#let me know if this is terrible so i can never do it again

[mayhavemayhem]

I'm Sorry, Did Someone Say 'No Straight Roads 2'???

WE ARE SO BACKK??? HOLY MOLY WE ARE SO BACK!!!!!

AND I GUESS I AM TOO UHM....Hey guys, how's it going?? How's the last year been treating you? I know it sure has been quite the ride for me XD

But no, seriously let's uh...let's talk real quick!!

So, I've been gone- :3

I know, shocker! I bet you had no idea, and now you're probably wondering: "where have I been?"

And if you weren't thinking that, then just pretend like you were.

(I know most of you are just here for the art lol, it's okay, me too. That being said, If you don't wanna read my long spiel about my absence and stuff then i'd probably scroll right about now XD)

Back in March last year, I made a post talking about going on hiatus due to some issues I was having. And then I came back May 1st....we don't talk about that lol

For the most part, everything that I was dealing with has been taken care of - I've had a lot of time to learn about myself during that period. 2024 wasn't the best year, but a lot came out of it that helped me grow, and that includes the way I feel about my art and NSR.

I originally created this blog for two reasons:

One - because I wanted to archive any and all of my NSR work.

And two - because NSR really spoke to me in a way that not many medias have, and I wanted to show my appreciation in some way.

I created this blog waay after I'd already played the game. it was kinda an impulsive decision - I'd been posting on amino up until that point and I had the passing thought to archive some of those drawings on a blog, in case they ever got lost. I think the funniest thing about that is that I created the blog and then waited an entire year before making my first post.

I was so nervous about the whole thing, I don't even know why XD

I was struggling a lot during that time; a lot of life problems that just kept getting worse. But NSR had remained a constant, and this blog gave me somewhere to go that felt welcoming. I never expected the attention that my art got, and I'll always be thankful to everyone who's ever liked or reblogged any one of my posts.

-So thank you all!

I love NSR so much, it's timing couldn't have been more perfect. It came into my life during a period where I really needed it. This blog has been nothing more than my appreciation for the game and everything that it has done for me, really.

But late 2024, I'd reasoned with myself that I didn't really need to keep posting on this blog anymore. I kinda felt like, everything that I wanted to do and say had been fulfilled; I didn't need to keep holding on to it anymore.

Funnily enough, I was just about to put this blog to rest, when suddenly my page is flooded by none other than -

No Straight Roads 2.

Shocked, is an understatement. Excited, is also an understatement.

Not only have I been screeching about this to everyone in the nearest vicinity to me, but I've been full of adrenaline, like -

I'm convinced if you tried to hit me with a car, the car would just crush itself continually until it's become nothing but a minuscule piece of scrap metal under the weight of my internal excitement.

that - and, I've also kinda taken it as a sign.

There's still so much I haven't posted here or shared - and what kind of archive would this be if it didn't include EVERYTHING NSR that i've ever made.

That would just be a terrible archive. So I plan to fix that!

I'll be posting here everything NSR that I've made. Yeah, that includes some old unfinished fanfics and a LOT of scrapped work. You'll see it all if you plan to hangout lol

I'll also be posting new art too!! here's to hoping I can draw mayday and zuke again, It's been quite some time!! If you've read this far down, Thank you! sorry this was long and boring and all that stuff XD

I can't wait to get back to it, I'll see you...probably tomorrow....or the day after.....or the day after the day after......orrrr the day after the day after the day afterrrr.......

OH, and one more-

-ugh, sorry about that. didn't mean to jump at you so hard.

one more thing! If you have any questions for me, feel free to ask. this blog is about to be a hodge-podge of NSR things so - if you're curious about anything - ask away!!

Mkay, Bye for real this time!!!

[diariesofamentallyillfangirl]

Always, Once More

Chapter 1: Lightning, Lingering, and Long Echoes

Bob Reynolds x Stark!Reader

TW: none I think? Light angst, lots of questions but little to no answers (it’s the first chapter tho so yk) mentions of Thanos, Tony’s death. Endgame spoilers?

Fem reader, not proofread, 1131 words.

Author’s Note: ok so this is the first fic I’ve actually ever published on here (we don’t talk about the monstrosities I made at 13 on Wattpad 😭) so yeah lmk how yall like it ig lol. Here you go and I hope you enjoy:

Tick… tick… tick…

You wake to the same sound every day now.

Tick… tick… tick…

A nightmare and that goddamn sound. The same ticking you’ve heard for years- but now somehow different. Not an alarm clock at the table at your bedside. Not seconds passing, but fate pacing. Not a lullaby from childhood- a much more sinister warning.

