#and yanno what he is ALWAYS a good kid

[skinreflectsthesun]

I swear the next person to ask me why my son is cranky and whiny I’m just gonna turn to them and say “he must just not like you 🤷🏻‍♀️”

[melinoelliones]

Jax NSFW Alphabet

I don't even know how I managed to forget to do his NSFW Alphabet... So anyways here it isss

Jax - Heat Part 2 is coming btw!!! It's almost done. Click here to read Jax Heat Part 1 if you haven't read already!

What I think he would do may not align with what YOU think he would do! I have tried to make this mostly gender neutral but I fear I slipped a bit of x Fem Reader is there. Also sorry for the ugly banner, his png's aren't great lmao.

My writing skills have fallen off since I've been off for like what 2 months, but I am working on getting better!!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jax is the type to talk over what you guys just did in bed, maybe mock you a bit but it always follows up with him smothering you in kisses and ass grabs. His large grin shows as he pulls you closer knowing you get embarrassed when he mocks you. 

“?!&% ?!&% ?!&%, feels so good” he moans out, mocking your previous words as you hide your head into his chest in hopes that you’ll disappear from this world. “I’m just kidding babe, you’re so hot when you do it. Lets me know i’m doing it right yanno” he jested, slapping his hand against your ass before pulling you tighter into his chest.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Jax likes his hands the most. Them in contrast to your body drives him crazy, and seeing his fingers in you is insane.

His favourite part of you would be your stomach or thighs for sure. He’s a thighs guy, what can I say. When you and the guys are hanging out, he is 100% sitting with his head on your thighs or just between your legs like its nothing.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Anywhere and everywhere. He loves to cover you in it, your perfect body being defiled by his cum is everything to him. Only he gets to do that to you, you’re his property and he can do whatever he wants with it.

He also just likes filling you with it, after rounds and rounds he gets to watch it slowly try and seep out of your precious holes.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He enjoys watching you get off, he could sit and watch like it was a tv show. Bonus points if he can guide you through it, making you edge yourself until you ignore his commands and he has to come over and punish you.

His oral fixation comes in waves, having your tits in his mouth is like heaven. He will never tell a single soul that, even you, but we all know it. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

A part of me wants to say that in the outside world he’s a raging virgin, now he’s in the circus so he can just go crazy.

But another part of me wants to say he’s super experienced, but he’s never been with someone like you. Not even in a stereotypical way, but he’s just not usually into you as a type.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

Mutual masterbation where ya’ll are side by side. From time to time he’ll just slide his free hand over to your body and play with it too.

Doggy but he’s so unserious with it. He’ll put his foot up by your head to make sure to get as deep as he can into you.

Cowgirl/riding and reverse cowgirl for sure. His hands are so large that they can carry your body with ease, so being in these positions means when he wants me he can just place them above your hips and slam you into him. Then he gets to watch your stomach bulge out with each stroke and your face contort.

“?!&%, well would you look at that” Jax hissed, skimming his fingertips across your stretched skin as he took in the sight of the bulge protruding from your stomach. 

Jax let out a small chuckle before grabbing your hand and placing it over the hump, “you feel that doll? You feel how full you are hmm?”. Your glossy eyes glanced into his as he began to thrust into you, your palm rising and falling with each one.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He can be humorous but most times I don’t even think it’s intentional.

Like if he was to say “woahhh, easy there tiger. If you go that fast you’ll cum before me, and you know that's not allowed”. I’d probably laugh but he’s dead serious.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Canonically… probably none.

To ME, he wouldn’t care to keep himself trimmed up nice. It’s a bit crazy down there but I don’t care.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He can be both super romantic and just zoned in.

“?!&% babe keep going, my cock feels so good in that pretty throat of yours”

“Oh you poor thing, are you tired? But I’m not finished with you yet, so looks like we have a little bit longer to go”

“You’re mine, my personal fuck toy remember? So come over here, let me use your body for a bit”

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Why would he get off himself when he has you? You can fulfill every need and more at any given time.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Dacryphilia for sure, he mocks you for crying but he want more always

“Are you crying?” he cooed, grinning as he looked down at your sweet face, your tears mixing with your saliva at the corners of your lips.

“Awww you poor thing, bit off more than you can chew did we? Better finish off what you started, you’re doing so well, I’ll make sure to paint that pretty little throat of yours white” Jax growled, caressing your damp lower face with his hand and sliding his cock deeper down your throat, your gargles slowly inching him closer and closer to ecstasy. That and the fact he could see you rubbing your thighs together for your own enjoyment.

Overstimulation and edging for sure, he’s the ultimate tease. There are days he will make you edge yourself over and over again until you can’t any longer, just to then take over and overstimulate you till your body is a mess.

Free use and CNC 100% You guys have nothing but spare time, so having you at his disposal at all times is perfect. He doesn’t care the location, who’s around or who could come around. If he wants it, he’ll have it, and everyone else will have to deal with it.

“B~But Gangle is looking for us J~Jax”, “So? Why the hell do I care? That crybaby won’t say a word regardless. I want to fill you up right here and now n no one will stop me from doing so” he vowed, unbuckling his overalls with one hand and leaning you over the railing with the other.

L = Location (favourite places to do they do)

Anywhere, he legit does not care where. He does enjoy public places though as he enjoys watching your nervous face when you hear the others roaming around, and he gets to feel you clench around him as they get closer due to fear.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You being a brat, he likes to fuck the brat out of you. 

Also just when you’re super needy, your body listens well when it wants something.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Toys on himself, he really isn’t into it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Is it bad if I say his preference is receiving? Not saying he doesn’t give, but he prefers to get head.

“Ugh fine, stop with the frowning already and come over here before I change my mind” Jax huffed, rolling his eyes as he gestured for you to go to him. Sometimes he would act as if he didn’t want it, but he thoroughly enjoyed having you on his face, your thighs encasing his face as he got to play with you. 

“Remember dollface, I’m the one in control here, so I’ll have you here until all you can focus on is my tongue against you”

He enjoys head, so much so that he just has to fuck you after every time.

“?!&% you did so good, so ?!&%ing good baby” he breathlessly huffed, tangling a large portion of your hair into his hand and sliding you off of his dripping cock, a mixture of spit and cum still connecting you to it as he yanked you up. 

Before you could even really comprehend what was going on, your lips met his, resulting in the neediest of kisses. You hadn’t even had a chance to take a breath before, both of your hands now roughly exploring eachothers bodies, you both wanted nothing more than to be one.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Both. Sometimes he just needs to be balls deep in you, crashing into you with no remorse. Other times he likes to take it slow and and make sure you feel every touch.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Daily. Not much else to do is there.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

All the time, again, y'all have endless time so why not?

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can go like 4-5 rounds back to back, others just 2 but a load of oral in between.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

On you he loves them, especially the vibes. Making you have one on you while you guys are with the others is like entertainment for him. Having to watch you squirm in silence while the others stare, oblivious as to why you're so antsy. 

“Are you okay? You’re acting like Pomni right now?”, “They’re fineeee, aren’t you? Go on, tell them” Jax jested, turning up the vibe as you went to open your mouth, knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to form a straight sentence with it that high.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

To the point that it could drive one insane.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He isn’t too loud but he likes to dirty talk, he knows it turns you on.

“Does my cock feel that good? You’re drooling”

“Go on, cum on this cock. Make sure everyone knows it’s yours”

“You think Caine can see us right now hmm? Lets put on one hell of a show for him, I know he probably has one hell of a filthy mind. If he didn’t, wouldn’t he have stopped up by now?”

“You’re so ?!&%ing lucky I can’t breed you in this place”

“Do you want the others to hear you? Because you aren’t too good at holding your tongue”

“I’m gonna fill you up nice and good, only I can violate this, it’s mine”

“Stop covering your mouth, I need to hear how well I fuck you”

W = Wild card (a random dirty headcanon for the character)

He wants to watch you fuck someone else, just so he can see how pathetic they are at making you feel good. Only he can make you cum, only he knew your sweet spots and what you liked. You’re practically molded to him, you are his and no one will compare, but he wants to watch someone try.

Jax watched as one of the NPC’s he had snuck in frantically fucking you, your fake moans only making him sigh heavily in the chair at the end of the bed. He was almost getting annoyed at the fact that this NPC was barely even trying, he was just using your body at this point. 

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll make sure you actually cum” Jax reassured, caressing your cheek before making his way to your legs, “A* for effort but you’re done” he scowled, shoving the NPC aside before he could even consider defiling your body any further.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Its girthy and long. It took you a long time to get use to, but now nothing else can satisfy you.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It can go from wanting it everyday to just tired of it.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

It can be pretty instant after the aftercare, but even while asleep his body still pulls you into him for security.

[mournings-stars]

Alright so let's go with fluff for my fave angels Adam and lute

How would they react with their gf who's a magnet for kids?

Her ass would say that she's not fit to be a mom but kids immediately gravitate towards them and labels her as their mother figure, in mere minutes after they had met her

It'd be so adorable

"I don't know if I'll be a good mom." Then you see her giving a kid, whom she just met, piggy back rides. Like, they instantly trust her?? How????

i totally forgot this was in my drafts guys i swear im coming back LMFAOLO anyway this request is cute asl and i went a lil off topic but trust its still fluff

so first up we got adam

so adam is actually a kid person… once you’ve been around him a while

don’t get me wrong, he calls them “little shits” “gremlins” “hellspawn” whatever he can come up with, but he does want his own — like he was created for this… which when you think about it makes you a little more nervous because he would arguably be a good father in your eyes (idk ab arguably but just roll w me) just based off of this information right? you, on the other hand, weren’t made for this

“do you think i’d be a good mom?” you’d ask one day, totally out of the blue, and adam would probably choke on his own spit. “are you pregnant?” would be his first question, expression not giving away any kind of feeling he would have if you were. when you shake your head, he sighs and that makes you feel worse

but, like, it’s adam — he didn’t mean to make you feel bad, and he definitely thinks you’d be a good mom so after a while, sometime later that day, he’ll bring it up again cause he can tell you were overthinking things

“you know, if you were… yanno,” his eyes went to your stomach, “i’d be really fucking stoked.” and he kinda doesn’t know what you’re upset about, which is completely evident when he mentions how much of a milf you’d be before telling you how good of a mom you’d be, but at least he got there! and he made you laugh in the process

whenever you’re talking to an angel with a kid, adam will point out how the kids are always drawn to you; asking questions, talking with you, and even giving you hugs when you leave

he would not let you go on thinking you’re going to be a bad mom, like if you do ever express that you think you would be a bad mom, he’s not taking you seriously. “why don’t i put a baby in you and we can find out?” is his response, and, “adam!” is yours as he just shrugs

lute on the other hand

maybe you’re already working with kids, like you might work close with the church’s daycare or do some work (not teaching) at a school, so even though you don’t work directly with kids, you still see them often and that really makes you want a child of your own

when you tell lute this, you also tell her your worries about not being a good mom. at first she doesn’t say much, not wanting to invalidate your feelings… but she thinks they’re stupid

instead she talks to the daycare or school and sets you up with one of the programs after your usual shift, making another angel take the day off so that you had to cover for them on short notice

she’d come to bring you a snack in the middle of your shift and just see how good you are with the kids, reading to, playing with, and talking to them while they were just so drawn to you and wanting every bit of your attention

she’d definitely help you out, enjoying the opportunity to play house with you as you showed her what to do. then she’d stay until it was their nap-time. she didn’t bother saying what was obvious, knowing she’d proved your doubts wrong just by the way you smiled and laughed with the children

[francixoxoxo]

BILLY THE KID BASED OFF OF TAYLOR SWIFTS SONG ‘you belong with me’

Like he doesnt realize readers feelings for him because maybe hes caught up with some horrible girl but then ends up with reader after reader silently pining for forever 💕💕

You belong with me⋆.˚𖥔

Billy the Kid x fem!reader

desc; Billy mistakes infatuation for love, choosing another woman over you. You try to keep your feelings for him stifled, as you always have. But you can’t just stand by and watch him be played.

𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐬𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐱𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨 𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞! 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐢 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐗𝐨𝐱𝐨

You loved Billy since you could remember.

Even when you first met him, shooting empty bottles off a fence, you found him handsome. Though you watched from afar, sitting in the crook of your claimed oak tree, you could see the practiced skill in his movements. He wasn’t doing anything fancy, wasn’t showing off. Just a young man practicing his aim.

The second day he came to that field, dotted with daisies and wildflowers, he noticed you and Introduced himself. Struck up conversation with the pretty girl up in the tree, reading away. Wasn’t long until he spent more time talking with you than shooting, wasn’t long at all until you knew everything about him and he knew everything about you in turn. A few months until attraction turned into love.

Billy trusted you with information he wouldn’t even tell Jesse, that later on he wouldn’t even tell Charlie or the Regulators. Information he would’ve taken to the grave, had you not come along. And you told him things you never dreamed somebody would lend their ears to. You never loved someone like you loved Billy. You held out hope that he loved you the same. Held out hope for many, many months that as the seasons changed, so would his feelings.

Your hopes were shot when Billy came to the field, full of glee as he sat down beside you against that old oak tree. “What’s got you smiling so hard?” You furrowed your brows, smiling at him. You hadn’t seen him in at least a week. “Where’ve you been?”

“Met a girl.” Billy couldn’t keep his joy to himself. He took off his hat, putting it behind his head as he leaned against the tree and sighing like a wistful teenage girl. You felt anything but euphoric. Your stomach sank to your knees, quite frankly. “She’s great, just great. You’d love ‘er, yanno. I— well, I think I love ‘er.”

You felt like throwing up. Truly sick to the stomach, not even trying to put on a smile. “Love her.” You repeated. He nodded, eyes wide as saucers. He was serious as death, wasn’t he? Oh, God. “How long have you— Who’s ‘her’?” You traded the first question for the most important in your spinning mind.

“Joan.” Billy said the name like it had been the only one he remembered how to say. You swallowed hard.

“Joan Black.” You breathed. You knew her. Your fathers were good friends, actually. She was a sweet girl. Beautiful, too. Oh, you really felt ill at the way he beamed and nodded. “That’s nice.”

It was not nice. Billy’d known her for a week, you found out after you circled back. Walked her home from the market when he saw she had three bags to carry all on her own. One week. One week, and he said he loved her? You felt like something had been torn from deep within you before you could truly appreciate it. Well. You couldn’t be upset, could you?

He wasn’t yours to begin with. So you bit your tongue to stifle a scream, to muffle a good telling-off about the difference between puppy-love infatuation and true, deep love. You sat through excruciating stories and ramblings about Joan for weeks. Painfully sweet descriptions of her dark hair, her gentleness, her apparently expansive knowledge of just about everything. You tried to brush off obvious red flags, because you didn’t want to seem jealous. Which you shouldn’t be.

Because he wasn’t yours to begin with.

What hurt most was that Joan seemed to be a good girl. You couldn’t blame Billy for finding her attractive, both in looks and personality. You tended to beat yourself up over that, until Joan and her father called on your father. It had been maybe two weeks since Billy broke the news to you. While the men talked in the sitting room over a bottle of whiskey, you had the chance to chat with Joan. You let her sit in your favorite rocking chair on the porch, trying to keep from glaring at her, from judging every hair on her head.

You’d never been so jealous. It was vile, the way you thought of her! She was just another girl who’d fallen head over heels for Billy, wasn’t she? You two should’ve gotten along. You opted to bond over him. “I heard ‘bout you and Billy. How’s that going?” The words were like bile on your tongue despite your sugary tone.

Joan shrugged, fixing her dark curls over her shoulder and smiling knowingly. “He’s all-right.” You couldn’t help furrowing your brows.

“Just all-right?”

“Well. He’s like a puppy dog, s’ almost annoyin’.” She rolled her eyes, smirking in good fun. As if this was just girl talk. You felt your stomach wrap itself into tangles. All you managed was a meek, “Oh.”

But she continued over your lame response, “I’m kinda twixt men right now, yanno? There’s Billy, sure… But you know David Peña? The ranchers son?”

It took you a moment to collect yourself enough to speak. What the Hell? Joan had a man like Billy, and she couldn’t accept just that? She just had to have it all, didn’t she? Oh, your blood was bubbling over, you wouldn’t be surprised if you looked down to find your dress stained crimson. “Yeah.” Joan looked at you expectantly, as if she wanted more of a response, so you shifted uncomfortably and nodded. “Peña’s handsome.” You really had to swallow down the bile in your throat to say, “I don’t blame you for wanting both.”

You absolutely did blame her. Billy being taken hurt you, but if you couldn’t have him then you’d atleast want it to be a woman who’d treat him right. You’d at least want to be able to admit that she was better than you. Joan smiled appreciatively, going on to talk about something you couldn’t care less about.

All you could feel was a strange.. satisfaction. It was selfish. So, so unbelievably selfish of you. But this meant that you hadn’t been bested. Joan wasn’t the better woman for Billy, not even close. It meant that you may have a chance.

Your hopes soared as you met Billy at the oak tree again. You weren’t sure how to break it to him, and suddenly, when you were looking into his eyes, you felt awful. How could you have been happy? Joan’s infidelity would crush his heart. What was a chance at being Billy’s girl when he’d be heartbroken?

Atleast, you felt bad until you finally got the words past your lips, and he looked at you like you were the devil. His jaw ticked, his eyes harshening as he stood up and told you, “Joan’d never. Don’t you say that about her, goin’ ‘round spreadin’ rumors ‘bout my girl.”

You’d been furious. But you swallowed it down along with every other emotion you felt about Joan. You remember shaking your head. “Do what you want. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” he mirrored you, shaking his own head and huffing like a stubborn bull. When he stormed off, you’d only see him again in passing glances in town. Oh, did that hurt you. You should’ve kept your mouth shut. But you couldn’t bear the thought of such a good man as Billy being mistreated. Now he must’ve hated you for such a silly reason as talking badly about Joan.

He must’ve told Joan about it as well, because her eyes seemed locked in a perpetual glare at you. When her father called on yours again, she didn’t accompany him. Whatever. She wasn’t exactly a friend of yours, anyway. What you really mourned was the loss of Billy’s friendship. You considered it good as dead.

Though, when your father told you to put on a nice dress and come with him to a party Joan’s family was putting on, your hopes soared despite yourself. As you brushed a comb through your tresses, your mind dreamt up scenarios of running into Billy again. Maybe he’d forgive you for slandering Joan (even though it was for his own good!) and, in your wilder dreams, would confess that Joan was no good for him, and sweep you into his arms, kiss you like the fairytales…

You were being daft. Stupid. You put your hair into a neat bun, sighing at your reflection. Billy just couldn’t see that you were the one for him. Perhaps that was selfish, but lately you were finding that you were more selfish than you thought.

As soon as you arrived, a few daughters or other well-to-do ranchers and businessmen swarmed you, beckoning you to sit with them. You were actually grateful for the company. Though you were having a nice time, you didn’t see Billy anywhere. Your hopes stayed high, eyes darting around the room and training on any dark-haired man. None of them were him.

Joan, on the other hand, arrived soon after you. You couldn’t help staring at her as she kept to the edges of the room, talking to a girl you knew when you were young. You couldn’t decide whether to be disappointed that Billy wasn’t with her or sick that her other man must’ve been.

You forced yourself to avert your eyes when said man sauntered up to her, greeting her with a kiss to the cheek. Why did you do this to yourself? You shouldn’t have cared so much for a situation that— Billy had made very clear— didn’t involve you. But you cared for Billy. Even if he wanted nothing to do with you, you wouldn’t stop desperately wanting him to be happy.

You hesitantly sipped a mock-tail one of the girls had given you, pushing away thoughts of him, trying to have a good time. That was, until you felt a hand ghosting on your shoulder, and threw your head over it to see Billy, looming over you from behind the couch and smiling crookedly down at you. God, did he look handsome. He was wearing that navy hat, shading his eyes yet not hiding the beautiful azure of them. He was dressed well, too, not to the nines as you and practically everybody else in the room, but as good as an outlaw could get. A new navy button-up, a black vest and even a neck scarf. His clothes were only a ribbon, anyway, a neat little bow tying off the strikingly handsome man wearing them. Who, did you mention, was smiling at you for the first time in weeks?

“Hey. Long time no see.” Billy said it with a grin in his voice, so easily, like it was nothing. It was everything to you. You bit back a snarky Whose fault is that? In favor of smiling and nodding almost shyly. Words seemed impossible with how tight your chest was from happiness. You thought you caught him glancing you over quickly, your pretty dress and up-do. Billy threw you a little wink and nodded politely at the other girls around you. “Hope y’ladies don’t mind if I borrow her a sec?”

The girls nodded passionately, smiling and raising their brows at you in mixtures of second-hand excitement, congratulation and surprise. You set down your drink, excused yourself, and let Billy guide you to the porch. You gave Joan another look, grateful that she was busy.

“What is it?” You couldn’t help picking at your nails, pinching your brows. God, this was all so nerve wracking.

Billy stopped only a foot in front of you, his jaw tensing and his gaze flicking away for a brief moment. When those brilliant, gorgeous eyes settled on you, with so much intensity, you almost felt weak in the knees. “I wanted t’say m’sorry for bein’ so cold. It was petty of me. And wrong.”

Damnit. You wanted to be mad. You wanted to yell at him for treating you so badly for just looking out for him, but… you couldn’t. Damn him for being such a mature man. Looking up at his expression, his eyes, the set of his mouth, (you shouldn’t be looking there!) he was so sincere. He wasn’t staring at you expectantly, he wasn’t waiting for your forgiveness because he wasn’t apologizing to receive it— he was apologizing to apologize.

You weren’t too in love to be honest even with how hard your heart was thumping. You’d been waiting for so long for those words to slip from his lips, too long to let them pass by with a simple it’s okay. “It hurt. I never meant to upset you, Billy, I was just..”

Billy shook his head, reaching a gentle hand to your forearm before letting it slip just as fast, as if remembering something. “Y’didnt deserve that. Y’were just tryna help, I shoulda known that. I shoulda known you were just misled.”

You pressed your lips at that. Sure, you had your apology, but he still didn’t believe you. “I wasn’t misled.” You huffed, and Billy didn’t reply. His eyes brushed you up and down, but you didn’t lose become shy this time. “I’m serious. Joan isn’t good for you.”

Billy sighed your name, a bit exasperated but trying his very best to be polite. He shook his head, those baby blues bare and honest. “Why don’t you like her?” You opened your mouth to protest but he lifted a hand and huffed. “No, I can tell. Since the beginnin’ you haven’t liked her any further than you can throw her.”

“Because, Billy, she’s not an honest girl!” You scoffed, crossing your arms. Realizing you’d raised your voice, you took a breath and muttered a lame apology. “You barely know her, n’ you already trust her. You don’t have any reason to, if anything you have reason to hate her!”

Billy’s eyes were buggy, staring down at you in shock at this outburst of passion. But you wouldn’t give him a chance to reply. If anything, you stepped closer. He didn’t backpedal. “You deserve a girl who wouldn’t take advantage of you. She’s playing you, Billy, and I’m sorry for overstepping but I can’t stand by and let you devote yourself to somebody who won’t do the same!”

