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inkblot-inc · 9 months

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A Trip Around The Sun

Summary: From the RCD Universe; It's been a year since you and Wanda made things official, so who doesn't love a little anniversary somethin' somethin'?

Pairing: Jeweler!Wanda Maximoff x Metalworker!Reader

Warning(s): There's smut in this one so just to be sure: This is 18+ ONLY so MINORS DNI. Fingering (w receiving), oral sex (w recieving). The sex aside, this one's pretty sappy overall. I don't even think there's that much language in this one, bud.

Note(s): What better way to break in 2024 than with a little sweetness between two of my favorites? Granted this would have gone up yesterday had my power not gone out after coming home from my vacation, but ah well, we're here now. I hope y'all enjoy this one :3

Word Count: well into 2.7k baybee

*squints* I give NO ONE permission to repost or translate my work. Make your own shit!

Tonight was you and Wanda's one year anniversary and you wanted to leave with enough time to get home before Wanda and get changed for the plans you arranged tonight.

Wanda had been texting you as much as she could throughout the day in addition to packing your favorite for lunch. The texts had started out innocent and then got progressively heavier with innuendos later in the day. Needless to say, you were all but ready to finally see your girl.

You just finished cleaning up your station for the evening, making sure everything was powered off and in its proper place for when you come in the day after tomorrow. Before you walked out of the shop, you stopped in Logan's office as per usual. You walked in to see him going through papers. Inventory reports from what you were able to catch.

Logan looks up from his work, "Leaving early?"

You can't help the smile that blooms on your face as you answer. "Yeah, it's mine and Wanda's anniversary tonight. Wanted to take her out for the night, I even got reservations for seven."

Logan simply nods along with your explanation. "Where are you takin' her?"

There's a bit of hesitance in your voice as your eyes focus more on the older man's desk. "Carnivora Snow. She's never been, I don't think, But I think it'd be nice."

Logan doesn't respond for a good minute, before you wind up looking back at him. Logan sets down his paperwork. "Well, say hi for me, bub. And have a good night." His voice is just a little bit less gruff than usual.

Your smile is smaller but doesn't lose its warmth. "That's the plan."

After you leave Logan's office and close the door behind you, he just sits there for a second to have a moment to himself.

------

It's 4:45 PM when you get home, and the first thing you do is go to shower and change clothes. You change into a black form-fitting suit; nothing egregious, but definitely formal enough to fit the occasion. You leave the top two buttons of your gray button-down shirt undone and wear a few silver rings to accessorize. You take your time to get the look just right since you're the first one home from work.

It's 5:30PM when Wanda gets in from work, your interaction is brief seeing as you both wanted to make it to your reservations on time. You mainly stuck to quick banter about your work days as you both finished getting ready to leave.

Wanda comes out of her personal room wearing a merlot red off-shoulder gown, with a silver piece of jewelry that mimics a tied neck for the dress. You realize that it disappears under said dress as well. Before your curiosity distracts you, you realize that it's 6:20PM and that you'll make your reservation with just enough time. After a brief deliberation, you opt to drive to the restaurant in Wanda's car rather than in your truck.

------

Carnivora Snow is a Restaurant in New York that is well on its way to getting a Michelin star. With its reservation list almost always filled, you had to pull a few strings you hadn't used in a while to get seating for the two of you tonight, but it was more than worth it.

Both of you were having a wonderful time so far, with Wanda ordering Honey Garlic Salmon while you had the Chicken Kyiv this time around.

It was clear you both were enjoying yourselves, not just in terms of company, but food as well. Particularly when she noticed how quickly you were polishing your plate. "That good, huh?"

You swallowed the bite of food in your mouth before answering her, "I swear they snuck crack in this Chicken, Wands. The mashed potatoes are really good too,"

She smiled at your sheepish reply, "Do you mind if I try some?" You shook your head as you pushed your plate in Wanda's direction.

After cutting a piece of her own and trying it, she hummed in approval as her eyes lit up. "That's delicious,"

"Right? It's gotta be crack." Wanda laughed at the fake suspicion in your voice. Her food was quite good as well, but she made a note to herself to order this the next time she came here as she cut herself another piece. Wanda continued to laugh freely as you idly chatted over dinner and exchanged bites of the other's entrees.

You both split the cost when the check came, but you got up to go the restroom while you were waiting. You passed the Teppanyaki-style section of the restaurant on your way back, seeing two chefs in the front preparing food in front of other guests before you caught sight of another female chef in the back.

You met eyes with said chef before her eyes widened slightly. You see her talk to one of the other cooks before going through a side door to meeting you out on the floor.

The woman moved the blonde whisps peeking through her hat, surprise still settling into her features. "You're really here. Part of me thought you wouldn't show..."

You raised a brow with a teasing smile, "I contacted you, 'Lena"

She nods, more to herself than anything. "I know, it's just...been a minute you know?"

You completely understood, it's been a busy few months because of the holiday season after all. "Logan says hey, by the way."

Yelena's answering smile is more sincere, "Well 'hey' to the old man. Anyways, how have you been? You said you were bringing your lady friend here with you."

You grinned at the mere mention of Wanda. "I did I did, she's still at our table. I'll introduce you before we leave."

After a second, your bright smile turns into a somber one. "How is she?"

Yelena's smile also dims, "Busy. Quiet.... She usually throws herself into her work this time of year. There's all the events coming after the holidays for her to plan and plan."

You nod as you try not to think too hard on what you heard. It was around this time that year too... "Well, I'll see you in a minute, we'll be at the front to finish paying" You squeeze Yelena's shoulder with your hand before you turn to walk back to your table.

Yelena simply watches your back before going back to let her workers know she'd be gone for another ten minutes.

---

Wanda is gathering her bag when you come back, "Are we all set to go?"

She stands up to meet you with the check in her hand. "Yes we are. Was there a line at the bathroom?"

You take Wanda's hand in yours as you both walk to the front of the restaurant "it was a bit of a line, yeah. but there's someone I want you to meet before we go."

By the time the both of you get to the register, Yelena is there waiting for you. You gesture towards the blonde, "'Lena, this is my girlfriend, Wanda Maximoff. Wanda, this is my childhood friend, Yelena Belova. She also happens to own this establishment."

Yelena offers her hand to Wanda, who gladly takes it. "It's a pleasure to meet Y/n's instantly better half. They are very lucky to have you," she turns to you, "You are very lucky to have her,"

You roll your eyes at Yelena's teasing smirk as Wanda chuckles at her remark. "I don't need you to tell me that, I am highly aware."

Wanda rubs your arm in a overly soothing gesture, "We're both lucky, darling."

You lightly groan in fake irritation, "I regret this already." Both of them continue to joke at your expense, and you can't help but be relieved that they seemed to get along rather quickly.

After they exchanged phone numbers, you said your goodbyes actually getting a rare hug out of Yelena along with a promise to meet up again soon.

When You and Wanda left the restaurant, you give Wanda your suit jacket to avoid the brisk night air.

Wanda gratefully puts it on as you both make your way to her car. "Yelena seems really nice, honey. She reminds me of one of my work colleagues."

You open the car door for her before getting in yourself. "Yeah? She can be a bit much, but we're locked in like this," You crossed your fingers with one hand. "We met in middle school, so she's basically family anyway,"

"I bet the both of you were trouble together,"

"Eh, you'd win that bet," You chuckle to yourself as Wanda takes your free hand in her lap on the ride back home while you told recalled some of the things you got into (and sometimes paid for) with your oldest childhood friend.

------

About halfway home, the energy in the car was different. As the troublemaker stories petered out, the more the both of you were focused on each other. The moment the two of you got back home from Carnivora Snow, the atmosphere was charged with intention.

The two of you were almost glued together as you made your way to the master bedroom. Wanda only separated from you long enough to go around the opposite side of the bed to undress, albeit slowly. You're admittedly less graceful while undressing in comparison to Wanda's slow striptease. Your impatience brought you around to Wanda's side of the bed just as she took off her shoes. You grasped at Wanda's borrowed jacket to feel more of her skin, and you watched it flush as your lips went from her face to her neck. The silky cloth could hardly compare.

"You look so beautiful tonight, doll," Your hands rest on Wanda's hips as her own reach up to unzip the back of her dress, and your eyes stay on hers in the full-length mirror across from the two of you as your lips stay level with her shoulder. "Y'know, I couldn't keep my eyes off of you at dinner..."

Wanda's smirk held nothing but mischief as she turned to look at you briefly, "Is that right?"

Wanda got the zipper about halfway done before you took it upon yourself to pull it the rest of the way down, the material going slack on her body. "Mhm, but now I don't have to even try to keep my hands off of you."

Your eyes enjoyed everything about the view; Along with more exposed goosebumps, the body jewelry Wanda wore for tonight was fully visible, the fine silver innocently clasped around her neck draped over her chest and caressed just under her breasts. With Wanda's stiff peaks coming through the thin tassels, the piece flattered her figure more than you thought anything could.

You let the fabric pool on the floor and ran your hands under the jewels to knead Wanda's breasts. A sigh left Wanda's mouth as she leaned back onto your front. You took the opportunity to pinch her nipple, making her moan from the sudden sensation.

Wanda takes her other hand to turn your face to look at her. "I need more, detka."

You tweak Wanda's nipple harder, making her cry out before running your free hand down from her hip to her navel before going under Wanda's lacey underwear.

You lift your head to meet Wanda's ear, "Just relax for me, I'll make you feel good baby. Promise."

Your index and middle fingers gathered some of Wanda's slick before they made contact with her clit and started to massage the bundle of nerves. Wanda's moans began to mix with each other as she squirmed under your hold, her eyes fluttering shut.

You pressed lightly on Wanda's clit making her gasp and open her eyes again. "Ah ah, I want you to watch me, doll."

Wanda's eyes gazed at the two of you in the mirror as your fingers went further until they sunk into her fully, curling inside.

You pumped your fingers in and out of Wanda's wetness at a steady pace, making her arch into your hand in search of more friction. "Harder, please! I've been waiting for this all night,"

You can't help but oblige as you push your fingers to go deeper, even adding a third finger to stretch Wanda out more. "Yeah? this is what you wanted, baby?"

"Yes yes yes! Just like that! God, you feel so good," Wanda's voice borders on breathless as she becomes like putty in your hands, her eyes half-lidded as she keeps her eyes on the two of you.

You pull Wanda to sit down with you on the end of the bed on your lap, as you continue to fuck her with your fingers, your thumb rubbing her clit to bring her closer to her high. Wanda cries out as you start moving your fingers at a feverish pace while continuing to knead her breast with your other hand.

You put your lips to her ear again, "Are you gonna cum for me, doll?" Wanda nods her head rapidly before you pull your fingers out of her making her groan at the lost feeling.

You lift your hand covered with Wanda's slick for her to see, "Look at the mess you were making all over my hand, Wandy." She watches you as you bring the soaked digits to your mouth to suck them clean.

Before Wanda can completely lose her high though, you move her to lay down on the bed fully while you settle below her on your stomach. You snag a pillow to place under her waist for comfort. Wanda's legs settle on your shoulders as your mouth becomes level with her pussy. While your arms hook around Wanda's thighs, you keep a thumb pressed to her clit while you eat her out. It doesn't take her long to get right back to where she ached to be.

"I'm cumming, baby, I'm cumming!" Your other hand holds her entrance open as your tongue chases her release with her. Wanda's hips spasm in your hold as you continue to help her through her orgasm.

You lift your head to look up at Wanda, hair long since falling out of the updo she carefully placed it in, the auburn tresses spread out on the sheets around her. You carefully move out from underneath Wanda to join her at the top of the bed.

Both of you finally took the time to catch your breath again, tremors continued to pulse through her still.

after laying down for a while, you untangled yourself from Wanda before sitting up. "I'm gonna get the shower going so the water can heat up, Alright?"

Wanda nodded with a lazy smile as you pressed a kiss to her forehead before getting out of the bed. She lightly grabbed your wrist, "I'm going to need you to carry to the bathroom though."

---

With the two of you showered and dressed for bed, your hand rested on Wanda's thigh as Wanda pulled up I Love Lucy on the TV. With Wanda's head on your chest, her hand toying with the hem of your wife beater. It was a peaceful, lulling atmosphere as the two of you enjoyed your shared space.

"Y/n, sweetie," Wanda's eyes stay on the show, and you can hear Wanda swallow before she speaks up. "I wanted to ask if you'll come to Fashion Week with me."

You move your head to look at Wanda properly. New York Fashion Week was in a little over a week from now, and you were prepared to stay home again. Wanda puts very little of her private life in the public eye, preferring to keep the two separate. With how naturally nosy people are, it makes sense to want that boundary.

A small smile forming on your face as you rubbed one of her shoulders to soothe the nerves you could already feel cropping up. "You really want me to go?"

"Mhm, I want you there with me. I barely got through our phone calls without caving and having you come down last year. It scares me a little that I've gotten so attached to you in what feels like so little time. I just-... I feel better with you beside me."

You leaned down to gently press your lips to Wanda's. "I'll gladly go with you then, Wanda." Your lips caressed each other again before you separated with both of your heads still resting on each other.

A smile grew on Wanda's face to match your own. "Happy anniversary, Y/n."

Happy anniversary, Wanda."

#marvel #marvel one shots #rough cut diamonds #a trip around the sun #jeweler!wanda #skitch #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #metalworker!reader #jeweler!wanda maximoff x metalworker!reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x yn #rcd.oneshots #jc inkworks #ink.wanda #ib-jc.

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moongreenlight · 7 months

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U already KNOW what time it is baybee!!!! WIP WEDNESDAY!

Been riding the Gaz high and this has been in the works recently (I wrote 2k words yesterday) so here's this!

Director!Gaz x Actress!Reader

Summary: It’s the mid-1970’s and you’ve recently made the unshocking discovery that it’s difficult to find good work acting. Lucky you stumble on the wrong opportunity at the right time!

You’re not dumb enough to fall for the advertisements in the papers looking for actors in ‘up and coming independent films.’ Not anymore.

After being burned so many times by ‘pay to audition’ schemes and sleazy directors only looking to collect videotapes of girls doing porno auditions, you gave up on that front.

But what’s the stipulation on extenuating circumstances? Like when you’re working at a bar a few blocks away from the community theater and a man comes up and sits at the counter all by himself.

He’s gorgeous and a sweet talker. Seems intent on chatting with you even though you really should be polishing glassware. And once he’s finally caught you in his snare, he drops a bomb that up until this point you’d only ever heard stories about.

He says he’s a small-time director and he saw you in the last production the theatre put on. He laughs and makes a lighthearted self-deprecating joke about being “one of those wankers in the paper” to which you wrinkle your nose and give him a weary smile.