It’s gotten louder over the years. Faster. An inevitably now as opposed to something you could once shrug off or choose to try and ignore.

Inevitable.

A shiver runs down your spine as the word echoes through your mind- a bitterness in its symphony as it rings in tandem with the ticking. Nothing was inevitable- or so you once believed. Nothing was inevitable until something- someone finally was.

Seven years. Or was it six? It felt like hours some days if you were being honest. It felt like decades too. Everything and nothing all at once. Was that the grief speaking?

Grief.

That’s another funny little word isn’t it? You were grieving your father. Ask anyone and they’d say it was true. Even when you’d walk into a room with the biggest, brightest smile on your face, they’d all shake their heads and sigh. Whispers behind hands. “What a pity. Poor girl. Look at her. She’s so brave. She should be over it by now. So strong. She wasn’t strong enough.” A terrible cacophony of contradictions casted at her like stones every second of every day.

Pity.

Poor.

Inevitable.

Grief.

Tony. Dad.

Strong enough?

Tick… tick… tick…

A warm hand gently brushes against your shoulder as a soft voice says your name in a way that feels too much like home for someone who never had a real one. He’s awake now. Sitting up in bed and worried. “Honey? Are you okay?” Bob asks gently.

You almost smile. Bob does everything gently. His voice, his gaze, his smile, his hands, all of it. Bob was just simply that: gentle.

“Mm okay.” You grumble quietly.

He waits a moment in silence. Like he’s trying to decipher whether you’re lying or telling the truth. Then he huffs. Not quite a laugh- but not really a scoff either.

“You know… you’re usually the one helping me with nightmares. Not the other way around.” He teases gently- testing the waters as his tone tries not to waver too much.

This time you huff. “Am I not allowed to get nightmares?”

He leans in closer, resting his head in the crook of your neck so close he can feel the way he relaxes and smiles as shakes his head softly. “Nuh uh. Not anymore. Not while I’m around.”

“You’re stealing my lines.” You huff again. Not entirely humorous but not entirely humorless either. It’s a strange feeling these days. An inevitable in-between. Your own personal war zone in your head. A no man’s land of memories and what if’s that spin around in constant rotation without fair leaving only very few moments of peace or hope or relaxation or-

“Was it your dad?” Bob asks quietly. You stiffen beside him. “In the… in the dream. Was… was it… I’m sorry I should have asked. I shouldn’t have said anything I-“

“Shhh.” You say softly, turning to look at him. “It’s okay. I’m…” somehow the reassurance doesn’t come out as smoothly for yourself as it does for him. “I sh-shouldn’t have said anything. I-”

“Yes.” You say quietly.

Bob’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion and surprise. “Y-yes? Yes what?”

“It was him.”

“Do… do you-“

“Let’s go back to bed.” You suggest softly, already beginning to lay back down and gently pulling him down beside you, despite the soft rays of sun visible behind the light curtains in your room. Bob hesitated to lay back but soon succumbed to the idea of sleeping in with you. “O-okay.”

He layed back turning on his side and draping an arm over your waist with a sense of familiarity that spanned much longer than you had known each other for- yet somehow not rushed.

You stayed on your back, eyes open looking up at the ceiling. Mind racing with thoughts; some good some bad but all of them deafening.

“You know…” Bob’s quiet voice began slowly, cutting through all the noise in your head. “You could… I mean you don’t ever have to-“

“Bob.” You whispered.

“I-I’m not trying to say that or you know anything like that… but… if you ever want to.”

“Bob.” A little louder but still gently.

“I just… you know I’d listen right? If you ever needed someone to talk to.”

You turned your head to look at him. His eyes were caring and earnest, but with a nervousness behind them too. The same eyes that you’d seen everyday watching you, always nearby and always caring and smiling sweetly. Those eyes that you’d seen in the few good dreams you’ve had before the ticking got louder. A soft smile twitched at your lips as you brought one hand over to intertwine with the hand thrown around your waist.

“I know.”

Relief seemed to wash over him as a calmness softened his gaze allowing him to rest his head back on the pillow. His eyes were still open and staring at you kindly. He was perhaps the only person who looked at you like that anymore: with kindness. But then again it found its way into your mind, overtaking every quiet moment of your life, akin to a ringing in your ears.

“I’m gonna have Max cancel any and all appointments I have scheduled this week.” I tell him with a small squeeze of my hand.

His brow furrows lightly. “W-why?”

I lean my head back against the pillow, inches from his as I smile softly at him. “So I have time to talk to you if I need to.”

A small, white lie.

