#it just doesn't speak to me. i see it though

[grvait]

old art again!! this time a rough animation of sawyer and yarnaby 😎 (looks better if u click to view 😭)

im working on a short ppt animation rn. im thinking i should post it to my youtube channel, though im not sure if people here would see it. i think i can link videos on here?? idk

okay I'm gonna talk abt more chapter 4 stuff.. this time about prototype's previous identity.. ch4 spoilers and also a theory below..

hiding the solo yarnaby under here LOL

people theorized 1006 was elliot, which was recently disproven in the chapter 4 tape where poppy refers to elliot as her dad and wishes he were there. in the same tape she addresses prototype as a completely different person. also recall that elliot died in the 90s, meanwhile prototype met theo in 1989. so yeah, they aren't the same person

I've also seen people say rich is prototype, which cannot be true either. in a ch4 tape he speaks to one of the boys who eventually got turned into doey. the kid mentions his coworkers joking about him going missing. before the bbi, it would not make sense for this to be a common rumor at the company, which means this tape had to happen after harley was hired in 1990; at a time when the company would have a reason to silence people

prototype existed in 1989 at the minimum, but considering he says "it's always been about you and me" to poppy, he's likely the prototype of HER. she's elliots daughter, she died in the 60s, meaning prototype was probably created around that time as well.

this means that rich can't be the prototype because he was human long after prototype was made

if you want my take on who prototype truly is, i'd say his identity doesn't necessarily matter. i don't mean to say his origins aren't important, just that his name and specific role in the past probably doesn't mean anything in the long run. i've never believed he was elliot or rich, and maybe in the future i'll be proven wrong but for now i'll tell you the theory i've had since june of last year

elliot's daughter dies in the 60s. he divorced his wife in 1930, so his daughter is probably in her 30s when she dies. she gets sick or injured, maybe she's actively dying or already dead by the time elliot begins his research. he looks for ways to bring her back, but it doesn't work on the rats (as he mentioned a note in the 2nd chapter)

so what does he do? he tries it on something bigger as he said he would: a human. of course he's not going to try this experimental method on his own daughter, even if she's already dead, so he finds someone else to use it on. we know that elliot wasn't evil or anything, so it's unlikely he killed anybody to use for the experiment. considering the orphanage isn't open yet (it opened in the 70s, not the 60s), prototype probably wasn't an orphan child either. if i run with my simple version of the theory, elliot may have dug up a body in a graveyard and used that. maybe a fresh one, who knows. he tried it, it worked, then he revived his daughter with the same method.

this is likely what harley wanted to know about in the chapter 3 tape (the "i learn something new about you every day" one), and also what prototype is asking harley to figure out in the ch4 tape they're both in. in that case, sawyer never actually figured out how to revive people with the poppy substance. sure, he can transfer people into the toys, but he can't bring anybody back to life

more reason to believe prototype and poppy are of the same "batch" is because it seems they are the only two who don't need food. it's outright stated about him in the ch1 trailer, and insinuated with her saying the "toys will starve otherwise" when she's talking about how nasty them eating humans is. she refers to them, not herself. her and prototype are probably the only 2 who were ever brought back from the dead, which circles back around to his monologue and gives meaning to the "it's always been about you and me, poppy. what we are". when i heard him say that i felt like my theory was lowk confirmed 😭😭

no guarantee this is right, but it's been my guess for a long time

[vikasmama]

that mean caitlyn drabble you wrote nghh *short circuiting noises*

distracting her while she's trying to work, filling out some ridiculous paperwork or something that means nothing to you. so desperate it hurts, trying not to make it obvious how you rut against one of her office chairs watching her work. her long fingers twirling her pen and her brows furrowed in concentration, all fueling your neediness until she stops pretending she doesn't hear you and reprimands you for being such a whore omgggg

⭑ need to be her dumb office pet.

⋆౨ৎ ₊cw. — (men + minors dni!) afab!reader, mean dom!caitlyn, fingering, choking, edging, degradation, dumbification…. gulp. no aftercare ˊᴖˋ use of “whore”, “slut”, “my love / dear”. i fully ran w this teehee!

“sit in my office with me, dear.” caitlyn airily suggests, trailing her slender fingers down your arm, squeezing before passing you in the hall.

“please. i work better with you around.”

it’s hard to deny caitlyn of anything, and usually you wouldn’t. you won’t because her hair is down, cascading down her shoulders and back, and she’s wearing that tight, black turtleneck you love. so, yes, you will sit pretty in her office like she wants, even though you hesitated from how needy you’d gotten with her simple touch in the hallway.

now, it is becoming more difficult by the second to ignore the warm ache between your legs. she’s reading something, analyzing it? she’s completely engrossed, eyebrows creased in the same way they appear when she’s concentrated on stuffing her cock into you just right. she readjusts in her seat, leaning fully back against the chair and bringing the document closer, giving you a full view of her pillowy thighs begging for you to have a seat. her favorite fountain pen is twirled back and forth between her fingers, and you’re suppressing whines at the thought of being the object.

you’ve become incredibly thankful for the armrests that the chairs in her office have. your hands dig into the cushioning, holding all your restraint to not moan and make a scene in your grip. your thighs clench together just watching her, slowly grinding yourself into the chair as best you can. it isn’t enough, it never stood a chance of being so. just a weak imitation of her fingers, her tongue, her dick - anything your imagination could conjure. still, you find a decent angle every few rock of your hips and that’s enough to satiate you for now.

( fast forward to her recognizing your labored breaths, calling you over and demanding you display yourself on top her desk since you want to act so “perverted”. )

“you cannot sit still for more than a few minutes?” caitlyn chastises you, a bite to her words you often hear when she’s irritated. your once suppressed whines come out full throttle now, arching off the desk when her slender fingers push deeper into you.

“so desperate. you’re pathetic.”

“c-cait-”

“shut up. stupid sluts don’t get to speak to me. you’ll cum and then leave me to my fucking work.” your eyes are tightly squeezed close, though if they weren’t you’d see how her cold gaze doesn’t once leave your face. her one uncovered eye watches you, the sadisticness in her deriving pleasure from how utterly dumb she makes you. she lets out a sigh as your bucking hips knock a few papers off the desk, her jaw clenching.

pushing you further back atop the surface, caitlyn invades your space more. her fingers deftly increasing in speed, highlighting the dirty, depraved squelching sounds your cunt makes. you suck her in so eagerly, wetness pooling under you, over her documents. your lover grabs your face, focusing your withering attention on her. still, her eyes remain on yours. even as her thumb finds your clit and you thrash a little from the overwhelm, she stares. caitlyn’s always been one for nonverbal communication, actions are louder than words and all that. she’s learned with much time how much she likes to watch. to see how you tremble, the pout you wear and extra whines you let out when she calls you names. caitlyn thinks you’re so beautiful like this, a sweet, dumb mess all for her. her poor baby.

“tell me, do you have any idea how important this work is?everything i must fill out, sign off, to keep this city going?” a third finger is added to her strokes somewhere during her questioning, you don’t even remember feeling it. you can’t remember much of anything. she squeezes your cheeks hard, pursing your lips adorably as your sounds become garbled. she scoffs out a dry laugh, “of course not. this is all you think about.”

you nod, too excitedly for the way you’re being spoken to. she lets your face go and you moan out her name, digging your nails into the grooves of wood to steady yourself. the stretch caitlyn gives you has your eyes crossing, and you’re quickly teetering over the edge of cumming.

“cait, pl-please,” the only thing you can think to do is beg because you know she knows. she always does. “let me cum, please! ohmygod, fuckfuck- mmph!” and she lets you beg, even if she also knows she’s not going to give you what you want.

“you want to cum, my love?”

her accented voice leveled, unaffected, just sounds so fucking good. you're pulsing. squeaking out series of pleads and yeses, your thighs twitch uncontrollably and almost squeeze around her arm. you can feel it, your lower stomach tightening and it’s so hot; your mind goes blank and you’re ready to scream— and she stops.

“hm. dumb whore. how naive.”

all the adrenaline, titillation you’d built falls flat. the sudden loss of stimulation makes you sniffle, breathing heavy as your beating heart does its best to still. she doesn’t pull out, just lets you grapple with how full you are with nothing to do about it. you have half the mind to whine and be a brat about it, call her mean and turn your nose up at her advances. but then you’d be like this for hours, taking her fingers or whatever else she decides you deserve and maybe you wouldn’t get to cum at all… yeah, you’ll be good and take it.

“do you honestly think you deserve to? tearing me away from my work like this, dripping all over my documents. i should just leave you like this.” her scolding has you whining like a kicked puppy. she shifts her fingers ever so slightly to tease, fighting back a chuckle with how quickly she feels your pussy clench and try to suck them deeper in. “i’m just reinforcing bad behavior, aren’t i?”

“no, fuck- please! please, it won’t happen again,” it will. “i’ll be good, caitlyn, i swear!” you won’t.

shit, you’re breathtaking. the sheen of sweat covering your forehead, the tip of your nose, makes you glow akin to a star. she wants to kiss away your frown, pinch your rosy cheeks, pamper you as she usually does. and of course she wants to see you cum, right after she’s taught you a bit about patience.

a gasp catches in your throat when she leisurely starts circling your clit once again. it’s too slow, you need more, more. though before you’re given the chance to consider complaining, fingers wrap around your neck and press deliciously into your skin. fuck, what were you even thinking about? she pulls you forward by her hold, looking down on you with a merciless smile. you try not to buck or squirm under her touch so she keeps going, your wrecked moans strained while you let her have her way.

“you do know how to sit still, then.” eyes meet and a whimper escapes you at her unwavering gaze. you feel completely brainless by now, unable to compute anything other than getting her to keep fucking you. you attempt a nod to show that yes, you’re learning. please, please just go faster. caitlyn seems to appreciate it, humming and bringing her lips to your ear.

“good sluts that wait get rewarded.”

and then her forgotten fingers are curling inside you, dragging along your walls and hitting your favorite spot with more speed she’d given you previously. caitlyn’s fingers squeeze tighter around your neck, muddling your brain more and keeping you in place for her viewing pleasure. her entire study smells like sex, the air is hot and so are you, so hot and warm — she just started again and you feel the warmth building up as quickly as before. “thank you…thaank youthankyou-” your gratitude messily falls from your lips, but you’re cut off by your girl’s annoyed tone.

“stop whining and cum.”

her permission gives you the final push you needed. feeling yourself reach your peak, whole body tensed and seeing white, it’s so much. it’s so good. you claw at caitlyn’s arm holding your throat for stability while her fingers fuck you through it expertly. she hums in approval when you start trembling, thighs burning and tired and overstimulation starting to build from her mercilessness. she releases your throat, and with some last few strokes she also pulls out, inspecting the stickiness coating her now pruned fingers.

“open.” and immediately your jaw falls slack like the trained slut she’s made of you. you suck like it’s all you know, eyes rolling back from her prodding on your tongue. for once, caitlyn coos soothingly, rubbing one of your thighs to ease your comedown.

“there you are. come, dear, let’s get you cleaned up.”

maybe she’ll bend you over the desk next time.

— 𖦹₊⊹ vikasmama.

