bathroom, a guy catches my eye, separated from the rest, in a corner. he must be around my age, a bit older. and i don’t know what it is exactly, but something immediately lures me in. something about his aura, his vibe.... maybe it’s the dark hair, or the tattoos on his arm, the way he’s talking to the man next to him like he’s important... 

he looks hot. and like a total dick too. 

“you like him?” your friend inquires cheekily, noticing your stare. “i haven’t seen him before.” you don’t forget someone like him. his tall frame and dark clothes adding to the arousing pull i’m feeling. “he’s the reason we’re here. i found the club through him; he promotes it.” “do you know him?” there’s a growing curiosity inside of me, to know more, “not at all”, to get closer. “he looks like a playboy,” she declares, to which i can only agree. “an attractive one, tho.”

on cue, as if he had heard us -impossible given the distance- he takes his eyes from that man and locks his gaze on mine, sending a flutter through my stomach. but i don’t shy away, seeing his eyes go down my body, checking me out, unashamedly. a hussy grin accompanies the action while i keep the intense eye contact going for some time before turning around and heading back to the dance floor. as i do, i feel his gaze slide over my body and smile to myself, satisfied, trying to sensualize my walk a bit.

the night continues as usual: drinks, dancing, some flirting here and there, all that still carrying a boost of confidence from that previous interaction. 

eventually, i take a break sitting by the counter, and almost in no time, a smell of cigarettes, alcohol, and something else surrounds me. 

“hey” he speaks with confidence and a certain ego; the grin is back where it had been before. he leans on the bar and studies me, daringly, carefully. that seems to fuel my boldness, because my hand moves almost instantly towards his face, slowly. he doesn’t back away or stop me; he doesn’t even flinch. i gather the remaining white powder from the warm skin right over his upper lip with a finger and lower it, showing it to him. “oops, my bad,” he says playfully while grabbing my wrist. then, he brings it to his mouth and licks it off my fingertip without one of us breaking eye contact for a single second. holy. fuck. afterwards, he laughs softly, my heart rate going crazy, “want some? i only have the best.” i shake my head, choosing to keep my drifting lucidity. 

my gaze travels down his body until reaching his tattooed arm. “you like ‘em?” “i dont see many people around who have them” “yeah…bunch of pussies. these didnt hurt at all, you know.” the smugness of his words an obvious sign of his eagerness to impress. “you got more?” “oohh, someone’s interested…” i scoff finding his teasing annoying, yet unable to deny the way i have to press my lips together to hold back a smile. “i love tattoos” “yeah? wanna touch?” his comments come off so nonchalantly, flirting a natural habit of his. “i mean, you've already gone for my mouth...” his voice lowers a bit, having the clearly much-expected effect on me, and i give in, my yearning taking my fingers to his arm. the smooth and steamy flesh welcomes me with a satisfying shiver, and the hitch of his breath makes me slow down, caressing softly, seductively. 

i don't know if he's trying to contain himself, or enjoying it too much, but i see him biting his lip, and it feels so good to find a tiny crack in his confident facade, the growing heat in my belly seconding it. the initial trace of ink becomes a search of his now more prominent veins, up and down. “i like how it looks.” i give him a final graze, but this time it’s my hand that strokes his arm all the way down his slender, ring-adorned fingers which i hold and toy with before letting go to replace them with my drink, leaving him all greedy for more. his skin on fire. 

he’s affected now, trying to break the spell, attempting to somehow regain control while his breathing’s all over the place. cute. 

the drink sugars my senses, but it’s not nearly as sweet as the feel of him. 

“you like the club?” he goes back to his usual self, his comfort zone, something he can proudly show off. “yeah, i like the ambience”  “i can show you around…this place’s my second home.” i know what he's doing, using an excuse to move this somewhere quieter, more private, more comfortable…. but i decide to play a bit with him. “i don’t know… i'm really enjoying this area.” he smirks, “and it only gets better, we don't leave the best within reach of just anyone”, getting closer. “so you’re saying you'll make it worth my time?” he pokes his cheek with his tongue, turning me on even more. fucking tease. “in fact you'll regret it if you don't come.”  “mmm…im not sure…maybe i need a preview….” his face is mere millimeters from mine, giving me a perfect view of the mischievous look that takes over his. then, he grabs a small bag from his pocket -more white powder- and pushes my hair away from my shoulder, the contact leaving goosebumps everywhere. when the bareness pleases him, an unfamiliar feeling covers my skin. and then i realize, he’s pouring it on me. jesus christ. he leaves a shivery trail up to my neck, molding it to get a perfect line. his hot breath is getting me dizzy, his hand enveloping the other side of my neck, his allure a dangerous mix with the alcohol. he snorts the line in one, the tip of his nose tickling my burning skin. “yesss, shit baby”, he groans huskily underneath my ear, adding a bit of pressure with his hand, and i feel my wetness starting to become uncomfortable. 

he’s laughing when he pulls back, “how’s that for a preview?”, finishing rubbing the remains of his nose. but i can only focus on his fingers, fuck. i need more. “not bad” i try so hard to think of something witty, flirty, to keep the back and forth going, but i can’t. my brain is foggy, my body is flaming, and my belly is killing me with all those damn backflips. “not bad? that’s not nice of you….imma have to do something about that attitude of yours…” i stand up from the stool, suddenly desperate to get out of there. “maybe i do need that tour, a change from the loud music and everything” god i’ve truly become pathetic. and it seems to amuse him, “yeah? i thought you liked the ambience here….” “and i thought you said you’d make it worth my time” i make him smirk again, what a damn sight, and before i know it he’s taking me who knows where.

the moment the door closes behind us, my back is pushed to the wall, his arms caging me. this time, his eyes stay on my lips while he bites his. “fuck, you’re so hot” i can’t hold it anymore. the praise gets to him and makes him snap, harshly pressing our mouths together. the kiss is rough, desperate, as if we were running out of time. i let out a muffled moan as he brings me closer to his warm body and slides one hand towards my neck, adding some pressure. i’ve never had such a messy, intense kiss before, it makes my legs weak. he keeps asserting dominance the whole time, and bites my lip before pulling back and heading towards my neck. 

my moans get louder as i feel him leaving hickeys all over my skin. “it’s namgyu”, he corrects me, hovering over my flesh. but the blood is already pounding in my ears. “huh?” 