But at the best price. It was more than enough to quell whatever questions were bouncing around in his brain and end his worries for now. How long the peace would last no one could tell. But for Bob, it was enough to lay his head on the pillow and close his eyes as his grip tightened on you. Not in a demanding or possessive way. It was grounding for him- a reminder that there you were, coupled with the almost promise that there you would stay. For the week at least.

You watched as his breathing evened out and how even as he slept that small sleepy smile seemed to soften but never fade. A warm and wonderful feeling fluttered in your stomach for a moment before you were reminded of why you couldn’t let yourself get fully lost in moments like these. Why you woke up in the first place.

Tick… tick… tick…

[smilingformoney]

Champagne Problems

Chapter 8. Begin Again

Lionel/Reader

Summary: Change comes faster than you could anticipate; are you and Lionel ready to take the next step?

Word Count: 10.4k

All chapters here!

Read on Ao3 or WattPad or below the cut:

1991

September came around far too fast, and when it did, everything happened so quickly. You and Cole both packed up your essentials into two piles of boxes: one to go to Glasgow, and one to go to Lionel’s place.

Cole was the first to move out. Driving him and all his stuff all the way to Glasgow and back sounded like a nightmare, so you allowed Lionel to use his plane, though you told Cole in no uncertain terms that he was either to get the train or drive himself to London for visits. When he protested that that would take ages and it was so much quicker to fly, you reminded him that he made the choice to go to university 400 miles away, and if he really wanted to fly he could fly commercial.

You managed to resist crying when you said goodbye to him. He looked so happy to be there, and before you’d even left he was already chatting to his new flatmates. He wasn’t allowed to join an all-boys flat, and he was determined to leave Claire behind at school, so he wasn’t going to pretend and join an all-girls flat — so he was in a co-ed flat, three boys and three girls and him. “Three and a half of each,” he’d jokingly said, but as far as anyone would be concerned, it would be four boys and three girls.

After fussing over him one last time, you finally let him be, and you made your way back to the hire car to take you back to the plane, where Lionel was waiting for you. He was sitting on the sofa, a glass of brandy in one hand, watching something on the TV when you entered. He took one look at you, and you immediately started crying.

“Oh, chérie, come here,” Lionel said soothingly, and you practically threw yourself into his arms. He placed his glass down on the nearby table and wrapped you up in a warm embrace. “Shh, sweetheart, it’s alright. He’ll be alright.”

“What if — what if he’s not?” you sobbed. “What if people find out and they’re horrible to him? Or worse? What if he gets hurt and I’m not there?”

“He’s going to get hurt, love, that’s an inevitable fact of life. He needs to get hurt, it’s important for him to grow. You can’t wrap him up in bubble wrap forever, otherwise he’ll end up a spoiled arsehole like me.”

You sniffed. “You didn’t have it easy at uni either. I hear summer after first year particularly sucked.”

Lionel smiled wryly.

“That was self-inflicted. Look, if something terrible happens, the flight’s little more than an hour, we can fly straight up here and you can comfort him while I beat up whoever hurt him. Alright?”

You laughed and straightened up a little. Lionel handed you a handkerchief from his pocket, and you dabbed your eyes dry.

“You, in a physical fight? You’d never. What if you damaged your precious Armani suit?”

Lionel glanced down at his shirt, which now had a wet stain from your tears.

“I think it’s quite plain I care more for my family than I do my clothing. Besides, are you forgetting my great act of heroism in 1971, when I beat up that boy who attacked Sinclair?”

“Oh my god, you did!” you laughed as the memory came back to you. “How could I forget? That was the night I fell in love with you.”

Lionel smiled and looked at you curiously.

“Really? I thought it was Paris.”

“Well, you know, falling in love isn’t something that happens overnight, is it? Not like in the movies. I had a crush on you as soon as we met, of course, but that party was when I knew you were something special. I certainly started falling in love with you that night. I guess Paris was when I knew it for sure, that it was more than just a crush, more than just the excitement of being swept off my feet by a cute rich boy… when I knew I loved you, not just the idea of you.”

Lionel kissed you tenderly on the forehead, rubbing your back, and you smiled at the unusually soft affection.

“I knew it from that first date,” he murmured thoughtfully. “When I spoke and you listened, and when you spoke I hung on to every word. There was a moment in the park, I don’t remember what we were talking about - probably nonsense - but I looked at you and…”

Lionel sat back, thinking carefully. You watched him, curious, waiting to hear what he would say. You slipped your hand into his, and he smiled.