[yemmuis]

★ kento presses his palm into the mattress, his breaths coming out in harsh puffs of hot air against your forehead while his free hand squeezes your thigh. hes pushing his weepy tip against your entrance, trying to get you to relax for him while you're whining and denying that it will ever fit.

of course, its fit plenty of times before. you do this every damn time.

"kento, i swear 's gonna split me open this time," you whimper out, trying to squirm away from him. his tip just barely slides inside you, and its enough to make you gasp and fall quiet besides soft mewls and the heaving of your chest. "c'mon, my love, you've done it before, you can take it." he grits out, his nose brushing your pulse point while his hips thrust sloooowly forward. "stretch f'me. there you go." he murmurs, while his cock is stretching your pussy out so good. he feels like hes seeing god, his blushed tip nudging at your guts like hes gonna permanently mold you to the shape of him and ruin you for anyone else.

he'll never say that, though.

his hips shift forward again, and he pushes your legs apart, giving you a soft kiss and trying not to let his composure slip when he finally pushes his hips flush against yours.

"aww, look, see? you took me all the way." he breathes against your ear, kissing down your jaw and smoothing your hair back with his hand. hes always trying to keep his composure, even when he's this damn close to stuffing you full of his cum and babbling about how loud your pussy is when he's fucking you.

no, kento. that would be too harsh, wouldn't it?

"good job, my dear, you're doing so good. there you go, see, i told you she could take me. she always does, hm?" kento speaks softly into your ear, his fingers kneading at your hips while he sets up a steadier rhythm. "will you look at me, please?" he kisses along your collarbone while he speaks, gently sucking, not hard enough to leave a mark on your pretty skin. he doesn't like bruising you. kento presses his lips and tongue against a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, his hips a little rougher than usual with their steady rhythm. "open your eyes. please, i want to see your pretty eyes, beautiful." he whispers into your perspiring skin, and his hips snap up against yours, making you mewl out and claw at his arms. he pulls back from your neck and gently takes your face in his hand, voice husky and ragged. "look at me. go on, my love." and you cant deny him again, hesitantly opening bleary, glossed over eyes. and oh, what a sight your husband is, his eyes lidded and cheeks flushed, lips parted in ragged breathing and his hair sticking to his forehead in messy strands while he stares down at you. his cock practically gushes precum inside you when you look up at him with a fucked out expression, and he cant help but pull you into a sloppy, sticky kiss while jostling your thighs around his hips. his dick slides just a little deeper inside you at the new angle, kissing your g-spot with every thrust while hes swallowing all of your moans with his tongue against yours. kento can feel you squirming under him, twitching and letting out soft moans with every kiss of his tip to your cervix. he physically has to delay his own orgasm just long enough until he knows you've finished, until he cant pull a single more moan or drop of arousal out of you before hes cumming and stuffing you full.

kento reluctantly pulls away from your neck, lips pressing to yours in a clumsy, delirious kiss while he gives one more buck of his hips just to enjoy the way you squirm while his load oozes out of you. "see, my dear...? my beautiful wife always makes it fit for me. I told you it would."

thank you for reading !! this is my first post in a while ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ please reblog to help my stuff reach more people <3 tags :: @beanietopia @valicalliali @gojoscinnamonroll @xixflower @takumasimp @webism @voidnz

[suksatoru]

rin itoshi has a very special skill, one where he can predict when you're about to spew absolute nonsense. he says he has a sixth sense reserved just for your antics, and he also swears you're going to be the reason he has a full head of gray hair before he turns twenty.

"rinnie," you try again—pouting when rin exhales sharply from his nose, refusing to meet your gaze. rin sits on the ground at the end of his bed, and you sit perched on top of his blankets—hanging your head upside down to stare at him like the cheshire cat.

"no." he replies, short and curt as you drape yourself over his shoulder with a sigh. he shifts the slightest bit so you can comfortably curl your head against his form. you nose at his throat before speaking up again, quieter this time.

"pretty please? it's really all i want, rinnie. it would make my day—no, my life! please?"

rin thought you were the idiot in this relationship, but he knows he's the real lovesick fool. it wasn't impossible to say no, he says it to other people all the time. but your eyes are hopeful and round. and truthfully, the sight of your frown was truly his undoing.

rin lets out a dramatic sigh, loud and annoyed—and you know he accepts his defeat when he hands you his hair brush with a grumble. you roll off of the bed, sitting criss cross on the ground across him in an instant as you grab the nearby rubber bands laying on the floor with a dopey grin

"you just relax while i work rinnie! i promise, you won't even know i'm here!"

rin's deadpan expression only makes you laugh quietly, and you lean forward to place a gentle peck onto his lips. you hover over his mouth after pulling away an inch, taking a moment to admire his face before grinning

"grumpy," you muse as you gently brush your nose against his. rin mumbles something about you knowing nothing about personal space as he tugs you onto his lap

"if i'm bald by the end of this—"

"oooh rinnie your hair's so soft! i'm stealing your shampoo later," you interrupt with a giggle, pressing soft kisses onto the crown of his head as his shoulders slump. his broody expression is far too adorable to not kiss, and after peppering enough kisses onto his cheeks to leave them tinted pink—you get to work.

rin doesn't know why you want to style his hair. he regards your sparkly pink hair clips with an eye roll. but your fingers are gentle and soothing as they work to brush and style his hair, and he can feel the exhaustion slowly dispersing from his muscles as he leans into your touch.

"it feels...nice. thank you," he murmurs softly, gently rubbing your thigh as you hum in response. he moves to take a glance at you, and his heart skips a beat when he sees your tongue poked out in concentration as you work on tying his hair. cute.

it takes another fifteen minutes for you to finish your assault on his head. rin's practically putty beneath your fingers now, and there's a barely visible furrow between his brows when you pull your touch away from him.

"you look like a prince... you should totally let me style your hair more often, rinnie!" you gush, smiling softly as you admire your work on him.

"i'll be the judge of that," he mutters with a small smile, reaching onto his bed to grab your phone. he bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling when he sees your wallpaper being his back and jersey number, but the smile is wiped off his face in an instant as he lets out a startled yelp—staring at his reflection in the camera app.

"yeah. not happening, you cheeky brat." he scoffs, pointing at his head with a scowl

"y/n, tell me where you got five hundred charms of hello kitty clips... what damned store did you rob? and why are there pink extensions in my hair? are they—is that fucking glitter in them?"

rin eventually fell victim to a photoshoot, though he shouldn't be surprised. did he really think he'd escape you that easily? he's not very amused by your new wallpaper of him afterwards, but he can't even try and stop the amusement glimmering in his emerald eyes.

"not a soul will see those pictures. or i swear, i'll stick you in a gold fish tank y/n." rin mutters later that night as you two lay in bed, pressing feather soft kisses onto your shoulder blades as he silently admires the way your lips jut out in an adorable pout. his threat isn't very scary when he holds you like you're the most precious thing in his life, but you nod anyway.

"okay," you sigh in defeat. rin's eyes narrow suspiciously as he wraps his arms around your waist, settling in for the night as he turns off his bedside lamp.

"night, y/n." he whispers gently, his lashes brushing against your cheek as he kisses you softly. your hand gently brushes his bangs away from his eyes, and his face softens at your giggles

"night, rinnie. tomorrow you can style my hair! and then, we can be twins..." you affirm quietly. it's dark in the room, the night outside blanketing you two. there's a sliver of moonlight pouring through the window, and it's the only reason you're able to see the gentle smile on rin's face before you fall asleep.

blue lock masterlist :P

[rindreamery]

nishi's thoughts ─ itoshi sae x reader ─ enemies to ?

"i would rather tread through mud in a new dress than dance with you," you whisper harshly through gritted teeth, gazing into his eyes with animosity. but the polite smile on your lips never falters.

even with the crescendo of the violins in the background, and the chatter of the ton surrounding the two of you, you hear sae scoff under his breath. loud and clear. but he doesn't let it show— his face simply remains neutral, lips pressed into a relaxed line, as he sways you around the ballroom. keeping up the facade of a pleasant dance for anyone who may be watching keenly.

mainly, your mother and his, who had forced the two of you together.

"charming," comes his rather dry, but expected, response. there is not a hint of care in his voice, just irritatingly smooth and monotone as he speaks. "no one is stopping you."

and as if to prove a point, his grip on you loosens at that, his once firmly placed hand on your waist merely hovering. but you sway with him regardless, not making a move to leave.

“scared?”

it takes everything in you to resist the urge to roll your eyes, lips twitching as you fight back a frown. your eyes flicker over to your mother momentarily, checking, only to see that she’s staring right at the two of you. there’s a kind smile on her face as her eyes trail after you two, but you know better— it’s kind, but threatening. reminding you to be nice to him, or else.

you hold your tongue, bringing your gaze back to the man in front of you. “judging from the fact that you won't truly let go of me, it seems you are too.”

like you, he glances over to his mother, and then back at you. “then, i suppose that leaves you with no choice but to dance with me.”

you breathe in heavily, dreading the thought, and you force your smile to be even sweeter and more sickening. “i will pity your next partner—” before you fake a stumble, pretending to trip over your feet as you ‘miscount’ the steps to the beat. you tighten your grip on him, gloved fingers digging into his shoulders, and stepping deliberately onto his foot, angling the heel of your shoe into his with added emphasis.

sae’s body stiffens imperceptibly, and a sharp wince flashes across his face, gone before anyone else can notice. but you don’t miss the way his eyes narrow, ever so slightly, almost glaring at you. maybe, even a little bit in disbelief. you chortle at that, restrained as you try not to make too loud of a sound.

to other people, it looks like a clumsy mistake— a small misstep in your footing. but judging from the look in his eyes, you know he knows.

he grips onto your waist in retaliation, though, with not nearly as much force. provoked. “how unfortunate for you, then.”

© rindreamery, 2025

[candykissd]

drunk bingo

𝓗𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐒 🐇

drunk bingo is a crazy time, especially when you're a lightweight. although, harry's there to take care of you.

warnings : alcohol consumption, nausea, mature language, fluff

nats notes : idk how to feel about this, i feel like it could be longer? i'm not sure though, i can never really write long chapters... but lmk what you think !! - luv from nat <3

the flashing lights were enough to make you feel sick, sicker than you already did. drunk bingo was one of your most favourite events, though, it's safe to say alcohol isn't your best friend.

you were already pretty much pissed by the third drink, and yet somehow were managing to pass out coherent sentences.. up until the eight drink, at least.

you were wedged between george and harry, with bach and arthur tv on the ends of the table. at the start of the night you were sure you were going to be the best team, winning all the challenges, calling bingo here and there. but then they decided to give you a few drinks. not a smart move.

"number 63!" simon called out from the platform on which he stood, the various flashing lights surrounding him sending your head spinning into a vortex of feeling sorry for yourself.

"'m gonna get some air.." you slurred out as you stood up, making your way around the tables, not without stumbling into a few, and finding the back door. pushing it open with all your might and leaning against the railing outside.

"she okay?" arthur asked the other boys as he saw her leave. "yeah, probably just so unbelievably shitfaced." harry shrugged as he stood up, following along the trail that you had walked just a minute ago.

deep breathe in, deep breathe out, is what you told yourself, the nauseous feeling creeping up on you again, despite the fact that it felt as though it had only just washed away. you couldn't help but jump in your skin as you felt a hand on your lower back.

"you okay?" sounded harry's familiar voice as he smiled down at you.