Billy turned his cheek a bit, eyeing you as if seeing something new. Something he didn’t exactly mistrust, but something so unbelievably foreign in you that he couldn’t help being skeptical if he was seeing it at all. Suddenly his gaze was so honest, so raw and searching you felt a bit self conscious, that gumption wearing off to fumes.

“I am the woman who wants you to win, and I’ve been waiting for you to love me.” You breathed, swallowing hard you wondering if you might’ve gone too far. You’d only just gotten Billy back a minute ago, and here you were jeopardizing the most important friendship you’ve ever had. “You belong with me.”

The friendship of the most important man in your life.

The man who was staring down at you, close as he could be without blatantly touching you, his brows furrowed and his eyes raw. opening his mouth to speak but being oh so cruelly cut off by a man barging outside.

“Charlie?” The name was put to the face as Billy eventually and reluctantly turned his head to him.

Charlie had a remorseful expression, beckoning Billy inside. “You’re gonna wanna see it f’yerself.” When Billy stepped inside, you trailed after him, expecting a commotion but not finding one. Just a beautiful, dark haired woman kissing a mediocre (to say the kindest) man.

“What the fuck?” Billy breathed, stomping closer and shoving Peña off Joan roughly, his nostrils flared. He looked to Joan with wide eyes, huffing, “Joan? Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

Now there was a commotion. Socialites stared and chattered, Joan desperately tried to explain a situation that didn’t need explanation. Much less such a feigned one. “Billy, he’s not— oh, it’s not what it looks like!”

Billy shook his head, rubbing his temple and throwing a look over his shoulder to you. Maybe he was expecting an I told you so, but you didn’t give him one. You frowned deeply, hoping that your eyes were enough of an apology for the time being.

If it wasn’t a scene a moment ago, it certainly was now. All the room’s eyes were on the three, and Billy must’ve known that, because he muttered something to Joan to be kept twixt them. Her face fell, and she reached out for him, but he was already storming to the door. Now it seemed to be Peña’s turn to be upset with Joan, but before you could see anything else your father grabbed your elbow and declared it was time to leave— A blessing or a curse, you were too confused to say.

But one thing that reared its ugly head through the blur was heartache. Heartache for Billy. You’d warned him, you had every right to feel righteous, but you loved the man too much for his pain to be anything but excruciating. Even if this opened the door for you, how could you be certain Billy wouldn’t close it for fear of another broken heart?

The next day, you returned to the field and the oak tree. Maybe you were expecting Billy to show up, because you didn’t bring your book. You simply tied your Appaloosa to the tree, sitting in the overgrown grass and looking out over the plains. They were dotted with wildflowers this time of spring, dappled yellows, purples and whites. It wasn’t long until you heard hoofbeats, as you expected to, making you quickly rise to your feet and dust off your riding pants. You picked against your cuticles as you watched Billy tie his quarter-horse to the tree with yours.

“I’m sorry about Joan.” You blurted the moment he came close, watching him adjust the brim of his hat. That easy smile he wore faltered.

“Not your fault, sweet. If anything it’s m’own fault for bein’ so dumb.” There went those brilliant blue eyes, flicking over you and making your belly erupt in butterflies. “You’ve been the one person on my side since the beginnin’. And I didn’t appreciate you.”

You shook your head passionately, pinching your brows and training your own eyes on your boots. You had to change the subject before your heart gave out. “You still love her, though?”

Billy shook his head and snorted. Actually snorted, as if anything about this was funny. You hadn’t realized he was so close until he used a bent finger to tilt your chin up. “Puppy love, m’ realizin’.”

If his hand were to drift to your neck he’d find your pulse frozen. That gentle set of his lips, the subtle draw of his draw brows, shaded by the brim of his hat— Oh, Christ. You were always comfortable around Billy. But something about the air here was charged. Your words on the porch rang in his head like the echo of a birdsong, he just couldn’t help confront them.

“But this ain’t that, is it?” Billy mumbled, as if the words were a secret twixt you two. Your eyes widened, you had to swallow down any rash words. Rash words like I love you. Your mind was swimming, until Billy’s hand moved to your rosy cheek. Something about the touch made everything still.

“No.” You admitted gently. That hat was casting too deep a shadow over his handsome face in the noon light, and you reached forward to tilt it upward. Much better. “It’s never been puppy love.”

The corner of Billy’s lips pulled a bit. Once again you’d disregarded just how close he was, because when his nose nudged yours, you sucked in a soft gasp that made his eyes flick up to yours. He made a move to back away, your anxiety jumping at even the slight movement, as if he’d run away and never come back. Your hand flew to the back of his neck, your lips crushing against his as you pulled him down to your level.

The kiss was not bruising. It was not demanding. His lips were just as lovely as you dreamt, slightly chapped and warm. This kiss as ardent and loving as you’d read in the fairytales. This kiss was honest.

So of course you went for more the moment he pulled away. You had nostrils for a reason— and Billy had no problem with kissing you until his chest was tight. By the time your lips disconnected, his hand was strong on the small of your back, the other threaded in your hair.

Billy let out the softest laugh after a moment, you couldn’t help breathlessly giggling. Here was everything you’d ever wanted, in your arms, pressing another kiss against the corner of your mouth and smiling broadly. You were the woman who loved him all along, and now he was the man who loved you just the same.

“What took you so damn long?” You couldn’t help jest, wrapping your arms around his neck (with only your toes on the earth, mind). Billy shook his head, that grin softening to a sweet smile that barely pulled his lips over his teeth.

“What, y’don’t like my timin’?” Billy squeezed his arms tighter around you at the sweet sound of your laugh.

You pressed another peck to his lips, unable to resist for a moment now that you’d gotten a taste. “No, not one bit.”

“When would’ve suited your schedule better, miss?” Billy cocked an eyebrow, nose nudging your cheekbone a bit. Oh, you could get used to this.

You pursed your lips in thought. “Last year.” You decided, making Billy’s grin grow impossibly until his eyes crinkled along with it. He hummed thoughtfully, lifting you up with the arm ‘round your back and giving you a little spin that drew sweet giggles from your lips. “That so, lil’ lady?”

Billy didn’t set you down without another, lingering yet chaste, kiss. “Better make up for m’mistakes, yeah?”

Idk how I feel abt this one but it cured my writers block so thank you for the ask!!!

Bonus points if you can clock the Fiona Apple lyric lol

[greenlantrns]

cg ! jason todd one-shot

summary: you lose your favorite stuffed animal and jason goes through great and semi-embarrassing lengths to get them back to you.

tw: jason is a crime boss, so yanno. expect allusions to crime boss activities and a sprinkling of swear words.

The thing was, on average Jason did his best to keep his two lives — so to speak — completely separate. He didn’t even like wearing clothes home if the Red Hood had worn them all night which sometimes meant changing from one pair of sweats and a hoodie into another pair of sweats and a hoodie. There was a big red line drawn in the sand when it came to you and your home together and the rest of his business.

Still, sometimes things happened. Like for example, an unexpected move. For a long time you’d lived in a one bedroom apartment just the two of you. You alternated between sleeping on the couch, the floor, and Jason’s bed because you had that annoying kid ability to sleep comfortably just about anywhere and that had worked until it hadn’t. After finding you asleep on the counter slumped against the refrigerator Jason had decided that if you were going to stay — and he sure as hell hoped you’d stay — you needed a bedroom.

You’d been living in your new place for a solid week before either of you noticed what was missing. Your stuffie was something you kept under wraps, tucked behind your pillow until nighttime. You didn’t often carry him around unless you were feeling particularly small or particularly fussy and so it made sense that in all the excitement of a move you hadn’t noticed their absence for a few days.

That said the calm before the storm never lasts and Jason wasn’t fully prepared for how forlorn a kid could look for hours on end and for days at a time. This was no regular pout, he was convinced.

Jason had tried to look for the thing. He’d turned their new place upside down searching and then some. He’d gone through boxes once and then twice, he’d turned pillow cases inside out and couch cushions upside down.

It wasn’t until you made a single sniffly little comment that Jason’s life flashed before his eyes.

“What if we left him behind Jay?” You’d asked in that pitifully small voice and Jason had winced internally — likely externally too but he liked to believe he had a better poker face than that.

It wasn’t as if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind it was just that— well, their old place was already in use at the moment.

After moving out of their one bedroom Jason had felt oddly sentimental about the crummy old place. Sure they had outgrown it but it wasn’t like he didn’t have the funds to keep up with rent. On top of that seeing as it had once been his home and not just some random base of operations there were only a few people that even knew the place existed.

It’s anonymity had made it a perfect place to set up his primary ‘office’ if you will. It was a perfectly good space that was unknown to those who were apart of the larger operation that could function as a rest stop and meeting ground for those of his men that he trusted the most.

If the thing was there than Jason was pretty screwed.

He grimaced. “I’m sure we didn’t, kiddo.”

Your lip looked wobbly and although you hated to cry Jason could tell you’d been barely fending off tears since you’d realized you stuffed animal was gone. He thought he’d been prepared for the dam to break but fuck if it wasn’t hard as hell to sit there and watch the tears slowly well in your eyes.

Jason wasn’t always the most physically demonstrative. Sometimes his body felt like it was on auto pilot; after the pit it sometimes didn’t even feel like his body was his at all. It didn’t bother him much if he didn’t think about it but it did make physical affection a bit difficult.

He tried his damndest for you though and you never seemed to care about the stilted affection Jason had to offer just as long as he was there. With unsure hands Jason pulled you into his side.

“I’ll find your friend, I promise,” He murmured.

You pulled back and wiped hastily at your eyes as you narrowed your gaze to look up at him. “How can you promise, what if he’s gone with our old house forever?”

“Well,” Jason paused. He hadn’t planned on sharing the fact that he still technically owned — or rented — their old place. He thought it’d bring up too many questions and he’d prefer you to be as ignorant as possible to his nightly goings on. “I still have keys to our old place and some of my friends live there now.”

You tilted your head while you considered his words. “You got friends?”

Jason scoffed and thwacked you on the nose gently. “Yes, I have friends smartass.”

That elicited the smallest of smiles and Jason nearly slumped in relief after about a week of frowns and near tears. Jason planned to go later and preferably alone but before he knew it you were practically catapulting off the couch. You’d tossed your blanket to the ground and were searching frantically for your shoes even though you were still in pajamas.

“Just leave your mess why don’t you!” Jason called as he sighed and picked up the blanket you’d discarded on the floor. “kids like a little tornado.”

Jason heaved himself up from the couch and went to wait by the door trying his hardest not to relax into the hands-on-hips-exasperated-dad stance that was becoming more and more natural to him the longer you were around.

“Ready!” You shouted as you skidded to a halt in front of him. You’d thrown a sweatshirt on over your pajama pants that absolutely belonged to Jason and on your feet were a pair of winter boots. Jason raised an unimpressed brow as you grinned up at him.

“It’s a bit late for you to be out don’t you think?”

“Nuh uh!” You insisted. “Gotta find my friend, Jay.”

Jason crossed his arms. “I’m not taking you out in the middle of the night, you forget where we live?”

A pout was forming but Jason tried resolutely to ignore it. “But Jay,” your voice had taken on that soft, pitiful quality again and Jason felt his resolve wearing.

“This is Gotham, kiddo,” He emphasized again but your puppy dog eyes didn’t waver and dammit he was becoming a pushover.

He quickly began to rationalize in his head. Their old place wasn’t far, they could probably walk but it’d be incrementally safer to get a cab. Jason knew he had guys in the apartment at the moment but they were his most trusted for a reason, right? Jason’s sigh was long suffering as he held out his arms.

“You’re not getting down if you come, you know that right?” He asked as you grinned real wide. You went into his arms easily and allowed yourself to be lifted up into his hip. It’d taken Jason some practice learning how to carry you like a kid and not a sack of potatoes but he was getting better. You nodded enthusiastically.