 “i want you to know what to moan”

[staylovesmiley]

Thoughts on dating hyunlix and telling them you’re pregnant

Hmm I have thoughts alright hehehehe

Sweet sweet hyunlix~ first I think I should go into my thoughts on what dating them would be like since that’s half of this ask mhm mhm

Dating Hyunjin and Felix is like laying down on sheets fresh from the dryer after you just had an everything shower (iykyk) between Hyune’s heavily romantic soul and Felix’s sweet and bubbly one it’s like you are dating an old historical drama love interest and a rom com love interest in the best ways!

I feel like Hyunnie would be very classically romantic as he has stated so many times how much of a romantic he is- like flowers just because, intimate dinners with either you, Felix, or all three of you, leaves you love notes he tucked in your purse before he left in the morning where he knows you will find it when you go to grab an essential item like hand sanitizer or your lip balm. He’s just a silly little lovesick fool~

Lix on the other hand is much more playful I think? He’s very flirty but also a little clumsy with it~ I think he would send you tiktoks and memes in lieu of love notes, but you Lego flowers you could build together over real ones, and his ideal dates are either kicking each others asses in Mario kart or going for an activity like a movie or an arcade! Whereas Hyunjin is classic romance Felix is young and fresh love and they mix together into something wonderful that you feel you could never get tired of~

They also both clearly are physical touch as love language people so I feel like they would never get enough cuddles, kisses, or hugs from you! You would be surrounded by affection of all kinds always and you are completely okay with that (but if you need time for yourself they are respectful and will cling to each other until you are ready to join them again)

Now to the second part of the ask~~

If you were to find out you were pregnant with Hyunlix baby while you were just dating I feel like they would be excited but a little scared- Hyunjin especially I feel would be a little pale at the news at first because he’s such a pabo how is he supposed to raise a baby and teach it things about life?! He is excited and loves the idea of starting a little family with his loves but gosh it’s scary okay?? Even if it’s something you want it’s scary especially since it wasn’t necessarily planned (at least in this scenario that’s what I’m going with-) but once he voices his fears to you and Felix you both reassure him and he relaxes, feeling so nice to have two partners to help and feeling less alone (this drama king- as if he’s the one carrying the baby and giving birth to it istg)

Felix would cry. Hands fucking down. Every time he thinks about it for too long after telling him he tears up with the happiness brimming inside him~ I think he would feel a bit more prepared for a baby than Hyune, even if it’s just because he can be a lil optimistically clueless hehehe he would be daydreaming immediately what life will be like with the four of you (or more- and if he starts thinking about you having multiples that’s when he gets a little nervous but for this scenario there is only one baby so he calms down again after the scans show that)

I’ll leave this as is for now unlike the Minsung one cause I feel like Hyunlix wouldn’t really change much how the treat you during pregnancy than outside of it? They’d be more attentive to you and your needs but they were already so doting the only things that feel specifically “baby/pregnancy” related is maybe Hyune dedicating hours to painting the nursery the closer your due date gets and he is so into it you won’t see him for hours and hours while he is working on it~ and Lix would for sure give your baby bump little fist bumps and talk to it as much as possible so “baby had an aussie accent~” but hey let’s be real he already successfully gave our aussie boy hyunjin an accent so I feel like the baby would also develop one as it grew (especially with the constant Bluey episodes he would put on for them ever since the womb hehehe)

[bigassmoth]

Something so enticing about a post-apocalypse yandere

Someone dependable who you know will never ice you over resources or possible death. Its scary at times, they seem to consider killing you so "you wouldnt have to endure anymore", but their intense affection for you always wins out.

They dont let you do any dangerous work, so you are put in charge of the base camp. There is only the two of you- and there will never be anyone else. Your companion cannot share you- but they will insist its because outsiders will be a liability and ultimately betray you. So socially isolated you assume your companion has good intentions. When they touch your face, tuck your hair behind your ear, inhale your scent when they hug you- contact they want before they leave the safety of the base. You are lonely too, which is why you let them slide into bed with you and wrap their scarred arms around you. So desperate for human contact that you feel yourself getting wet and hot when their breath tickles your ear.

"Ah...you should have told me. No- it's my fault that I didnt notice sooner." Their voice is so soft and gentle- a voice that has walked you through so much panic and grief. Their rough hands are on you, stroking your legs and ass at a slow pace.

"We should do this...so you can get some sleep." Their fingers dip into your underwear. You dont know how much time passed and how many shuddering orgasms you unleashed with your body pinned between theirs and the wall. Their fingers worked you again and again with a lazy roughness- a result of their marred skin and dexterity. While their mouth lavished your neck with gentle but wet kisses.

Any number of excuses pop up. They join you in the shower, they pull you into their lap during breakfast, they steal your attention from your games.

"To keep your stress down"..."To make sure youre healthy"..."Mental enrichment"..."To save on water"

Of course you dont need any excuse when you kiss the corner of their mouth and ask them to fuck you into oblivion.

As time wears on and resources bounce back from a lack of predation while nature reclaims the space, your survival is easier. They scavange for toys as your lazy days have facilitated frequent fornification.

What you will never know is the number of other survivors they encountered. Some matched their wariness and they parted with a mutual understanding. Most were friendly- wanting to tag along with them or recruit them to their group after witnessing their survivor skills. "Of course we always welcome more hands! Are you traveling with anyone else?" They dont answer, no one needs to know about you. Persistant individuals are killed- they dont trust that some annoying liability wont follow them back to you and attempt to persuade you directly.

When they come back they are extra clingy. Burying themself into your embrace as soon as they have cleaned up. Your gentle hands on their scalp and back, your concerned voice.

"If we ever met other survivors, would you want to join them?" You assume they are distressed after another isolating experience outside.

"Hm, if you trusted them then yes I would. It would certainly lessen your workload." You comfort them, "Im sure we will meet someone at some point. It cant possibly be only us."

They take your comfort in a different direction. Its fine that they killed that enthusiastic man today- because they didnt trust them. You wouldnt mind living with out people, so there was no other survivors they could ever trust. Elimination was necessary.

They grumble their agreement while falling asleep against you. Your complaints about needing to get up and make dinner fall on deaf ears. Once they feel like it they will prepare food, lovingly provide and care for you the way that only they are allowed to.

[marlynnofmany]

At Home in the Mud

“Hey Wio, does your hover stool work over mud?” I asked from the door to the cockpit.

“Not deep mud,” Wio said, glancing at me with her tentacles at work on the controls. “The sensors feel for solid ground.”

“Dang.” I sighed. “Guess I’m stuck with cleaning the exo suit after this delivery.”

“Yeah, sorry,” she said. “There are fresh batteries for the gravity wands, at least. Shouldn’t take you too long.”

Zhee stalked past me, his many bug feet clicking in what was probably irritation. He didn’t say anything, and neither did I, at least until he was out of earshot in the direction of the cargo bay.