"yeah... 'm good." you mumbled out, raising your hand to your forehead as you turned slightly to face him, whilst you still felt ill, you couldn't help but smile up at him.

you'd liked harry for the longest time, and the two of you had somewhat of a flirtation-ship, always taking the piss out of each other, and flirting with one another. but, it was all harmless. you both denied having feelings for each other; even though all of your friends could see through it.

harry's hand slid up your back, his touch light, but enough to make you shiver as his hand made its way to play with your hair, tucking a piece behind your ear. "you wanna go home?" he asked, tilting his head, as if he was secretly admiring you, which he wasnt doing a good job at hiding.

you didn't say anything, not feeling the need, nor the ability to speak properly, just nodding and smiling softly at him as he stood up straight.

he turned around and signalled to the others through the door that he was taking you home, and just to carry on with the game, before placing his hands on your shoulders from behind, spinning you around and practically pushing you towards the main road where he called for a taxi.

when the two of you got to your apartment, you fumbled around in your bag for your keys. harry laughing as he saw you struggle, grabbing your bag and pulling out your keys for you, unlocking the door and letting you stumble inside first, shutting the door behind him as he followed you in.

it was a good thing harry good handle is alcohol, as he was damn near sober, sober enough to take care of you properly.

you stumbled into the kitchen, steadying yourself with your hands on the countertop as you looked over at him.

"come on.. let's get you ready for bed." he said with a fond smile as he picked you up bridal style, a childish giggle escaping your lips as your arms wrapped around his neck, just as an extra precaution to make sure he doesn't drop you.

"harry wroetoshaw lewis if you drop me..." you laughed out, throwing your head back as he walked you down the hallway and into your bedroom.

"i won't drop you, love, don't you fret." he shook his head playfully as he plopped you down on the edge of your bed.

you sighed contently as you watched him disappear into your en suite bathroom, coming out with the bottle of micellar water and a cotton wool pad, crouching down infront of you.

without saying anything, he wet the wool pad with the micellar water and helped you wipe the makeup of your face, eliciting a small laugh from you and a smile.

once all your makeup was off he threw the cotton wool pad in the bin and looked at you, "you're so good to me..." you mumbled, titling your head as you smiled at him childishly.

"well, im not prepared to get a bollocking off of you in the morning when you wake up with your makeup on." he laughed out as he stood up.

you flopped back onto the bed with a sigh. "these jeans are so uncomfy.." you grumbled out as you swayed from side to side on the bed, as if the action would somehow wriggle them off of your body.

"you wanna get changed?" he asked, looking down at you as you nodded.

"gimme your hoodie." you practically demanded, crossing your arms as he laughed and shook his head.

"so demanding..." he mumbled, pulling his hoodie off over his head, the shirt that he had on underneath riding up slightly, a sight that caused a slight blush to creep up on your face, despite the flush you originally had from the alcohol in your system.

he walked over and stood infront of you, "arms up." he motioned with his hands as well as his words, with you happily obliging as he pulled the top you were wearing off your torso and over your head, placing it on the bed beside you.

you fumbled with the button of your jeans and unzipped them, laying back and lifting up your hips slightly as he pulled the denim off of your legs in one swift movement, before helping you into his hoodie, which you quickly settled into, the warmth of his body still stuck in the fabric, as well as the subtle scent of his cologne.

you let out a soft hum as you crawled over into your bed, snuggling in under the duvet, your head resting perfectly on the pillows.

"you comfy?" he asked, smiling at your drunken state.

"mhm.." you hummed with a small nod, just as extra reassurance. he nodded slightly as your eyes closed, and he knew you'd quickly drifted off to sleep as he made his way to your bedroom door, flicking the light off on his way out, making sure not to make too much noise when leaving your apartment.

the fresh sunlight woke you up as it filtered through the curtains of your room, the sun just directly shining on you as you rolled over with a groan, trying your hardest to shield yourself from the blinding light.

your eyes fluttered open, settling on the glass of water and paracetamol on the bedside table, a small smile forming on your face, your mind flooding with the memories of the previous night, and just how well harry had taken care of you. looking down at yourself and seeing the hoodie your were wrapped up warm in, quickly identifying it is harry's, causing your smile to grow.

although the smile was quickly overtaken by a frown as the pounding in your head grew. pushing yourself up on your arms slowly, and leaning back against the headboard; you reached over for the glass of water and tablet, desperate for some sort of pain relief.

and all you could thing to yourself was:

harry lewis, the man you are.

[petermorwood]

I'm surprised to see a How-To like this dated to the 1950s, when I'd have thought rotary dials weren't exactly new tech, but @dduane suggested It might have been because small US communities still relied on party lines and switchboards, where a number, PEnnsylvania 6-5000 for instance...

...was asked for rather than dialled personally, and actually using a dial phone might be an unfamiliar experience.

Oddly enough, this How-To doesn't actually explain how to USE the dial (on another page, probably) so here's how.

UK dial left, US dial right, operating principal the same.

Lift the earpiece or handset, put a fingertip into the appropriate numbered hole on the dial, drag it around to the finger-stop, remove the finger and let the dial rotate back to start position.

(Don't force it, auto-rotation is what sends the number as a series of electrical pulses so forcing it confuses things. Voice of long-ago experience.)

Repeat for the remaining numbers, then speak when the call is answered. End the call by putting the earpiece / handset back in place.

*****

Aspects of outdated but still-in-memory social history fascinate me, partly because they were part of my life though now they seem to be museum exhibits, and also because various details are useful bits of info for fictional world-building.

For instance, in a small town or village it was common knowledge that the switchboard operator - not a government tapper, just a person you or your family might meet every day - could be listening to any phonecall, so sensitive subjects were avoided or worded with care.

Read on.

*****

I grew up with rotaries and the first I ever used - standing tiptoes on a chair - was one just like this wall-mounted contraption, which had been in my Grandad's grocery shop since about 1930, when his phone line was first connected.

Grandad was an earlier adopter. I've got a shop receipt stamp showing the phone number back then, which had only three digits. Numbers in the same town are now eight digits...

The "candlestick" phone (far more common in historical movies and TV dramas) had most of the same working telephone parts, but needed a table or desk to rest on and its connection box with bells mounted on a wall, whereas the wall-mount has this box built-in behind the dial and mouthpiece.

Also, since typical style of use involved two hands...

...if only to brace it on the table (they were top-heavy and could overbalance)...

...it was a lot less convenient for making notes or taking down orders.

NB an interesting little detail in that first photo - a sandglass egg-timer attached to the phone for timing calls.

*****

Writer Side-Note 1: the hooks for the earpiece have a spring. Take the earpiece off and it snaps up to make the connection, put the earpiece back and it drops down under the weight, breaking the connection.

I sometimes wonder (and should probably find out) if early phonership being higher in the US than across the Pond influenced why US light switches work the same way as the phone hook, up for on, down for off. UK / Irish ones are the opposite.

Certainly those hooks are why "pick up" means answering a call and "hang up" means ending it, even if nowadays both are done by tapping an on-screen icon.

Indeed, we still "dial" a number even though actual dials are long gone - unless they've been put back as an app, see below... :->

"Ringing off the hook" suggests a phone so busy that bits of it are jumping off - but also, that it's so busy it won't shut up even when disconnected.

In fact it would shut up if that happened, and gave rise to another phrase which nowadays has a slightly different origin and meaning.

Lifting the earpiece off its hook and putting it to one side without making a call meant anyone phoning the number would get a busy signal. Thus "off the hook" meant "can't be contacted", often with an implication of "doesn't want to be contacted."

Nowadays the phrase owes more to fishing than phones, so "off the hook" means "avoided a threat / got away" - though perhaps there's still a telephonic echo in "isn't caught". YMMV.

*****

Writer Side-Note 2: older phones didn't have a dial. Instead, lifting the earpiece made a connection (indicated AFAIK by a light) at the local "switchboard exchange", indicating that someone wanted to make a call.

The "telephonist" (usual term for working with an office network) or "operator" (usual term for working with a public network) would reply, find out which person (office) or number (public) the caller wanted to reach, and make the connection by hand.

The usual conversation went something like this:

"Hello, caller, which number do you require?"

"Mr Brandybuck's office, please," or "HOBbiton 3-5-7-9, please," or "Bywater police station, quickly!"

"Thank you, caller. One moment, please. Connecting you now... You're through."

The operator could also listen in to any conversation and, at small local exchanges where they weren't too busy and knew one or maybe both callers, they often did.

In fact and fiction this habit made them a useful source of gossip, information and evidence, and callers' awareness of it also meant that any "interesting" phonecall would be framed in guarded or oblique language which might sound a lot more suspicious than it really was.

*****

Whenever a caller in "Downton Abbey", "Peaky Blinders" or whatever rattles the hook of a phone up and down, it's because they're trying to get the operator's attention that bit faster by making the switchboard signal light blink.

Anyone who's pressed the call button on a lift several times to make it hurry up, even when that button's lit to show it's on the way, will know exactly what I mean. However, an old-style phone linked to an old-style switchboard might actually have had an effect. With lifts, not so much.

*****

Rotary phones got a lot sleeker as time went by...

...though they still had spring-loaded switches - those two little black nubbins - to open and close a connection. These too could be jiggled to "speed things up", though by this stage the exchange was usually automated so it was no more effective than prodding lift buttons.

Despite that, "picking up" and "hanging up" remained a fairly accurate description, especially with wall-mounted phones.

This style of phone, or at least their hand-set design, still provides the basis for phone icons in many / most smartphones.

*****

Rotary phones went out of style in favour of push-button designs, including cordless ones...

This carried over to mobile phones, first big...

...then not so big...

...then small, then smart and getting big again...

Smartphones also started with push-buttons before going over to touch-screens, and now what goes around comes around, with apps for those touchscreens to simulate both push-button and rotary phones.

To complete the retro experience there are (or were, anyway) vintage-phone charging docks with working handsets.

Install a rotary-dialler app in this, and it's back to the future.

Especially if there are cradle switches to jiggle so the cell connects faster...

:->

“How to Use a Dial Telephone” 1951.

[boybandbaby]

I Know That I Wasn't Right (Spencer Reid x Reader)

word count: 859

warnings/tags: light angst (disagreement, mean comment towards Spencer, Spencer rejecting reader's kisses), fluff, as always please let me know if i missed anything

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

You and Spencer had gotten into a small disagreement this morning. It was honestly too early and your irritation stemmed from that, causing you to snap at him. What was supposed to be a fun day of running errands together, quickly became a morning of silence.

As you ate your breakfast, Spencer read a book to avoid speaking or looking at you. He was upset with you over a comment you made.

"Babe, wake up!" He shook your shoulder. "The book store opens at 6am."

"The store doesn't open until 8am, go back to bed." You grumble.

"Y/n, I already checked, it's 6am. Please get up." He whines.

"I literally checked last night, it's 8am. Just because you're a genius doesn't mean you know everything." You say, unfiltered. At the time, you said it out of annoyance not thinking how it would hurt him.

While you were irritated with his behavior, you still wanted him to get the book he wanted and you needed groceries. "Spence, I'm going to get ready. We'll leave in 20 minutes?" You offer, setting your bowl in the sink.