“Until we get there,” you amended after a moment of thought. “Gotta help look.”

Jason relented because of course he did where you were involved and with that the two of you set off. Getting a cab was easier said then done but Jason made it work with the help of you wildly waving your arms. When you both got to your old complex you managed to convince Jason to let you down but you still had to hold tight to his hand.

Jason ran cold most days, another side effect of the pit he’d wager, but you still clung to him when a chill caught you and he couldn’t help but drop your hand so he could wrap an arm around your shoulders.

He didn’t bother knocking when he got to their old door but when he stepped in the apartment came to a stand still. His men — and women, though in his defense he hadn’t known Sasha would be there tonight — stared at him wide eyed. Jason stared back before clearing his throat.

“Evening,” He spoke to the room snd it was clear they hadn’t been expecting him. Not that they were doing anything they shouldn’t have been more just that Ian had his feet on the fucking table like he’d been told not to a million times and Lenny was eating some greasy sack of who knew what from Bat Burger — if there was anything Jason had tried to drill into these idiots skulls it was that the amount of fast food they ate would kill them before any Gotham lunatic could but he’d have to table that argument for the night.

“Hey boss,” Sasha said, all easy confidence because out of all of them she probably took his shit the least.

“I’m here too!” You whined at being blatantly overlooked. When this brought the immediate attention of everyone in the room down to you you felt heat creep up into your cheeks, getting a bit bashful as you took a half step behind Jason. Noticing the kid Jason saw some people shift their guns out of sight or into waistbands and he couldn’t say he didn’t appreciate it. You only vaguely knew what the Red Hood got up to and Jason was perfectly fine with that for now.

“Everyone, we’re on something of a manhunt.” Jason explained. He spoke with the same detached professionalism he would use at one of their actual meetings and hoped his own cheeks weren’t burning red. “I’ll let my colleague explain the rest.”

Jason turned to look at you but you still looked a little nervous. He bent a little to speak softly to you, “just like we rehearsed in the cab, got it?”

You nodded.

“Um well,” you were alternating between talking and chewing nervously on your lip. “I’m looking for my friend. He’s really soft and he’s got really cute ears! He’s a little floppy now cause he’s old and he’s kinda small so you might have missed him but I think he’s here.”

The room was quiet and Jason’s men alternated between looking at you, each other, and then Jason, to see if maybe they were misunderstanding something.

“I’m sorry, boss,” Lenny started. “Are we looking for a stuffed animal?”

It sounded ridiculous when said out loud but Jason thought back to your teary eyes and was reminded of the importance of this excursion. “We’re not leaving until he’s found and this one,” Jason tried to ruffle your hair but you squirmed away from him, embarrassed in front of so many people. “Has a bedtime, so get to it.”

Everyone got to searching slowly at first but you were clearly unsatisfied with this. You huffed as you redirected people in the direction of ‘where stuffie is most likely to be’ and ‘where stuffie is least likely to be.”

“You got a bossy kid,” Ian muttered as he began pulling up couch cushions. Had the situation been less absurd — a group of gang members and hardened criminals searching top to bottom for a stuffed toy — Jason might have taken offense on your behalf. In this case he just laughed but schooled his expression when you shot him a look.

“You’re not looking, Jay!”

“I’m supervising Ian, he gets distracted easily.”

You narrowed your eyes between the two men but were placated as you went back to your search.

“Yeah, maybe a little bossy.”

It was nearly a half hour later when Sasha emerged from Jason’s former bedroom.

“Found it!” She called.

You gasped and turned around nearly in a blur. You’d been in the middle of arguing vehemently with Lenny about how Bat Burger was bad for him and home cooked meals were always better. Lenny had made a good argument but come up short when you mentioned how much you liked Jason’s cooking.

He looked at his boss incredulously. “You cook?”

Jason shrugged. “I dabble.”

That had all been interrupted when Sasha came out brandishing the worn stuffed animal in one hand like a hunting trophy. You immediately grabbed the old thing hugging it like your life depended on it before doing the same to Sasha. Sasha looked taken aback but reciprocated the hug right back.

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

“No problem, kid.”

After the stuffed animal was safely returned to you the events of the evening seemed to catch up to you. You looked suddenly very tired and didn’t fuss at all when Jason gathered you up into his arms.

“Alright guys,” he said softly. “It goes without saying this stays between us, yes?”

They all nodded affirmatively and Jason tried to ignore how amused they all looked. “Sasha. You’re in charge. Lenny, pick up a fucking cook book, will you?”

There was a chorus of ‘got it boss’ and ‘night, red’ that followed Jason out the door but he didn’t mind them much at all as he carried you down the hall. He could tell you weren’t sleeping by the way you were toying with your stuffed animals tail.

“Thanks,” you mumbled sleepily.

“No problem, baby,” Jason responded.

“Jay,” you spoke again after a beat of silence.

“Yeah?”

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

It was sort of funny, considering the two of you had moved to give you your very own bed, but Jason couldn’t say he minded. “‘Course.”

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

I hear you want to write but are having a hard time answering prompts. Don't feel obligated to answer this one either, this is free labor, you never have too!!!! But maybe it would help by giving you a free space. What's eating at you [pun intended hehe]?

Me and this anon be like:

You are so thoughtful, thank you! ❤️❤️❤️

And you know what has been eating at me 😂 for whatever reason, I have no idea what turned me onto this idea, or why I can't stop thinking about it but there is something about the idea of completely, entirely spoiled Bucky that's been heavy on my mind.

Unbeta'd stucky belly kink under the read more, complete with lots and lots of stuffing, weight gain, and teasing/fat-shaming, too.

I'm talking about silver-spoon, generationally wealthy Bucky. He never has known what it is to want, yanno? Everything he could ever dream of, he gets immediately. He's never had a job other than learning what fork to use during meal times and which to use during dessert.

He looks like Wakanda, Jesus Bucky in spirit.

His hair is lush and shiny but his is proper, high-society style. So, it's cropped short at the sides and marginally longer at the top, coiffed back into stylish, fluffy waves. His face is clean-shaven, not beared, but his skin still glows and his marble-carved bone structure has been filled out by good food and constant pampering. He's always in the latest fashion, too. He looks the part of his high-maintenance, rich lifestyle.

When he was a kid and then a teenager it was totally fine that he fit so, so well into his lavish upbringing - including his taste for excessively sweet food and excessive amounts of food - because he had a speedy metabolism and the whimsy of a child, always running through his parent's expansive mansion or spending hours in the endless, deep green lawns playing by himself or roping one of the servents or his tutor into his games. His parents always were too busy with their socializing to raise their own messy child, instead passing responsibility off to someone, anyone else.

For a while, Bucky also took an interest in polocrosse, so he stayed slim for his elegant, equestrian sport. Loping through open, well-manicured fields on horseback, going after the ball with his racquet. But, as he grows and matures into a snooty young adult, with his twenties comes a slowing of his hummingbird metabolism and a boredom of sport. He has more important, more luxurious, relaxing activities to attend to than riding some beast that he doesn't even pick up after or care for - that's what the help is for. Besides, the medals mean nothing to him. He knows he's deserving and is a blue-ribbon winner without the physical reminders. Naturally, it's in his genes, he may as well be a hot-blooded, thoroughbred himself.

Bucky's metabolism slows and his activity level wanes but neither can be said about his appetite - not slowing, nor waning.

His hunger was one of those wants he's always, always had met through his generational wealth. His dire want for sweets. When he was younger, he always got a slap on the wrist for gorging himself on sugary sweets - pastries, candy, and the like - but never truly punished. His love affair wasn't tamed no matter how often he "spoiled" his own dinner, charming the cooks to feed him more than he needed, secretly getting their driver to go and retrieve him something from the city's candy shop, or even simply tiptoeing into the well-stocked pantry at night to give himself a tummy ache.

Now, his appetite is insatiable and he is growing more and more unfit seemingly like the hour. All because his days aren't spent working - he's never had to lift a finger for anything - but, instead, his hours are filled to the brim (and then some) with wine tastings, occasional tours of the winery grounds, cheese samplings, fine dining reservations or world-class chefs inhabiting his home for a few nights, and more. As soon as he's allowed by Mommy and Daddy, he moves off the sprawling family property to buy his own. He comes in and sweeps up a swath of land, putting a huge, pretty house on it and filling the rooms with staff. Most of the time, he doesn't leave his home. His driver's chauffeur experts in drink and food back and forth, bringing waves of delicious, expensive delicacies straight to Bucky's beautiful abode from the private airport nearby.

He. is. spoiled.

As he grows, he becomes rich fat, not poor fat - which becomes an important, prideful distinction in Bucky's spoiled, snobby mind. He is high society. He is well taken care of. So, of course, he's large.

Rich fat is fat that's undeniably plump and round with perfect curves. Rolls. Pale and smooth. No cellulite. No stretch marks. No blemishes. Just milky, pale swells of flesh that are soft but still firm and high. Something of a cherub straight from a masterful Renaissance painting.

His body tells the truth of his life - he doesn't lift a finger. He's practically a Roman Emperor, lounging on his side, draped in a sheet that barely fits over his bulging, excessive curves, fed the finest wine and offered peeled grapes that he lazily consumes until he's so full and drunk that he has to stop his servants by lifting a dainty hand, breathily moaning. No more. He can't take anymore now, he's so full that his fat, normally plush, soft belly has swelled to be as firm as a drum. But... give it an hour and he'll be snapping his fingers, rolled onto his back, under the weight of his belly, needing more. He won't even bother to get back up unless his servants help him, at that point, all he wants is more.

Always more.

Bucky becomes so insatiable with his life of luxury orbiting his round belly (rapidly transforming to be so large and spherical that it might be its own planet with a gravitational pull, keeping his hands to it at all times, unable to stop rubbing and touching his big body), that he hires someone new to live on his estate with him.

A masseuse.

Bucky becomes accustomed to eating until he feels fit to pop, stuffing down delicacies as if they're commonplace. Then, when he's so achingly tight, it's only natural to crave hands on his belly. He needs all the help digesting that he can get on a steady diet of peeled grapes, chocolate-coated strawberries, and other delicate fruits alongside the finest cheeses in paper-thin slices (but so many of those slices that he may as well have eaten the entire wheel by biting hunks off rudely) paired with jam and honey and bread and meats cured and prepared just so, plus bubbly champagne to wash it all down. That excessive diet leaves his tummy churning, groaning, and gassy. He has to stifle his burps behind one hand while the other works to soothe himself - it's instinctive, those rubbing motions.

Working? Aching? That just won't do. Bucky isn't dumb enough to expend energy when he doesn't have to. His private education afforded him better common sense. And he often goes to the spa, so he's familiar with massages. One plus one is two. Bucky needs a masseuse to rub his belly.

His masseuse is a tall, broad man - muscular and handsome with bright blue eyes and blonde hair. He has a pleasantly pale complexion with freckles but his nose that like it's been broken once or twice, bumped in the middle, and his hands are certainly the hands of a working man. He has obviously worked hard to get where he is with veins obvious in his arms and the backs of his hands and callouses on his palms. Even with all the lotion and oils, his hands are just the slightest bit rough thanks to those callouses.

If he weren't so handsome and hadn't proved himself to be so good at his job, Bucky might not keep him around. Thoughtlessly he could fire him, or any of his staff, and hire someone else.

Bucky doesn't like anything rough. He likes simple, easy, and luxurious. He likes softness. He reclines in overstuffed chairs and couches, expensive and sink-into-the-softness, and sleeps (and eats) on a perfectly swallowing-up bed. His body is currently being transformed into the same type of sensation - plush, soft, overstuffed. He likes that. He's becoming as excessive as his lifestyle - shaped perfectly for it.

He doesn't enjoy roughness.