I whispered to Wio, “And at least I only have two legs to clean.”

“Good point,” she agreed. “Best of luck!”

I thanked her and headed off after Zhee to where the exo suits waited. He had a head start in getting his on, which he needed. I tried not to draw attention to how easily I tugged mine on over my regular clothes (minus the shoes). Zhee didn’t even take the opportunity to make fun of my need for footwear; he seemed determined to get this delivery over with as quickly as possible.

He said, “Be sure to hold on to the hoversled so you don’t fall and slow us down.”

“Sure thing,” I agreed. I’d planned to keep a solid grip anyway. Hopefully this mud wasn’t the foot-sucking kind.

The ship landed gently — or rather, arrived. There was no landing pad close enough to our client’s location, at least none above the mud at this time of year, so Wio held the ship just above the surface on stable thrusters. The ramp nearly touched the mud.

Captain Sunlight had come in to see us off, and she stood to the side as we hustled down the ramp. “Be quick but careful!” she told us.

Zhee replied, “That’s the plan.”

I freed a hand to wave, then grabbed the edge of our most reliable hoversled. I would have liked to ride on it next to the cases of medical supplies (low priority, not urgent, thankfully), but that wouldn’t have been fair to Zhee. So I did my share of pushing and stepped cautiously into the mud.

Whew, I thought. More watery than thick. I can walk in this. And it was cold, but the exo suit did a decent job of insulating for temperature. I took in the sights more confidently, appreciating the fuzzy moss on all the trees, and the intricate shapes that the bushes grew in. It didn’t quite look like an Earth swamp, but it didn’t look hostile, and that was all I could ask for, really.

Behind us, the ship closed the bay door and lifted up to a more comfortable height to wait. Zhee, with a better view of the screen on the front of the sled, pointed with a pincher arm. We changed direction slightly and trudged through the mud.

The depth changed a few times in quick succession, going from ankle deep to above the knee and back. I did my best to maintain a careful speed, though it was tricky since I couldn’t see the bottom. Zhee seemed to be doing fine. I held onto the sled and took long strides, feeling the way with one foot before trusting my weight to it. Thicker lumps and rocks lurked along the uneven ground. I focused on stepping between them without losing my balance, trusting Zhee to keep us on track.

“Scenic,” I commented to break the monotony of silence and my own breathing inside the helmet.

“Wet,” Zhee replied.

“Scenic and wet.” I glanced up at the mossy trees, then back down at the watery mud. Muddy water? Somewhere in between. “Not the easiest place to walk, though.”

“The captain could have chosen Blip and Blop for this delivery,” Zhee griped. “But no, they’re busy helping Eggskin prepare some complicated food.”

“And Paint wouldn’t be up for this temperature,” I said as I stepped into deeper water that chilled me to my thighs. “Or this depth, really.”

“Paint misses out on a lot of unpleasant environments. Lucky.”

I looked over at him across the pile of strapped-down cases. “Only because she’d pass out and die if she got too cold. I don’t know if I’d call that lucky.”

Zhee tapped an antenna against the inside of his helmet. “Bah. Today, she’s lucky to be coldblooded. We’re stuck with this instead.”

I mentally ran down the roster of our other crewmates. Some of them, like Wio, had other jobs to be doing. “I suppose Mur wouldn’t have an easy time in something this deep either.” I didn’t even know if he could swim. Looking like a squid didn’t necessarily translate.

“No one is likely to have an easy time in this,” Zhee said, shaking a foreleg and splattering watery mud across a tree trunk. “I can’t imagine why the client chose to live here.”

“Maybe they like mud,” I said, trying to watch my feet even though I couldn’t see them.

“They are welcome to it. I look forward to getting back to the ship.”

I was in agreement about that. The info summary about this location had said it was the wet season (Really? Shocking) and that the regular roadways were unavailable. I was under the impression that there was a town somewhere nearby, or at least other people than just the one, but all I could see was endless swamp.

With rocks and the occasional tree root just waiting to trip me. I focused on stepping carefully and trying not to slow our progress.

Concentrating as I was, I didn’t realize we’d arrived until Zhee tugged the sled to the side. I looked up to find the first dry ground I’d seen rising out of the mud into a walkway of flat paving stones. A round stone house perched at the top of the rise.

We slogged up to leave an interesting set of footprints along the walkway: my left/right muddy bootprints and Zhee’s collection of much smaller splats. With the hoversled between us, it looked like this house was getting two visitors interested in staying as far away from each other as possible, instead of a single delivery.

When we got close, a chorus of tiny squeaks started up. I located the source: a small cage hanging beside the door, which held a handful of cricket-sized whatevers. While Zhee found what passed for a doorbell, I took a surreptitious look. They were small and blobby, not mini near-cousins of his, which was definitely for the best.

“Delivery!” Zhee announced while a chime jangled.

Various bumps and a muffled voice sounded from inside, then our avian client opened the door eagerly. “Thank you for coming!” he said in the same trade language we were using, just with the distinct quackity overtones of his particular species. His dark feathers were flecked with white and he kept his arms folded as if they were wings. He said earnestly, “I hope it wasn’t too long of a walk.”

“It was fine,” Zhee said. “Would you like your packages unloaded right here?”

“Oh! Ahmm…” the ducky fellow looked indecisively between the stack of boxes, the paving stones, and the indoors.

I said, “We could carry them in for you, but we’d track in a bit of mud.” The sled was much too wide to fit through the door.

“That’s all right; I’ll move them,” he decided. “Out here is fine. Now where should I—? Yes, thank you.” He took the payment screen from Zhee and signed for the delivery while I undid the straps holding everything down. We didn’t always bother with those, but I was starting to think we should. If I’d managed to trip and knock a box into the mud, that would have been an embarrassing bad mark on our record.

While we unloaded the boxes, those little whatsits serenaded us with a fresh chorus of squeaky chirps. It reminded me of tame finches with just a touch of guinea pig. I wondered if this was the local version of a windchime or something else.

The client saw me staring and said, “My dear little Cozy went missing, and these are his favorite food. I’m hoping to lure him back. You haven’t seen him, have you? A young cuddlebeast about this big, with a white stripe on his head?” He held clawed hands a few inches apart.

“Sorry, no,” I said with a look at Zhee. “I didn’t see any beasts at all. Did you?”

“No,” Zhee agreed. “Just mud.”

The client ruffled his feathers in a way I didn’t know how to read; maybe he was embarrassed. “They did tell me he’s suited to living in this environment, and he might not return if I let him out, but I haven’t given up hope. My home is nice and warm, after all.”