He doesn't respond, closing his book and going to stand. "Spencer…" You say softly, brushing his hair back and going to kiss his cheek. Spencer's body goes rigid when your lips meet his cheek. He gently turns away and pretends he's busy, picking up his cold toast.

You sigh and head to the bathroom. You're ready in 20 minutes, as promised. Spencer takes longer as he's decided not to get ready beside you like normal. While you're scrolling through your phone, slouched on the couch, he appears in a turtleneck.

"Spencer, why are you wearing a turtleneck? It's supposed to be hot today." You point out.

He continues to ignore you as he slips on his shoes. "Baby, please talk to me." You pout, hoping he'll give in if you give him puppy eyes. You jog the short distance over to him and wrap your arms around his waist. "Spencer, I'm sorry I was rude to you this morning." You lean up to kiss his jaw. Spencer stands on his tippy toes to try and get away from you.

You sigh and take a step back. This is the second time he's attempted to reject a kiss from you and you're starting to get upset. "You know what? I think I'll stay home, have fun at the book store." You kick off your shoes and make your way to the room.

Spencer stands by the door, shoulders slumped. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. Even if your earlier comment hurt him, he really wasn't trying to get back at you for it. Plus, he loves running errands with you. He has a debate on whether or not he should seek you out or go to the store by himself. He thinks that would hurt you a little bit more and he doesn't want to be cruel.

He unties his laces and places the shoes neatly against the wall, fixing your previously kicked off shoes to line up with his. "Baby, I'm sorry."

He sees that you've already changed back into your pajamas and you're curled into the bed. He walks over to your side of the bed and scoots himself onto the edge. His hand rubs your hip. "Look, the reason I rejected your kisses and why I'm wearing a turtleneck is because whenever we have a fight and it's your fault, you always kiss my neck and I give in instantly."

He hears you laugh, "it's never my fault."

"Okay, sure, you're right." He agrees, even though you both know it's not the truth. "I was really hurt by your comment this morning and I wanted to make you sweat a little bit."

"So, you wore a turtleneck so I wouldn't have access to your neck?"

"Yes! But then you find another body part to kiss and I start to melt." He smiles as you sit up, his hand sliding from your hip to your ankle. He gives your ankle a squeeze. "I'm sorry I was being mean."

"No, no." You reach out to him, grabbing his empty hand. "You're right to be mad and upset with me. What I said was really mean. You're a genius and I love that about you."

"But you're right too and as much as I hate to admit it, I'm not always right. I am most of the time though." He grins.

"Okay, brag." You roll your eyes. "Will you please take that stupid turtleneck off so I can give you apology neck kisses?"

"Fine, but only because it's itchy." He smiles. You spend the next few minutes peppering his neck and face with kisses. He's giggling and squirming as you trap him under you.

Shortly after, you get redressed and head out for the day. You're walking hand in hand towards the book store when he pulls the handle. The door doesn't budge. You both look at each other and search the store front for the hours of operation. Saturday: 10am to 8pm.

"Huh, apparently we were both wrong." You shrug.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

[quitealotofsodapop]

Lmk au idea.

Wukong isn't MK's teacher. At least, not in the same way he is in the show.

In this idea I had randomly pop into my head I'm thinking that Wukong had gone above and beyond simply vanishing for 500 years and hiding out on FFM. He straight up changed his identity and went into hiding as a mortal. He says fuck off to being a demon god, fuck off to all the gods and celestials and all his titles. He retires, fully and completely, passing his crown off to his Stalwarts and just becomes a wanderer traveling around, doing odd jobs and never staying in one place too long.

At some point over the centuries he ends up back in the village that he left his staff in, or rather, whay it became. A sprawling metropolis of a city that a person trying to disappear can easily do so. He set up shop, having had many hats over the years he's able to easily pick up a humble job nobody would blink twice at. Mechanics are always sorely needed in large cities after all.

One day at his shop a hauntingly familiar fave appears at his doorstep. Pigsy's truck had broken down while he was out with baby MK on a supply run and Wukong's shop had been the closest mechanic they could find. Wukong could sense something was special about MK, but not what or why and after he fixed up the truck he spent the next hour or so reminding himself that he is not Sun Wukong anymore, he is not part of that life anymore. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Wukong's mechanic work was something Pigsy liked, a lot. The truck was running smoother than if ever did before and the price was a steal! Wukong quickly became the favorite mechanic shop for Pigsy's Noodles and MK began to show up more often at the mechanic shop (he crashed a lot of stuff ok). Wukong ends up becoming the cool mechanic dude who helped teach MK how to mod his hoverboard and would often drop cryptic but helpful advice to the kid, Wukong having settled with the idea that he can look after the kid at least since it doesn't look like Zu Baijie's decendant or the kid were going to go away anytime soon. This led to meeting Tang and Mei, which were... experiences. And Wukong just ends up being a family friend to the Noodle Gang who likes cold vegetarian noodles.

Then a Hero is Born happens. Wukong hadn't been there for that experience. He was "on a supply run" when DBK was freed, he was in a different town entirely. So he wasnt physically present when MK became the Monkie Kid. It doesn't mean he wasn't completely uninvolved, though. Wukong isn't stupid, he knows DBK would eventually be freed, and he also knew it was possible someone else would pick up his staff. Afterall the staff had chosen him, not the other way around. It isn't unfeasable to imagine it'd pick another now that it's owner has put it down. Plus it isn't entirely impossible to imagine whoever it is would seek him out, he was the last known person to wield the Ruyi Jingu Bang after all.

He left a series of visions and astral projected recordings in his cave. The first being triggered should anyone breach his cave, the vision MK first sees when he enters Water Curtain Cave, only it doesn't stop at Wukong just running off. The projection speaks.

Wukong's recording. Looking as laid back and amused as can be: If you're seeing this, congrats! You got past my unstoppable barrier! Unfortunately I'm afraid that you won't be able to find me, as I would have been long gone from this place and am retired! So if your here for an autograph I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave.

MK: WHAT!?

Wukong's recording, becoming serious and almost sad: If you are a friend, however. I want to say I'm sorry, but please don't go seeking me out. I am hanging up my crown and title as the Great Sage and the Monkey King, and I don't not wish to be disturbed. Over the centuries I've come to realize my whole life I've done nothing but hurt the people I care about, so... for everyone's sake... I'm disappearing so that I can't hurt anyone again. Ever. And if you find my staff, I'm sorry I can't be there to help you. But I'll give you a piece of advice I learned, believe in yourself. Even just a smidge can make all the difference.

MK is gobsmacked at the thought that Sun Wukong had just up and left like that, that he's been gone for a long time and won't be able to help. He decides if Wukong wasn't there to be a hero anymore, he'd do it for him. Just a smidge makes a difference, right?

And so the Monkie Kid becomes the Monkie Kid. Over the next season or so he struggles a lot with his powers, not having a proper mentor. See, unlike the rest of the Noodle Gang, since Wukong wasn't physically present when MK became the town hero he isn't ever explicitly told it's MK. MK literally just forgets to mention it to him, but he does his best to help where he can. Giving advice where he can.

Most everything else was done without his input, altho MK did find it weird that the Calabash seemed to think his mechanic friend was the Monkey King. It's the first hint he ever has that Wukong was not as he seemed, but he write it off as him simply thinking of Wukong as a mentor figure since he's always been supportive and gave helpful advice and the Calabash substituting the Monkey King for Wukong.

Even the Macaque episode was done mostly without his input, altho a certain black furred monkey was not happy that his attempt to lure Wukong out didn't work at all. Wukong had been busy with renovations to expand the shop at the time, thus where the "step into the strike" advice came from since MK had been helping Wukong with tearing down the wall.

The big reveal about Wukong being the Monkey King only happens during Revenge of the Spider Queen, when Wukong has no choice but to step in as the Monkey King. And believe me, he is absolutely not happy about the matter. He doesn't run away once everything is done and over, but it's very clear that he is upset by the way he avoids everyone and jsut sits curled up on the rooftop. When asked why he never told them, especially knowing MK was using his staff, he first points out MK had never explicitly told him about the whole Monkie Kid business so he had no reason to "know" anything about it. Then he jsut points to the destroyed city.

Wukong: This is what happens everytime the Monkey King appears. Destruction, death, and chaos. I didn't want to be that anymore.

This spun off from a convo on how Wukong likely felt abandoned by his mentor(s), beginning with Subodhi, the allies he made in Heaven before the war, Guanyin, and even Tripitaka when the monk passed.

Wukong, going by just "Wu", drifting along the centuries living a mortal life. Packs up and leaves whenever conflict or war breaks out, or when people start to get suspicious.

His number one rule? Never get attached. Never again...

He becomes a mechanic (a real "grease monkey" if you will). Although he loves medicine and herbalism, it simply has too many paper trails. Also cars are fun to tinker with and don't talk back most of the time. Less likely to make a connection.

He eventually returns to the village where he lay his Staff down for good. Just seemed right coming up to the 500 year anniversary of one of his biggest regrets. The village has since become a sprawling mega-city, open to humans and demons alike. There he plants his roots.

The biggest shock of his life comes when he sees his brothers faces and souls all over again. Three in new bodies, and one in the same. A certain fish demon had pretended he didnt recognise him, and Wu returned the courtesy - seems he wasn't the only one from the old days to retire.

He wonders if it was the right decision to settle in Megapolis...

Until the day Pigsy knocks on Wu's shop, breathless and carrying a wiggly baby human (?). His food truck had given up the ghost and the cook desperately needed repairs asap! Wu simply couldn't turn him away.

Through the conversation and the repair process, the wiggly baby maybe-human had stared at the monkey demon with absolute wonder. Wu isn't sure why until he overhears the cub blabble something into his father's ear.

MK: "Mon-ken." Pigsy, fond sigh: "No MK, that's not the Monkey King. He just looks like the drawing in your Baba's book." Wu, nearly drops the truck on himself: "Eh?" Pigsy, little embarassed: "Oh! Sorry. The piglet is convinced that you're the Monkey King. My partner researches mythology and stuff, and he fills the kid's head with all sorts of ideas." Wu, rolls out from under the truck with a cheeky smile: "It's no problem. You'd be surprised how often I get mistaken for him! Think its the fur." (*Wu shares a glance at MK, the baby human is still staring at him unconvinced. Wukong makes a unsubtle shush motion and winks - causing the little human to wiggle once more with joy. Pigsy sighs fondly once more, knowing that the boy will most definitely hold this moment dear throughout his childhood*)

With that one chance meeting, Wukong breaks his number one rule; Never get attached.

It's not his fault he fixed the truck so good that Pigsy became a loyal customer! And the pig demon began tipping him with free cold vegetarian noodles. And that the scholar at the shop and him started info-dumping together! And that the little human began seeing him as a beloved uncle...

Oh yeah. Wu is in too deep. Hopefully nothing too chaotic happens within the next few years or so >:3

You can say a certain monkey demon nearly had a heart attack when he learned that someone had finally taken up his Staff - and that it was his little buddy!! Also Sandy is back in the gang, so they can't pretend that they dont know each other for long.

Wu would *like* to step up and reveal himself as the Monkey King to MK - but he feels that would just make things so much worse. The kid's trust in him would shatter immediately. So it's better to leave his projections on FFM to do the physical training, and for Uncle Wu to provide him with much-needed emotional guidance.