He doesn't enjoy the bit of resentment on his masseuse's face and weaved secretly into his voice when they first meet.

Steve is a good worker, though, and Bucky appreciates that. He's accustomed to throwing money around, but he only throws it when it's what he wants or something he needs that he's having done his way. If a gardener, cook, or tailor doesn't work as fast or as hard as Bucky thinks they ought to - they're gone. Simple as that.

Steve works hard, Steve works fast, Steve is... interesting. He doesn't approve of Bucky's lifestyle, that much is clear, so he must need the money. But also, he doesn't complain. Not really. He does tease Bucky, though. It seems they both know their differences and there's something there. Something exciting. They both have their tastes and the clash of their differing tastes becomes electric.

Bucky learns to enjoy a little bit of roughness because of Steve.

Steve is called in to support Bucky either nearing the end of a massive meal or after his meal has been finished. His job title is "masseuse" and he does massage Bucky but, just, one part of him -

His belly.

His job is to aid Bucky's body in digesting after a splurge... if you can call his gorging meals and oversized snacks that happen every day, multiple times a day like clockwork "splurges." Splurging implies you don't do it all the time. Bucky is consistently stuffed to the gills. The only time he's not full is when he wakes up, first thing in the morning, and that's not always a guarantee - Bucky has gotten especially fat recently, it's why he needs Steve, and now, he can't always make it through the night without a snack. If he needs one, he snaps his fingers or rings the little bell he keeps by his bedside, rousing his live-in servants and making them retrieve a "light" snack for him from the kitchen. If he's had a midnight snack, his belly might still be firm and bloated when he wakes up. Regardless, Steve helps settle his belly.

At first, when Steve was hired, he did his job without comment. Now that they know each other a little better and each of them is rubbing off on the other with Bucky enjoying a little bit of roughness and Steve learning to embrace comfort and a taste of luxury - now, Steve prods and pushes verbally while he does the same physically. He rubs big circles on his big tummy, presses into the parts where he's the tightest to release pockets of gas and make him more comfortable, giving him more room (that he often immediately fills with more food), and kneads his soft flesh, using lotion and oil to keep his flesh supple and stretch-mark free. He lets his mouth run, too.

In low tones, just for the two of them to hear, he murmurs roughly about how he's never had so much to work with. Bucky knows under those sugar-coated words, he's calling him fat. Then, he goes on to say that Bucky feels especially tense today, is there anything particular on his mind? That's Steve telling him he's bloated as fuck, just a bit of sting behind his "polite" tone to communicate, oh my fucking god, you're a blimp. Or, he asks how his tailor is doing, the vague way to ask how he fits into any clothes at all. It's a damn mystery to Steve, after all, he only ever sees Bucky when he's naked with all of his soft, pale, thick fat on display. Round. Firm. Ready to be massaged until he's not so tight he could burst which, to Bucky, means he's ravenous. Bucky has no understanding of hunger. He doesn't remember what it's like to be empty, so when he isn't gasping in pleasure and pain, so full that his stomach is strained and there's food packed into him all the way up his esophagus to the back of his throat, he thinks he's starving.

Bucky savors those comments in a way he doesn't savor food - he just shoves it down. More.

More.

Bucky starts eating even more, pushing himself further, to make sure he can see Steve regularly. Weirdly, for someone who's never needed a damn thing from anyone else, he aches to impress this guy. It's strange, how much he wants to preen and parade around. He makes even more of a gluttonous mess of himself just so Steve can come in and berate him underneath his professional, light tone. It's embarrassing. Bucky has never been able to deal with humiliation or shame or anything other than resounding acceptance because of his high status, so it's strange for him to go after it now but...

God, is it good.

Steve commenting on needing another set of hands to reach and work on all of Bucky's glutted tummy sends a shiver down his pinned spine in spirit, in reality, he can't fucking move. He's so fat. Bucky almost moans at the thought of more hands groping and kneading his fat, working his cramps and burps out of him, easing the way for those calories to smoothly transform into more fat but, strangely, he only wants Steve to do this. He's used to hiring more help, having so many people around him, watching and aiding him in even the most intimate, private moments. This feels too intimate to share, though. He just wants Steve's big, strong, rough hands on his fat. He wants it bad. So, of course, he gets it.

He feasts on multiple rich, large courses. Steve massages him. He snacks on foods that would be enough for a meal if he were anyone else. Steve massages him. He gorges until he's hiccuping, whining, and curled around his fat belly like he can hold himself together, preventing himself from bursting at the seams with too much, too good of food. Steve massages him. He wakes up, belly gurgling with digestion that he can delude into being hunger, so he stuffs himself late at night into early morning. Steve massages him. Steve massages him through it all, witnessing him at his fullest and watching, judging, as he packs on more and more weight.

Bucky has been drilled to follow etiquette and be polite, but with Steve, he slips. He's just so full. And Steve's so good at his job. He can't deny himself the pleasure of moaning and burping loudly as Steve works.

"Buuuurpp-"

"Hic! Ah! Oh! Hic! Ouch! Hic! Hup! Oww!"

"Ooooohhh, yess. That's good."

"Uuuuuuurp!"

"Yes! Right there, press there, it's so tight, oh, oww-"

"Hnnnn-"

"M-mmmph- more. More pressure. Yes! Like that! Oh-uuurp!"

"C-cahhh, careful, I'm, oof, I'm soo full. Mmngh, I might - hic! - pop!"

Steve might disguise his interest well under a judgy, almost resentful exterior - which is truthfully how he felt when he got here, like, look at this fat asshole, Steve grew up struggling with a single mother making tough decisions between feeding her child, buying the medicine her child needed badly, or keeping the heating on to keep her child from getting sicker, no good options and no compromises - but he is interested. Bucky is miles and miles of plush flesh that jiggles and ripples. So much for Steve to sink his hands into. He's just fat. That's all he is. Greedy and oversized. He deserves a little shit for it. It's fine. He can squeeze a little harder than necessary, he can relentlessly push down on the part of his tummy that hurts the most just to hear him groan through a painful yet releasing burp, he can see his face pinch in pain when Steve goads him into finishing the last scraps on his plate despite having called Steve in expressed because he's too full for more, he can make comments about how he's getting fatter, bigger, and more spoiled. He can snidely inquire if Bucky has gotten his bed reinforced yet or wonder out loud how his personal tailor keeps up with his expanding waistline, actually, how does his tailor measure his waistline these days? Does he have to make a custom tailors tape or have they given up on numbers by now? He can pretend to be a little weaker than he is, just for an excuse to call the other staff into Bucky's master bedroom, "needing" help with rolling his big, voluptuous body or sitting him up as much as possible under that heavy, fat belly that overflows his lap.

It's fine for Steve to look over his shoulder as he leaves, his job well done, to smirk like a shark at one food-drunk Bucky moaning through a bite of buttery, flaky pastry, telling him off, "haven't you had enough, Mr. Barnes?"

He's the only one willing to challenge Bucky. The other staffers suck in shocked breaths and duck their heads, embarrassed and trying to stay out of the way, assuming Steve's about to be fired. It's going to get ugly. Right?

But it doesn't.

Bucky likes it. His stomach is groaning - only barely soothed thanks to Steve, complaining with heavy sloshes, deep gurgles, and loud glorps - but Bucky doesn't care. All he cares about is more. More food, stuffing his gob. More of Steve's merciless touch, his mean words, and his judgemental eyebrows. More.

"Nu-uh," Bucky moans petulantly.

"Only you would think that," Steve's eyes flick down to his gut like the big, round thing is offensive, "isn't enough."

Bucky crams the rest of his pastry into his mouth, puffing out his cheeks and dusting crumbs down his double (closer to triple) chins and heaving moobs, it's a challenge.

Steve rises to it, stepping back into his bedroom to slap his blubbery belly hard.

Even though all the others have scuffled away, leaving the two of them alone, they must be able to hear the clap of his hand against his fat. That, or, they hear the guttural way Bucky moans. His white, pale flesh is stamped red with Steve's handprint.

"You just have to ruin my work, don't you?" Steve sneers, sitting on the side of the bed next to Bucky's immobilized form of rolls and curves, pinned in place by too much fattening, sugary food. "Nothing is ever good enough for you, so you just keep going, don't you? You're gonna pop, you know that, you fat, spoiled brat? You need to learn you have limits. You need to learn restraint. If you don't learn your lesson by yourself, you'll force my hand to teach it." Steve threatens, his hand raised again, on the cusp of slapping his tender, overstuffed tummy again.

Bucky whimpers, pouting at him, his bottom lip crumby and stuck far out, "don't need your help," he argues, mumbling, just to be contrary. He really does need him. He wants him too. So badly.

"You do, princess. You need me whether you like it or not," Steve teases. "You can't do anything by yourself, not with this-" Steve rears back to slap his belly hard a handful of times until Bucky's whimpering and squirming around like a turtle flipped onto its shell, inelegant and stuck "-in the way."

Bucky moans loudly. It hurts! But it hurts like it does when he pushes himself over his limits, his gut too full.

"I'm gonna put you on a diet," Steve threatens, "teach your spoiled, fat ass what restraint and hard work is the way Daddy and Mommy didn't, they just shoved a silver spoon in your mouth and called it a day 'cause you shut up."

It's terrible. It's awful. Bucky likes it.

"Please-!" The word falls out of Bucky's mouth for maybe the first time. He's Bucky Barnes. He doesn't beg. He has everything he wants and more! He's never had anything he had to plead for, he always just demands.

With one last hit right to the top of his belly, where the bulging is the worst, where he gets the tightest, Steve knows all too well, Steve leans in. His smile is all teeth. "Good boy," he rumbles, "that's a start. I might be able to whip you into shape after all, God knows you need some shape, too," he unkindly grabs a handful of fat, shaking it and thus sends jiggling ripples throughout Bucky's entire, fat body. He's all lard. "'Cause right now you're just a blob."

Bucky says it again, as it turns out, it feels good to say, "pleeease."

Steve gives him a dark look and despite what he was saying about shaping up and slimming down with a diet, he wastes no time reaching over to the tray of fine French pastries perched on Bucky's elegant nightstand, selecting one at random and shoving it into his face.

Bucky moans his way through every chew and swallow. With Steve's relentless force, massaging and now feeding, too, he's due for a growth spurt like he's never seen on his own. He's gonna outgrow his king-size bed in no time 🥵🥵

[yestrday]

— TIE ME UP. yan! rich kid! childe x gn! mercenary! reader

your latest hit is a boy named ajax. the job's easy— kidnap him, bully him a bit, then send him back without any will to live. easy enough, it seems, but not everything will go the way you expect it.

( reader is not a good person; murder, mentions of torture; kidnapping; obsessive behavior, tying up, slight mentions of n/sfw, masochistic childe )

note. ahhhh im in a writing a slump so i decided to write the other part of anon's request to practice. idk if it's good enough, but childe will always be my go to whenever i want some disgusting yandere boy

you might like: childe's spiked drink

it's nothing you haven't seen. someone wants someone dead and they would pay millions just to see that come true. you whistle when you open the case of green bills for the nth time this day and the sight makes you smile.

what a haul you've gotten. despite the dread that's been growing inside you since you took this job, the million worth of cash inside this single suitcase is enough for you to retire. maybe you'll finally take a break from all this gory business, find a nice plot of land where the police can't find you, and make a farm for yourself. that sounds nice.

determined to finally finish this once and for all, you slam the suitcase shut and chuck it into the back of your car, along with the squirming ginger screaming at you through his gags.

"it'll be all over soon, love," you croon, sporting a wicked smile. "jus' get some sleep in here, mmkay?"

with one last muffled scream of his, you slam the trunk on the poor man's shaking expression and rev the engine to life.