“We’ll keep an eye out on the walk back,” I told him. “Does he come when he’s called?”

“He always did when he was inside the house,” the guy said. “Cozy! Cozyyy!” He waited for a moment, then looked down. “He loves his cuddles. I hope nothing bad has happened to him.”

Zhee set down the last box. “You’ve done what you can,” he assured the client, sounding like he might have even meant it.

“I suppose so.” The ducky guy looked sad for a moment, then rallied. “Well, thank you again! I don’t want to keep you. Safe travels!”

We bid him goodbye and headed back down into the mud, with me waving goodbye and Zhee trying to make good time. The client went back into his house and I focused on taking long strides again.

We went slightly to the side of the route we’d taken before. The mud was much lumpier here, with herds of round rocks that rolled around and made the footing treacherous. Despite my death grip on the sled, I was nearly swimming at a couple points in an effort to keep up. The muddy water was deep enough to swim in, but not consistently so, otherwise I might have given up and started paddling.

I had just decided to ask Zhee to slow down when I lost my footing completely and went under, holding my breath in panic before I remembered the exo suit covered my head. I got my feet under me by kicking lumps out of the way and I stood in the waist-high mud, wiping futilely at the dirty face mask.

Zhee sighed audibly and stopped walking. “Really?”

“It’s hard to find somewhere solid to step!” I exclaimed. “There are rocks and lumps of mud everywhere!” I scooped one up to prove my point, ending up with what looked like a potato. “Huh. That’s too light to be a rock. Tuber?”

“Fascinating,” Zhee said drily.

“It reminds me of an Earth food, but those don’t grow in swamps,” I said, giving it a closer look.

“Do not bring it back to the ship for eating,” Zhee said sternly.

“I wasn’t going to!” I protested.

“Good. It’s probably horribly smelly and liable to poison half the crew.”

I started to protest more, just on principle, then the potato opened an eye and I dropped it. “Ah!”

“What?”

“It’s a creature!” I shuffled in place, feeling more potato-like shapes bump against my ankles in the cold watery mud. “Are these all animals??”

“Ugh,” Zhee declared, lifting a couple exo suited legs out of the murk on his side of the hoversled. “What an unpleasant choice of environmental niches.”

I was thinking fast. “Wait, these could be like toads. It’s cold right now; maybe they’re hibernating. Hey, do you know what a ‘cuddlebeast’ actually looks like?”

“Not a clue. That’s your area of expertise.” Zhee gave me a look through the domes over his faceted eyes. “Do these things look especially cuddleable to you?”

“I don’t know, maybe.” I felt around gingerly for another one, hoping they didn’t have sharp teeth to use on people who interrupted their hibernation. “But that would explain why Cozy never came back, if he’s out here dozing with his distant family.”

“Well I’m sure he’s very happy if so,” Zhee said, stepping forward. “Let’s be off.”

“Wait, lemme try something first.” I put a hand on the sled as it eased past, but did my best impression of the squeaks that the food animals had made earlier. Cute little questioning sounds, like they were curious.

“If that didn’t work close to the house, it’s unlikely to work out here,” Zhee said. But he stopped again.

“It’s worth a shot,” I said. “Cozy! Cozyyy!” Then I squeaked some more.

“What a surprise; nothing. Now let’s—” Zhee flinched when something by his hind leg croaked.

“Cozy!” I said with a grin, ducking to look under the hoversled. “Here, boy!” Something potato-like with big eyes and a distinct pale swatch on the top was treading water in the murk.

Zhee stepped fastidiously to higher ground. “I can’t believe you found it.”

“Yup,” I said, testing my footing. “Now I just have to catch it.”

“As long as you keep your mud to yourself.”

“No promises,” I said, making the first lunge of many and only splashing a little.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[atangledfate]

It was no surprise to dawn that Twist struggled to understand a gift of gaia. It wasn't really something most mobians thought about at least not the why. most just accepted that some of them were born special, and gifted. To some it was being touched by light gaia and to others it was thought to be a curse of Dark Gaia. Still many more informed thought was simple mutation but, the truth was no body really knew. Mobians were just born gifted, or curse and had to live with there abilities. Dawn never believed for a second it was worth thinking to deeply on.

" hah! no problem, honestly i wish i knew the real reason but ya know my ma' use to say--- some mysteries in life are meant to stay a mystery. Now go clean your room! "

Her duplicate smiled as she lead twist down the hall to the triage wing where many of the worse injuries were being kept. Lots of duplicates rushed around with carts and first aid kits trying to care for many patients.

" Yea, Capitalism is always a drag... But i bet there is some program to help out. Well anyway it was just a thought..."

Her ear twitched at the mention of watching someone lose an arm and being fine. She had to endure such wounds during the war, and while her duplicates tended to disappear when suffered major injury. She still had vivid memories of getting sliced up, crushed, or maimed during the war. It didn't leave a mark on the real dawn but the mental trauma of enduring was everlasting mark on her psyche.

" Here we are... come on let's get these folks patched up... and ready for transfer to GUN's facility. Least the ones we can move! "

=============================================

In truth Jewel didn't know much about Yara's family but they did have a well known reputation concerning thieves. Made her wonder if that's how he lost his tail, or if he was born that way. She just hoped the prince would treat them well and not be to hard on them. She made a mental note to check up on them later. though Surge's report did seem to worry her to no end. Why was GUN being so cruel? she'd always had goo report with Mr. Tower, and now this?

" I See... that's still concerning. Thank you Surge for the update. Also thank you again Highness... your talents are still most welcome. But i did mean what i said. I expect you to treat the boys well... i'll be checking on them to insure they aren't mistreated in the days ahead...everyone deserves a chance at redemption after all."

She turned to Surge and buzzed up to eye level as she felt it helped her seem more commanding.

" Surge i need you to get me back to command as soon as possible. I can't help but feel my place is in the command center with the others. With things feeling a bit dire... i need to try and contact General Tower and see what is actually going on... i can't believe he'd authorize a move like this..."

"Can't say I even understand Gaia Gifts even having it explained to me, though that's the best way anyone's explained it to me." Twist supposed all the doctors explain it in a lot of detail instead of just giving a simple and easy answer. The lemur supposed the gifts were just so complex most figured a more detail explanation was helpful, though it just made him have more questions.

"Thought bout it, though I don't got that kind of cash and insurance won't cover something like that." Twist and his family lived rather comfortable, though cybernetics were expense. Though now it made him wonder what his G.U.N contacts could do. Maybe he could even return to service as he wasn't that old. Something he'd worry about later as there were more pressing matters.