Sharing this dm you sent in particular based on the "Macaque" episode cus it's a tasty piece of dialogue:

MK: "Is it really better to focus your power into every attack?" Wu: "Hm, that's a lonely way of thinking. And dangerous. Look at this hammer I use for example, it's strong but if I'm not careful an just bang away at metal, it'd hit hard but it'd cause more damage to myself and the people around me. But if I were to... step into the swing so to speak and not depend on the hammer but rather my own strength, it's easier to control and has less risk of hurting myself."

He had been doing renovations on the wall to expand his business at the time, thus why he was banging at the wall with a hammer.

Eventually the episode ends with Macaque calling desperately out to the battlefield - almost begging for his king to reappear. The shadow monkey is so occupied in his despair and anger that MK manages to slip free and reclaim his power.

MK promptly bullies Macaque into actually mentoring him. Macaque chuckles at the nerve of this kid, and agrees - but only as a truce until Wukong returns. After that, Macaque expects a rematch.

Unironically loving this AU

[chosolar]

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈ what about us?

choso x fem!reader

situationship!choso first met you through yuji. you were yuji's partner for a project he had in college, so you were often at their place to work on it. choso, like the gentleman he is, often gave you rides back to your dorm.

situationship!choso spent one night with you and he couldn't get you out of his mind afterwards. even if you both did agree that it was just a one night stand, just a way of releasing stress that's been building up, but choso didn't want to be just a one time thing.

situationship!choso finally got the chance to talk to you one night when he found you outside the club he used to frequent. he gave you his jacket and gave you a ride home since he knows how sketchy people get. he only meant to check up on you the morning after but something inside him told him to continue the convo.

situationship!choso takes you out after you're done your classes. sometimes choso works mornings and sometimes evenings so whenever you two have free time together, he always takes advantage of it.

situationship!choso wants to always fall asleep on the phone with you. because technically he's not your boyfriend, he feels bad sleeping over so instead he settles on falling asleep when you're on a call.

situationship!choso has a hard time saying I love you. he's proven it with his actions and loyalty, but saying those 3 words is just something he holds back on.

situationship!choso overhears you defending him when you're on the phone with your friends. it's been a year since your relationship started with him and he had still yet to ask you out officially. your friends are annoyed with him and he deserves the heat, but he can't help but feel sorry for you who's defending him wholeheartedly.

situationship!choso can't commit. he doesn't know if it started because of his parents' tumultuous relationship or if it was his ex who fucked him over during their 3 year relationship, but he just can't seem to commit himself to anyone. he hates it. you deserve so much better than him.

situationship!choso loves you so much but he just can't bring himself to be in another relationship. he's not emotionally available enough to be able to communicate with you properly.

situationship!choso keeps delaying on breaking it with you but he can't. he doesn't know how to bring it up and he can't imagine how much he'd have fucked you over if he does break it off. he'll be basically just like his ex who wasted his time.

situationship!choso finally finds the courage to talk to you about how he's feeling. he was planning on doing it through text but that would've been disrespectful to you so he asked if you could come over to his place. he struggles at first to put forward the things he wanted to say, and with his mind all over the place, he just ends up blurting out that he wants to stop seeing you.

with the look you're giving him after he speaks, choso thinks it would've hurt a lot less if you stabbed him in the chest. he waits for an answer for you, he expects for you to get angry and yell at him or to just slap him in the face. you don't do anything though. you're still and silent, and that's what worries choso the most.

"listen it's-" choso starts to explain but you cut him off.

"was it something I did?"

"no of course not. you're perfect baby," choso sighs and pauses before he continues his train of though. "I'm not a good partner. I will be the shittiest boyfriend you'll ever have if we continue and you deserve someone so much better than me."

"then why can't we be together? why can't you be better for me?" you ask him and choso doesn't know how to answer. what's he supposed to say? regardless of his reply, you're going to wonder if you're enough.

"I don't know, I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you." he whispers. as much as he loves you, he wishes he didn't start anything with you because he didn't expect to fall in love so hard. choso didn't think breaking this off would be so difficult for him.

you're quiet again and choso hates the silence because he can't tell what you're thinking. a few minutes pass until he looks at you when you speak up.

"well can't we just try?"

choso's speechless. he just can't wrap his head around the fact that you want to stay with him so badly that you'd willingly hurt yourself for him.

"I can't promise you that I'll be good." choso starts off, "I'm not the best at communicating and I have jealousy issues."

he looks at you before he continues.

"my family is dysfunctional and I don't go out often so you're probably the only person I'll hang out with."

"that's fine," you go to him and embrace him as he reciprocates the hug, happy to be around his arms again. "I'll be here for you."

situationship!choso spends weeks courting you. he's always waking excuses to see you, whether that's picking and dropping you off when you have classes, or he just so happens to be at your work while you're on your break.

situationship!choso is not afraid of showing affection for you when you're in public. he started greeting your friends whenever he saw them and slowly, their opinions of him started changing. it's not like they instantly think that he's the best man for you now, but they're glad that he's bettering himself for you.

situationship!choso introduces you to his family. he contemplated on doing so but even if he's not on the best terms with his parents, he wanted them to know that he's serious about you.

situationship!choso plans the cutest, most sweetest date to ask you out. he knows you deserve the best and that goes for making it official with you.

boyfriend!choso loves you to death. after only having the most exhausting and toxic relationships, being with you is a breath of fresh air for him. he wakes up and goes to sleep with you in mind. he works hard so that you can have a better future with him where you don't have to lift a finger.

boyfriend!choso is so clingy! you didn't expect it because of how awkward he was at first with him but as soon as he felt comfortable, he would be right by your side wherever you go. even if it's just to go to the kitchen or the washroom, you can bet he's right behind you.

boyfriend!choso still has some issues that he's working on. sometimes when you have a big fight, you have to beg him to ask what he's feeling because he's spent so many years holding it in that it's hard for him to vocalize. even if it does get frustrating sometimes, you don't hold it against him since you know how bad it used to be (baby steps!)

boyfriend!choso is the true definition of being a secret freak. everywhere, anytime, whatever position, as long as it's with you, choso is down.

boyfriend!choso sometimes stays awake after you pass out to take time to appreciate you. he's never felt a softer love than when he's with you, and he can't believe a person so patient and loving wanted to stay with him.

boyfriend!choso loves supporting you on any hobbies you have. whether it's gaming or something like crocheting, choso will ask you questions to try and connect with you through what you love.

boyfriend!choso is elated that he can sleep over anytime now. he's basically moved in with you and he's so glad that he doesn't have to sleep on the phone with you to feel like you're right beside him at night.

boyfriend!choso has gotten over his fear of saying I love you. it took him some time to say it back to you but you never rushed him, it was obvious that he loves you too. he just looks at your gentle smile and sighs that he couldn't say it. but on a random night, he drank a little too much and as you were taking care of him, "I love you" was all that he said. ever since then, choso has never had a problem telling you the 3 words you've been wanting to hear.

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈

wanted to flesh out the situationship but I've never been in one so I didn't know how to lmaooooo

not proofread ofc

[dragqueenstarscream]

got hit w/ a rouge period cramps ray and needed a pick-me-up

would love to hear your thoughts on TFP Soundwave and/or TFA Lockdown, just general fluff/smut headcanons

- 💫

ooooo, alright! haven't done anything with these two before, let's see what i can come up with

tfp soundwave x cybertronian!reader hcs

sfw:

- soundwave is a bot of... well, no words, so any affection he'll give you is through physical touch or acts of kindness.

- for physical touch, this means staying at your side, offering you a servo if you need it, just generally being in your presence.

- this also includes hugs from his tentacles, mainly because his arms are a little clunky.

- for acts of kindness, this mainly revolves around your physical health. he'll get you energon if you need it, stay with you during recharge, and give you a thorough examination post battle to make sure that you aren't badly damaged.

- if you are, you're going straight to knock out, and knock out knows better than to test the wrath of a quiet bot.

- while he can't kiss you, he will press his forehelm to yours, kinda like a cat. it's pretty sweet, honestly.

nsfw:

- alright. let's get this one out of the way. yes, he is using his tentacles on you in the berth, whether it be tying you up with them or using them on your valve.

- on a similar note, soundwave has a thing for seeing you tied up. something about seeing you prone and helpless before him gets his engine revving.

- let's get one thing straight here: you're at soundwave's mercy in the berth. he's the one in control, no matter what.

- don't try to push his buttons, because soundwave's punishments are near hellish.

- he won't deny you of interface, oh no. he'll give you exactly what you want. he'll tie you up and make you overload over and over again, without giving you any rest in between, until you're wrung out, exhausted, and unable to speak properly or think straight.

- then, only then, will he untie you from your binds and give you the aftercare you need. he may be meaner than megatron in the berth, but he's not completely sparkless.

tfa lockdown x cybertronian!reader hcs

sfw:

- contrary to how he is with other bots, lockdown is surprisingly affectionate with you.

- getting affection from lockdown is like getting loved on by a tiger. he's very touchy and possessive, getting agitated if any other bots get close to you.

- and this bots LOOOOOVES touch. he usually has his arms around you or his chin resting on your shoulder.

- considering he doesn't have loyalty to anyone else, his attachment to you is something the decepticons find very weird, but he doesn't give a shit.

- he's always calling you pet names. always. it's to the point where you're starting to wonder if he forgot your actual name. you still think it's cute, though.

nsfw:

- MAJOR daddy kink. it's a pretty easy way to tell if he's in the mood. if he starts calling himself daddy, he wants to frag.

- he can't keep his servos off of you. he's constantly groping your chest, your ass, and especially your thighs.

- he's got a mouth that could put a pornstar to shame, both in that he's an expert dirty talker and in that he loves giving oral, even with the big chin.

- one of his favorite things is to leave marks all over you, especially in places where other bots can see them. good luck trying to cover them up; he'll always find a way to leave more.

[stoutpancakes]

Speak

AKA how the Stardust Crusaders react when you're learning their primary language!

Ft. Muhammad Avdol, Jean Pierre Polnareff, Joseph Joestar, Jotaro Kujo, & Noriaki Kakyoin

Muhammad Avdol

When Avdol finds out you're learning his primary language of Arabic, he's honored.

Needless to say, Avdol is a great teacher as long as you're serious about learning the language.

He gives you plenty of material to help you study.

But be warned, he believes immersion is the best form of learning.

Expect for him to speak nothing but Arabic in you two's shared household on occasion.

(Don't worry. He'll help you out if he sees that you're struggling!)

Avdol teaches you basic phrases to help you navigate everyday situations while you're out and about in the city you two live in.

Again, definitely the best teacher out of the bunch.

Corrects you when you get something wrong, but takes the time to explain what was wrong about it.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk!"

Jean Pierre Polnareff

He's surprised when he finds out you're learning French.

You love him that much to learn his native tongue? How romantic of you!

He will do everything in his power to help you learn the language as he knows it can be tricky.

Kisses you sweetly every time you get something correct or even when you're wrong because at least you're trying!

He may not be the best teacher, but he's very passionate about his language and culture.

It's very infectious and is a great motivator!

He desperately hopes that you're enjoying it as much as he is.

Teaches you romantic phrases and terms fairly early into your language learning endeavors.

"I love you" is at the top of that list to teach you.

It just melts his heart to hear you say those little words in his native tongue.