"'ello there, babe," is the first thing the boy hears when he blinks his eyes awake. "good ting ya slept, hm? the road here was full of em potholes. not exactly pleasant for a passenger in the truck, right?"

it's a classic stereotype— that heavy country accent tinged with seduction and danger— even you're painfully aware of how cheesy your voice is. but it's what you were raised with, plus most of your victims dig the accent anyway, so might as well make use of it. the boy grimaces when the single fluorescent bulb swaying on the ceiling hits his sight, and he lets out a little grunt. 

"ajax childe. third son of the ceo of childe's toy corporation and now…" you plop yourself onto the wooden seat in front of him, nonchalantly waving the knife in front of his wide-eyed stare. "the target of some rich sod's hatred." you give him a lookover, from his ruffled ginger hair, his lean bod, down to his strong calves. clearly, he's been working out. you sigh in mock pity. "what the hell did ya do anyway? make off with someone's girl?" he's pretty enough to entertain the thought, and judging how flirtatious he acts in front of the paparazzi, that very well might be the case.

he protests against the gag once again, and you shake your head. "sorry, babe. not really in the mood to listen to sum brat scream." you tap your cheek as you contemplate on what to do with him. "hmm... they didn't actually want ya dead, if i'll be honest with ya. just bully ya a little till ya want yerself dead, y'feel? it's good to 'ave less blood on my hands, but hm, when i get commissions like these..." you cock your head, pondering over the countless victims you had over the last decade.

"they don't usually come out alive, yanno?"

another muffled scream through the gag, and you watch in boredom as he tries to wiggle his way out of his binds. clearly, however, it's futile when all he accomplishes is burn himself with the rope. well, what else was he expecting? you were a hired mercenary, he a mere ceo's son living a cushy life. there really was no challenge here.

but looking at him... you feel somewhat sympathetic. you have no respect for those high-class scum who like to hide behind fake smiles and faker compliments. but the kid in front of you was just some irresponsible young adult who just happened to be born into the elite, and well, if he wasn't the son of such a big corporation, he'd probably have gotten away with whatever he did. such was the consequence of having too many eyes on you. maybe it'd make you less worse of a human being if you let this kid air his grievances out.

you sigh, getting up from your spot. "alright, alright, i'll ungag you. just shut up already, jeez." he seems to jostle around less when you say that, and you swiftly untie the cloth to let him talk.

you already know what to expect— teary pleas, desperate bribes, maybe even some angry threats. all these are common in victims and more often than not are you forced to listen to all that shit before you decide to gag them again or just shoot them in the head. so you brace yourself for whatever agonizing scream they might have in store for you.

"ah..."

you grimace. here it comes.

"you're prettier than anything i've imagined..." he tilts his pretty face up, gazing at you with lovestruck eyes under the shine of the harsh light. your shock is mirrored in those loony eyes as his smile widens till it almost splits his face into two,

"...[your name]."

"what the fuck?!" instinctively, you recoil away from him, taking steps back while he continues to pin that heart-eyed stare on you. "what in the–?! how the fuck do you know me?!"

"oh, [your name], is there anything i don't know about you?" this... this freak sighs almost dreamily, and it makes you grimace by how slimy it is. "your name, your occupation (obviously), your favorite drinks, your... heh, three sizes!" he lets out a low giggle. "finally...! to finally see you right in front of my very eyes!"

you blanch. "three...?!" this cannot do. you are being outdone and outsmarted by some rich playboy. clearing your throat, you regain your composure and narrow your eyes at him in a glare (why... why is he shivering?!). "bluffs won't save you from your fate, childe."

you live a life in the shadows. leaving traces of yourself for people to find could spell to be your doom, and yet here was this kid claiming that he knew everything there is to you. it was a laughable attempt at a bluff, and he only caught you offguard by that disgusting grin of his. you're confident enough in your own abilities that you know that no one would be ever able to track you—

"[your name] [last name]. single father, three siblings, but they're all dead. you became a mercenary at age 16 and you go to your headquarters every weekend. you like the cafe at sixth avenue and you order the fourth thing on the menu almost every time." his grin widens when he sees the alarmed expression on your face. "should i tell you more?"

impossible. gritting your teeth, you pull him by his collar, almost tipping his chair over until you catch it with your knee. it... spreads his legs and pushes against his bulge, and you want to scrub yourself clean when you see his red blush and lip-bite. "how the fuck d'you know all that?" you snarl. you shake him. "tell me!"

"because i love you," he says, almost breathless. he looks at you with eyes so full of devotion and obsession that you might believe him. "there's not a single piece of you that i don't love."

you pull your lip back. "you're fuckin' disgusting."

"ah, but!" he wiggles in his chair, his clothes straining against the binds. "you're the one who tied me up like this! all vulnerable and ready for you to torture, right?"

you can't believe this man. "that's how kidnappings go, you idiot!" unable to hold on to this weirdo any longer, you let go of him and he and the chair he's tied to collapse to the floor. it's a nasty fall, but you're too busy rubbing your hands together in some attempt to rid yourself of the germs he may have transferred over to you.

the gasp of delight when he hits the floor grates like metal against your ear, and he squirms when you look down at him with such hate and disgust in those pretty eyes of yours. "is it starting? are you gonna torture me now?" your eyes flit to the array of tools you laid out on the counter, but now you feel reluctant to dirty this man's blood with the tools you painstakingly polished to shine. "ah~ ♡ i wonder what you're gonna do to me! are you gonna cut me up and leave me to bleed? tie me up till it hurts to breathe? ah, [your name] ♡" he calls your name with ecstasy. "i'm so excited to see what you'll do!"

with your back turned towards him and facing the tools, you don't grace him with a reply. instead, you bite your lip, panicked and pale expression reflected in the cold reflection of a knife.

'why me?!' your thoughts scream. 'i've never met this man in my life before!'

'how am i supposed to break someone who's gone too fucking far?!'

he continues to smile at your back, watching as you contemplate which torture device you'll bless him with for that night.

'so, so cute!' you're shorter than him, but somehow the thought of you dominating him and spilling his blood makes his jeans tighter. 'they're gonna make me go through sooo much pain, i can feel it! they'll have the power to kill me. they might kill me!'

just like that man you shot in that alleyway, eyes staring blankly at the mess of guts and brain splattered against the wall. there was no remorse in your eyes as you wipe the blood off your cheek with the back of your hand. no remorse as you stuff that body into a bag and make a mess all over yourself.

he remembers it clearly. your skintight black bodysuit, how the blood seemed to match your soulless eyes, the peek of tongue as you licked the blood from your thumb— he remembers it all too well.

how could he not, when he had his back pressed to the wall, out of your sight, hand clamped to suppress his noises. not a terrified scream, mind you. but his heavy breaths as he continued to observe you from a distance.

better than an angel. more divine than an angel. you were the reaper itself, stained in blood and black.

and his obsession with that reaper grew, as you revved off with your motorcycle with the corpse in tow, and he lay in the alley shadows with a hand in his jeans and blood at his feet.

if you had looked closely beneath all the money, maybe you'd see one damning clue that would tell you that this commission was a bad idea. a clue stitched at the bottom of the suit, fancy lettering showcasing initials in cursive:

a.c.

ajax childe's grin grows wider when he sees you finally settle on a tool. even when bound up and knocked to the floor, those hungry eyes and crazed grin seem to make him more of a predator than the you holding a knife.

[candyunicornsateme]

Please feed me mccormick angst. Give me your headcanonssssssss

Okay so like my main usual ideas are not extremely grim but generally pretty dismal and depressing like.

Kevin to me is like the type to steal some money from Kenny for some random thing and maybe Carol will say "hey don't do that" but nothing comes of it and there's no getting it back. I also see him "borrowing" Kenny's stuff in general like his PSP and Kenny has to hide it from him. He's not really intentionally an asshole but he's kinda a pain in the ass stupid older brother that adds to Kenny's stress occasionally. Yanno what I mean.

Also just see Kevin as the one to move out and disappear as soon as he's old enough to. Probably has the most tension with their dad, because... he's white trash and fights back? I guess? Which is compounded by one of the few scenes of him there is in the show. There's really not much to go off of with him in the show either so there's that too, so I am generalizing to a degree.

Kenny's dad is almost always a major touchy spot and source of issues, not just for Kenny. Like it's kind of a given. Most of the physical fighting happens between his parents especially when alcohol is involved, but I really have a hard time not thinking there'd be a few incidents if shit gets really bad. Like booze and drugs??? Some shit's bound to really blow up.

I normally picture Kenny not having many, if any, physical altercations with his dad, but I think his dad would totally just start bitching at him a lot of times, being jaded and complaining about money and demanding shit ("you have so much time to go hang with your friends you could be making money to pay for all this food you kids fucking eat"). Kenny generally ignores him, but it's anxiety inducing and at worst extremely frustrating. There's a lot more negative memories than good and I always see Kenny having some really fucked up internalized anger because he would leave instead of lashing out. Even grown up he wouldn't confront unless it was to protect someone else from getting hurt.

Like Kenny doesn't hate him but he wishes both his dad and his mom could stop drinking and taking their anger out on each other at the very least.

But maybe sometimes he does hate him. We can have a little hate and violence as a treat.

Carol is just stuck and forced to pick up the slack working long evening shifts and stuff like that, so no one's around to make the kids dinner, and she's usually too tired or checked out drinking, or arguing with Stuart on other days, to do too much. So homecooked meals are very rare, cleaning is sparse, and most times she just looks so tired and defeated just barely getting by. She expresses love and affection more, and the worst she would intentionally do is smack Kenny's arm. Sometimes she gives Kenny some tough love type of scolding, which could be a little something he can relate to with Kyle. Sometimes she sounds so sad though when she says nice things like that Kenny's her "sweet little boy", like she knows he's forced to look after himself and help look after Karen.

Kenny will come home late at night from hanging with friends or anything and his mom will be passed out alone on the couch on her stomach, just the glow of the old TV flickering some late-night infomercial no one's watching and reflecting on empty bottles and crap on the coffee table and Kenny just sighs. (This scene has been on my drawing list for years but at this point fuck it lmao)

Given their parents being like that, Karen grows up very anxious and unsure, and Kenny really is her rock until she gets older. :(

And KenNY... The idea of him fucking taking on the parentified child role and having to keep his shit together because he's gotta look out for Karen. He's gotta do shit like get Karen medicine when she's sick. Goes to the laundromat to clean their clothes because they don't have functioning machines at home (been there, it sucks). And he doesn't say shit about any of it, not the bruises, not the severity of drinking, not the having to escape his house because of the yelling. Until suddenly one day out of the blue he'll laugh and say his dad would've beat his ass if he did xyz and then doesn't explain or mention it again.

Yeah. Like that :)

BUT DON'T GET ME WRONG. I think more wholesome, nice stuff with all them is good too lol. I promise. I don't want anyone to assume this means I think other ideas/interpretations are "wrong". Kevin could be a derpy well-meaning brother too. Yanno.

Like I wish I could look at them and not only think of domestic violence and not wanting to be home, but like I said in my other post, my old edgelord hcs of yesteryear remain most heavily in Kenny's family. I just really love me some Kenny angst like that lol.

[radioactivedragonbones]

Back In The Ol' Days [2014] we had the punk/nerd AU... but I have my gripes with the PNAU; it feels outdated to me. In 2014 I ate that shit up, but it's 2024 and the rampant micro-trends have me re-thinkin modern Hijack portrayals...

So here I am to propose a new PNAU: Grunge X Emo.

Hiccup as a cozy grunge kind of guy- basically just classic comfy casual clothes but with earthy tones, ripped up jeans covered in motor oil stains, and loose flannel shirts over worn-out tees.