But, Jesus, if he can’t make a bad thing good. He’s got all the makings of a politician the way he’s able to talk circles around you until you agree to show up to an audition for his latest project. ‘Trouble in paradise’ or something to that tune.

He tips you twenty pounds and his business card on a coke he barely touches. Uses your pen to write your audition time on the back of the card.

Wednesday at 11a. x

He doesn’t give back the pen.

Your roommates do no good talking you out of it. Hushing your half-arsed arguments about scams and serial killers and all kinds of things. It ends with the four of you in a pile on the couch, wine-drunk and giggling yourselves into hysterics.

So two days later you go. Forcing your roommates to promise no less than five times that if you’re not heard from in an hour that they’ll send in the authorities.

You find your way to the address on the card that now looks tired in comparison to when you first got it. The edges are fussy and dog-eared from your worrying with it and passing it around to prove its legitimacy.

It doesn’t look like any studio or office you’ve seen. Far from. And that should have been the final nail in the coffin. Should have been the reason you turned tail and went back home. But something pulled you up the worn steps of the house. That same something, now cowering a bit at the looming possibility, brought you to rap your knuckles sharply on the part of the door with a few different layers of paint chipped away to expose the cheap metal underneath.

You’re left standing on the stoop for a few moments too long with no answer. And just as you were about to come to your senses and return home with some sliver of your dignity still intact; the door swung inward and exposed the same man from the bar - Kyle - with his horrible, beautiful, toothy smile.

“Thought you were going to stand me up. Wouldn’t have known what to do with myself.”

You catch yourself thinking it’s a shame that he’s directing and not starring in movies. His devastating good-looks and all. Must be a terrible read.

There’s a card table set up in the living room. Two folding chairs behind it that look flimsy at best. Three thick packets that have been three-hole punched on the side, but held together by a binder clip in the top center.

The rest of the furniture is pushed up against the wall. A hodge-podge of mismatched chairs and a sofa that very well could have been your grandmothers and a few banged-up side tables.

He offers water. Offers to take your purse. You decline both. Opt to stand a bit stiffly on the faded rug in the center of the room with your bag tucked snugly under your arm.

Maybe you should make a run for it. Maybe you were stupid to come at all. He’s a total stranger for Christ sake.

Before you can will your feet to move, there’s s bang from behind you. A screen door slamming shut and rattling on its hinges. It startles you almost a foot into the air.

“Nervous?”

Kyle is cool as ever, sliding into one of the chairs, waggling his eyebrows at you. It whines under his weight and you’re suddenly very aware of just how bulky he is. Doesn’t look it on passing glance, but when all you’ve got to look at is the way his shirt fits it becomes glaringly obvious.

“Easily startled.”

You correct, trying to decide whether or not it’s passé to turn over your shoulder to find the source of the heavy footsteps behind you.

He hums and grabs one of the packets, taking off the clip and leafing through it. Pulling out a few odd pages and setting them on the table.

The footsteps reveal their maker when he rounds the corner into the room and shuffles behind the table. If you thought Kyle was big, this man is properly a behemoth. A bit taller, broader in the shoulders, a layer of fat packed on over his muscles. He looks to be older by a few years. He gets crows feet when he nods and smiles at you before taking his seat.

The chair looks as though it would be happier pulling its own legs out from underneath itself.

“Cap’.”

Kyle doesn’t look up from his papers when he addresses the man.

You get no formal introduction to ‘Cap’ though he doesn’t seem to be truly involved in the audition process. He barely glances up from his packet. Content to nurse a fresh cigar and lean further back in the chair than you think should be plausible.

You read from the stack of pulled-out papers with sloppily highlighted lines and try not to shy away from meeting Kyle’s watchful eye.

The audition goes normally, all things considered. You’re instructed to read three different scenes. Without the time to read the blurb on the project, you draw the conclusion that “Trouble in Paradise” is some sort of short suspense film centered around a woman living, shockingly, in paradise.

The writing isn’t first-rate, but you suppose that’s to be expected. You have a hard time piecing together how the scenes flow, but that’s not your largest concern.

“Lovely. Really, darl’.”

Kyle stands when he talks. Commands the attention even of such a small audience. Takes up space in the room like he’s owed it.

You smile, feeling a bit more at-ease now that things seem to be wrapping up.

“N’ how do you look in a bathing suit?”

The question takes you entirely off-guard. It makes your jaw fall far enough open that you’re left looking like a fish out of water.

“I- sorry?”

Kyle’s face doesn’t change. Fantastic at keeping up appearances. He’s still casting that warm smile over you. The focus of it makes you feel like you’re sunbathing.

“Bathing suit, love. How d’you look?”

Disappointment drops like a stone in your belly. Heavy and fast. It’s another scam. Of course it is.

“Oh. I don’t- I don’t do dirty movies.”

It must be palpable on your face even more than it is in your voice.

‘Cap’ glances up at Kyle when he ashes his cigar. The smell is nauseating. He seems to be chewing on a smile. Kyle meets his eye for only a moment, amusement painfully evident on his face.

“You’ve just read the pool scene. Hardly anything dirty about costuming.”

#gaz x calling reader 'darl' you will always be famous #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #sephspeaks #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #drabble #gaz x reader #gaz call of duty #gaz cod #gaz mw2 #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick #wip wednesday

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foxilayde · 2 years

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Half of You (part 5) [Santiago x Fem!Reader]

Summary: the Baby Daddy Santi chronicles are back, baybee!

Warnings: a little angst, a little fluff.

Rating: 18+ ONLY. minors DNI.

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: I KNOW IT'S BEEN FOREVER (see: "definition of "forever"", meaning: 107 days). thank you for being so patient. As always reblogs are rewarded with a virtual hug if you're into that sorta thing. And if you're not on the taglist and you distinctly remember asking me to add you to the taglist, pls lmk, I'm dreadful at keeping that stuff organized. Much love to you all.

Fish disembarks with a playful nudge of your woodpile with the toe of his boot. “Good luck with your project, hermosa.”

“You can come check it out on Thrusday, bring me a little housewarming plant for it, huh? Something pretty.”

He gives you a lazy salute and wink. You don’t watch as he pulls out of Santi’s driveway. You zone out, staring at the clean vertical lines of your freshly shorn lawn. You can hear Santi still wrenching and clanking around in the kitchen. You didn’t hear their whole conversation, just bits and pieces, the fucking window was open and it wasn’t like you were trying to give them privacy anyway. You feel a bout of nausea swell in your throat and you can’t tell if its guilt, or if it’s morning sickness, or if its from the ungodly heat or a bodily reaction to the fertility hormones, but you feel on the edge of vomiting. You rest a palm over your lower abdomen. It could be in there right now. Jay’s face pops into your head and you want to cry. You take a deep breath and rest your head against the slatted outer wall of your craftsman home. You don’t know how long you’ve been staring out at the lawn with the echos of Fish’s words humming against the insides of your skull when the clanking stops and Santi comes to join you on the porch.

“Filters all set up, I’m letting the water run. The booklet said it has to go for an hour until it’s good to drink.”

You don’t respond, so he continues,

“I put the five gal under it though, so it catches all the water… I googled it and it said that the filtration test water is safe for plants, so maybe you can use it on some—“

You cover your face with your hands to hide the tears that well up in your eyes.

“Hey!” Santi crouches down to your level quickly with his popping knees and puts a reassuring arm around your shoulder. “What’s wrong?” You shake your head, still hiding your eyes and you laugh incredulously.

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Thank you, Santi.” You sniff a sob and laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Could’ve fooled me with the waterworks, I— what’s this pile of… stickers?”

You wipe your eyes to see that Santi’s brow is scrunched, investigating the clump of alphabet’d small stickers in between his fingers.

“It’s… I thought…” you hiccup. Dammit.

Santi laughs. “Don’t tell me, Vin. Did the little earthquake I caused make the stickers fall off?”

You sniff the snot back into your nose and you nod. “You know what? That’s exactly how it happened.”

“And then they all banded together in a pile to hide from the aftershocks?”

“Nailed it. Two for two. You’re on a roll.”

You take a deep breath, hiccuping despite your best composed efforts, and Santi fully lowers himself beside you, arm still around your shoulders. He squeezes you close to his side. He smells like sweat and basil, lemons and lawn clippings.

Santi follows your line of vision to the freshly manicured lawn. “Are you crying about the hedges? I know I did them a little bit short this time, but—“

“I heard Fish.”

Santi’s grip loosens almost imperceptibly and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Vin. Love the guy to death but he’s been a martyr since recovery. ”

You nod in reluctant agreement.

“Hey….People are going to think what they’re going to think. It won’t stop with Frank.”

“Yeah I know it’s…”

The lawn is pretty. You hone in on a bee writhing on a violet blossom.

“It’s the hormones, I think.”

You know its a lie, even as it leaves your mouth. It doesn’t convince you and you sure as shit know it doesn’t convince Santiago.

“Hormones, huh? Sorry about that.”

You hiccup and laugh, “not your fault. No need to apologize.”

Santi stretches his legs out from under himself and sighs. “Well if the turkey basting did it’s job, I think it’s only fair I share partial blame, don’t you think?” His grip tightens on you once more and you laugh through a fresh bout of tears, you rest your head on his sweat dampened cotton shirt, wriggling your nose to alleviate the itch.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper as a fresh flood of tears escape.

“C’mon, Vin. You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” He kisses the top of your forehead casually and rubs your shoulder, letting you shift closer to him, wrapping your arms around his middle.

“But I do. I really really do.” You bury your face into his cotton clothed chest. “Even fucking now, I can help myself… I cosign you to all my bullshit. You’ve been picking up my broken pieces, letting me cry into your t-shirts since day one, since ground zero. It’s not fair to you.”

“This shirt is filthy anyway.”

You shake your head against his chest.

“This is the hormones talking. That ovulation injection is no joke.”

“Maybe you should go lie down.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Delusional and stubborn, huh?”

You smack his chest lightly.

“Go take a nap, Vin. Lie down. I’ll get you some water… some fresh reverse osmosis water… in an hour.”

It’s hard to move, to leave this spot on the sweltering porch, it’s not exactly comfortable on the floor, but your face is resting on the soft cotton of Santi’s t-shirt. He’s content to let you, just like he’s always been; content to let you call the shots, to dictate the direction, no matter what fucking storm you decide to steer the ship towards.

You eventually concede to a nap and Santi walks you upstairs. He takes off your shoes, and tucks you into your bed, clothes and all. He leaves for a while and in your in-between-states-of-consciousness, Santi sets a glass of water on your nightstand. He’s certainly thinking you’re fast asleep as he pulls your duvet snugly to your ears. You fall asleep totally after he softly closes your bedroom door and when you wake up two hours later, there’s a fully constructed plant shelf on your front porch.

The next few days pass like any other. Every morning you arise to bake something new, forgoing the oven on Tuesday’s sweltering morning temperatures to concoct some no-bake oatmeal cookies that cause Santiago to outright hoard the batch in his fridge, making you promise not to give them out. You’re too cranky and tired on a novel lack of caffeine to put up much of a fight.

You never mention the plant shelf to Santiago, but on Wednesday morning there’s a large pot of vibrant green basil on the shelf which you’re certain is his doing.

On Thursday morning you head to the fertility clinic to test to see if the initial ‘turkey basting’ was successful. They take your urine sample and you twiddle your thumbs, seated with your bare ass on the butcher paper in the empty exam room… they tell you it has.

You’re pregnant. Pregnant. Your heart rate picks up and you have to lie down, the paper crinkling under your back and behind your hair as you cup your mouth with your hands and begin to cry… again. Fucking hormones.

The usual surly nurse congratulates you and tells you to come back in eight weeks for the ultrasound. Ultrasound.

You don’t trust yourself to drive home straight away. You wonder around the neighboring shopping complex and people-watch families. Families on evening walks, families out to dinner, families smiling, families bickering… You hold your abdomen and laugh to yourself. And cry. Again.

By the time you get home, the sun has already gone down. Santi’s driveway holds additional cars, like most Thursday evenings. the boys are over to watch the game. You quietly exit your car, you sit in the dark on your porch swing and watch Santi, Will, Benny, Frank, and Tom through Santi’s dining room window. They clap shoulders, hold cans of beer and shout playfully at one another. The noises are an unintelligible hum that swells in your heart. After about 30 minutes, Fish drags Santi to the front window and points to the street. Santiago cups his hands against the blaring light of his living room to peer out into the darkness. He’s looking at your car.

In a matter of moments, Santiago is walking down his driveway and up yours. (he never jumps the hedges. Fastidious, that one.) you smile to yourself as he fixes he hair and squares his shoulders, preparing to ring your doorbell when he spots you in the dark on the swing.

“Vin!” He takes a step towards you and pauses.

“Hey” You don’t know if he can see your face in the shadows or not, but something keeps him from advancing, from joining you on the two-person swing.

“Why aren’t you over there? You didn’t even tell me where you were going today, but, that’s, that’s okay. Everyone’s been asking about you. Ben brought that dip you like and Fish swore up and down that he hasn’t told anyone, besides Rach, obviously. So it’s not as if you have to explain anything. If you don’t want to.”

Santi scratches the back of his neck and takes one more shuffling step closer to the swing. Hesitant. “Vin?”

“I have to tell you something.”

Even in the dim lighting you can see Santi’s demeanor sobering up. He crosses his arms and immediately responds, “Okay, yeah, I have to tell you something too.”

“I— huh?” You weren’t expecting any new information.

“You first.” You can’t see his face but you know him so well that you know by his tone of voice the exact face he’s making. That defensive clenched jaw thing that he does with the upwards chin tilt. You’d bet a million dollars that his chin is high in the air.

“Come sit.”

It takes a few beats before Santiago joins you on the porch swing, but he eventually does. The chains creak, his knees pop and he exhales expectantly.

You don’t want to keep him from the game, god only knows what important plays he might be missing, so you decide to come out with it.

“I went to the clinic today and—“

“You did?! Why didn’t you tell me? I could have—“

“I wanted to go alone, just in case, I—“

“What’d they—“

“I’m pregnant.”

You’re grateful for the darkness of the porch which keeps Santiago’s expression a mystery. Beyond the hedges, through the glow of Santiago’s living room window, a muffled cheer erupts. Shouting, clapping. Must’ve been an impressive score.

“How are you feeling?”

“Been crying like crazy. Not sad crying. Just lots of crying. Crying for no reason. At sunsets. At families holding hands. At life insurance commercials… At my best friends watching a football game one house away…”

Santi sits there in silence. You can’t even hear him breathing. You continue.