Gives you little treats as motivators for when you're studying.

"How is the studying going, ma chérie?"

Joseph Joestar

Oh, boy.

When you tell Joseph that you want to start learning English, he's ecstatic.

But be warned, this man is the worse at teaching you.

He'll definitely teach you slang and curse words first.

"That's where the fun is at!" he exclaims when you chastise him for being so vulgar.

You finally get him to take teaching you English seriously (though that in itself is a feat alone).

Again, Joseph is not the best teacher.

He tries his best, but he expects you to pick up the language as quickly as he speaks it.

You then have to explain to him that he's a native speaker of English and you, in fact, are not. So naturally, it's going to take some time for you to learn the ins and outs of it.

He's also not the best at explaining the grammar. Just... be patient with him, please.

"You know... Their, they're, and there! All three are different!"

"Joseph..."

Overall, the most excited for you to be learning his native tongue even if he can't help you very much.

Jotaro Kujo

While Jotaro acts as if he doesn't care that you're learning Japanese for him, his heart flutters along with the butterflies in his stomach when you tell him.

But he mustn't betray his stoic nature.

He's not the best teacher as, much like Joseph, he expects you to pick it up quickly.

"It's simple conjugation, dammit," he'll mutter, pointing to the paper in front of you like an irritated father helping a child with their math homework.

You have to remind him that Japanese is his native tongue and not yours.

He slowly but surely begins to understand, though he can still be stubborn when teaching you at times.

He's also strict when it comes to your Japanese lessons, so expect the lessons to be everyday at the same time.

Don't you dare be late unless you want him to brood the whole time.

"Good grief..."

But again, the poor boy just doesn't know how to properly communicate his emotions.

And deep down, he loves you even more for wanting to learn his native tongue.

Noriaki Kakyoin

"You want to learn Japanese? For me?"

Kakyoin is shocked at first.

You want to learn his native tongue... For him?

No one has ever done something like this for him before.

It brings tears to his eyes, and the only thing he can do after you tell him is embrace you in a tight hug.

He's still reeling over it even months into teaching you the language.

He's a decent teacher, much more patient and understanding than Jotaro.

Kakyoin knows that Japanese can be difficult with the different symbols if you're not accustomed to the kind of language that it is, so he does his best to help you learn it!

Writes up flashcards for you and studies with you.

Grammar isn't his favorite, but he brushes up on the basics to teach you better.

Comes up with little songs and rhymes to help you remember things!

[covenofthearticulate]

i had a thought: imagine louis falls asleep first because he’s the weakest and the baby and armand reads his thoughts as he dreams and then yaps to lestat right over louis’ head 😭

MWAH MWAH MWAH kissing u on the cheeks as we speak!!!! this is delicious i'm sobbing!!! since we're both going through it I wrote a lil something as a treat bc we deserve it <3

"He's dreaming of you," Armand mumbles into the nest of unkempt black hair.

From the pillow, on the other side of their sleeping lover, Lestat looks up from his phone. Like a pantomime, the expression shifts from surprised to curious to doubtful, before landing on the final fixed look of pure spite that crinkles his brow and stiffens his lip.

"He is not," Lestat frowns. "Liar."

He is always this way when he's afraid. Like a cornered wolf, snapping at any hand that might offer kindness.

And perhaps he is right to be afraid, Armand thinks, as he rests one hand over Louis' chest, feels the rise and fall of it as the mortal sleep pulls him under like the gentle lull of the ocean waves. Perhaps it is a gift, the severance between maker and fledgling. Perhaps the ugly things in Louis' head are better left unsaid.

That won't stop Armand, though.

"He's dreaming of you at the chess board with your father."

If there is any color left behind from the hunt, it immediately drains from Lestat's face. There's a sharp pain in his eyes for just a moment, one singular earth-shattering moment, before he glazes right over, and turns his attention back to his phone.

"...oh."

"You're yelling at him."

Armand doesn't know why he's digging further. He likes to dig, likes to press on Lestat's old wounds because sometimes it is the only way to see the real creature hiding behind the facade, because it makes him feel less alone, knowing there is someone else in this wide world who is every bit as broken and wretched as he is.

"Enough."

"Oh, but he loves you, even now," Armand continues to murmur, soft and low, against the crown of Louis' head. "He loves the curl of your hair, and the shape of your calves. Even the flash of your fangs as you tell your father to go to hell. He feels sorry for you."

"I said ENOUGH, Armand."

When he looks up, finally, there is a rage in Lestat's eyes. It's an old flame of anger, and yet it makes Lestat look so devastatingly young.

"Why are you telling me this?" Lestat breathes.

"Because you are the center of his universe," Armand snaps, and undercurrent is clear: ungrateful, ungrateful, ungrateful.

"I don't want to be." Something quivers in the back of Lestat's throat as he speaks. "I never wanted to hurt him, I never wanted—"

"And yet he dreams of you still."

Silence, for a moment.

And the longer Armand's words hang in the air, the more Lestat begins to recognize the jealousy seeping into each syllable.

"I want him to dream about us," Lestat finally sighs.

All Armand does is nod, close his eyes and inhale a breath as if he might pick up some lingering scent from the long dead flesh cuddled between them. And as he begins to gently exhale, Louis makes a small noise, a soft groan, and shifts ever so slightly so that his toes bump against Lestat's leg.

Lestat hates that he cannot know the cause of that noise, and for a moment he considers swallowing his pride simply to ask Armand to play conduit, to slide the blade between his ribs just once more—

But before he can speak, he feels the gentle press of Armand inside of his head, like a warm summer breeze, and once he opens the door, allows the battlements to crumble down, he can hear it like a relentless pulse:

Dream of us, dearest. Dream of us. No more sorrow. We are here, now. Dream of us.

And the world seems so warm and so small, suddenly, as Lestat allows himself to sink down into it, to be guided by Armand through the dreamscape in his lover's head. The three of them, tucked away in a venerable library deep in the heart of New York. The three of them, in the box at the opera. In the snow-covered trails of Auvergne, the moonlit streets of Paris, the ocean-kissed air of California...yes, the three of them, in all their many iterations, always finding their way home to one another over and over again.

A yawn creeps it's way up into Lestat as he shifts under the covers. He wraps his arm around Louis, rests his hand on Armand's shoulder.

And when he closes his eyes, he dreams of the three of them, too.

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror..............Part IX

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length in a later part)

Summary: Macrinus realizes Letha is lost to him. Geta gets on his knees. Caracalla doesn't take it well.

Warnings: oral (f receiving), masturbation, 18+ only.

Word Count: 3.6k

Part 9 of 13?

[ Part VIII ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: Oh, Geta, you're so giving. Just a lovesick fool. Go look at that gif one more time. He's really very pretty. Anyway, please enjoy.

Upon her return to her rooms, she felt restless, trapped. She explored the palace in the twins’ absence and stumbled upon a small library. It was there where they found her after the games were finished for the day. 

Caracalla sat down on the plush couch beside her, enveloping her in a tight hug that she wasn’t expecting. “He should have killed him.”

“It’s alright, Caracalla,” she promised. 

“It’s not,” he insisted, releasing her. “He should be punished.” 

Letha looked over to Geta at Caracalla’s change in tone. He was leaned up against the doorway, blocking out some of the light streaming in. At Caracalla’s anger, he stood up straight, setting foot into the room.

“Let me read to you, hmm?” she quickly offered, raising the bound parchment she’d been distracting herself with. Perhaps it would work with Caracalla too.

“What’s it about?” Caracalla asked, relaxing.

“It’s poetry, about many different things. Heroes, tragedy, adventures.”

Caracalla reclined on the couch, getting comfortable. “Okay.”

With Caracalla soothed, she looked over to Geta again. He seemed slightly more relaxed, but his face was harder to read. His eyes scanned the couch and he must have decided there was no room for him because before Letha could offer to make space, he left the room.

She reluctantly cast her eyes down to the page and began to read.

“They are still alive,” Macrinus whispered, his voice bordering on rage as his fingers squeezed her arm. 

The alcove he’d dragged her into was quite well hidden from the party, but not so far away that she felt comfortable speaking of this. The lukewarm summer breeze blew a loose strand of hair into her face, but she didn’t dare reach up to move it aside.

“You weren’t at the Colosseum today,” he accused. “Geta said you were indisposed.”

She knew she looked frightened. It didn’t faze him. “Macrinus, I—”

“Are you sleeping with him?” 

The question caught her off guard. “N-No.”

“Do not lie to me,” he warned, gripping her chin tightly, turning her head aside, looking for confirmation of his concerns along her neck. 

“Macrinus!” she complained, her fingers reaching up to attempt to pry his grip on her chin loose.

“Unhand her.” Geta’s voice was almost overwhelming in the tight space.

Macrinus’s eyes widened subtly. He dropped Letha’s chin, hefting his robes and turning to face the tall Emperor, a practiced smile spreading across his face. “I apologize, Emperor. She spoke against you, I was only trying to—”

“She did, did she?” Geta questioned. He was stern with Macrinus, but his expression softened almost imperceptibly when he looked at Letha. He wasn’t buying it. 

“I apologize,” she lowered her head, bowing, her eyes fixed on Geta’s. 

“Yes, well, do try to stay in line when we have guests,” Geta warned, a hidden smile tugging at his lips.

Macrinus watched the exchange with rapt interest. He understood at once that his plans had been broken up. He didn’t provide an explanation as he stepped around Geta, returning to the main hall. It wouldn’t have mattered if he did, neither of the two would’ve paid it much attention.

“What was that about?” Geta’s brown eyes narrowed, though he couldn’t contain his smile now that they were alone. 

Letha had spent most of the day without him near, and she found she missed his looks and smirks. It was a comfort after the day’s events. And it was good to see him in better spirits. 

“He accused me of bedding you,” she admitted, looking Geta over. 

If I were only so lucky, she thought.

She felt the air grow still as he closed the distance between them. It didn’t make sense, they were on a balcony overlooking the gardens, there was almost always some sort of a breeze. It was stifling.

“What did you tell him?” he asked, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, drawing her eyes there.

“The truth.”

He grinned and reached up to brush the stray strand out of her face. “Do you think he believed you?”

“I don’t really care what he thinks,” she confided, pulling at the cloth near her neck, desperate for cool air. His eyes fell to her hand, watching her with great interest.

“Roman summers are harsh,” he spoke, unable to remove his eyes from her neck.

“Yes,” she agreed, closing her eyes in relief as a breeze blew through. 

“I must admit, I was a bit disappointed today,” Geta confessed, his fingers grazing the part of her arm that Macrinus had made tender. “I would have loved to sit with you and listen to you read, but ‘Calla got that privilege.”

“I can read to you whenever you want,” Letha offered, stepping back to rest on the stone railing behind her. He followed her over, his hands gripping the stone on either side of her, caging her in. 

“Are you feeling better?” His voice was soft, concern and care obvious in his warm brown eyes. 

“Yes,” she nodded, reaching for his cheek. He pressed his face into her palm. It sent a fluttery sensation through her chest. “I wanted to thank you. What you did, what you would’ve done. It was appreciated. I just… It made me remember.”

He reached up and pressed her hand tighter against his cheek. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I was a bit overzealous,” he admitted. “I thought it might make you happy.”

“It did,” she promised. She let her eyes fall to his lips as they parted. 