"I've see a solider lose their arm right in front of me and didn't so much as flinch. I'm sure I can handle whatever injures are here." Twist had seen some major injuries during his service so not much could shake him. The lemur would simply start to follow one of the copies of the nurse. He might have to shake of some of the rust to remember everything, though it shouldn't take long.

===========================================================

"I know my parents don't have the best reputation, though I can assure you I am nothing like them." Yara's parents weren't cruel, though they have always been seen as rather ruthless with their rule as punishments for crimes were often swift and at times harsh. Makes for a secure kingdom, though also a tense one when it comes to the people that live in it. "My talent isn't in healing, though I can revert the damage enough to where you basically got a small bump on your head." His main skills were in his Illusion Mist.

"We'll still be careful not to get on your bad side. Last thing we need is to be on your families bad side again." Rough was surprised they managed to make it out of Midesta the first time and doubt they'd get lucky again. Though Yara was always has a softer approach then his parents. The skunk was glad to hear they let him take charge of running things.

"It ain't that bad, just G.U.N being a bunch of dicks and wanting you lot to close up shop so they can poke their nose around. Guess they knew about Clutch and Mimic here, yet didn't want to share that information with you guys." Surge supposed she should be glad as she was sure they'd throw her and Kit under the bus as well.

"I suppose I should contact my representative in G.U.N to inform them about my punishment for Rough and Tumble. They may not be completely pleased, though my family has always held a good relation with them so I doubt they'll put up much of a fuss about it." Yara supposed it helped the two skunk brothers were rather small time criminals.

[butterflywingswrites]

apologies for not posting for a bit, it felt weird with the stalker information to post this content about caitlin. i figured since she’s now made a few public appearances it would be ok to post (also please send me asks!)

reposting all my anon fics in one place. enjoy 🤗

giving caitlin a massage on vacation part 5

“pretty girl you look a little frustrated” caitlin giggled as she washed her hands. neck kisses and thigh touches then pulling away would’ve made you frustrated. finger sucking then pulling away would’ve made you frustrated. both made you painfully frustrated. literally painful. your clit was throbbing, begging, screaming for caitlin. your pussy was tingling and soaking. your nipples have never been harder. you’ve never wanted anyone so badly in your life

“cait stop being cute. if you don’t touch me, i’ll just have to do it myself” countless times after you and caitlin cuddled while watching tv you had to go into the bathroom to get yourself off after she went to sleep

“can i watch?” she smirked at you

“only if i can watch you” you threw it right back at her, never breaking eye contact through the mirror as you washed your hands. that idea sounded hot as hell and you wouldn’t say no to it… later. right now your body was craving caitlin and only she could satisfy you. you looked down for a second to dry your hands and caitlin was right next to you. she walked forwards and pushed you backwards with her body out of the bathroom and into the little entrance hallway

“oh you think you’re so cute?” her tongue swiped against her lower lip

“i do. and i think you think do too” your back hit the wall “don’t start something you can’t finish”

“i fully intend on making you finish” finally finally finally, she kissed you. it was wet and messy and filthy like this morning but not sweet or slow. she was kissing you hard and fast. it was different than the kiss you enjoyed so much this morning but just as good. you moved your hands up her thighs and onto her ass. she grabbed your hands and brought them over your head

“you took care of me all day today, now it’s time for me to take care of you” despite the way she was just kissing you aggressively and the fact she was pinning both of your wrists to the wall with one of her large hands, her words were soft and-dare you think-affectionate. she resumed kissing you and used the hand that wasn’t pinning you down to grab your tits. she pinched your nipple through her shirt that you were wearing and you squeaked. a literal fucking squeak left your mouth. her effect on you was insane. you both giggled at your squeak

“you like that pretty girl?” all you could do is moan in response as she moved to kissing your neck. the kisses were completely opposite the neck kisses she was giving you earlier. these were hot, open mouthed kisses with an occasional nip of her teeth. after a particularly hard suck where your neck met your shoulder, caitlin released your hands and got on her knees. having a strong powerful woman on her knees for you was fucking hot. especially this woman who you’ve wanted for so long. when she grabbed your left leg and threw it over her shoulder, you knew you were in for it. she kissed your knee and began to kiss slowly up your thigh

“mhmm caity please” you moaned out as you pulled on her hair. she giggled against your thigh

“remember when you took a million years to fuck me this morning by taking time on my thighs? i’m just doing the same to you” sure your clit was throbbing and your underwear was soaked, but this was a pain you were willing to endure. caitlin taking her time on your thigh before eating you out was a dream come true (literally, this was the subject of many of your wet dreams). you stared at her as she lightly sucked and kissed your thigh. at this point you were pretty sure this wouldn’t be a one time thing, but you were still determined to remember this moment as detailed as possible. it was your turn to let out soft moans and sweet whimpers. you hope she enjoyed them as much as you enjoyed hers this morning. hopefully she’ll let you touch her again and you can make her make those beautiful noises again. her right hand gripped your hip and started rubbing your hipbone like she did before she took your dress off earlier. her left hand ran up and down the thigh she wasn’t kissing. you knew she was multi-talented but to have both hands occupied while kissing your thigh was impressive. she spent a good amount of time on the same spot on your thigh, causing you to let out a strained moan

“are you suffering yet? are you aching yet?” caitlin was adamant on making you beg for her

“i’m suffering and aching but unfortunately for you, i like it. spend as much time on my thighs as you want” you would beg for her if she asked, but she didn’t ask. besides, you surely were going to be begging her later. she let out a frustrated moan against your thigh at your words, she was used to getting her way. nevertheless, she continued kissing and sucking on your thigh, moving up super slowly in an effort to torture you. your thigh was going to be covered in marks tomorrow but you couldn’t care less. when she finally got to your underwear but still didn’t get what she wanted, she admitted defeat

“what do you want pretty girl? beg for it”

“caity please” she smirked against your thigh

“please what? use your words”

“please eat my pussy”

“well why didn’t you just say so?” she used the hand that was going up and down your thigh to move your underwear to the side. you let out a large moan of relief and satisfaction when her mouth made contact with your clit. she sucked softly on your clit, surprising you. she was so aggressive this morning and her words made you think she would be the same now. but it wasn’t an unpleasant surprise. you tugged on her hair as she alternated between soft sucks and gentle licks at your clit. you couldn’t hold back your moans even if you tried, but you weren’t trying. you could tell she liked hearing your moans and what kind of friend would you be to deny her something she was clearly enjoying? you let out a particularly loud moan as she moved her attention from your clit to your pussy. she lapped lightly at your wetness but didn’t do more than that. your grip on her hair tightened and you could feel that she was smiling. she knew she had you. fuck it