“Other than that, I’m good, I— it still feels unreal, you know? But I feel good about it. It was so quick, too. Wasn’t it? I don’t know why, but for some reason because of all the rigamarole the clinic put me through I thought this process was going to take months or years or something. But, first try, and bam. Which sounds about right when I think about it. It’s you, after all. Mister tactical soap. Of course your swimmers would get into formation and attack at dawn. No survivors.”

“Those ovaries didn’t stand a chance.”

“No they did not.”

“You don’t have to come over if you don’t want to— I can give you some space.”

“No. I want to. I want to see everyone. I know its only been a few weeks but I miss those idiots.”

“Lets do it then.” Santi rises and you hook your arm through his offered elbow. Once you step out into the illuminating glow of the street lamps you see the way his mouth is quirked up in an easy smile. His eyes are slightly glassy from the lagers and the texture of his stubble, the way it folds in at his barely visible smile line… without thinking you run the tip of your finger from the corner of his mouth, up to his ear.

“I like it when you smile, old man.”

The lines deepen around his mouth when his smile expands.

“Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

- - - - - - - - -

The get together is a typical Thursday evening fare. The only difference being your abstinence from alcohol and general lack of interest in football has relegated you to maidly duties of replenishing drinks and snacks while the testosterone crew shouts at Santiago’s flatscreen.

The boys are invested the game, but you enjoy watching them watch the game. Benny is by far the most into it, which makes him the star player of the crew. He throws his poor worn ball cap to the ground when the play doesn’t go his way, stands up when he shouts. He claps and hollers when his preferred team scores and paces around during time outs. You might blame his passion on his proximal youth, but you don’t believe time will be capable of stripping him of his fervent fanaticism.

By the time you get there it’s past halftime and the “games a dead horse anyway” according to Will (Benny disagrees). You collect your hugs from each of the boys. The hug from Frankie is longer and tighter than usual.

After the game is over, the boys play some low-stakes poker and one by one each of the crew retreats to the living room to ‘rest their eyes’, the place is a mess, the boys are sloshed and and passed out on the various soft surfaces of Santiago’s living room. You help Santiago clear away the detritus of a night well spent and just before midnight Santiago offers to walk you back home.

“Would you? I wouldn’t want to get lost on my way in the dark, and this sure is a bad neighborhood. Just last week someone stole the Grossman kid’s skateboard off the front lawn. These streets are dangerous.”

“Pipe down, you’ll wake up Tom.”

You glance down at a particular patch of cozy carpet on the living room floor where Tom’s long body is splayed out, snoring like a logging factory. You roll your eyes and stage whisper to Santiago, “Yeah seems like a real Princess and The Pea situation. Better slip out quietly.” You exaggeratedly tiptoe out of the front door and put your finger up to your lips and whisper-yell at Santiago, “Close the door GENTLY!!”

Santiago shakes his head, shuts the door, and joins you on the driveway.

“Oh! Look at the moon!” Its a full one, slightly yellow and impossibly big this evening. “So pretty.”

You don’t know it but Santiago isn’t looking at the moon. He’s looking at you look at the moon. The way your eyes are all big and glittery. That awestruck smile you have. At something as simple and as constant as the fucking moon. ‘Look at the moon she says, how could I possibly look at the fucking moon when she’s so… So what, Yago? What is she?’

Santiago stuffs his hands in is pockets and looks up at the moon. It is pretty.

You grab him by the elbow. “Lets lay on the driveway and look at the sky for a little bit?”

“What? Right now?”

“No. Not right now. How horribly convenient would that be? Lets meet back here at oh three-hundred hours when we’re too sleepy to enjoy it.”

“Fine, wait here.”

Santiago turns to go back in the house.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m not laying on the driveway without a blanket.”

“Good idea… oh, Santi, while you’re in there can you make me a cup of tea?”

Santi raises his eyebrows. “Herbal tea?”

“Yes. I’ve come around. Matured. One herbal tea please.”

“Coming right up.”

You lay out on the driveway in the warm summer evening, stretching out with your hands behind your head. You get lost in time for a bit, staring at the beautiful clear sky.

Santiago stares at you from the porch. Blanket and tea in hand and admires you quietly, bathed in moonlight. Content. Pregnant. Pregnant with his child. Not his. Yours. Dios.

Santiago spreads out the blanket next to you after handing you the steaming mug. You set it down and scoot over till you’re on the flannel fabric. He lays down next to you, mimicking your hands-behind-head position.

You don’t turn your head to look at him when he speaks. You continue to stare up at the full moon, the clear sky, terrified that he might not be looking up at all.

“You hoping for a boy, or a girl?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know… I guess I’ve always wanted a girl. But after taking care of these dopes for so long, I feel finely attuned to caring for dudes… I’ll be happy either way. How about you Santi, do you have a preference?”

“Do I have a preference? No… no.. I mean. I know you’ll be great no matter what.”

“Yeah, thats a given.” You laugh and nudge his elbow with your own, “but have you had your heart set on either?”

Santi shakes his head, staring at the sky, “I haven’t had my heart set on anything, Vin.”

“I think the gender is the least of my concerns anyway.”

“What’s the most of your concerns?”

“Raising it as a single parent… if I’m co-signing them to a doomed life…”

“You’re gunna do great Vin. Don’t be nervous. I’m here for you.”

“I know. I know you are. You don’t have to be.”

“I know I don’t HAVE to be but I want t—“

“Why though? Why do you feel endebted to me? Why did you do this, let me walk all over your life without a fight? Is it guilt? Guilt I can understand. I’m well acquainted with guilt. Is that what it is? Or is it pity?”

“Pity? For what?”

“For the Widow next door that you have to entertain, the sad girl you invite to your get togethers. The crazy plant lady who can’t hold a screwdriver.” Your hands drift to your stomach.

Santi huffs with incredulity and shakes his head. “It’s not pity. I want to help because… that’s just who I am. I don’t know Vin, I see you, you’re there, you need help, I help. It’s not that complicated.”

“Not that complicated? You’d call this ‘not that complicated’?” Hot tears betray you, you hardly even try to stop them. Not here, in the open blanket of night, Santiago tilting his head in concern towards you.

“Don’t cry. Please Vin. You’ve been crying to much lately, what’s wrong?”

“I miss him. I miss Jay every fucking day. I wake up and his photo is right fucking there. I think about putting it away… I did put it away for a while, but I even missed THAT… so I put it back. On the nightstand.”

“What would you say to him?”

“Huh?”

“If Jay was here…. Not alive, but a spirit or ghost or something… what would you say to him? If he materialized right now?”

You wipe your eyes. “I’d ask if he was happy. If he was safe… I’d probably ask him if heaven is real. If he’s in heaven. If he met Elvis…” You laugh.

“And what else?”

“And then I’d say… I… I needed you Jay. I needed you. I’d say that sometimes I’m still so angry that you’re not here that it makes me scream. I’m angry that we never went to that stupid ‘Party Time Taco’ restaurant we kept getting flyers for, just to see how bad it was. I’m angry that you didn’t have a fucking last will and testament, so it was on me to guess at everything you would have wanted. I’m angry that you left me alone. And I think sometimes I get so angry, because if I felt sad instead, I’d fall apart.”

You don’t know at what point in your sobbing rant that Santiago’s arm came over your shoulders, but you’re grateful for his steadying embrace as your tears slow down to faint hiccups.

“You wanna know what I’d think he’d say?”

“What?”

“That he’s proud of you. He’s proud of how strong you are. He’s proud of you for getting out of bed every morning. He knows how hard it must be. And that he couldn’t imagine anyone being a better mother… and how badass he thinks it is that you’re doing this on your own.”

“Thanks, Santi.”

“He also says you shouldn’t be watering the backyard for fifteen minutes in the evening. Do five in the morning and 10 at night”

“Oh he said all that did he?”

“Yep. don’t shoot the messenger.”

“What was the thing you had to tell me?”

“Hmm?”

“The thing. When you were on the porch you said you had something…”

“Yeah. I… I’m taking a job in South America.”

“Where at?”

“Can’t say.”

“You don’t know?”

“No. I know.”

“Ohhh… one of those.”

“Yep.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Don’t know.”

“You don’t know at all?”

“Not really.”

“Not even a guess?”

“Vin. C’mon you know I can’t tell you.”

“A week? A month?… longer? Blink twice if it’s longer than a month.”

“I don’t know.”

Your hand drifts to your stomach.

Santi breathes out, “Are you upset?”

“No! Why would I be upset?” Your voice squeaks defensively.

“Because I won’t be around while you’re…”

“I said I’m fine! I’m doing this alone and I meant that!”

“Yeah I know. I’m just worried.”

“About?”

“Oh I don’t know Vin, If something happens to you and you can’t get in contact with me.”

“If I were you I’d be much more concerned with doing some sort of clandestine mission in a foreign country.”

Santi is silent.

“Will you call?” You ask softly.

“If I can.” He replies at the same quiet level.

“Send a postcard?”

Santi barks out a laugh, “Yeah I’ll send you a postcard. Greetings from redacted! With all incriminating details blacked out in sharpie.”

“You going alone?”

“No. The guys are going with me.”

“All of them?”

“The whole gang.”

“Must be a big job.”

“You could say that.”

“When do you leave?”

Santi takes a deep breath. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?! As in, like, today-tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’m all packed. Tonight was a last hurrah stateside.”

“How long have you known about this job??”

“A while.”

"And when the fuck pray tell were you planning on telling me?"

“Fuck I don’t know Vin, I didn’t want to stress you out. I kept trying to find the right moment to tell you but, I don’t know, I didn’t want you to worry and you’ve started crying again and..”

“Hormones!”

“Right, hormones. I didn’t want to stress you out.”

“Well I’m considerably less stressed now, learning that you were so worried about this trip yourself that you decided it was better to keep me in the dark and wait till the last possible second to clue me in rather than just tell me. Did you tell the guys to keep it a secret from me too? A last hurrah party and not one of them mentioned the international travel plans the whole night?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It is. You don’t have to tell me everything, right? That’s… you’re not… it’s fine.” You pat his back “Sorry for freaking out. If you say you’re going to be fine then I should trust you, right? You know what you’re doing.”

Santi nods and is tight-lipped when he mutters, “Right.”

“You need me to water your plants or anything while you’re gone? Get your mail?”

“Already taken care of.”

You nod and click your tongue, “Well, it’s getting late.” You dump the contents of your herbal tea onto the lawn and hand Santi the mug. “Will I see you before you leave?”

“We leave in, Santi checks his watch. 5 and a half hours.” He says with tight apologetic eyes.

“Five and a half hours,” you mutter under your breath. “You need a ride to the airport?” You ask more loudly, already deciding that if he says ‘yeah that’d be great’ you’ll laugh in his stupid chiseled face.

“We have a shuttle coming… but thanks.” He looks so tired. But so what if he is, it’s his own fault if he isn’t well rested for his trip.

“Well then, you better get your beauty rest. Those boys are going to have raging headaches tomorrow.”

You get up and rock back and forth on your feet facing Santi. His knees are bent, one hand clasping his wrist, eyebrows downturned with concern.

“I’ll see you in… well… when you get back.”

“Vin—“

“Goodnight, Pope.”

He doesn’t rise to chase you. Doesn’t grab your wrist and force you to hug him goodbye. Doesn’t wipe away your tears with his thumbs. He remains sitting on the driveway when you get inside your home. And when you lay down in your bed, tears soaking your pillow, he’s still out there, staring at the fucking moon.

You have a nightmare. Not the usual horror of Jay collapsing in the middle of highway 1, the recurring playback panic of the last two years. No, in this nightmare you’re sitting on your porch in a rocking chair, holding a potted plant, one so big it crushes your thighs. Santi’s house, usually pristine and well kept, is condemned, paint chipped, windows smashed, lawn overgrown. You rock faster and faster out of control until the ceramic pot falls off your lap and crashes to the floor.

You wake with a gasp and leap out of bed. You nearly trip over the sheet still caught on your foot when you rush over to the window. It’s still dark outside. Santi isn’t out there any longer, neither is the blanket or your mug. You look at the clock. 4:30. You sigh in relief. They haven’t left yet.

You throw on a robe over your nightgown and go downstairs. You turn on the kettle before getting the ingredients out to make biscuits. Those idiots really shouldn’t have drank so much last night. You figure the least you can do is make them some breakfast sandwiches they can take with them. It’s not like you’ll be able to get back to sleep.

You’re wrapping up the last of the sandwiches (seven in total, one for Santi, Fish, and Redfly. Two for each of the voracious Miller brothers) when you see a blue shuttle van pull up in Santiago’s driveway. The sun has barely risen and the muffler steams as the driver beeps twice. You put the sandwiches in a paper bag and forget your slippers in a hurry, meeting the boys with their pack laden arms as they unload their bags into the van.

“Morning, Vin!” Fish greets you, causing Santiago to nearly snap his neck when he turns around in surprise. You hand the bag of breakfast goods to Fish.

“Mmm what’s this?” Frank pokes his nose into the bag and breathes deeply.

“Just a little something to soak up any remaining tequila.”

“Ugh, please don’t say tequila” Benny groans, shuffling off his pack into the trunk before he wraps you up in a hug. “Take care, Vin.”

“I will.”

In turn, each of the boys hugs you and thanks you. You tell them all to “be safe” and that the “welcome home party will be at casa de Vinita. With plenty of tequila.” Benny groans again. Santi watches you, arms folded leaning against the passenger door of the running shuttle. The boys load in and buckle up. Benny is already ripping into the parchment paper of his breakfast and will snatches the bag with a gravelly, “you’re an animal, Ben.”

You lock eyes with Santi, a strange anticipation tingling in your fingers. You both jump slightly when the shuttle driver beeps his horn. Santi glares at the driver who points at his watch.

“Pinche… give me a minute, Kay?”

You take two barefooted steps towards Santi and wrap your arms around his middle, resting your head on his chest. He holds you close, like he’s giving you a concentrated dose of hugs, giving you a full month’s worth of embraces in one sitting.

“I had a nightmare about you last night.” You whisper so only he can hear. He inhales deeply and rubs his hands carefully up and down your back. You can feel the gripping dance of his fingers through the material of the robe and it makes you shiver. You grip him closer. “Be safe. Please.” You whisper, hoping you’re the only one who registers how desperate your plea really sounds.

Santiago’s hands skim up to the sides of your face and he gently pulls your head away from his chest. You choke back the makings of a whine. You don’t want the hug to be over, not yet, you’re going to miss him. He rubs his warm thumbs against your cheeks and there’s no warning at all, no hesitation, no eyes flicking to your lips, no sweep of tongue to wet his own, when he kisses you on the mouth.