Jack as a casual emo kind of guy- Skinny jeans with rips (often on the end of the legs cause they annoy them when they're too long), tight band tees, and his classic hoodie he can disappear into the shadowy hood of to sulk.

Elaboration ⬇️

I think it could be fun to explore the way Hiccup has a ton of hand-me-downs and spends a lot of time patching up old clothes, or adding custom painted patches to his bags. Maybe he knows how to sew just from patching/mending. I like that in the movies we see him doing bith heavy work in the forge, and having gentle hands as an artist. I think he'd be good at a ton of different diy skills and put them to practical use with his wardrobe.

In canon, Hiccup does have a lot of leftist and punk ideology; The Edge is literally equal-ownership equal-imput everyone else just decides he runs the show. And he literally changes the dominant mindset of the society he lives in to better the life of both his people and the ones they've been at war with for decades. Hes pretty punk... but I don't see him going so far aesthetically as to be a full Spiky Punk TM. He's always on the move, working on something, or chilling outside with Toothless, so I think a more casual comfortable style suits him. Though I do think he would like jackets with extra straps and buckles on the pockets and stuff, and maybe a good belt bag + leatherman combo. Totally the type to always have a pocket knife. He'd paint himself patches and slap a few of em on his bags, coats, maybe over that burn hole in his jeans that's been annoying him. He'd favor practicality over aesthetic, but he still has a sense of style. As he gets older he probably leans into the edgier style, wearing more black and red combos, more strappy belts/coats/bags, and even gets a few tattoos. But I do see him as a grungey earthy engineering guy with comfy, often oversized silhouettes.

Jack I could see being super impulsive and latching onto pop culture; something emos were notorious for. I, personally, was clamoring for a branded tee shirt the moment I deemed a band good enough to youtube->mp3 to my ipod. I could see Jack doing that kind of thing, and latching onto this misunderstood invisible-yet-visibly-different identity. He probably favors dark blue, brown, and black. Deffinitely the type to get on the colored jeans trend when it hit. Maybe he even doodles little swirling patterns on his clothes when he's bored- an adhd habit I know all too well.

Without being, yanno, dead, Jack's Different Look would probably come just from him wanting to express himself. He feels isolated and finds it hard to make lasting friends because when people *do* notice him, they tend to see him more as a silly little jester than a person worth getting to know. He copes with humor and trying to get attention every now and again but ends up with a closer knit group of oddballs. He's good with kids, of course, and tends to take on a cool-big-brother to anyone in need of one. All of this playing into this casual and easy-going but edgy, kinda emo look. He probably listens to sad emo music while sitting on a roof, staring at the moon, contemplating his purpose in life. He pretty much does that in his movie so it isn't much of a stretch lol.

Anyways, feel free ro give your 2 cents and build onto or off of this as you please, I'm just brainstorming I guess. Thinkin aloud... visually. I tend to like psychoanalyzing characters and it's interesting to me to think of Hic & Jack's canon portrayals and what they would mean in a modern-human AU.

[intheholler]

If I don’t have very much of an accent at all (sometimes the R’s come out but that’s really it), but was raised in the Piedmont SC area and live in SE TN (have for 7 years now with plenty more to go) and feel connected to Appalachia, do I count? I’ve always felt a kinship and was taught to respect the mountains as I hiked through them with my dad time and again as a kid; I just don’t want to disrespect anyone or anywhere yanno?

as always, i want to first say that no one gets to define who you are but you, and especially not me. but i know how important it can feel to have validation regarding your identity, because it is important to me too.

So!! with that said: if your extended time spent living in appalachia has connected you to it and she is in your bones, you are appalachian in my opinion. simple as.

i have a good transplant friend who came down from connecticut to go to WCU, and he just melted right into the culture like he'd been here all his life. most reverent and respectful-of-appalachia motherfucker i ever met. he's a big ol river rat, contributes to the community, is a steward of the land. he loves her to death and after he graduated, he never left. he didn't come here til his late teens and yet he's as appalachian as anything to me.

i say this to contrast your concerns about living in the piedmont, comparatively right next door, as someone who spent middle/late childhood in piedmont SC myself (hello old neighbor). ive mentioned before that the dialect, culture and food there felt practically identical to the point that my young mind didn't even really realize we had moved away because it cooked and ate exactly the same.

beyond that, it's worth reminding you that not every southerner or appalachian has the accent. a lot of us get rid of it or mask it well so we can avoid the prejudice it inspires. the accent doesn't make the person <3

please try not to hold yourself up against a rigid checklist of traits or let the opinions of anyone else sway you, because ur gonna drive urself up the wall trying to check them all off.

i do not believe in gatekeeping these hills like a lot of us do. unless your only experience here is a quick road trip through it or like an overnight stay in asheville, unless you're one of the fucks that come here to stay only to gentrify it and hollow us out--if you have real, lived experience here in the appalachian way of life, im not gonna tell anyone they aren't a part of it.

you are what you know yourself to be <3 and in this case it certainly looks appalachian to me

[spiderculechronicals]

Do yourself a favor and allow yourself to handwave aside scenes are important to move on but you don't know how to write out as a scene. It breaks up the endless dialogue! And then you can jump back in when you know what they're saying (and I guess if it needs a rewrite later you have notes on what goes there too)

Anyway. My Wade is a sweetie. Him and Peter 3 have been together so long that they really have that taking on each other's traits thing down, to the ultimate good because Wade is 80% less murdery and 50% less insecure, but of course Peter 3 is 50% more chaotic and filthy mouthed and 20% more Fuck The Man.

Scene is set at Peter 1's Aunt May's place on the day of their first meeting.

____

While Peter 1 and 2 were napping, Peter 3 and Wade chatted with May, talking about their universe and Wade’s experience of the last year and a half and their tentative plans for the future that are clearly still developing. They ended up talking the most about the May from their universe, what she was like, how much they were both going to miss her. Wade also ended up recalling a little more detail about his experience with the TVA and their assurance that pruned timelines ceased existing in a completely painless way that the inhabitants didn’t have time to register. Cold Comfort. Wade also mentioned that he hadn’t gotten around to telling May that Peter was missing, so she probably blipped in the middle of planning his birthday party and not worried sick fearing the worst. Peter 3 dissociated for a full minute at that revelation, but when he came around to a hug on both sides and a cold washcloth to the face he said that was a relief at least. He assured Wade that he wasn’t just saying that, that it was always the plan to protect her in the face of this kind of thing, and the time frame of a couple days was well within the pre-agreed limits. May sighed, sadly wishing there was a picture or something to remember his May by.

Wade blinked and reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone with its glittery unicorn phone case and subtly inappropriate anime charms, and flipped into the photo gallery. “Uh… so… turns out technology in this universe is pretty compatible. Barely had to jailbreak the sucker, just… whacked in a new SIM card. Here ya go, Petey. Hah… good thing I left it charging that night they blew me up, right?” He handed the phone to Peter 3, who took it carefully, tearing up at the sight of several pictures and even video taken from their regular get togethers. “Careful swiping through to quickly, our, uh… yanno… special pics are also on there. Helped out a lot!”

Peter 3 sniffled and gripped him tightly enough that something cracked. “Can I like, double propose to you, is that a thing?”

“Oof! Careful sweetums I think you scared her a bit, let go slowly the arm might be a little wonk…”

“… Fuckshit!... sorry sorry sorry…!”

“No worries! This is nothing, healing factor’s gonna clear that up in less time than it takes to toast a pop tart. Did you know you’re not supposed to put them in the toaster? Screams thing we put on there so we don’t get sued but we know you’re gonna do it anyway to me, who the hell doesn’t put pop tarts in the toaster?” Wade chirped lightheartedly. “Like Q-tips. Shut up and let me have my ear-gasm.”

“Oh! … you know you really shouldn’t put q-tips in your ears…” May said.

“Ahh… yeah probably that’s also being taken care of by the healing factor now that you mention it… Don’t listen to Deadpool, kids! Listen to Spiderman. Always been my motto.”

Peter 3 laughed through his distress.

[inkstainedhandswithrings]

TBB S2 Ep10 Thoughts!

"Yes, but with a few repairs it will be a slightly operational heap of junk." TECH BESTIE WHY U GOTTA BE SO SASSY I LOVE IT

"Oh. Ingenious Idea." bajdhabxjhanwnxjs CUTE

Also just the fact that Tech taught her how to trace a binary reference code

Or just in general, how he taught her how to use his data pad and let's her use it all the time. I imagine that's not a piece of equipment he gives to just anyone

I like Benni's tattoo but,,,,, he's so tiny why tattoo???

ALSO "WHAT ABT WATER RATIONS?"???? OMG TINY R U OK???

"Mako always takes care of his crew." hmmmmmm yea RIGHT I TOTALLY BELIEVE U

I'm sorry, but the ENTIRE batch on that one speeder???? meme material wth that was so FCKING FUNNY CAN YOU IMAGINE THAT CONVERSATION???

"Alright, I'll drive. Wrecker, you shall sit in the middle, which is technically not a seat. Hunter you'll have to sit all the way in the back, facing the other way and almost fall off, but at least you will be able to be a lookout. Omega, as a treat, you'll get to sit behind me. The only comfortable seat on this entire speeder."

5 mins down the road:"TECH, HUNTER JUST FELL OFF!" "Oh."

The way they took Benni down? dang that was impressive. Specially looking at Omega here. I forgot our girlie gained a lot of skill and guts since last season

Also loving how much Wrecker is enjoying scaring Benni. The way he grabs him and then chuckles when Benni tries to run off I'm---

quick question for the group; is Mako supposed to be Zygerrian? I didn't think about it until the end of the ep when I noticed his eyes looked Zygerrian and he had Zygerrian-esque ears

that little moment between Omega and Benni before Mako showed up???? her telling him he doesn't have to live this way, giving him food, showing him the report, talking abt how her family values her???

talking about their respective homes, BENNI APOLOGIZING???

i ship it :')

Also the boys just talking via their communicators while tinkering with the ship has the same vibes as me and my bestie face-timing while we're doing our make-up before going out. i love it

"So you think you can come here and steal from me?" "Technically-" yes baby tell him >:]]

"One stray shot and we're all done for." "We don't miss." EXCUSE ME SIR HOW DARE U SAY HOT SHIT LIKE THAT

okay okay okay okay

THAT MOMENT WHEN OMEGA'S SUPPOSED TO GET TOSSED, BUT SHE SEES HUNTER FIRING THE GRAPPLING HOOK SO SHE GRABS THE DROID, PULLS IT DOWN AND THAT CATCHES HUNTERS HAND TOTALLY FOCUSED AND CALM??? THE WAY SHE CASUALLY USES HIS PACK TO CLIMB BACK UP AND THIS SEEMS SO NORMAL TO THEM THAT IT DOESN'T EVEN REQUIRE A "good job kid" OR SOMETHING????