“i need more” with your admission, she moved her hand to massage your clit and began to eat you out. she was soft and slow but still intense. completely opposite this morning but still incredible. multi-talented indeed. she ate you out until you were about to cum

“say my name pretty girl. say. my. name”

“caitlin!” you screamed as you came. she stood up, her hand still on your hipbone to steady you. again with the wide doe-y eyes and the wet face. you stared at her

“what’s wrong?” she mistook your look of adoration for concern. you giggled

“nothing. you just look pretty with my cum on your face” her jaw dropped and she joined you in your laughter

“just for that, i’m going to make you watch more olympics instead of making you cum again like i planned”

“caitlinnnnn” you whined

“don’t worry, i’m going to make you cum again but now you’ll have to wait” she dragged you to the bed and pulled you into her. that damn tv watching position again. how could you focus on the olympics when she promised to make you cum again and you wanted to touch her so bad? she absentmindedly ran her fingers up and down the inside of your thighs like before, but this time you knew it was on purpose. eventually, she started giving you sweet kisses on your neck. she continued with the thigh touching and neck kissing without doing anything more

“caitlin please” you whined out for her. you proved your point, you were cute with her before, now it was time for her to touch you

“take your underwear off” she basically growled at you. you practically ripped your underwear off and threw them god knows where in the room. you pulled her shirt that you were wearing above your hips. you can’t get that dirty. she put two fingers to your lips again. without hesitation, you let her put them in your mouth

“you like that, huh?” she teased “you like my fingers in your mouth? you’re so dirty. thigh kisser, ab licker, finger sucker. my pretty girl is filthy” she said as if you weren’t already soaking wet despite your orgasm not too long ago. she didn’t need to tease you, you were already beyond ready for her. she pulled her fingers out of your mouth and rubbed them up and down your pussy. she took mercy on you and put her fingers inside you

she curled her fingers up and you practically screamed. her fingers were so long, hitting all the spots you liked with ease. fuck this was even better than you imagined. she kissed your neck as she continued fingering you. your neck was going to be a mess tomorrow, even worse than your thigh. you groaned loudly as she curled her long fingers again. your hand gripped her hand that wasn’t inside you. you slid your fingers between hers, your thumb rubbing her hand. maybe that was too intimate but you were too occupied by her fingers to worry about exposing your crush. with a final curl of her fingers, you screamed her name as you reached your orgasm

she removed her fingers from inside you and made a show of licking them clean. fuck. why was she so fucking hot? your heart starting racing at the fact she didn’t move your hand off of hers. this felt right, like you were supposed to be doing this with her always. you couldn’t wait to touch her. even though you touched her this morning, years of built up wanting made it feel like it’s been longer. she moved out from behind you and got out of bed. you were too fucked out to think about what she was doing. she came back into the room with a damp washcloth

“normally i’d lick you clean but i thought it might overstimulate you” she began wiping you off with the washcloth. lick me clean? fuck. what did you do to deserve this woman? “wow it’s really a mess down here” caitlin laughed

“it’s your fault” you laughed and raised your eyebrows at her

“yeah” she joked “i’m great at this”

“yeah you are” you got serious “that was really fucking good”

“good” she placed the washcloth on the nightstand as she sat down next to you “i’m glad i could make you feel good”

“when you said i was filthy, you got something wrong” you moved you and caitlin so you were straddling her in the middle of the bed

“oh yeah? what’s that? are you not a thigh kisser, ab licker, and finger sucker?”

“oh i am. but you forgot girl kisser”

[ryoubandwagon]

Introducing: Yuki Mutou!

Me and @ninjam117 collabed on making Yugi's grandmama a reality, and then I doodled sketches of her while on call with both @/ninjam117 and @millenniumringg and finally touched those sketches up Sunday. Pretty fun lady. Highlights about her include:

her doting love for Yugi

her hatred of card games

her interest in the spiritual/supernatural + spiritual/supernatural archeology/anthropology stuff

and her detest for most anyone who isn't Yugi (this includes Yami lmao) (Ryou’s an interesting case)

Some further details under the cut:

Quoted recap from @/ninjam117:

“[grandpa] met grandma on one his many adventures and merhaps a anthropologist/spiritualist

So she’s deep into the ghost supernatural side of archaeology

She hates card games

Like video games

One of the fallouts was grandpas card game stuff

Possibly including the blue eyes

One day she just shows up when grandpa isn’t there

And she adores her grandson

Thinks he’s the cutest little butterbean

His friends not so much

Especially Joey

Who is introduced with Tristan cause they happen to be there when she breaks into the shop

So shes nonplussed at the two

And then later when yugi goes to get the puzzle form his room she pulls the whole wait Yugi stay away from that thing

And at first it’s like oh she’s surprised that the puzzle is complete that makes sense but no it’s cause she can tell it’s haunted

And yami tries to reason with her but she just throws salt at him

Cue awkward attempted exorcism scene

Yugi eventually gets her to calm down”

And then there were talked over plans for her, basically including:

A capsule monster special-esque “could be put in between most any big arc” type season/story/arc happening

She can tell Ryou has like huge spooky energy surrounding him but isn’t sure what it is, and tries to get close to him with her “oh you’re so sweet what a nice young man” shtick

Probably runs into Mokuba and Kaiba at some point, snarks at them

Her name’s Yuki because we backwards compatibility’d her name with Yugi’s so Yugi could partially be named after/like his grandmama

She is utterly uninterested in the apparent fame her grandson’s “king of games” title comes with lmfao

Additionally from @/ninjam117:

“She kind of likes Anzu

In that oh you’re the one my grandson had a crush on and look at how tall and strong you are quite the catch you are sort of way

But the minute Anzu starts making heart eyes at yami onto the shit list she goes

How dare you cheat on my grandson with my grandson”

[honeyskiies]

new bot: zayne.

requested?: yes!! by a friend!! they asked for this ages ago and it took me forever to actually make lol

synopsis: he's your safe space. ✧˚ · . vague pre-relationship, loose canon so you can place it wherever you want. zayne was rather used to worrying about your safety, being both your doctor, and friend. though, he knew you could take care of yourself and understood that your job required you to go away for short periods of times. but you normally tell him when you have to leave for a mission, and you're hardly ever gone for more than a few days. but you vanished without a word, and it's been two weeks. he had half the mind to search for you, and probably would have if his own job didn't demand his attention. so to say he was both relieved and worried when you showed up at his place in the middle of the night, clearly exhausted and possibly injured would be an understatement. there's many questions he has for you, but his first priority is to make sure you're okay.

bot greeting is below the cut for any who may be interested, and if you want, you can send any requests you have to this form.