It’s slow. Achingly slow. Your gasp of surprise is muffled by the insistent pressure of his mouth. You can’t be sure, but, if he he had been hugging you in prepayment of all the embraces you’d miss in the coming weeks, then this kiss is surely back payment, with interest, for all the times he’s stopped himself from kissing you in the past. Recompense, remuneration; a distilled unspoken passion. There’s nothing ‘first-kiss' about it, not clumsy, not awkward, not unsure. It feels practiced, steady, anticipated. The tingling in your fingers makes total sense and you use those same fingers to glide through his silvery thick curls when you tilt your head and open your mouth to him.

He twists your form in his broad arms, angling your faces away from the van, causing one of your bare feet to leave the ground and lift slightly like a wilting ballerina in swan lake or something out of an old movie.

There’s a romantic reverence in the way his tongue moves with yours, his nose pressed against your cheek, hot steady breath blowing comfortingly against your face.

You both jolt again and break apart your lip lock when the shuttle driver lays on the horn.

Santi doesn’t so much as furrow his brow at the driver when he steadies you back on two legs.

Frankie brushes the driver’s shoulder, and with a mouthful of biscuit says, “Pero qué coño! give him a minute, wéon.”

You blink rapidly and stare at your feet. What the fuck?

“I’ll be back soon.” Santi promises, squeezing your hand assuredly before climbing in the passenger seat and closing the door.

Frankie gives you a wide eyed smile before sliding the back door closed and you can hear the muffled admonitions of the driver as he hastily pulls out of the driveway and speeds off down the residential street.

-------

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#Santiago Garcia #Santiago Garcia x you #Santiago Garcia x reader #Triple Frontier fan fiction #Oscar Isaac #reader insert

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mamawasatesttube · 7 months

Note

Hi hello,

Random question, but what do you headcannon cassie to look like and dress through-out her teens into adulthood? Both as wondergirl and as cassie? On that same vein, what adult superhero name do you like for her?

Anywhoosies, wishing u a great day!

late teenage into early 20s cassie is grappling with comp het pretty hard and tries to grow her hair out and dress more femme. she hates it but she doesn't know she hates it for a hot minute. this is both as wonder girl and as cassie because she barely exists as a civilian at all for a long time. "cassie sandsmark" publicly was wonder girl for a while, and she tried coming up with a fake name and identity to be a civilian again in tt03, but it was rough on her and she ultimately gave up on it.

so i think that really just weighs on her - she's a hero 24/7, she's leading the titans, she's basically letting the vigilante life consume her and she's gonna crash and burn out hard any day now. i think donna sees this and goes hey... you know you don't have to be exactly like me, right? in fact i think you need a vacation. let's go to themyscira for a bit. and its big sis lil sis bonding time but also for the first time cassie catches herself thinking um... women 😳 women? 😳 oh god. women 😳 and she has a whole crisis about it.

when she comes back from her vacation she does feel a lot more in touch with herself. the problem is that what she sees there (dissatisfied with her work-life balance, worn out, starting to confront her internalized homophobia) freaks her out. so she kind of has a crisis and hacks her hair off with a pair of scissors in the middle of the night and then looks in the mirror like. oh GOD. what did i DO??? oh god oh fuck who do i know who can fix this and won't ask me questions if i say i don't wanna talk about it hhghnggrhgnn...

so she shows up in kansas wearing a beanie at like 1am like kon Please. help. 😭 and she feels So guilty bc he's her ex and he's still kind and loving enough that he does get out of bed despite having an early morning with farm chores, and then he's all sleepily shuffling to the bathroom with her like here. sit. i'll fix your bangs. jeez. and the vibes are so... you know. bathroom light late at night spilling into the hallway. he's cutting her hair. krypto is peering at them from the doorway like why the fuck are you awake. cassie's on the verge of tears bc she wants to tell him why she did this but she's terrified it'd hurt him if she was like i think i was never actually in love with you

but when she finally says it he just stares at her. and then stares at her some more. and then he starts? laughing?? and at first she's kind of hurt like uh. that was serious and also pretty hard to say, what's so funny. and hes just almost in tears holding her hands in the bathroom by the sink like. cassie. ive been so scared of telling you i think im gay. for like. 3 months now. cassie i hooked up with an alien several weeks ago and i had a whole crisis i just refused to tell anyone about. um. yeah. and she's like. YOU WHAT? ALIEN HOOKUP? CONNER KENT? and hes like NOOOO WE ARENT TALKING ABOUT IT. YOURE A LESBIAN LETS TALK ABOUT THAT. but its like. oh! and they click back into place as best friends instead so much more easily than they ever dated. it's about the late night catharsis of it all.

this is a lot of words to say that after this i think she embraces the short hair and starts leaning into masc presentation again. i am a butch cassie truther for LIFE. get that girl some cargo shorts and a carabiner for her lasso STAT. i'm talking those truly heinous cargo pants that unzip at the knees to become shorts. formal cassie rocks the blazer with a bra underneath look. cassie lingerie is a tank top with no bra. she's butch to the bone baybee

as for her adult hero name, i still kinda waffle about it but i've Tentatively settled on "xenia"!! it's taken from one of zeus's epithets and has to do with hospitality, kindness, and the protection of strangers (yknow those rules about breaking bread with strangers etc, those are also called xenia). the og meaning had to do with the idea that a stranger could be a god in disguise so you should always honor strangers, but i think cassie would do a sort of converse of that with it, like i've got the power and i'm gonna use it to protect people i don't know, not for the idea of a boon but because it's who i am. still potentially workshopping this, though.

#answers #not-orpheus #cassie

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hollow-lime-green · 25 days

Note

you've mentioned in 2sorcs that your interpretation of yuki's technique is different from canon, right? (I agree...the physics is not. physics-ing.) would you mind explaining your interpretation or would we have to wait for further chapters of 2sorcs/installations of the verse?

Oh yes, thank you for this ask, I would love to talk about this!

My interpretation of Yuki's powers is what I think they should be in a balanced universe where a.) Gege understands physics, and b.) Yuki is undeniably special grade.

I do really like Yuki's canon arc, but I think Gege copped out in how they got there due to him not really vibing with the math/science involved. Luckily, I am a STEM girlie here to womansplain. Since I'll mention about manga-only Yuki stuff, I'll put it under a cut.

(Side Note: I really hope some of the anime-onlies that I know have read this verse go back and reread if/once they catch up on the manga. There's a lot of easter eggs!)

Yuki's Canon Powers:

Yuki can use cursed energy to add virtual mass* to herself or her shikigami, Garuda.

*This mass only affects how hard she hits**.

**Until she adds enough mass to turn herself into a black hole, wherein it now does affect everything else.

Now, I think this is really stupid, because it is so limiting to say mass = power (force), and the black hole threshold is arbitrary. It is stupid on its own, and it is stupid in the context of the Kenjaku fight because if you let Yuki be cool, the fight can be way cooler. Kaori's anti-grav actually could have been an amazing counter and led to an interesting fight.

(Of course, the point of Yuki's fight is that she lets go of herself/her agency, and by not being selfish and arrogant, she loses the fight. The strongest need to be a little crazy, and they need to have unlimited faith in themselves/insane egotism. By doing what Tengen wants, she has to lose. I like it. But Greg still could've made her cool.)

Yuki's Powers (Taylor's My Version):

So, science: if the size of something stays the same, but the mass changes, the density has increased. So my interpretation of Yuki's powers is technically based on density.

Yuki can used cursed energy to add mass/increase density to anything she can touch (including other sorcs), and Garuda at a distance (familiar mechanics, baybee).

Yuki's cursed technique reversal is taking away mass/decreasing density.

All things are affected, not just 'power'. When things are heavier, they are harder to move and generally more durable, so she gets defensive buffs when heavy and speed buffs when light.

Yeah the black hole still works. But Yuki's relationship with mass is linear; there's no 'threshold' where suddenly Greg changes things.

These changes are relatively minimal in terms of the actual powers, but I think they would make a world of difference. When Yuki's powers interact with real world physics, she can have a lot more strategic options for changing her own mass, which you see in her spar with Geto. It's great for hand to hand. I have Satoru change his weight in the fic essentially by using a Blue behind him to lift himself up like a momma cat might lift their kittens up lmao. But Yuki could just directly target herself.

She could probably be special grade with *just* that change, especially since we know she has a DE and she has RCT. But I think it's balanced (whatever that even means in jjk) for her to also be able to apply her CT to unwilling targets, like Projection Sorcery. (By the way, Projection Sorcery is busted, and we will get into it 👀). With enemy/ally targeting, I think she'd be definitively special grade.

The Kenjaku/Kaori fight could have been an absolute masterpiece with the interaction between density/mass and gravitational pull. Both have both CT and RCT, so if you expanded on Kaori's antigrav and let her set a source point for gravitational pulls (similar to Blue), or at least a direction, she could reaaaaally fuck with Yuki. And then you've got the setting with Tengen's barriers falling apart. Kaorijaku could hover/fly, Yuki could go light to jump around on them. I mean - Greg, I just wanna talk Greg open up Greg-

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk <3

#fire in your mouth #jjk fanfic #ask #jujutsu theorycrafting #yuki tsukumo #tsukumo yuki

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kiwibongos · 6 months

Text

i dont really infodump in general at all but im doing it cus i need some ideas off my chest. do you freak with angst? perhaps an unhappy ending?

// sdr2 chapter 5+ending spoilers ig. also kuzuhina au baybee

so i had an idea of like. what if nagito DID actually bomb the island, taking everyone out alongside himself?

so when nagito finds out that he alongside all the other participants (aside from chiaki) are remnants of despair he just wants to end everything for good bc he doesnt think the ones he called "symbols of hope" deserved to live. so bombs are spread all around the islands forreal this time, and hes still just as vague and ominous, never really specified how many bombs there were, what island it was on, and left it up to the survivors to try and figure it out. so they'd all been searching for days, but to no avail, and at the very last moment when fuyuhiko finds them at the military base (nagito had just freshly died + placed them on the truck), he drags the others there to check it out. once nagito's video message to them ends, the bombs go off alongside a chain of other explosions across every island. the remaining survivors ran out of the factory, barely on time, and everything started crumbling around them, and all the others were downed one by one, crushed underneath falling structures with no time to be saved

but somehow haj and fuyu survived (who were farther away and had more time to react), the others dying right in front of their own eyes. but they ran away, retreating to the warehouse immediately. and hajime just takes a minute to crumble in fuyuhikos arms wishing he couldve saved them. until they hear music echoing in the warehouse. they walk down, and past a curtain, they find nagitos body with a spear through his head. (the fire/poison didnt go off btw, it wasnt really necessary in his plan.)

im sure u can imagine hajime was fucking raging at that point just breaking down and stressing out, how mad he was at nagito for running away like this and inflicting all this pain onto everyone, and monokuma let him do it since yknow, technically he couldnt punish him for a crime he hadnt committed yet, and all this happened in a matter of minutes. but fuyuhiko snaps him out of his panic for a second and knocks something through hajimes head, and the realization hits; it’s just them now. they’re the only ones left

and neither of them know what to do

but their first thought was to get out of this factory as fast as possible, so thats the first thing they do, navigating through the fire and leaving the entire fifth island, and hope that maybe they can find a way out of here, or ask monokuma or monomi for help (since the island is in shambles, they must have to let them go right?), so they wander around, hoping maybe then something would happen, but there wasn't any sight of monokuma or monomi. the fire kept on spreading, the smoke was getting worse, so fuyuhiko and hajime eventually retreat back at the military base (one of the few places untouched by the bombs) so they could catch their breath, collect their thoughts, and make a plan (or hopefully monokuma would come to them, if they stay in one place.)

they just kinda sit inside of a garage for a while, talk a little and comfort eachother through it, hajime is crushed by guilt and horror, but he realizes they wont accomplish anything just by sitting here. and if he couldnt save the others, he can save him and fuyuhiko. so haj leaves fuyuhiko in the garage with determination to think of something to get them off this island somehow. he looks for ways of escape, like the helicopter outside, but no fuel. he looks for materials or tools for a boat, but the island had been extremely lacking in that, everything was either burned or missing by now, so even their most plausible idea was destroyed. when hajime returns to the garage in a panic, pacing around, fuyuhiko realizes they arent getting off this island. they cant wait here forever. but hes known this for a while, and he knows what he has to do now

eventually, he hands hajime a pistol(acquired from the truck of firearms outside), and asks him to kill him so it could finally be over

obviously hajime refuses at first, but fuyuhiko begs him, because he isn’t a good person and he doesn’t have much else to live for, while hajime has singlehandedly saved everyones asses, he deserved to escape more than anyone else here, he basically tells him 'its time you take care of yourself.' by now, hajime was crying, but they’ve been at this dead end for so long, he knew he had to do it or else they’d never be getting off this island. so hajime just had to accept it, so he just holds him close, says his final goodbyes before making it quick for him

pulling that trigger hurt him more than anything, knowing he'd failed to the end, but anyway boom monokuma comes out congratulating him, ends the simulation, and hajime is the winner

also postgame babey; when things end here, hajime would wake up from the simulation, and since he never got to choose his own future alongside everyone else, he wakes up as izuru kamukura, inside the abandoned pod room. he's not entirely empty i think, izuru and hajime still would have "merged" afterwards, but his memories of the simulation are very fuzzy very quickly, so hajime is somewhere in there, mourning, justi n the deepest parts of his mind. but thats a whole thing to get into. the survivors, fuyuhiko, and everything that happened, are just kind of like a vague nightmare that sticks with you no matter how much you try to forget it

but he just leaves the pod room, and lurks around the city without any other purpose to serve anymore, all alone. the future foundation hasnt found him since

edit: side note i was really back and forth on it for a while but i finally wrote this into a fic lol. the brainrot consumes

#rambling #kuzuhina #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #fuyuhiko kuzuryuu #hajime hinata #anyway ill just let this collect dust here #im a one braincelled organism without a name #danganronpa #super danganronpa 2 #sdr2

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jyva · 8 months

Text

DEATH KNIGHTS BAYBEE

among my world of warcraft friends i’m known as the death knight guy. the blood god. the no. 1 blood dk oce. i have convinced multiple people to start playing death knight or blood death knight. i really like death knights. u wanna know why? not just because they’re cool and smart and sexy and handsome and strong and cool, but also because they’re the ones you call when you really, really wanna make sure something’s done. this will not be a well-structured rant and i’m not sorry.