OMEGA HAS BEEN TRAINING AND SHE'S GETTING MORE AND MORE BADASS AND I'M HERE FOR IT

ngl, I thought Mako's death was a little sloppyly and lazyly done, but then again these are 20 min episodes so you can't really blame them

that last little convo between Omega and Benni???? SO CUTE

Tech's reluctant "what is it?" was so sweet to me especially considering the previous episode. I feel like he's trying harder to acknowledge her feelings and I AM SOFT

and then he tries (and succeeds) to encourage her and pats her shoulder and WAH YES GROWTH :)))

This ep was kinda filler-esque but I really enjoyed it anyway. Sad we didn't get Rex and Echo picking them up, but yanno, I'm not complaining. This was so sweet and fun and nice to watch :))

[cozycryptidcutie]

I always imagine Bowser going human or like Yanno how things are usually? But what if… a certain scientist had an experiment go wrong, Mario ofc helped Peach, but Luigi got hit and was transformed into a monster. The scientist got away and they didn’t know how to turn Luigi back to normal. He tried live life as normal, but everyone in the kingdom gave him the side eye. Even Mario was scared of him. Peach suggested that maybe it’s better if he took a little vacation away from the mushroom kingdom. Which Luigi could tell by her face was just polite way to say to leave. So that’s what he did. He packed up his things and left not sure what to do. He found a clearing in the forest to set up camp but he couldn’t figure out how to make fire to keep him warm. As he was shivering in the cold dark night woods, he hears something. He sees a huge shadow walk towards him and he braces for an attack that doesn’t happen. He peeks and sees Luigi. They have like a conversation about Bowser confused about well everything happening. Luigi explains, with like sad teary eyes. Bowser tells him to follow him. Confused Luigi follows him asking what he means. Bowser in as little words as he can says he can help Luigi go back to normal and he can stay at his castle. They spend a good chunk of time getting close (I always imagine them as beauty and the beast montage like they’re just being their own quirky selves except this time it’s like Luigi getting used to being a monster and Bowser helping him.) and then after the montage Bowser announces to Luigi that his ppl has figured out how to fix his problem and they can change him back any time he wants to. Luigi gives a very unenthusiastic thanks. They go to the room where the cure is and Bowser had surprised Luigi with Mario! Who is excitedly waiting for Luigi. Luigi is looking at the cute and at Mario and then to Bowser and announces arhat he doesn’t want to change back. He might have been changed into this against his will, but Bowser was the only one who was nice to him. He couldn’t even rely on his own brother, the princess kicked him out of his home! Mario is trying to convince Luigi but then Bowser cuts in and says he thinks it’s better if Mario leaves. Which he begrudgingly does. That night Bowser and Luigi sit down under the stars and Bowser tries to convince Luigi to listen to his brother and go back but then Luigi interrupts him and confesses he’s in love with Bowser. Luigi loves Bowser and he doesn’t want to go back to normal in case Bowser wouldn’t like him as his normal look. He thinks the only way he could be with Bowser is by looking like a monster. Bowser chuckles and says he would love Luigi no matter how he looks and hes always had feelings for Luigi. The next day after Luigi has thought it over he decided he wants to stay as a monster and if anyone wants to be in his life then they have to accept how he looks. Mario tries his best but it’s obvious Luigi’s looks still scare him, peach allowed him back to the kingdom, but he doesn’t like going there much cuz the roads still give him dirty looks. Even more so after word spread that he’s dating Bowser. But by the time Bowser and Luigi had their wedding, Mario was fully accepting of them and when they have kids (yes I went there) Mario even babysits them as their Godfather.

[ask-alphabetboyluvr]

Bd Jimin - when you were playing never have i ever and you said you heard jk doing the deed (where db got a teeny bit jealous), was it db or another girl? If db moves in, will you be comfy staying with them or you’ll move out?

Bd yoongi - if jk said he might have gotten db pregnant (in 37? chapter) and he asked for your advise, what would you say?

bd jimin

jungkooks girls have always had a certain... volume issue shall we say. one of the main reasons why I was uncertain for so long about whether or not kook was actually shagging db is cause I never heard them—until, of course, pohang. disgusting. they owe me some sort of compensation (and NO, I do not want to join them, they'd owe me even MORE compensation). but that came after the game, and so as awkward as it might be, I heard him with other people. what?! its not like he was a virgin. and it's not like db is either, we all know that. not something worth getting upset about, is it?

as for that... well she practically already lives here. nah, I'm just kidding. its nice having her around, but me and jungkook have a good thing going. we signed that lease as bachelors, and moving a girlfriend in really stifles the cause, yanno? plus I live for the nights he fucks off over to her place. me, couch, balls out, bliss. I won't tell him no if he asks, but I think he knows it wouldn't be the right move.

bd yoongi:

it's a tough one. there's no right nor wrong answer, just choices—and once you make one, you have to be content sticking to it.

honestly I'd probably sit him down and run his finances with him. he'd need to rethink the restaurant and venture into something more stable, if they were to keep the baby. the kid comes first, so his dreams would have to wait.

if they chose not to keep it, I'd ask him why the fuck he was with me and not comforting her. then I'd tell him was an idiot and call him a cab. if he came to talk again, I'd let him vent everything out without judgement. its a tricky situation with a lot of sensitive parts. I'd probably ask Seoyeon for advice on the advice I should give to be honest.

[hetweridnoe]

'Las Tragedias' Albertine Garcia-Cabral

The west was a vast and prosperous place but also a place of great hardship. Many of the outlaws we've come to hear stories of were orphaned in the confederate war. In this tale you'll meet two touched by the hardships of new America, a tejano and a second generation scot.

Albertine Garcia-Cabral, a dark skinned tejano-creole girl. Her mother's mother a slave and her father's mother a mexican. Albertine timed her birth perfectly. Born a free woman in the american state of texas. Her mother an advocate for the continued emancipation of Black people in America (executed for 'running her mouth.') Her father a gambler and a sinner, a sorry soul. Albertine was left with her sick Grandmother at the age of 10 as her father's behaviour got more and more erratic... when she died Albertine was alone. She took care of her grandparents ranch as best she could. It was an evening in July- she was 16- when she awoke to voices in the house, one her estranged fathers, the other a stranger.

Albertine walked in, she had jeans under her nightdress and a gun in its holster, she rested her hand upon it and scowled as she talked

"Grimaldo? who is that?" She asked her father, whom she'd not seen in 6 years.

"Alberta, so nice to finally meet ya. Your father was right yanno, you are beautiful." The stranger lent in and kissed Albertine, holding her around the hip.

"Alberta, this is Erick Dothman. He's gonna take care of you."

"That's sure right, Mr Garcia. See Alberta, I'm a soldier. I got a nice settlement out in the country."

"I'm... not sure what you mean..."

Erick laughed "Well why would ya. Your father said you was only young. Don't you worry sweetheart. I'll show you all the ropes." Erick kissed Albertine's cheek.

"We already got all the papers signed for you, Alberta dear."

"I'm confused. What papers?"

"The Marriage certificate. As your legal guardian, I signed you to good Mr Dothman. You're Alberta Dothman."

Albertine chose to ignore her father calling her by the wrong name, she looked up at this 20 something man she now had to call her husband.

"We'll set out tomorra. Got a long days journey ahead, lovely." Erick said heading into one of the spare bedrooms- clearly not intending to spend the night with Albertine.

"What are you doing with the ranch?" Albertine asked her father, who shrugged and scoffed "who would want this old piece of shit. Its older than the states themselves. Ain't worth anything"

"May we keep it?"

Grimaldo looked around, rummaging through drawers for valuables to pawn "Sure. Give it to your kids or something."

"Will you come visit?"

"Don't think I'll have time. Sorry Berts."

"So you do remember my name?"

"Albertine sounds too mexican. You're an American."

"I'm a Tejano Creole. Abuelita always told me to be proud of that."

"You're American. Be proud of that. Some of us ain't so priviliged."

Albertine watched as her father took valuables from the drawers before setting off, leaving her alone with some stranger.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

This is also a college Steve and Bucky AU that I can't get out of my head Imagine a jock who is well known for always completing keg stands and winning drinking competitions and being able to guzzle down the most beer without stoping and never being able to back down from a chance at victory and he gets invited to all the parties because people just want to see how much he can take and not-so-slowly he starts to develop a tank of a beer belly that he's in denial about when he's sober and totally doesn't notice when he's drunk and it becomes a novelty at parties to pat him on the gut and hand him another beer and play with his belly and get him as full and as drunk as possible just to see the lasting effects on his growing body, and in his drunken state he slowly starts to enjoy the way people fondle his moobs and play with his gut and call him names with affection, and it eventually transcends into his sober life as well and he longs for people to pat him on the belly and tell him what a good job he's doing and bite his moobs like breasts and he doesn't even know why he has these desires but he finds himself thinking about it constantly, and he only admits how much he wants it when he's too drunk to remember his own name and surrounded by people who are a little more sober than him, who want to make him feel good but also continue to give him beer and alcohol even when he's passed his limit because at the end of the day, they really do just want to see how big they can grow that keg of a gut. He put so much effort into being a jock, and now he's subconsciously putting all that dedication into this instead

Oof, God, yeah, it's like he's turned into the campus mascot! 🥵

And yanno how a lot of college campuses will have those statues around the quad or at the entrance to one of the bigger, more important buildings that has a really shiny part because it's tradition to walk past and pat or rub the statue for luck-?

It's that, but with a student. (I'm thinking Bucky for this 💦)

Just imagine, after a particularly filling party, Bucky is sitting on the couch. His chest is heaving, moobs hanging out, his shirt long gone - who knows if he ripped it off himself in the middle of his feverish, alcohol-induced stupor or if someone managed to peel it off of him when he wasn’t paying attention, too busy consuming - his belly jiggling as he breathes so hard. He’s so packed full and heavy that he’s denting the poor furniture, crushing the padding, making the springs squeak, leaving the wood frame groaning. 

And, as per tradition, when he’s done with the last kegger, groaning his way through it, struggling to fit anything else inside himself, stomach stretched taut so much so that it feels like he’s full up to the back of his throat, even his esophagus filled, people start to come over to rub Bucky’s belly. Drunk college kids stumbling their way toward the spectacle that he’s become, slurring their praises and compliments for how good he did. How big he got. They all know the legend, but it’s one thing to know and another to see.

Bucky is damn notorious for his ability to chug. 

Nobody on campus doesn’t know Bucky’s name (or, really, the shape of Bucky); nobody doesn’t come over when they see him waddling through campus, huffing and puffing, offering at least a high five, if not giving him enough quarters for a soda from one of the many vending machines in every building - gotta keep his capacity up, right?

After guzzling everything the party instigators managed to get their hands on, doing more than one keg because he’s like that, Bucky’s unbelievably big. So round. His skin is clearly throbbing from the stretch of fitting so much inside himself. So, as he sits there, he lazily lets his legs spread wide so his heavy tummy can hang between them, resting on, and overflowing from the couch. He has to take it easy or he’s gonna burst.

So. full. 

As he takes five, his break well-earned, Bucky’s belly gets more and more gurgly under everyone’s hands. The globe attached to him - somehow a part of his body even though it’s so swollen - gets more and more red, too. New stretch marks are almost visibly etching themselves into his skin and he’s begun to shine with sweat, so exerted and heated from consuming so much. Pushing himself so far. 

Soon, a line forms - too many rowdy kids coming over to touch him. 

The touches turn from relatively light pats, everyone wanting to hear how ripe he sounds, thumping him, to harder pinches and slaps. Everyone wants a piece of him. They all want luck from the campus mascot. 

Barrel Gut Bucky Barnes.

No. 1 Greedy Boy.

Rub for good luck. 

So, by the time the party has cleared out for the night, Bucky is left there. Alone. Dazed and stuffed. He’s still sweating. He’s still trying, in vain, to catch his breath. The only difference from when he had just finished the kegger to now is that now his poor gut is redder and hotter with the outlines of handprints from where his fat has been slapped hard making him jolt and belch, the small fingerprint bruises from where he’s been pinched, shocked into hiccups by the way it aches, and lines from the girls who scratched the surface of his globe-gut with their acrylic fingernails until he moaned and shivered, moving as much as he could underneath the immense, oppressive weight of his own overfull body, trapped in place. A statue for everyone to touch and feel and gape at as they walk past.

How could anyone get that full?

Christ.

At this point, they might as well get a fucking forklift under his ass, lift him and this shitty, almost-broken, college-kid-bought couch, drive him over to the middle of the quad, and set him out there for everyone to admire openly. Bucky loves being a fat-bellied mascot but even if he didn't... he's too drunk and dumb to do anything about it now. He's in too deep. He's swollen himself too big.