No one else had ever given her so much proof of their devotion. Geta made it quite easy for her to delude herself into believing that this should continue, despite the sword hanging above her neck. She could feel its presence at all times, but Geta helped distract her from it. She knew she was only making it worse, guaranteeing that the pain of the reveal of her betrayal would be nigh unfathomable.

But sitting this close, it was so easy to be selfish.

Letha pulled his face down, eager for the distraction. Geta kissed her without restraint. His tongue dove in, drawing up that superheated coil from her womb, his hands gripping her hips to help it along. Before she realized it, he had a hand wound in her hair, cupping the back of her head, as he steered her over to the more supportive stonework.

“This is nice,” she admitted, hands pulling at his neck, keeping him close, his forehead pressed to hers as he panted. 

“Oh, Letha,” he teased, his swollen lips splitting into a wide grin that forced her thighs to clench, “this is nothing.”

She felt herself frown and he was kissing it away, his fingers tugging at the fabric over her uninjured shoulder, pulling it down lower on her arm. He dragged his fingers up her arm, over her shoulder, and up the side of her neck before trailing back down again, his fingertips ghosting over her skin.

Letha shivered, one of her hands falling to his shoulder as he moved to follow his fingers. From the corner of her lips, down to her jaw, nudging her there to get her to expose her neck. His hand found her waist as he pressed his lips to the soft, sensitive skin. As he moved lower his lips parted, his kisses growing messier, wetter, his tongue finding her collarbone. There was a great pressure as he sucked at the skin there.

She let out small sounds, squeezing his shoulder, tugging on his hair, the sensation almost too much to bear. She forced her thighs together, seeking something to relieve the pressure. 

Geta chuckled against her skin, lapping at the spot he’d marked. “I did promise you something this morning,” he reminded her. 

“Promised?” she questioned, catching her breath.

Geta could only smile. He pulled the cloth lower, exposing her breast. Her fingers collided with the laurels adorning his head and she pulled her hand back, the leaves almost sharp. She bit her lip harshly as he nipped at the underside. He let out a breath against her skin, his eyes meeting hers before he surrounded the nipple with his hot mouth. 

His gaze felt as strong as when she’d spied on him. She couldn’t look away from him. She refused, despite the way her body arched into him, needing more. She felt the heat return, her blood pooling in her cheeks and down below, her thighs clenching not enough to ease the throbbing. If she asked him, would he help her? Could she make demands of an Emperor?

“You’re thinking too much,” he commented, releasing her breast. “Should I stop?”

“No!” She blurted out, pressing on his shoulder, keeping him down below her. “No, of course not, I…”

Geta watched her struggle to form words, her lips reddened and slightly swollen, her chest heaving with each breath, the sight of her bareness shooting a bolt of molten iron down his front. He would probably actually murder whoever dared to interrupt this.

Geta sank down to his knees, resting his legs as he stared up at her, waiting for her mouth to spit out the words she clearly desperately wanted to say. She was normally quite able to speak her mind. To see her like this, struck dumb by him, it stoked his desire for her.

“Do you… want the rest of your gift, Letha?”

“The rest?” she questioned, confusion narrowing her brows. She reached up and touched her lower lip in remembrance. 

Yes, that, but there was still more. More Geta wanted to taste. To savor.

His eyes darted down low, to what he couldn’t see beneath the layers of her dress. He watched as she squeezed her legs together. He felt warm, woozy at the sight, felt every ounce of wine he’d had with his dinner. When he looked back up at her, he saw an awareness there. 

“What if someone catches us?”

“We could let them watch?” he joked, shooting her a wink. She looked shocked, as if it were out of character for him to speak so plainly about the night that might have altered the course of his life.

Geta had recognized in himself certain expectations he held for his lovers. Even calling them that was a bit generous. He preferred direct, blunt responses. Immediate answers to questions when he asked them. And he most certainly didn’t bow to anyone else’s desires. He didn’t tolerate those that fawned over him or tried to portray what was happening as anything other than fulfilling his needs. He didn’t have time for it. He grew bored with them pretending they loved him. He wasn’t dumb. He didn’t seek them out for romance. 

But Letha… Well, Letha couldn’t be more opposite to his tastes. And she still surprised him daily. He enjoyed seeing her go quiet, unable to look him in the eye as if simply looking at him was overwhelming. Yet she could engage in banter with him that he wouldn’t let anyone else get away with. She could say and do things that cut right through him, reminding him that he did have a soul buried deep down. It was long neglected, but her presence seemed to draw it out of hiding. He wanted to do things for someone other than his brother. He wanted to make her smile. He wanted to keep her safe. He wanted to love her.

And he desperately wanted her to love him.

So sitting before her, kneeling before her, taking up the hem of her dress in his hands, it didn’t bother him in the slightest. In fact, he felt a youthful eagerness take over as he lifted the skirt, salivating over each new bit of skin he exposed.

“You don’t have to,” she interrupted, reaching down to grasp the hem, keeping it where it currently was and allowing it no higher. She seemed bashful, her eyes a bit wide. But Geta knew she needed it. He could tell by the way her legs were pressed so tightly together, as if bound. 

“But isn’t that what you want?” He accused, watching her every movement. Her hand squeezed the fabric tightly before she pulled her lip between her teeth and released it, relinquishing it to Geta’s waiting hands.

He grinned.

Geta lifted the dress up and disappeared beneath it, instantly grabbing at her thighs, trying to coax her legs apart.

“Is this what you want? To see me reduced to a mere man? Underneath your foot?” His voice held no malice. He didn’t need her to answer him. He knew what his answer would be.

In this dark sanctuary, hidden beneath her dress, his hands were exploring her skin, squeezing the back of her thighs, sliding up, ever higher, finding the soft plush flesh of her ass, squeezing, breathing, nose running across her lower belly, the laurels slightly catching on the fabric.

Geta felt driven mad, not even thinking about himself, just wanting to feel her love, feel her come undone just for him. If they were in his chambers, he would be able to meet her eyes, watch it happen, see that same thing he swore he saw in her eyes before, when she’d succumbed to Caracalla’s cure. He needed to see it again.

But he could be patient. He was discovering all sorts of new things about himself the more time he spent with Letha. He never wanted it to stop.

Letha leaned against the columns behind her to stay upright. Geta could feel the shake in her legs. He pulled her leg over his shoulder and took some of the strain off her. He could see her core, her sweetest fruit. 

He wasted no time, moving in, inhaling the scent of her, brushing his lips over hers, finding her to be quite ripe, juicy and glistening. He heard her gasp, could feel her hands seek his head, his shoulders, anything. He hastily pulled the laurels off, setting them on the floor carelessly.

“There,” he urged, sighing as he felt the pressure of her hand on his head. She wasn’t forcing him, she just needed the support. 

He licked his lips, getting just a sliver of a taste of her. Intoxicating.

“Why are you so delicious?” He muttered, returning to the apex of her thighs, suddenly so very parched.

He feasted on her, his grip on her bottom useful for adjusting her, opening her further for him. He felt every flex of her thighs until they were constantly clenched, felt her grip on his head tighten and relax, could hear her quiet moans. He got lost in it, her noises fueling his own need lying ignored between his legs. He could deal with himself later, remembering this, the way her body quaked in his grip, under his tongue. The chase could continue if he held himself back.

He found her sensitive nub and fixated on it, tonguing it, surrounding it with his mouth, sucking. She jumped in his arms, her body squirming. He allowed one of his hands to move up, putting gentle pressure against her soft belly to keep her against the wall as he continued, releasing his own delirious moan into her. He could feel her dripping down his chin, his throat. 

“Geta,” she whispered harshly, her voice a few octaves higher than normal. It flashed down his spine, making him desperate for her. His hips rutted against nothing, the fabric covering his hard cock moving slightly, dragging, like torture. 

He couldn’t help it any longer, feeling feverish, his need almost painful. He lowered the hand on her belly to lift up his tunic. He swiped his hand over his chin to gather what had collected there before reaching down to grasp his cock, using her drippings to ease the friction. He hid his moans in her, shoving his tongue deep, his whines beginning to mirror hers. 

He knew she was almost there. He could get her there. He would get her there. He returned to her clit, sucking hard, harder than before, breathing heavily through his nose as he squeezed at himself. 

“Oh, gods–” She squeezed his shoulders, her center of balance shifting slightly, the thigh on his shoulder trying to renew that clench he’d saved her from. The strength of her legs surprised him, spurring him into a choked gasp against her, spilling onto the cold floor. 

A moment passed, all of their muscles tense, his mouth still attached, his breathing labored. She pushed at his head. In this he didn’t obey, allowing himself another swipe of his tongue over her, collecting her nectar. 

“Geta,” she hissed, her hands leaving him. 

Were they caught? No, surely not. She wouldn’t have had so much affection in her voice.

He slowly lowered the leg slung over his shoulder back to the ground, supporting her in case she fell over. Her legs trembled visibly. He hastily moved his tunic back into place and collected his discarded crown, placing it back on his head with no care for how it looked. He lifted her dress up over him, unprepared for the sight that awaited him.

She was tugging her dress back up to cover her chest. It heaved. Her lids were heavy, and he saw that look again in her eyes. Surrender. But also something else. It filled him with warmth, not arousal necessarily. But comfort. 

Seeing her leaned back against the column, all out of sorts, reaching down for him, he loved it. He stood, taking her hands in his, pulling her into him. She moved in and he brought her over, back to the open balcony to give her a place to sit. 

He looked down at the floor where he’d knelt, seeing his wasted seed there. 

“Geta,” she breathed, her hand finding his cheek. He met her eyes, unable to help his smile. She moved her hand, wiping at his chin. She looked down, as if trying to find a place to cast herself off her hand and he gripped her wrist, earning a surprised look from her. 

“Can’t waste that,” he spoke, bringing the shiny slick on her hand to his lips. 

She was focused on his mouth, rapt, watching him lick her off her finger. 

He was possessed with a thought, one he didn’t know what to do with. 

Forever. A union. An Empress. Heirs. The future of Rome–

“How dare you!” 

The voice filtered in from the other room, one that filled Geta with fear. Concern.

Caracalla.

Geta froze, his concern spiking. Before he could offer an explanation, he left the alcove, rushing back to the main part of the dining hall. His eyes sought his brother’s familiar stature, his copper hair. Letha followed him, still a bit out of sorts but concerned for Caracalla just the same. 

When he spotted him, Geta ran over to his brother, seizing him in his arms and hauling him off the partygoer. Caracalla struggled in his brother’s tight grip, still desperate to cause harm to the man lying on the floor, spewing insults and threats down at him. 

“Leave us,” Geta ordered, his command filling the room as he struggled to contain Carcalla’s fury.

Ancus moved in, but Geta waved him off, pulling Caracalla back on his own as someone knelt down to help the man on the floor back onto his feet so they could flee Caracalla’s wrath.

Even after the man left, Caracalla wouldn’t come down from his rage, struggling in Geta’s grip as he spat violent intentions, his mind shut to all but his baser impulse. 

Letha approached, but Geta locked eyes with her, shaking his head. He wouldn’t risk her getting hurt by Caracalla. Their bond was still so new and fragile. He didn’t want her to see his brother like this. Whether he liked it or not, he understood that they both needed her, just in different ways.

She seemed to understand, nodding to him before leaving the hall.