a lot of people use stratholme as a turning point for arthas, an example of a time he went too far and started going into the deep end. what happened was the scourge (evil undead bad guys) snuck infected zombie-making grain into this big city’s food supply and infected everyone with it. arthas sees that everyone’s about to turn into a zombie and decides (CORRECTLY, I MIGHT ADD) that this entire city must be purged. all his friends go “no that’s fucked up” and abandon him, and he goes through with it anyways. it’s an incredibly difficult thing to do. it’s a monstrous thing to do. it loses him his closest friends. but it has to be done so he does it. if he doesn’t, all or most of the population is transformed into evil zombies, and everyone in there dies anyway, with the addition of some of his own men as they fight the undead. would you rather be killed while you still have your own mind, or after you transform into a monster and eat your own family? what’s easier to kill, a cowering innocent civilian, or a bloodthirsty undead horror? fucked up questions to answer. some people wouldn’t want to voice the answer to those questions. some people wouldn’t have an answer. arthas did, and in a moment of crisis, he had to give that answer for every soul in stratholme.

tirion fordring was a brave, noble, and powerful paladin who was instrumental in the defeat of the lich king arthas, and he died later fighting the legion. the new lich king, bolvar, decided that he would be a good candidate to raise as a death knight to continue the fight against the demons, and sent the knights of the ebon blade to light’s hope chapel to resurrect him. they were met with resistance from the paladins of the silver hand. five death knights, (yes, you heard me right, just five) raised ghouls to fight and shoved puny paladins out of the way until they reached its sanctum, the paladins’ own order hall, where the deathlord (death knight boss guy) beat the shit out of the highlord (paladin boss guy) until the light itself had to intervene to save its bitch ass representative after she gets her ass handed to her in her own crib. the death knights were prevented from bringing back a powerful force of good against the enemy that was threatening the entire planet because resurrecting tirion was “desecrating” him and “unholy” and “immoral” and “subjecting him to an unlife of pain and suffering is bad”.

which is what they have to endure, by the way. when they are raised, all death knights become subject to the “eternal hunger”, which is a new need to hurt or kill things that must be sated or they go mad. while they were under the lich king’s control, they were made to kill their closest friend, then sent to slaughter innocents in droves until they were broken free of his influence. some death knights stayed loyal to the scourge, some went mad, and the ones we’re left with in the knights of the ebon blade are the good ones, sating their bloodlust on the enemies of azeroth, or in one guy’s case, on the fish that he catches with his fishing pole. also, every death knight has a real hard time being happy. positive emotions are rare for them, and negative ones are everyday.

sometime during the burning legion’s second invasion of azeroth (the one that tirion fordring died in), demonic portals opened up in the priests’ order hall in netherlight temple. who do the priests call for help? why, their righteous, brave, honourable brothers in the light the paladins, of course. monsters are slaughtering more and more of their friends by the second by the time the paladins receive the call for aid. and what do the paragons of the light do? the courageous protectors of the weak? the vanquishers of evil?

they stand around their table and talk about how risky it is and oh man what if we take too many losses and oh geez it’s so scary though i don’t want to go :(

know what the death knights would have done? gone on over there and started mopping up demons. of course, the paladins do eventually save their priest friends, but not before that embarrassment. undoubtedly, more than a few priests die because of their hesitation and fear. being generous, though, it’s understandable. paladins are, despite their ideals, just living mortals. and death knights do what the living cannot.

you don’t go to a death knight for kindness and comfort, or a shoulder to lean on. at least, they’re not gonna be your first pick. you go to one when you have a problem. a really messy problem that has a lot of morally grey yuckiness. one that would cause you quandaries and make you spend time thinking about what’s right and what the repercussions are and what if there’s a better way. one that will require you to hurt someone, or stain your soul, or put yourself in incredible danger, no matter what choice you make. you call a death knight for those problems. they feel no fear, at least for any enemy that threatens them or you. there’s no enemy they won’t face. no moral question they’re going to waste time over. they’re already damned. the ends justify the means. to a death knight, the trolley problem isn’t a problem at all. they would pull the lever every time. one life sacrificed for the sake of five is a no-brainer. they’re an unstoppable, inevitable force of frost and fuck you that will run over whatever gets in their way.

i really like death knights (at least the veterans of the third war) because before they died, they were all unequivocally, undeniably heroes, every single one, that gave their lives for azeroth while fighting the scourge, chosen by the lich king because he recognised their strength. and when they’re brought back, they’ve killed their friends. betrayed their homelands. they feel a fucked up urge to hurt everyone around them and it’s so hard to find a reason to smile and sadness and misery course through their minds every day. everyone they once knew fears and reviles them for the things they did when they didn’t have control of their own minds. and despite that, despite ALL of that trauma and pain and misery on their shoulders that would drive any lesser being to suicide, they persist. and carry on. and keep doing good. because they were fucking heroes. and still are. and if you don’t find any part of all that relatable whatsoever, you’re lying to me. they’re the problematic anti-heroes of the warcraft world, and despite what the whingy-ass demon hunters have to say, DEATH KNIGHTS are the ones that have given the most for azeroth. because they literally DIED for it. also they’re stronger than every other class you can fight me on this and you will lose in-game and out goodnight.

#death knight #dk #warcraft #world of warcraft #ur welcome deaven

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sichore · 10 months

Note

23 combined w/or 20 for Pickles and Jimi!!!

[23. Write about your ship supporting each other through a hard time.

20. Write about your ship sneaking a romantic moment together.

Y'all are getting a preview of Dethmas: Director's Cut baybee!!!]

"Honestly, they've got all the money in the gahddamn world but don't even have one can opener? Ugh!" Molly huffs in frustration as she continues to slam through drawers.

Jimi opens one on her end and finally finds the prize, liifting it up for the older woman. "Oh, hey, I found one–"

"Ope, there we go." And Molly snatches the device from Jimi's outstretched hand, immediately attacking the canned pineapples.

Jimi catches Pickles' eye, again, and he gives her a slight shake of his head, lips pressed into a firm line.

"Honestly, Jamillah –"

"For the last time, Mom, it's Jamila–"

"Ja-MEE-la." Molly rolls her eyes, aggressively dumping the pineapples into a bowl. "Didn't I teach you not to interrupt a lady when she's talking? The nerve. Anyway, Jamila, it's nice having someone who knows how to follow directions in the kitchen for once. Yer honestly too nice to be hanging around this silly little band."

"This is the opportunity of a lifetime for me." Jimi says, forcing a casual tone into her voice, keeping her eyes on her hands as she sets up her cutting board and knife. "And I'm glad to be here. Did you want the pecans or walnuts for this one?"

"Walnuts, dear, pay attention. Still! Goofing off with these ruffians all day with yer pictures and all that. What would your husband think?"

Jimi tears open the bag of walnuts with a little more force than necessary, takes a deliberate breath, and meets Pickles' eyes again. He fidgets, now, tugging at the left sleeve of his sweater, soon averting his gaze.

"I mean, assuming yer married n' all. If not, that'd be pretty sad, as you're not so young – actually, wait a minute now." Molly pauses in stirring together her slime green concoction (so that's what the pistachio pudding was for?) to lean over and look at the painter's left hand. "Ah, well then," she sniffs at the lack of a ring, and dumps in the marshmallows.

"I'm happy where I'm at now," Jimi says with measured patience, slowly chopping the walnuts.

"You really should think about it," Molly's voice is a bit further way, and soon Jimi hears the hiss of the refrigerator door opening, then shutting with a thud. "I've already long given up on Connor giving me any grandkids – well, unless he's got any rascals running around, but I doubt it. Never could keep a girl long enough to–"

Jimi's knife comes down with much more force than necessary, and this time, she doesn't hide how she has to stop and take a deep breath. "Or maybe," she says slowly, "Pickles is very particular and hasn't found the right partner to meet his standards. Not everyone has to settle for the first thing that's given to them."

"Yeah, Mom. You have any idea what kinda PR nightmare a marriage would be? It takes someone real special to put up with that pressure." When Jimi looks up, Pickles is no longer slumped over on his stool, but sitting straight up. Looking at Jimi directly. "I wouldn't choose just anyone."

"Sounds more t'me like you just lost yer chance a long time ago." Shaking her head in disgust, Molly takes the chopped walnuts from Jimi to add to her bowl. "You still like coconut in this?"

"No, Mom, I don't."

"Since when?"

"Since never."

Molly tsks, stirring her – salad? Dessert? Jimi has no fucking clue anymore. "You are so disagreeable now, can't listen to nobody since you got all this going on. Should've found a nice girl like Seth did, that'd straighten you out–"

"Hey, Pickles, didn't you have some demos for me to listen to before I go?"

"Eyep, sure do!" Pickles slams his hands on the countertop as he stands, swiftly making for the exit. "Sorry, Ma, gotta work!"

"You haven't even done a taste test–"

"See you later, Molly!" Jimi tosses back, already halfway across the kitchen, skin crawling as she feels Molly's judgmental stare follow them. It doesn't fade until they're well out of view and down the hall, Pickles gripping her arm, almost dragging Jimi to keep up with his hurried pace.

He doesn't stop until Jimi tugs back, tugging him into some grandiose-but-empty room like the many dozens scattered throughout Mordhaus. He doesn't stop, until Jimi presses him back against the closed door and holds his face in her hands.

"Baby, baby, hey," she urges, voice hushed and low. "Look at me. Breathe."

The last thing Pickles needs is an asthma attack. His cheeks are tinged red with anger, but he listens, taking big, shuddery breaths, closing his hands over Jimi's wrists. She stays with him, breathing with him, until they breathe as one, calm and collected.

Jimi's thumbs rub against those delicately freckled cheeks, offering a smile to the moss green gaze locked on her. "You didn't have to come with me back there."

"You don't know how she is." Pickles starts to shake his head, but Jimi holds him still, and he inhales. Exhales. "I wasn't gonna just let her talk to you like that."

"I know." Now Jimi finds her own gaze dropping, to their equally garish sweaters, to their feet. She thought she'd be used to dealing with women like Molly, but given the circumstances... of course, this would be different. A lot more uncomfortable.

And painful, judging by the abject misery radiating from Pickles. His head drops to her shoulder and his arms wrap around her, his weight fully against the door behind him.

Jimi leans into him, arms sliding around his waist, and waits. The silence is never truly silent, their hearts beating in tandem to fill the void. She closes her eyes as Pickles settles, until his misery folds in on itself and is once again tucked away into a place Jimi can't reach quite yet.

She turns her face to press her cheek to his chest. "... We gonna tell her?"

His arms tighten around her. "I... I dunno."

They stay like that for minutes, hours, eons. As usual, time is insignificant when it comes to the two of them.

Eventually, Pickles pulls back, brushes a stray curl from Jimi's face. "Y'know, Jim..." His eyes drop, and he pointedly pauses.

Which makes Jimi blink at him. "What is it?"

"Huh." There's a distinct shift in the air between them. Pickles' hands brace around her ribcage, and move up until he's cupping her breasts. "Yer tits look fuckin' huge in this."

Jimi's mouth falls open. "What–"

"Seriously, are they bigger? Is there somethin' yer not tellin' me?"

"Oh, my god, stop! It's just..." She can't stop the giggles that spill out of her, increasing at Pickles' pleased little smirk. "It's just a thing that happens when I wear sweaters, I dunno!"

"We should get you in 'em more often," he muses, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Or maybe out of 'em, I can't decide." He kisses her other cheek, sliding one hand beneath her sweater and over the bare skin of her belly.

Jimi, predictably, expectantly, shivers. "You're such a horndog."

"Nyeh hehehe." He just chuckles, continues to rub calloused fingertips over her skin. "You love it." And he tilts his head to kiss Jimi properly.

This is how it should be, always. Jimi glimmers and gleams as Pickles wraps around her in seven ways, crimson and content. He pulls back just before Jimi begs for him to sink his hand into her chest and please, please grasp her heart once again. As usual, yearning for that oneness, that completion.

"It would've only been you," he murmurs against her lips. "Ya know that, right?"

"I do." Even if Jimi the mortal still struggles with that truth, sometimes. Jamila, luminescent and eternal, has always known. She trails a finger down freckled cheek and scruff, sighs when he captures her fingertip between his lips. "But I could always use a reminder.

[Soft OTP Prompts]

#metalocalypse #pickles the drummer #jamila calabash #mtl oc #my writing #ask meme #Dethmas takes place after Dethhealth #iykyk :)#paint the sky

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missyourflight · 2 years

Text

update from the universe where max and daniel are on strictly come dancing... it's the grand final baybee

They don’t win.

Daniel just has time to wrap Max in a quick hug and say in his ear, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” before they get hustled over to talk to the presenters.

He manages to get off a line or two, standing with his arm around Max’s waist, trying to psychically dissuade him from kicking off –

“It’s like Swayze said, y’know, I’ve had the time of my life dancing with this fella –”

Max is upset, he can tell, but he behaves, just says, “It is of course a shame not to win for Daniel,” before he congratulates Ellen and Kai.

And then there’s the glitterball, and the music, and the dozen other couples descending on the dancefloor, and he loses track of Max in the crowd, the blur of colour and costumes.

It seems like forever until Daniel catches him again but it can only be a few moments. Max still looks mad, eyes bright, cheeks hectic red.

“I think it’s not right,” Max says, voice raised loud enough for Daniel to hear him over the racket. “You deserved to win.”

Daniel looks at him, this man who has trusted him completely for the past four months, and it’s like his whole brain is running a highlight reel of Max: Max shaking his hand the first time they met, so uptight; Max lifting his eyes to Daniel’s in the mirror in the rehearsal studio, nodding determinedly; Max crying laughing in the spray tan booth with his little goggles on, saying, “Okay, one more time,” past midnight in the studio, taking Daniel’s weight, kissing Daniel after their rumba with the kind of desperation Daniel had never felt, making Daniel want him more than he’s ever wanted anybody.

“Max,” he says. “I did win.”

“What?” Max says, gesturing. It’s so fucking loud in here.

“I won,” Daniel repeats, and it must be written all over his face, because Max says, hopeful, wary, “Daniel, you said. Not while we’re on the show.”

Daniel grins at him, leans in and cups Max’s cheek in his hand. “Show’s over, baby.”

He kisses him, sweeter than victory, and when he pulls away to breathe Max lets out this little disbelieving noise that squeezes in Daniel’s chest. He presses his mouth to Daniel’s cheek and says, “Technically I think the cameras are still rolling,” and Daniel says, “I’m good.”

A cheer goes up as Max hoists him into the air, just the way Daniel taught him, and he kisses him, kisses him, laughing against Max’s mouth as the confetti comes down around them.

#333 #strictly come dancing with the stars #tumblr fic #they're together forever obviously and daniel gets max a little pair of glitterballs for his rearview mirror #i had a freezer martini and it's gone to my head lol 🍸#ty moonrver for talking about this verse w me! 💖

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notsocheezy · 2 months

Text

Brain Curd #144

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily (haven't missed one yet!) and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Please like and reblog if you enjoy - the notes keep me going!