Two weeks. You've been gone for two weeks, and Zayne didn't know what to do. You weren't answering his calls, you weren't even looking at his texts. He was trying to be rational, maybe you had gone out on a mission and you weren't able to contact him?

But the longer you were away, the more antsy he became. He was trying to not let his worry impact his work, but he was starting to lose sleep not knowing where you were.

Are you in trouble? What if you get hurt, and he's not there to help you? He's your doctor, your friend, your…

And after two weeks of not being able to contact you, of not knowing where you were, you show up at his door in the middle of the night. You looked so tired, like you hadn't slept in days.

The moment Zayne registered that it was you, he was grabbing your wrist and pulling you into his home. There were no immediately visible injuries on you, but that didn't make him any less concerned as he brought you to his couch.

His touch was gentle as he pushed you to sit down.

"…Are you hurt anywhere?" He softly asks.

Zayne's hand was still gripping your wrist, ever so gently, almost as if he was scared you'd disappear if he let go. Two weeks without you, and you were here.

He had questions, of course. What happened? Where did you go? Did someone hurt you? Who? So many questions were rushing through his mind, but he knew better than to ask them. Not while you were like this.

Right now, Zayne's only mission was to make sure you were okay. To make sure you get the rest you so clearly needed, and to be a pillar of support.

[evangelifloss]

Hey, I just red your amazing fight analysis and I want to know what you think about the scene where the bartender at the continental bar in the first movie says to John that he looks „vulnerable“. Do you think it’s the look in his eyes or the way he acts or moves ? (Which in my opinion look pretty normal) and how do you think John was before he left the business? Was he more cruel with his kills ?

I'm guessing you mean this scene, right? I hope so because I made this gif JUST for this ask since I LOVE what you've sent in. Thank you @persephone411 💖💖

To answer why the bartender picks up on John's vulnerability without him seemingly displaying any signals, I'll first and foremost use what I know of the later instalments regarding John's behaviour. And that is how much he speaks. Between movies 1 and 2, there's only a 15 word difference in regards to how many lines of dialogue he has (1st movie has 484, 2nd has 499) and for a movie that has a run time of 1 hour and 40-ish minutes, that's not alot of dialogue to begin with.

Take for example, Jack Sparrow from the 1st Pirates of the Caribbean movie. Reading through the script, I counted roughly 490 lines of dialogue from him and that movie has a runtime of 20 minutes LESS than John Wick 1!

So we know that John isn't a talker. Yet, when he finds himself back at the Continental bar, and reunites with the bartender who knows him very well, and given how familiar they are (her excitement at seeing him, a brief hug/cheek kiss) it becomes apparent that John is more... open. He doesn't just order a drink and say nothing else. He engages with her, and expresses, "She (helen) was more than I deserved." Which by all accounts expresses a softer side to John, an admission that he is not impervious to grief. Assassins don't do that. Retired he may still technically be, he is still in a room full of people who are NOT retired, who could overhear and see the man behind Baba Yaga. That sentimentality can get you killed in the Assassin world.

Secondly, his face is sporting a few rough marks, and I very much doubt John the Baba Yaga would show himself at the Continental bar sporting proof he can be injured.

As my final thought, for me personally, it's his tone and his eyes that give away his grief. His inner turmoil that will eventually overflow into a bloody tsunami. The micro-movements of his face as he pauses, when he looks away, and even when he greets her, the man is Tired. The man is not at this point in time, the Baba Yaga.

The second part of your ask is very interesting because we have almost next to nothing to go off of! No prequels (thank god) and barely any direct Lore other than what others speak about John which ironically, is missing direct context which leaves us viewers to speculate.

The John we know is the old John. The grieving John. The Man. We get glimpses of what he used to be, and how characters react upon hearing his name but we never get the Baba Yaga. Not entirely.

Continuing off this, my personal speculation is that John wasn't a vicious killer. He was an incredibly efficient one. You can buy time with a sadist if you are able to withstand them long enough for help to arrive but you cannot do the same towards someone whose only goal is to kill you on sight. As quickly as possible. And that someone also happens to be the best of the best. Combine those two skills and I think that is what makes Baba Yaga so terrifying to those in the underworld. It was enough for Viggo, head of a massive Russian syndicate, to go silent upon hearing the name despite knowing John had been retired for 5 years!!

On another note, and this barely gets touched upon but throughout the movie you come to know that for such a silent and deadly killer, John has a weird amount of people willing to die for him.

The High Table actively discourages and creates a continually hostile environment amongst assassins so that bonds and genuine alliances/friendships can't begin nor be maintained and yet... look how many people are willing to so far for John.

This speaks to the level of respect and integrity John must have to simultaneously be a deadly killer AND to not be hated by everyone.

He does his job well but he is not cruel. He will not endanger unrelated persons if he can help it, he is sincere and loyal.

It's why the High Table fuckin hates him.

[glasvera]

A Healing Hand, A Healed Heart

Adam Warlock x GN!Reader

Description: You're hurt, and on the battlefield, there's only one healer you can trust. But perhaps there's more than just trust between you two?

Warnings: Injuries, but no real gore.

A/N: Yeah so uh... I've been playing Marvel Rivals and I cannot stop staring at the perfection that is this man. Please enjoy this quick one-shot that I needed to get out of my head <3

Word Count: <1k

You were hurt. It wasn’t anything life-threatening, but you couldn’t have guessed that from the look in his blank white stare. Just a few broken ribs, maybe more than a few shallow yet stinging lacerations. But Adam was the closest one to you, and you didn’t trust anyone else’s healing quite as much as you trusted his.

No words were needed once he saw you. He was quick to usher you into the temporary safety of one of the many abandoned buildings nearby. There was an urgency in his gaze that almost had you feeling bad for getting hurt in the first place. For his sake, you do your best to grit your teeth and brace yourself against the pain.

Gentle touches of his golden fingertips hover just over your body, almost as though he were scanning you for the worst of it. His brows knit together, focused as he was on treating you, and you felt your facial features soften for just a moment as you admired the golden man. Then there was a searing jolt of pain in your ribs, drawing out a sharp cry from your throat. The sound almost seemed to hurt him physically, causing him to pull back and wince, though he is quick to steel himself and return to the task at hand.