Once he knew Letha was safe, Geta released his brother. Caracalla whipped around, his sharp, fury-filled eyes raking over his brother, taking in his appearance. 

Rumpled robes. The imprint of one of his necklaces in the skin of his neck, on the side where Letha’s leg had rested. Swollen lips, flushed ears and throat. Hair all out of sorts. A crooked laurel crown. 

“Y-You will abandon me!” Caracalla accused. 

The accusation sliced right through Geta’s heart. “No, never, brother,” he assured him. He meant it. All thoughts of a future with Letha left his mind. He wouldn’t want any of it without his brother. 

“It’s not enough to steal her away, you want my seat empty, for her!”

As Geta reached for his brother, to assure him that it would never happen, Caracalla turned his back to him, approaching Ancus. The sound of the sword being drawn froze Geta’s blood.

“Emperor,” Ancus warned, eyes leaving Caracalla to look to Geta.

“It’s okay,” Geta urged, watching Caracalla intently. “Brother, listen to me.”

“Why should I?!” Caracalla cried, hysterical, slashing the air recklessly with the sword. “You both left me here. Left me alone! You would be happier if I were gone!”

The accusation stung. 

“I’m sorry, ‘Calla,” Geta pleaded. “I’m sorry. But you have to put down the sword. Put down the sword, and I will take care of you. It won’t happen again. I love you. Letha loves you. We would miss you so much. No one wants to leave you.”

As Geta spoke soothingly to his brother, Caracalla began to come down from his fit of rage. He was teary, bleary eyed, tired. Geta would get him into bed, tuck him in, like their mother did. And then he would have to deal with his conscience.

[ Part X ]

[cweeming]

⠀⠀⠀ ࣪⠀⠀𓏵⠀⠀ ׅ　 7592 (𝑗𝑢𝑚𝑝𝑠𝑡𝑦𝑙𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡). ⠀⠀ྀི

⠀⠀⠀⠀♰⠀ 𓈒 ⠀𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑐 (🇧🇦/𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑘 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡).⠀ ﾉ⠀𝑡𝑥𝑡 (🇯🇵 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡). ✙

it were the afternoon, you and Logan hanging out. he had a mission to look out for, while you were kicking back and relaxing.

you sat on the couch, phone in hand. there wear earphones in your ears, and the music were turned up so you couldn't hear anything. Logan stood infront of the mirror on the wall a few feet away, back turned to you. he were grooming himself, making sure his kitty ears were in tact. he couldn't help but slow down when he began to hear the music coming from your phone. this again. his eyes narrowed, as he caught a glimpse of your sitting form in the mirror. he's told you countless times not to turn up the volume too loud, how you'd go deaf. but, you never learned.

"that oughta give you a headache." he called out, continuing to groom himself. fully expecting a response, not knowing you couldn't hear him. after none came, he stopped and called out to you again. maybe you were ignoring him, not wanting to listen to 'ole Logan and his old wives tales. "I ain't saying you can't do what you're doing, but I also ain't denying there'll be consequences in store for you." again, no response. he turned around in your direction to look at you, seeing you on your phone. what could possibly be preventing you from answering him?

you'd have the scare of your life when Logan suddenly towered over you. "Logan!" you nearly shrieked, throwing your phone and hitting him square in the face. "you- you're going to give me a damn heart attack." he chuckled, you pulling your earphones out of your ears and tossing them aside. "well, princess. being distracted doesn't exactly help prevent that from happening."

he stood up and grabbed your phone that landed beside you on the couch. "called out to you twice, and you ain't responded once. there ain't nothin' important on this phone to prevent you from talking." then, he smirked. "I don't suppose, you're crushing on the latest celebrity?"

you didn't exactly calm down, a small blush appearing on your cheeks while you shook lightly. "I'm just teasin'," he'd speak before you had the chance to answer, reaching out and ruffling your hair.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a few minutes go by. Logan's sitting next to you, scrolling thru your phone. "so... I noticed you had your earphones on you." he glanced at you sideways. "mind telling me what's going on there?"

you shifted uncomfortably. you didn't like being confronted, especially when it came to your secret interests. "uh... nothing." you shifted a bit to the side, turning away from him. "it's nothing."

it seemed as though you were preparing to leave. so, he grabbed ahold of you.

"nothin' ain't cuttin' it, princess." he sneered, the smugness present in his tone. ugh. it were hard putting up with him sometimes. you released a sigh, plopping back onto the couch like jello.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀...

as he continued to browse thru your phone, he managed to come across a music app. you waited patiently to have your phone returned, arms crossed over your chest.

"chizutorimack?.." he had a good look at the name, as well as the icon itself. you thought nothing of it, paying him no attention.

until you heard the app open, a soft chime coming to life. your eyes widened, head slowly turning in his direction. you knew right then and there, you couldn't let this man proceed.

"give me back my phone!" with a now demanding tone, you attempted to wrestle the phone out of his hands, failing miserably as he managed to block your small form. you sat back, crossing your arms over your chest as you stared at him like a hawk.

"easy now, princess." his eyes remained glued to your phone screen, beginning to read off what he saw in the app. "7592, music, txt... heh. well, I never took my princess for a music enthusiast." he looked over at you, a small smile playing on his lips. you released an annoyed breath, hair getting into your eyes. atleast you could lie more thoroughly with an attitude.

"firstly," you began, tucking the hair behind your ear. "you really need to keep your claws off what's not yours." you swatted at your phone to get it back, but he simply smiled, raising his arm higher into the air. how he loved to tease you. "and second, it's not a music app. I. . . that's just where I get my inspiration from. for every day life."

he saw right thru your bullshit. "I think I could take you up on that offer, princess." he reached over for the earphones that were still plugged into the phone. "you let old Logan here get a taste of what the common folk listen to, and I'll return your phone. how does that sound?"

terrible. your heart began to pick up. the judgement is going to be absolutely unreal. "u-uhm, actually... there's swearing. and themes of sex and violence."

he simply fanned his hand at you. he's well over 200 years old, and has definitely seen a lot worse. "y' know, I do need to brush up on my own collection. after all, a mutant needs to keep himself busy when he's not always around the house." he put in one earpod, before doing the same with the other. "go on, princess. what album do you recommend I listen to, first?"

you hesitated. usually, you'd keep these things to yourself, locked away from the world. but, with Logan... there were never a day where he seemed uncurious. so, you chose your favorite playlist that you created, albeit in a very shy manner.

"u-um... try the 7592 playlist."

in the end, he loved it. the other 2 playlists, including. so much so, he constantly kept your phone on him days at a time so he could keep himself in the mood. maybe it's time to put a passcode on the lockscreen?

[frankys-wife]

THANK YOU KRUEGER FOR TAGGING ME <3

What animal does your f/o remind you of?

He'd canonically be a rhinoceros if he was an animal, but my horse hyperfixation brain says he reminds me of a male unicorn! I justify it like this:

Factually, horses and rhinoceros are distantly related because they're from the same group, Perissodactyls. They share a common ancestor millions of years ago, called the Cambaytherium. Basically, this means that Rhinos are horses with horns. And what is a horned horse? A unicorn. Also factually speaking, the horn on a unicorn's head used to be a metaphor for masculinity in medieval times, often because unicorns were depicted fighting and killing lions. It's why some national Coat of Arms symbols have the Lions and Unicorns on them. (Also because the horn on a Unicorn's head used to me a metaphor for a certain body part...) Another reason for this is because unicorns are rare. Franky is one-of-a-kind, both in his canon and our reality. There's no person or character comparable (in my opinion) to him or his abilities. He likes to stick out in a crowd and takes pride in being unique!

So I can happily say I think Franky is a very strong unicorn hehe <3

2. If you got your f/o a gift, what would you get them?

I would try to pick him up any kind of work materials he needs. I'd also make him all kinds of shirts: fun patterns, stupid slogans to make him laugh, anything that suits him! And, of course, his favourite cola!

3. What is your favourite hobby to think about doing with your f/o?

Anytime I get a random spurt of energy and put on some music, I think dancing with him would be the most fun thing ever! I also think he'd be chill with me putting on a fun action movie or playing some cards.

Also the occasional Mario Kart or Just Dance challenge. Franky would be so down to challenge me to Just Dance, we could do all of the cheesy couple's songs. I can see him getting frustrated when the Wii remote doesn't register his move XD

4. What chores would your f/o do around the house? Are there any they REALLY dislike?

He's chill with any kind of yard work, which isn't my thing. He doesn't mind vacuuming either, since the vacuum acting up would mean he gets to work on it a little. The nice thing about being married to an engineer/carpenter is that I've got an on-site handyman :) <3

He hates cleaning the bathrooms (honestly, who doesn't). I don't mind it as much as he does, so I usually take care of it. If things get clogged, though, it's a Franky job. He also doesn't care too much for laundry but is particular about how his speedos get washed so I take care of that without any issues.

5. Would you trust your f/o to drive a car?

Honestly, yeah. He's pretty calm and level-headed when driving for the most part. He steers the Thousand Sunny with no problems, so a car isn't that much different (though, he does tend to be a bit of a speed devil sometimes...). He might make impulsive decisions but he has the best intentions.

6. What kind of ringtone or notification sound would you have for your f/o?

Probably one of his favourite songs! Or I'll record him saying something silly I think hehe

7. Would your f/o fight someone online?

He might for a bit but then he might just hit them with the "L opinion + Ratio". He likes to fight in person anyways.

8. Does your f/o believe in soulmates?

He's not really a spiritual person per se- he believes what he sees and experiences, things he can justify. But he does think we're so natural together that, in his own words, it was meant to be if that makes sense!

F/O Ask Game!!

A list of questions to answer about your f/o!! You guys can just go down the list and answer them all (I'd love to see it!!!) in a reblog, orrr you can reblog and have others ask you these questions in your inbox! Have fun!! PR.OSHI.P, NOT FOR YOU!

What animal does your f/o remind you of?

If you got your f/o a gift, what would you get them? 

What is your favorite hobby to think about doing with your f/o?

What chores would your f/o do around the house? Are there any they REALLY dislike?

Would you trust your f/o to drive a car?

What kind of ringtone or notification sound would you have for your f/o?

Would your f/o fight someone online? 

Does your f/o believe in soulmates?

How would you introduce your f/o to your friends? How do you think that would go? 

What's the first scenario that comes to your head when you think of being with your f/o?

What dynamic would you use to describe you and your f/o? 

What color do you associate with your f/o? 

How would your f/o introduce you to those they care about? How do you think that would go?

What animal do you remind your f/o of?

What would your f/o get you for Valentine's day, if anything? 

What does your f/o call you in their head? What do they call you aloud/to others?

What does your f/o like doing with you the most? 

How does your f/o show their love best? 

What's your f/o's favorite feature of yours?

What're your f/o's favorite personality traits of yours?

If your f/o drew you, how would you describe the art piece?

Does your f/o share food with you?

What color would your f/o associate you with?

What?? Who's tagging their friends again?- not me... I just really wanna see yalls answers. Formal invitation lest you become worried I don't wanna see it. @jpeg-indulgence @starshakez @moxanji-real @frankys-wife @katsenbergs-soulmate @katanahusband @fl0ralsxgar @one-winged-dreams AND LITERALLY ANYONE WHO SEES THIS.