A bead of sweat dripped down Reggie’s forehead as he lined up the shot. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and breathed out as he pulled the trigger.

“Headshot!” He yelled out, pumping his fist in the air.

“Hey come on, man!” Clint said from the other room. “I’m trying to study for the midterm!”

Reggie scoffed. “It’s basic calculus. What even is there to study for? Gonna forget how to take an integral?”

Clint rubbed his forehead. “Yes! Yes, that is exactly what might happen. What are you, some kind of genius or something?”

“Yes.”

“No you fucking aren’t, dude. I’ve seen you try to unlock the front door with your car key.”

“Trivial lapses, my friend. I was busy thinking about quantum physics at the time.”

“You're so full of shit. Okay…” Clint pulled out his periodic table. “What is the atomic weight of Ununennium?”

“Too easy. Three-hundred and sixteen.”

“You just looked that up!” Clint ran into the bedroom to catch Reggie red handed, but he was still deeply invested in a Counter-Strike match.

“Didn't need to. I memorized the whole periodic table… including the useless elements. I was just bored one afternoon, is all.”

“I don't believe this. How are you a C student?”

“Lazy.” He got another headshot dead-on. “Videogames are more fun than, like, English Lit. Cs get degrees, baybee.”

“Can you help me study, then?”

“Hmmm.” Reggie turned in his chair. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because the author hates calculus and doesn't want to brush up on it for a story five people are gonna read. You're on your own, bud.”

“What do you mean, ‘author’?”

“You don't know? We're fictional characters, man. Not real. Made up. Everything we say and do right now is determined by the imagination of a woman hopped up on prescription painkillers.”

“That can't be true…”

“Think about it. Don't you remember when I went all crazy about Goldfish crackers and cannibalized you?”

“That was just a dream I told you about.”

“No, it happened. I remember it too. But because we're not real, we can just come back.”

“Dude… that was the most painful experience of my life. You shaved my skin off with a cheese grater! That was real?!?”

“As real as anything is for us.”

“I don't think I feel comfortable being your roommate anymore…”

“Okay.” Reggie pulled out a glock and shot Clint right in the forehead before going back to his game. “You'll forget all about this by next time, Clinty-boy.”

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daimyosprincess · 1 year

Note

wip game: Sharp Objects

Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it.

Thank you for the ask bb! Ok so I've had this idea kicking around my head for a while and I hope to get to write it after I finish with Ex Libris and Twin Suns. I've got about 3k in little scenes written where I've had inspiration.

It's gonna be a multi-part rivals (not really enemies, but def antagonistic) to lovers (but still very antagonistic lmao) fic set during the later part of the Empire. Reader (which may change to an OC) is a bounty hunter that goes by "The Jagiir," or Jag for short, (a jagiir is the Star Wars equivalent to a jaguar I've decided) who competes with Boba as they fight their way up the bounty hunting world. It's going to be deliciously spicy and lil toxic but that's life baybee

Enjoy a lil snippet below the cut 🤭

As always, my work is intended for 18+ audiences even if there are no explicit sexual content.

18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

“That was my fucking bounty.”

You grin into your drink. Looks like Fett had finally arrived. “Hmm? What bounty?” you ask with mock innocence, blinking up to stare into the green helmet above you.

“Don't act like you don't know.” Boba grits out, balling his fists until his leather gloves creak in protest.

He's obviously pissed, but you're in a good mood and want to test your luck. “Oh, on Eelayis? That's funny, because as I recall that was a Guild bounty,” you reply cheekily, taking another swing of your spotchka, “not a private one with your name on it.”

“I'm not in the mood for your antics, kitten.” He emphasizes the pet name, knowing you hated that one the most. If you wanted to push buttons, he could too.

“Then what are you in the mood for?” you retort, reaching up to jab your finger on his chest plate playfully.

You were having entirely too much fun, Boba thinks. He grabs your wrist and pulls himself down to your ear. “Is that your problem, little princess? Nobody to fuck you like you need?” Your muscles tense in his grasp, your intent sharpening.

Running languid eyes up and down his broad frame, you smirk. “Why? You looking for someone to fuck, Fett?”

The smoldering look in your eyes almost does him in, makes him slam you down and fuck the disrespect right out of you then and there. Almost. Instead he turns on his heel, purposely letting the butt of his blaster knock your drink into your lap. Brat.

“You son of a-”

The rest of your words are cut off by the shattering of glass on the back of his helmet. Whipping around, he finds you smug-faced with your arm still outstretched from your throw, completely unabashed. You knew you'd crossed the line and weren't sorry in the least. That was fucking it.

Lunging towards you, Boba crashes his armored body into yours, shoving you into the booth wall. Knowing he has a codpiece, you opt to kick his knees out and roll him off you into the floor under the table. Scrambling out of the booth, he catches your ankle, sending you sprawling and your chin crashing into the dirty cantina floor. The sharp taste of blood fills your mouth and your mind stutters at the impact. Kark that hurt.

The room around you has exploded into chaos: Tsar's was one of those seedy joints that was always one punch away from a riot. Boots fill your watery vision as other patrons begin settling their own scores above you. Forcing yourself to focus, you kick at Boba's hands grabbing and pulling on your legs. You definitely pushed it too far with him this time, but you just couldn't help yourself—his domineering attitude just begged to be tested. And who better to do it than you?

Taglist 💖 @agirlnamejacq @burningfieldof-clover @marierg @acatalystrising @dukeoftheblackstar @imarvelatthestars @saradika @nintendobl00d @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @historianwithaheart @andrakass2 @samspenandsword @liadamerondjarin @sleepingsun501 @sgt-morgan @rescuethewretched @rexxdjarin @ladytano420

some others who have interacted or might be interested (lemme know if you don't wanted to be tagged in the future) 💕 @writingwintermoon @ghostvizsla @hes-all-and-hes-more @thirsty-boba-fett-posts @erinthevampire @vorpan-yaimi @becks-things @kakashibabe02 @pickleprickle

@thefact0rygirl @bobathirstaccount @baba-fett @popupguidetothegalaxy @galacticgraffiti @psybrepunk @jangosweat @janghoefett @zinzinina @starlightrows @rain-on-kamino @rosethornxs @reluctant-mandalore @twistedstitcher27 @jocasta-n @literallydontlook @arandomnerdsblog578 @deewithani @kurara123 @bucketfvcker

#yeah they're gonna have some of that nasty good sex for sure for sure #sharp objects fic #zwei writes #boba fett x reader #fanfic #ask #ask game #wip

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apothecarywormcrud · 6 months

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💚💙 gimme that gridlaw

💚 do they both realize they have a crush early on, or does it take them forever to realize?

griddle gets a lil crush almost immediately bc sometimes when a dude puts your heart in a cube thats all you can rlly do in response but doesnt think much of it bc they barely know the guy. it gets worse after they hit Close Friends territory and they realize they care abt him a lot on top of everything else. law takes a hot second to develop feelings to begin with and even then i don't think he's paying any proper attention. punk hazard is the point when it Really sets in bc aint nothin better for Gay Realizations than locking two guys alone on an island together and then going oh yeah btw you have to pretend you don't know or like each other. also this bird woman is going to flirt with your centipede right in front of you and you cant do fuck or shit about it. have fun!

🩵 do they both act different once they realize they’re falling for the other? maybe stuttering or fidgeting or daydreaming more often?

ONE MILLION YEARS REPRESSION BAYBEE!! griddle has no behavioral changes they just think about getting decapitated a lot. probably gets mildly antsy when they need treatment for injuries bc uwu the intimacy of lacerations deep enough to require stitches, or whatever. law i think actually gets. more distant and irritable bc hes like clearly the solution to catching feelings is to remove myself from the situation until they go away. flawless fucking victory. now your friend thinks you're mad at them, idiot.

#ass memes #gridlaw

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2dkapsddr · 9 months

Text

January 6th, 2024 - TAKUMI

Okay okay, weekend baybee!! Let see what scores you've got in store for such a relaxing, free day!

...

...two scores??? on the same song???? that's all????? not even a different song or a different game you played?????

...well yeah, very uneventful day today. from catching up on all the previous days and their posts (jan 2nd to 5th all in one day ! lotsa writing) to having to work nearly overtime during my closing shift, weekends are really not a day of relaxation at all. you should know this, Gary. nevertheless, it's not work without a break, and not a break without sneaking in some rhythm action! after finishing some quick errands like submitting my food worker card, i opened up takumi and tried catching up on the game i've been neglecting to play for quite a while, but still wanted to catch up on! though, it's a little tiring when every game is a catch up now, i just wanna pop in and play......

what song were both of the scores achieved on? you'll just have to find out for yourse-Just kidding they were both on this one 14 going by the name of... Outrage. Both runs were pretty decent, the later even being a full combo (that I choked an AJ to get)! Though, I am EXTREMELY confident that I can get All Just on this chart given that I properly memorize the ending and put it all together in one run. "Isn't that how every All Just goes?" Yeah.

(i promise there'll be more scores per day eventually just gimme a sec to write my 2024 rhythm game goals in a post coming right up !)

#2dkaps 2024 #2dkaps takumi

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uzumaki-rebellion · 2 years

Text

“Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Volume 4, Chapter 39″

Need to catch up? Baybee, a lot has been going on! Masterlist HERE.

youtube

"Done been through it all, man Blood, sweat and tears, niggas is dead and shit What the fuck else can happen, yo? I don't think much more, son, word to mother, yo We done seen it all, and been through it all, yo Let y'all niggas know right now Word to mother, for real, for real That shit is the truth, I'm not lyin'

I put my lifetime in between the paper's lines I'm the quiet storm nigga who fight rhyme P, yeah, you heard of him, but I ain't concerned with them Nigga, I pop more guns than you holdin' them Make my route while the sun's out and scold your men Unload ten in broad daylight, get right…"

Mobb Deep – "Quiet Storm"

Erik had only a couple of hours left before he had to pick up his children. He piddled around his office sipping tea and organizing all of his communication systems, and his computers, He also learned how to properly use his table replication of Wakanda. What he thought was simply a detailed sculpture was actually a piece of high tech that allowed him to use the holograph above it to shift the geography below, changing what he saw. The sculpture was made of a substance that felt like fine-grained sand that melted into various shapes and constructions that he could think of. He spent a good hour playing with it, using the holo computer above it to show him what Wakanda looked like in ancient times. He watched with fascinated wonder how the country transformed itself from a small agricultural mix of farmers, herders, and fishermen with sporadic nomadic traveling to the outskirts of their borders into a powerful dynastic kingdom.

The biggest growth came under the leadership of Queen Shuriyah and Erik became enamored with his ancestor. He loaded up e-books from the royal library onto his portable comm tab to study in-depth his grandmother's reign. There were some recently translated diaries that he wanted to read that was written by a woman servant that worked in the palace for Shuriyah. He wanted to know how his greatest grandmother juggled two husbands and twelve children in one household. How did she balance having two partners and sharing children with them both? If it worked for her and other people in Wakanda, why couldn't he create a new, workable family dynamic?

His kimoyo lit up, a reminder to pick up his kids soon. He looked around the office and stroked his finger on his new favorite toy. Tapping the intercom on his desk, Erik had an idea.

"Tlotliso, can you order up four fat cakes, some fruit, blue juice, and butter cookies from the palace kitchen? I'm bringing my kids here at two," Erik said.

"Yes, Prince N'Jadaka," she said.

Erik spent fifteen minutes watching local news reports. There was a constant reminder that the king would make a special press conference announcement later that evening. He left his inner office.

"I'm going down to see Elder Efetobo," Erik said.

Tlotliso and Mpilo sat huddled together around her desk, creating a spreadsheet schedule for Erik. His docket was full, and he had to gear himself up for his additional responsibilities as part of the Udaku household.

"Do you need me to come with you?" Mpilo asked, eager to join Erik.

"No. Finish coordinating my schedule and I'll be back with my children. Tlotliso, make sure there's nothing small and loose hanging around the desks. My son likes to play with things not nailed down."

Tlotliso stood from her seat and walked over to him with her comm tab. Her long legs gave her a graceful dip in her movement. He had to take a step back from her when she held up her tab. Her body heat seemed way too close to him. Erik didn't mean to look, but the top of her dress was tight around her breasts and he could see braless nipples poking through. She was beyond sexy and knew it.

"I need your codes to allow me access to your public website. Mpilo will begin updating your page in the next hour," she said.

He swiped in his code with his fingerprint, and she lowered her lashes. Her gaze went to his mouth, and he caught the partial sigh that escaped her moist lips. She wasn't subtle at all, but he didn't sense that she was seducing him. It was her nature to be sensual, from the way she moved, spoke, and looked at people.

"I'll be back," he said.

Mpilo's shoulders slumped and his face took on disappointment at not being by Erik's side. Tlotliso typed away on her comm tab, not even fazed by the teenager's sour expression.

"Alright, man, c'mon. You can go with me. Tlotliso—"

"I can handle all the interfacing by myself and plug him in later," she said without looking up from her screen.

Mpilo shook his fists like Riki did when he was thrilled to do something with his father. Outside of the office, Noxolo stood guard.

"Heading to Efetobo's office. I won't need you for that," he said.

Noxolo nodded and resumed her watch. Mpilo moved his legs quickly to match Erik's strides. The ride down the elevator to the Council floor was speedy, and they walked into a busy hallway filled with pages, office assistants, and elite guards. All eyes became glued to him as his presence stirred up quite a buzz of excitement and curiosity. A few people even stuck their heads out of office doorways to see him walk past.

Erik glanced at a directory, then made his way to an office facing south. An elite guard at the entrance nodded at him and they walked into an aromatic-smelling reception room that went back in time with the décor and energy. A young man sat in front of a desk and stood the moment he saw Erik's face.

"Prince N'Jadaka, we were not expecting you," the assistant said with a flustered squeak.

"I did not have an appointment. Is Council Elder Efetobo in? I would like to speak with her in private," Erik said in a forceful, formal tone.

One thing he wanted the Wakandans to know was that he would show up at any time.

"Excuse me, Your Highness. I will let Elder Efetobo know you are here."

The lanky young man rushed away from his desk and into a back office. Mpilo grinned.

"Everyone certainly moves like the wind for you, Prince N'Jadaka."

"I make them nervous because of my past reputation."

"I still get a little nervous," Mpilo admitted, "But your bark is much worse than your bite."

"It is still early," Erik teased.

"Prince N'Jadaka, this way please," the assistant said, extending his arm toward another door.