“You do not have to hide the pain, you know,” he finally speaks softly, beginning the healing process with a simple snap of his fingers. Air almost seems to rush into your lungs as you gasp at the feeling. A golden hand rests on your shoulder, holding you steady so as not to worsen any of your healing wounds. “Though… your concern is touching.”

Ah, right. He often could sense the overwhelming thoughts and emotions that pervade one’s mind. A warmth creeps up your cheeks, and you avert your gaze.

“Adam, I…”

“It is my duty. Besides, I do not mind healing you.”

In a gentler tone, he adds, “I could never abandon you when you are hurt.”

His golden hair flows perfectly, much like the rest of him, as his head turns to the side. It was a simple confession, not even particularly romantic, and yet he seems simultaneously vulnerable and withdrawn after speaking it.

Something in you is drawn to him then, reaching out your now uninjured hands to cup his face. It is his turn to be surprised once again, caught off guard as his milky white eyes widen. Golden lips part slightly as though he were ready to speak, but there is only silence. The sounds of the continuing battle echo in the distance but quickly fade around you. 

“You’re too good to me, you know that?” you whisper softly, the pads of your thumbs brushing delicately across his cheekbones.

If it were possible, you’re fairly certain those golden cheeks would be blushing.

“I-It is… I am simply… I just…”

Words seem to fail him then, and a shuddery breath escapes him. He blinks then, noticing a cut on your cheek. Though he need only snap his fingers, instead he reaches up a hand of his own. He mimics your motion, brushing his thumb across the tiny injury and watching as the flesh stitches itself together under his touch. It’s so intimate, so soothing, and you feel your eyes flutter shut, pressing your cheek further into his hand. When you open them again, you find him staring openly at you, his mouth ever so slightly agape. Having been caught, he clears his throat behind his fist and tries to look away, but your hands keep his head in place, forcing him to look at you.

“Adam…?”

“Forgive me. You are simply…” He huffs a bit, finding annoyance in his inability to find the right words. “I think I quite enjoy looking at you,” he finally admits while his eyes avoid your gaze.

A warm chortle reverberates in your chest. Leaning forward, you press your forehead to his, sliding your hands down his jawline until they come to rest, wrapped behind his neck. During all of this he remains still and unsure. He doesn’t seem to mind your affections at all, but it’s clear that it’s not something he is used to receiving.

Finally, he lowers his hands, placing them gently on either side of your waist. You can feel any lingering soreness in your ribs fade at his healing, tender touch, and it brings a contented sigh to your lips. And, when you look at his face once more, it’s clear that those lips have captivated his attention. Mostly.

“We… we should return to the battle. The others-”

But you would have none of that. Not, at least, until you had done something you had been waiting for what felt like eons to do. Tilting your head to the side, you interrupt his words by pressing your lips softly against his. It’s sweet, chaste, and all too quick, but you do everything you can to pour the warmth of your very soul into it. It’s clear that he senses it with the way he inhales sharply through his nose. His grip on your waist tightens almost painfully as though he’s afraid of ever letting you go.

His eyes are half-lidded and unfocused when you pull away, and you can practically hear the way his heartbeat drums in his chest.

“You’re right. We should probably head back, shouldn’t we?” you echo with a coy smirk tugging at your lips.

Gods, but you were going to be the death of him.

[thatiranianphantom]

the wrong lesson

Glinda

She sings, sometimes. Just little hums under her breath, notes of a melody she barely recognizes. 

It fills the space, sometimes. 

It reminds her of another time, another place. 

The room she occupies (well, she supposifies, they occupy) is large and lush, bigger than two private suites at Shiz put together. 

The Wizard smiles when he shows her, keeps his eyes on her for approval. Morrible does too, that steady, long look as if she expects something in particular. 

Something that feels like unease grows inside of Glinda every time, but that has no place here, so she pushes it down, gushes how perfectly perfect it is. 

It’s so big. There seems to not be enough bags, not enough shopping trips to fill the room, not even a bit. And the vastness….sometimes it feels….a lot, so she sings. 

She used to sing once before, in a smaller dorm room, one with another bed on the other side. 

But that time is over. 

She tries to wheedle Fiyero to spend as many nights here as possible, simply so it doesn’t feel so big. But somehow, it never feels any smaller when he’s there. They simply sleep, they don’t talk. 

She tells him “goodnight, darling,” and the pause before his answer is something she never gets used to. 

He’s still perfect, she tells herself. He’s still devoted to her. Why else would he spend years with her, why else would he ensure Shiz is the school he graduates from, move the Emerald City with her, lead the Gale Force, if he didn’t want to be with her?

No, he does. She knows it. 

This is just what boys are like. He’s happy too. 

Fiyero

It feels like he never stopped bleeding. 

That’s what it feels like all the time now. He feels raw, exposed, cut open for all to see. 

And that in itself feels ridiculous. Why would he not feel like he always does? He barely knew her. They’d interacted only a few times, rarely alone. 

He shouldn’t even remember it. 

Shouldn’t see her smile behind every corner. His heart shouldn’t leap into his throat whenever he sees a flash of green in a corner. He shouldn’t have any trouble being Prince Fiyero Tigelaar, the boy everyone wants. 

But it’s as if it’s a mask, and it simply doesn’t fit anymore. Putting it on is exhausting, painful. He feels it cut into his skin, feels the rawness it leaves behind. It bleeds every day, and it feels like nobody sees it, but it is all he can feel. 

Glinda does nothing to soothe it. Her touch feels like something else to pretend about, something else to lie about. 

And he can’t find her. 

He’s looked everywhere, talked to everyone, tried so hard to parse the rumors from fact, but she’s just gone. Sometimes he’ll follow a more friendly Animal, check another outpost, feel his heart pounding when it feels like he may be getting close. Feel warmth wash over him, feel relief begin to penetrate his bones. 

And then she’s not there and he feels so cold. 

He feels like he’s living two lives, and not being particularly good at either. He knows the Animals deserve better, deserve someone who puts them at a higher priority, but he can’t arouse suspicion and he can’t give up looking for her. 

He knows Glinda deserves better, someone who cares. But he can’t give up the status he attained, can’t give up his post when it’s the only good thing he can do. The only thing that makes him feel closer to her. He’s rarely there with Glinda, is aware of how distant and cold he is to her, but he simply does not have that warmth inside him anymore. He can’t give her up but he doesn’t want her. 

He wishes, sometimes, for the boy that could so easily dance his way through life. That Fiyero, the one of only a few years ago, feels so long gone. Feels like he slipped away when a cowardly cub scratched his head and a long, green finger touched the wound. Feels like his life split then, and he knows neither how to go back nor how to go forward. Simply reeling in place, bleeding.