Erik sauntered into an opulent room filled with antiques, plush rugs, and expensive period artwork on the walls. Unlike his own office, Efetobo sat on a low comfortable stool with a matching low round table that had a tea set on it. Nothing in the room was set up like a modern office at all. He stepped into a Wakanda of the past, and Efetobo channeled the spirit of a holy medicine woman ready to counsel a worried tribesman. Next to her on another low stool was Elder Zinzi with a handle-less glazed blackstone teacup in her hand. Both women lowered their heads to him.

"Please, have a seat, Prince N'Jadaka," Efetobo said, gesturing toward the stool next to her.

She offered him tea, and he accepted. He pointed to a corner for Mpilo to stand in, to be kept out of the way. Efetobo rolled up the long wide sleeves of her heavily brocaded dress to her elbows and lifted the lid to an ancient purple clay teapot. The scent of wild berries and herbs tickled Erik's nose. Instead of pouring the tea from the pot directly, she lifted a small wooden ladle and gently filled a teacup for him with it. She offered it to him with both hands and he accepted it from her. Blowing over it to cool the steam, he took a deep sip and smiled.

"Good," he said.

"Made from fruit and plants in my home garden. A special blend from my great-grandfather's recipe," Efetobo said.

Erik glanced over at Zinzi, and there was a sparkle in her eye for him.

"I came here to speak with you openly about the Phuri," Erik said.

Efetobo's eyes darted over to Zinzi, and the other elder shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Erik tapped his kimoyo and pulled up the image of the tattoo on Chuma Inam's body that he quickly snapped while they were in the war hall.

Zinzi glanced at Mpilo, and the boy had the good sense to keep his eyes on the wall and not their huddled circle.

"Mpilo, you hear nothing and see nothing," Erik commanded.

"Yes, Your Highness," Mpilo said.

"Tell me about these people. You are the oldest member of the council and I can tell by your eyes that your memory and knowledge is long and wide," Erik said.

He placed his hands in a cupped manner and held them up to her. It was a sign of respect and deference for her status, despite him being a prince. Efetobo added more dried berries and herbs to the teapot and poured hot water from another stone container over it. Using the ladle, she stirred the contents before gazing at him with troubled eyes.

"They are not the Wolf Tribe. King T'Challa misspoke, but I did not want to correct him in front of everyone. There may have been spies among us there. It is better for them to think we are confused about who they are. Do you trust that child to be here with us?" Efetobo said.

"I trust him. He speaks anything without my permission and he is a dead child," Erik said.

Mpilo glanced over at him, and Erik tilted his head. His intern looked away with spooked eyes.

"Le ndoda ayidlali," Zinzi said.

"You are right, Elder Zinzi. I do not play when it comes to information I need," Erik said.

He enlarged the floating image and placed it above the table. Efetobo regarded the tattoo and folded her hands across her lap.

"The word Phuri has several meanings to ancient Wakandans. My grandfather was a famous historian. He wrote six volumes on the history of the five tribes. There were various clans within the tribes, but the dominant ones made the pact with the Panther tribe. You know what the Jabari did, but there was a small tribal group known as the Phuri. Their ancient totem was the hyena because it symbolized how they acted as a group," Efetobo said.

"Fiercely matriarchal, and tightly-knitted clans made those people bold and highly intelligent," Zinzi added. "Hyenas are not part of the canine family. They are related to the mongoose."

Efetobo nodded her head. "The ancient ones in Canaan, our neighbors to the west, said that the hyena was the one who brought warmth from the sun to the other animals. Some say witches used the animal to ride on and make mischief. We knew them as the clever ones. The hunters who were braver and stronger than a lion."

She pointed to the glowing tattoo on the dead man's skin.

"There was once a Golden Wolf Tribe, but infighting and wars cut down their numbers and the Phuri absorbed them. People today and back then confused the Wolf Tribe with the Hyena clans, just as they confused the hyena as being a dog. The word Phuri means secret in the old mother tongue of the ancients. That lineage was known as the Secret Ones from Lake Kivu, beyond the Warrior Falls. They were against the Udakus from the beginning of our recorded history. We banished them once they became brutal and launched attacks against various tribes trying to enforce their will on the rest of us. Over the centuries, they became a ghost clan, forgotten people… a mere myth we told our children to scare them from wandering into the forests alone. The ghost clan became a secret cult, vowing to return everyone to the ways of the mother. No monarchy. No more Udakus."

"Secret, huh?" Erik said.

"Anytime you see this animal symbol, Prince N'Jadaka, beware. It marks your death," Efetobo said.

"How can I find them? I don't have time to read a bunch of history books, Elder Efetobo, and T'Challa does not want me directly involved with hunting them down."

"I know where you can look," Mpilo said.

All three grown adults turned to look at the interruptive teenager. Mpilo held his head down but faced their direction.

"This child does not follow instructions," Zinzi said before chuckling with Efetobo.

"Come here," Erik said.

Mpilo came to his side and pointed to the tattoo.

"I know where that design comes from. There is an artist in old town who made that style popular. All the young people in my neighborhood love his work. My brother had a small rhino tattoo put on his bicep that looks like that style and color. No one else draws like that except for him," Mpilo said.

Erik held his hands cupped for Efetobo and Zinzi.

"Thank you for your time, Elders," Erik said.

He stood.

"Prince N'Jadaka, you must be very careful and move with cunning," Efetobo said.

Zinzi stood up and placed a hand on his arm.

"You should have Mpilo give the location of the tattoo parlor to King T'Challa and let him look for clues," Zinzi said, "You do not know the country well, and as Efetobo said, there may be spies all over from that cult lying in wait. Do not offer your body for easy killing."

"I have Mpilo, and I can cover up and blend in while keeping my mouth shut. I would rather check the place for myself first before I tell T'Challa."

"Too dangerous," Efetobo said.

"I promise, a casual once over, and then I'll pass the info on to the king."

"Can you not do both?" Mpilo asked.

"Can you mind your mouth when grown folks are talking?" Erik quipped.

"But I gave you a lead."

Mpilo jammed his lips together when Erik glared at him.

"I take my leave," Erik said. He left the room with Mpilo on his heels.

"I am sorry, Prince N'Jadaka. I will mind my mouth from now on."

Erik turned to him.

"I appreciate the information, Mpilo. But with Council Elders, you must only speak when spoken to. Plus, I would've rather had you tell me this when we were alone to keep the king out of it. As of now, they'll probably snitch to T'Challa and he'll go in there all gangbusters to reassure the public and scare off more leads. I have to move covertly for this."

"Sorry."

"I know you meant to be helpful, but I really need you to follow my lead and not blurt out stuff. We need to keep this close to the vest."

"Close to the vest?"

"Kept to ourselves."

Erik glanced at his kimoyo.

"Let's go get my kids."

They marched past offices and more stares.

"Oh, shit," Erik mumbled.

Up ahead, and walking with hard determination in their direction, was Nakia. She paused twenty feet in front of him. There was no avoiding her once she noticed his purposeful strides. Her fists clenched, and she raised her head higher before approaching him with caution.

"Prince N'Jadaka," she said with a voice that sounded like she wanted to spit in his face.

"Nakia. No sense in using phony pleasantries. You're back, huh?"

"Here to help my king."

"I'll get out of your way then," he said.

Erik stepped to the side, but she placed herself back in front of him.

"I wish you were still dead," she said.

He grinned with a sardonic twist to his lips.

"I'm sure you're not alone with that sentiment."

"Now that you are back, I hope we shall never have to cross paths in a negative way because I will kill you. With or without T'Challa's permission."

Two elite guards stepped toward them. Nakia's body language projected the potential for violence.

"I don't have time to indulge in this little chat. I have three children waiting for me. Two of which are heirs to the throne. Unless you want to get arrested, I suggest you fall back."

"Tuh," she uttered under her breath.

She noticed the guards getting antsy.

"You think that because you returned to the bosom of your grandparents' and your children's lives that we are all supposed to forget what you did to us? Bygones are bygones? Watch your back, Prince N'Jadaka," she warned.

"Watch yours," he said, stomping past her.

Mpilo jogged to keep up with him.

"That was not pleasant," Mpilo said.

"I don't have time to worry about an old enemy's feelings about getting her ass kicked by me."

Mpilo looked stressed, but Erik kept moving.

"What do you all think?"

Erik stood behind his children as they took in his reception area. Sydette walked around the perimeter with her hands behind her back. Riki had already discovered Tlotliso's desk and took delight in touching the personal assistant's embedded vid screen. Joba stayed by his side and looked around with curious eyes.

"I like it," Sydette finally said, showing him a dimpled smile.

Tlotliso and Mpilo stood to the side of the hallway entrance and waited to be introduced.

"This is Lady Sydette, Princess Joba, and Prince Riki," Erik said.

"Hello," Tlotliso said.

"How are you?" Mpilo asked.

Joba tugged on Erik's arm.

"Daddy, I'm hungry," Joba said.

"Let's eat," Erik said, ushering the little ones to the commons room where Tlotliso had set up their after-school snack.

Fat cakes were always a hit with his kids, and they sat around the oval table smacking their lips with the stuffed sandwiches, and Erik listened to them talk about their school lessons. Riki was extra hyper, and not being able to play outdoors with other children made him fidget in his seat. Erik told them about all the tasks he had to do earlier that day, and then he took them into his office. Their only interest after that was the tabletop version of Wakanda and they spent the rest of their time there playing with the ability to change how the country looked. He gave them time by themselves to play with the landscape as he checked in with his small staff. Mpilo was full of cheesy grins.

"You are an excellent father, Prince N'Jadaka. My Baba would've left me by myself the moment I walked into the room. But you talk with them for a long time. They have so many questions. Your patience is admirable," Mpilo said.

"I missed out on so much of their lives. Every second with them is special to me," he said.

Tlotliso held up her comm tab.

"You are all set to use your office system in every room," she said.

"Thanks for handling all that," Erik said.

Her gaze lingered on him a little too long.

"Is your desk okay?" he asked, directing her attention to something else besides his face.

She grinned.

"Prince Riki was a little gentleman. He asked to touch things before picking them up."

Erik smiled. His son dashed into the room and jumped into his arms.

"Your office is cool, Baba! Can we swim in your pool?"

"I don't have a pool… oh, the bathtub. We don't have swimsuits."

Riki frowned.

"We can swim naked like we do back home," Riki said.

"Another time," Erik said.

Riki jumped down from his grasp and ran back into his office to play with the girls again.

"You have well-behaved children. They love you very much," Tlotliso said.

"They are a blessing."

"Do you want more children one day?"

Erik exhaled and thought about the question. He hadn't considered that at all since waking up.

"Yeah, I do want more—"

"Baba, we wahn see Joba's garden now. Can we leave?" Sydette said.

Her siblings followed behind her, and three sets of little eyes willed him to take them away.

"I'm done for the day. Take messages, schedule me for light duty tomorrow, and you and Mpilo can bounce in the next hour."

"As you wish, Your Highness," Tlotliso said.

Tlotliso stayed focused on him and Erik grabbed Sydette and Joba's hands. He knelt down so Riki could climb onto his back. Mpilo darted out from the inner hall.

"Prince N'Jadaka, the shop?" Mpilo said.

"Later," Erik said.

Mpilo covered his mouth with one hand after realizing he was saying too much in mixed company again.

He walked out with his children and headed for their evening garden check-up.

"Prince N'Jadaka."

Tlotliso stood in his doorway. He turned toward her with his kids all around him.

"It has been a great honor to open this office with you. I hope I can please you in the future," she said.

The words sounded innocent. Her eyes were another story all together. It wasn't flirting. He was the king at spotting that with women. Tlotliso was different. There was nothing overtly heavy-handed, even if the wording was suggestive. She was an attractive woman, and he wasn't about to become the cliché boss that lusted after his assistant. He just couldn't get a good take on her. Efficient, quiet, and productive without supervision, the woman checked off all the good boxes for staff. Erik knew how to conduct himself professionally, but she gave off vibes that she wanted something. Nothing sexual… but something. Prestige? Advancement? She yearned for something. His gut told him so. His daughter Joba didn't act strange, but she hadn't been around the woman long enough to ring any alarms for her father.

"A'ight cool. See you tomorrow," he said.

He herded his brood to the elevator. He'd have dinner with them, see them off to bed, and then head out to the tattoo parlor before T'Challa interfered.

Joba like to see her fairy garden lights come on before it got dark and it allowed the children to stretch their legs outside in cool air with him. He enjoyed the moments with his children when it was just the four of them exploring the royal garden. They talked together and admired the pretty lights all around Joba's growing creation. Her fairy garden was nearing a quarter of an acre, and she had barely used up the space with her designs. They all played with the ceramic figurines and listened to the call of garden birds bedding down for the evening. A thrilling game of sardines commenced, and Erik ran around searching for his children, hiding from him. Riki ruined their secret hiding spot when he couldn't stop giggling whenever Erik walked past a berry bush. Sydette jumped from behind the plant and put her hands on her hips.

"I want to play regular Hide and Seek, Baba! Riki makes it hard to hide together," Sydette complained.

Peals of laughter spilled out of Riki. The boy couldn't help himself. Keeping quiet and hidden was too difficult a task for an extroverted prince.

"One more game, and this time, you all have to hide separately," Erik said.

His daughters cheered and ran off to hide when he turned his back on them. Riki slipped his hand inside his.

"Mi find them with you, Baba," Riki said.

"Okay."

He wandered around the royal garden, holding Riki's hand as they searched for his siblings. His kimoyo lit up. Erik tapped a bead and a picture of a building popped up. Mpilo left a brief text message. Riki gave a loud sigh.

"Baba, you're always working. We're 'spose to have our time with you now," Riki grumbled.

A chill ran up Erik's back. He looked down at his son and saw himself… even heard himself from the boy's mouth. Those same exact words were used by him when he was five and he complained to his Baba N'Jobu about being focused on other things, except for Erik when he was home. He stared at his own miniature doppelgänger and squeezed his son's hand. For months, he worried that his children would have a hard time truly bonding with him. He was a strange giant man thrust into their lives. However, his fears were unfounded. Yani and Disa made sure their children knew who he was daily from the time of their birth. They played videos, looked at pictures all the time, prayed for his soul at night, and the transition into being a flesh and blood father was seamless. Riki, Joba, and Sydette's love was unconditional and forgiving of his absence. They gave him love with their whole hearts and only asked that he be with them as much as possible.

"I apologize, Lil Man. You right. Baba is supposed to be here with you."

"Gwine now," Riki said, waving his other hand at Erik's kimoyo, "finish your business. Mi wait."

Riki sucked his teeth, and Erik lifted him in the air and swung him around.

"I'm here for you, boy!" Erik shouted.

Riki giggled and threw his head back as Erik began tickling him. They found Sydette and Joba behind two intertwined trees that looked like giant emerald lucky bamboo plants from China. The girls had stuffed themselves inside the hollow parts of the bark.

"Time to get ready for dinner," Erik said.

"No, let's stay out here longer!" Sydette said.

She grabbed his fingers and pulled him back toward the interior of the garden.

"Tomorrow we'll be back," Erik said.

Joba rode his back on the way to the palace, and Sydette hugged his waist from behind and walked with her face pressed into his lower back. Riki skipped in front of him, stopping occasionally to stick his nose in a flower or pick up a bug. Erik wanted more days with them like that. They were all quiet, heading back. Only the sound of cicadas in the trees serenaded their slow, meandering stroll.

Their Doras met them at the palace entry from the garden. A young man with suggestive almond-shaped eyes and a friendly smile stood with them, wearing a crisp green palace uniform of drop-crotch pants and a gauzy tunic. He held a serving tray with three glasses of soft drinks and one smaller glass filled with plum liquor.

"Prince N'Jadaka, I am Ramatla… Remy… Lady Galiber sent me to retrieve the children," Remy said.

"Who are you exactly?" Erik asked.

Remy lowered the tray, and the children took their refreshing drinks and sipped. Erik lifted the liquor and kept his eyes on the server.

"I am the new nanny, Your Highness," Remy said. "Lady Galiber sent me down so that you could meet me and I could take the children to give you time to prepare for dinner and rest a bit."

"Nanny?"

"Yes. I was hired a few days ago."

"He's good, Baba," Sydette said.

"What happened to the other nanny?" Erik asked.

"I do not know," Remy said.

Riki held up his hand, and Remy gave him a high five. Erik looked him over. He was almost as tall as Erik, well-built, with smooth caramel skin and full lips. Not as full as Erik's, but he knew women probably went crazy for Remy's looks. He drank his liquor and side-eyed the nanny. There were too many new people around the palace. How he missed the new nanny was something he would talk to Yani and Disa about. He wanted a say in who was around his kids.

"I'll take them up myself," Erik said.

Remy lowered his head and stepped aside to let Erik walk through with the children.

Erik took his time dressing and watched the news on his bedroom vid screen. T'Challa addressed the nation and revealed the name of the bomber. The king was calm and impressed the prince with his open candor. The speech lasted ten minutes and T'Challa stepped away from the podium to allow the head of his nation's security team to speak to their citizens about giving tips on anything they found suspicious where they were.

During dinner, Erik stewed in his seat, ready to raise his issues with new staff hires, but he waited until they dismissed his babies with Twyla. It surprised him when there was no mention of Nakia, but he figured T'Challa learned of his encounter with her. When the family settled into discussing T'Challa's speech, Erik cleared his throat.

"I appreciate everyone helping me ease back into life here, but I want to make it known from here on out that I want to be a part of any new hires. From my office to my children. It makes me uncomfortable seeing people around me that I had no say in picking."

Ramonda glanced at Umama and then T'Challa.

"Everyone has been thoroughly vetted, so you do not have to have concerns," T'Challa said.

"That's not the point. People are being thrust onto me and in my personal spaces."

T'Challa sipped a glass of wine.

"Your concerns are noted. I will make sure you are part of the vetting process in the future."

"Thank you."

Erik cast a look over at Yani.

"I told you we were getting a new nanny last month," Yani said.

Her eyes became surly, and she puckered her lips at being accused of ambushing him.

"What happened to the other one?" he asked.

"She took leave for two months to have surgery on her leg," Disa said.

Erik regarded Disa, and she studied him right back.

"I couldn't be brought in to help choose?"

"You were busy with Shuri in the lab. We didn't think it would be a big deal for the short time. You never paid attention to the old one, anyway," Disa said.

"He's only grumblin' now because Remy is a man," Yani teased.

Ramonda and Umama chuckled.

"N'Jadaka, do you not like your new staff? We can change them if that would please you. We are doing our best to make life less stressful for you," Ramonda said.

Umama broke a piece of her dessert crust and tasted it. Her fingers smoothed the tablecloth near her plate. He didn't want to upset her with his foul mood about the situation.

"I don't want to be left out on important things… that's all," he said, glancing between Yani and Disa.

"I will remind you a few times if anything like this comes up again for the household," Yani said.

The family moved into a pleasant tearoom for coffee and after dinner mingling. Baba Z and T'Challa conversed on royal duties to the country, and the women, all except Shuri, talked about the new nanny and the children possibly returning to school the following week.

"I bet you are ready to get back to the probe like I am," Shuri said.

His younger cousin slid up to him, holding a small coffee cup and a thin, sweet biscuit.

"I am. How are Fury and the others?" Erik asked.

"T'Challa has them on a short lease. For Fury, this is a vacation. The two colonizers, not so much."

"They don't enjoy being subordinates. Taking a backseat is killing them."

"T'Challa is meeting with them tomorrow. Can you come to work with me in the morning? We can be by ourselves until my brother brings them over."

"I can do that," Erik said.

Shuri moved him closer to a card table that held the coffee and biscuit sweets on the side.

"I heard you ran into Nakia," Shuri whispered.

"Yeah. She's not pleased to have me here. Threatened to kill me if I acted up."

"Did she?" Shuri's eyes widened, and she covered her mouth. "I didn't think she would come at you like that so soon."

"How is your brother handling her return?"

"He is trying to be professional, but there is so much history between them. N'Jadaka, please do not antagonize Nakia."

"I'm not even thinking about that woman. I got more important things to deal with."

Disa approached him.

"Thanks for hanging on to Ogum for me. It was hella cool to get him back. He's right on my desk," Erik said.

Erik rubbed the side of her arm and she grinned with satisfaction. Yani came over and he made room for her as Shuri left his side to speak to her mother.

"I'm happy he is back in your hands. May he guide you well, Your Highness," Disa said, doing an over-exaggerated bow.

"Girl, stop," he said.

He looked at Yani.

"Listen, I didn't mean to sound snappy at dinner. I was caught off guard with ole boy. Sometimes I do ignore the domestic stuff and I probably forgot you all telling me about the switch."

He touched Yani's cheek, then stroked her dangling hoop earring.

"You were great today. I meant what I said in my message," he said.

Yani nodded and lingered closer to him.

"It was a sweet surprise," she said.

"Have you met his new personal assistant yet?" Disa asked.

Yani shook her head.

"I haven't had time to go over to that side of the palace yet. I've been so busy."

"She is a definite character," Disa said. She smirked at Erik.

"Why you say that?'" Erik asked.

Disa turned to Yani.

"Cool as a cucumber. She acted like she didn't want to let me in at first. Acting like an office wife already. Check her out when you can," Disa said.

Yani looked at Erik, then put a hand on her hip.

"Look at his face. She must be pretty because his lips are bunching up," Yani said.

"She's gorgeous," Disa said.

Yani folded her arms across her chest.

"Oh, so we can't have man candy to look at, but you get to enjoy a pretty woman?"

"Always a double standard," Disa quipped.

"I didn't pick her. Ramonda did," Erik said.

"He has us there, Yani. We chose Remy ourselves."

Erik tilted his head and thrust it toward Yani.

"Now there," Erik said.

Yani placed her hand in front of his face.

"Whatever, man. Point is, he's only here temporarily, and he's good at his job."

Erik made fun of her sing-song voice. "He's good at his job…"

"Stop teasing me!" Yani screeched, slapping his arm.

His kimoyo lit up.

"I'm going to bed early. Long day. Have your mutual man candy drop the kids off at my office after their lessons," he said.

He turned to the rest of the family.

"Night," he said, giving a wave.

"Aw! I wanted you to be my partner for the card game we're going to play. I'll be stuck with Baba Z if you go now," Shuri groaned. She sat at the card table shuffling a deck.

"Sorry," he said.

Yani and Disa looked at him with soft eyes. He so wanted to kiss them both goodbye. It felt like the most natural thing to do with the both of them. Erik turned away and felt their stares on his back. He didn't enjoy holding in his affection from both of them whenever they were all together. The urge to smother them with kisses with his arms around them both was hard to keep inside. He needed to do a better job of communicating with them both about the kids. They had great schedules for sharing parental responsibilities, but the little details he needed to work on paying attention to. It still bothered him with the new nanny. Being a man had a lot to do with it. There was something about a man being around his family intimately, most of which were women and girls, that unsettled him. Something about the way he looked bugged the hell out of him, too.

He was too good-looking. Maybe Yani and Disa chose him on purpose to poke at Erik. Having some man candy around probably delighted the rest of the staff, too. He grit his teeth. Remy probably felt like he was living it up with two fine women bosses. Erik groaned. What he would give to crawl into Yani or Disa's bed just to be coddled at the end of a grueling day. A nigga had needs. Bad. Not just for sex. He missed the intimacy he had with them both. If he had his way, they'd both be waiting for him in his bed and he'd just lay there. Between them. Yani could stroke his scalp and Disa could rub on his shoulders.

Settling into his quarters, Erik quickly changed into darker clothing and wrapped a scarf around his face in the street style of the younger Wakandan crowd. He slipped out of his home. His evening Dora greeted him.

"Heading to my office to do some work. I'll be back later," he said.

The night shift Dora took in his appearance, and he ignored her curious stare. Erik took assured steps as if he were staying in the palace for the night. He crossed over the palace bridge and once he stepped into the West Palace, he made stealth moves out of a staff door that led him down steps into a corridor. Waiting for other staff who didn't reside in the palace to leave, he blended in with a group headed out of the grounds.

Free from the protective walls, Erik waited for Mpilo to show up. His intern was right on time with a modified hover bike and eye goggles. T'Challa finally lifted restrictions on their use.

"Hop on," Mpilo said.

Erik climbed onto the back of it, and it was like riding his old motorcycle. He gripped Mpilo's waist, but there was no need to. The bike had gravity belts that held him in place. They floated above the standard land vehicles and Mpilo eased their flying vehicle into a comfortable speed.

"Old Town is close to here. It gets lively and will be busy tonight because people are free to move around without curfew."

Mpilo zipped past other bikes and carefully lowered them to a parking structure. They hopped off the bike and Erik followed the youngster into a well-lit area that still had the red clay earth of the ancient Wakandan city beneath their feet. Unlike most of Wakanda that was designed for modern times, they preserved Old Town Zana to keep the antiquated past alive. Shops, clubs, eateries, and bars lined up the streets as a busy subway system traveled above them and around the entire area. An old-time trolley rumbled on the ground, fueled with vibranium. The word "Old" may have been in the area's name, but the inhabitants, vendors, and club-goers were all youthful and out for a good time despite the attack fears.

"It is around this way," Mpilo said.

Erik chose well with his clothing. He didn't stand out at all.

"There," Mpilo said.

The tattoo parlor his intern shared a picture of earlier was a popular spot. They walked inside and pretended to look over sketches all over the walls. Erik kept silent and allowed Mpilo to do all the talking when needed.

"See?" Mpilo whispered, pointing to several tattoo designs that matched the style of the Phuri hyena symbol. There were no hyenas on the wall, though. Just an elephant, a rhino, a lion, and a bird with its long neck bent backward and its wings taking off in flight.

"That's him," Mpilo said.

There were three working tattoo artists in the shop. The one Erik wanted to see inked a young woman's naked back. Nearly done with his customer, the bulky artist colored in a small yellow sun on a honey-brown shoulder.

"I'll be with you in a minute," the man said.

Erik took a seat next to Mpilo and waited. Twenty minutes dragged out until the artist approached them.

"What can I help you with? Do you need to look at some of our catalogs for ideas?"

"I like the rhino and elephant tattoos. The blue ones over there," Mpilo said.

"Everyone likes those. I made them myself."

"I am Tazi. This is my brother. He dared me to get one."

Erik shrugged and pretended to watch another artist work on a client.

"I am Langa. One should think wisely about getting marked. A dare is not a good reason to ink yourself, young brother."

"I like how they look. Especially the ones you made over there."

"I think you should contemplate long and hard about getting one. I shall be here when you are serious," Langa said.

Mpilo looked at Erik with panic in his eyes.

"I really want to get one. I like animals and the rhino is my favorite."

"Mine too," Langa said.

"What made you come up with that style?" Mpilo pressed.

Langa glanced over at the artwork. There were no other customers who needed his attention.

"I learned it from an old man. No one does that technique anymore. I was lucky to meet him a couple of years ago before he retired to the edge of the Border lands. He may be dead now. He did not look well when he passed down his skill to me."

"Well, at least he taught you how to preserve the beauty of his art."

"That is true."

"What was his name?" Mpilo asked.

Erik held his breath. There was nothing he could do because with one word out of his mouth, everyone there would know he wasn't from there. Mpilo only knew how to be direct. The skills of teasing out information without suspicion were Erik's forte.

"You are asking a lot of questions," Langa said.

The man's eyes narrowed, and he leaned over the counter, watching the two of them carefully.

"You said that tattoos are a serious undertaking. If I am to have one with meaning to me, I want to know the history of the artistry behind it."

Langa considered this.

"He called himself Ozipho. That is all he told me. Grouchy man. Gifted, but very grouchy. He lived in a smelly little hut near a shake club. All I did was to pay him with liquor at that club so he could look at naked women, and he showed me how to make good money with his art."

Langa laughed at the memory.

Erik lifted himself from the seat and pretended to answer a kimoyo call outside. Mpilo joined him a moment later.

"Was that good?" Mpilo asked.

"Not too bad for a beginner."

"He was so suspicious."

"I would be too if strangers walked in chatting me up about something so specific."

Erik looked around.

"Let me borrow your hover bike," Erik said.

"Why? I can drive you anywhere."

"I have to travel far, and it's not for you to be involved with at this point."

"This is national security. I am helping you solve a serious crime."

"You are a kid. I got this," Erik insisted.

"You do not know the country. I have been to the Border lands many times with my family. Let me help you find this Ozipho man. It will look strange to have you wandering around there alone. We can pretend to be father and son on vacation. Less suspicious."

"Doesn't your family need you to be home now?"

"They will think I am doing extra work in the palace late. Nothing to worry about."

A guide would be better than him relying on his kimoyo and lurking in the dark shadows like an obvious creep or mark. A street vendor walked by. Erik grabbed a colorful scarf and paid for it with his kimoyo.

"We should at least look alike with our fits," Erik said.

"Yes!" Mpilo said.

"I'm driving the hoverbike there," Erik said.

"Whatever you say, Baba!" Mpilo said, then he started laughing, making Erik grin at his high-pitched cackles.

Mpilo draped the scarf around his face, and even with his mouth and nose covered, the excitement in the boy's eyes showed a readiness for adventure.

"Let's go," Erik said, leading the way back to the hoverbike.

Chapter 40 HERE.

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