“It wasn’t a eureka moment. It wasn’t like a lightbulb appeared above my head. It was more of a… dawning realisation. A sort of simple serenity. ‘Oh, there you are. I’ve been looking for you and I didn’t even realise it.’”

Lionel squeezed your hand.

“He’ll be alright, [Y/n]. He’s half you and half me, but more importantly he’s 100% Cole, and here he’ll have the opportunity to discover what that means, who he really is. And if anyone does try to hurt him… he can just tell them who his father is, they’ll quickly back off.”

He smiled smugly, and you swatted him with a playful laugh.

“Don’t you go fighting his battles for him, Lionel! Let the cub grow his mane. There’s a reason he didn’t take your name, and it’s not because he doesn’t love you. If he wants to find out who Cole is, he doesn’t want his first trait to be ‘Lionel Shabandar’s son’.”

“I know, love. When he’s ready to tell the world, I’ll gladly stand by his side, but he can do so in his own time.”

Lionel reached over to the table to pick up his glass of brandy.

“It will be strange, though, if he’s still [L/n] after we get married.”

You stared at him. Lionel took a sip of his brandy as if he’d said something meaningless about the weather.

“…After we what?”

Lionel looked at you over the brim of his glass.

“After we get married. You’ll become Shabandar, so it’ll be strange if our son has a different last name, won’t it?”

“Sorry, I must be having memory problems. When did you propose?”

Lionel chuckled. He threw back the rest of his drink, put the glass aside, then wrapped both arms around your torso and lowered you down onto the sofa so he could climb on top of you and begin kissing and nibbling at your neck.

“Other than the time you said no, I haven’t. Not yet. But I will.”

“Oh, and you’re so sure I’ll say yes, are you? You were pretty sure of it last time, too.”

Lionel looked up at you with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re moving in with me tomorrow, [Y/n], so if you’re not in this for the long haul, you’d better tell me now.”

“I am, but… marriage? I mean, it’s only been a year…”

“Two years with a very long intermission,” Lionel reminded you. He kissed you on the nose, knowing it always made you smile, and it did. “[Y/n], I’ve been in love with you for twenty years. If I were ever going to stop loving you, I’d have done it by now. Anyway, as you rightly pointed out, I haven’t asked yet. This isn’t a proposal. Consider it…”

“A warning?”

Lionel laughed.

“Yes, a warning. I’m going to propose, and I’m going to marry you. Not yet… I’m in no rush. I know now I was a little premature when I asked last time. But you should know that I’m in this with every intent of making you Lady Shabandar. But first…”

His eyes flashed wickedly, and you knew that cheeky smile meant trouble was coming.

“…how about I make you cum around my fingers?”

There it was. Trouble.

And the trouble was just getting started, because the next day, you moved in with him. Lionel insisted you hire movers, so all you had to do was, in his words, “stand there and look pretty” while they moved everything. You didn’t have a whole lot of stuff to move in truth; most of it was furniture you hadn’t managed to sell, which the movers were going to take away and sell on for you. But standing there and looking pretty was difficult, because you were just watching while strangers emptied your house.

You followed them in your car to Lionel’s place, parked up in what was Cole’s space and was now yours, and showed them where to put everything. You would unpack it all yourself and decide where everything went later, so you just told them to put all your boxes in one of the spare rooms, and they left shortly after with the old furniture.

Lionel was at work, so you spent most of the day unpacking. Lionel’s wardrobe, while huge, was already full — he owned a lot of clothes for a man who took them off at every possible moment. You were sure you’d never even seen him wear half the clothes in his wardrobe, but he insisted it was all necessary, even though he seemed to own about two dozen identical white shirts. So instead, one of the spare bedrooms became ‘your’ bedroom - though you never intended to use the bed - and you unpacked all of your clothes into there.

Keeping busy helped keep your mind distracted. You didn’t want to think about Cole’s empty bedroom. Of course, you’d dropped him off in his new bedroom just yesterday, and he’d have a huge bedroom here now, but you’d watched him grow up in that bedroom. You’d moved in when Cole was five, after sharing a room at your dad’s place for the last few years, until finally the council decided you were enough of a Londoner to get your own place. You should have known that your child was a boy when one of the first things he did on getting his own bedroom was put up about twenty football-related posters.

As he got older, the football posters were taken down to make space for his own drawings, and that was when you started shopping for picture frames and noticed a gap in the market. Your dad gave you your P45 and a business loan, and you went from assistant café manager to small business owner at the age of 23.

It wasn’t long after that that you started seeing Lionel’s face more and more. An article about the “young tycoon making waves” here, a “now part of Shabandar Media Group” there. He became famous enough that you began seeing him in gossip magazines, some beautiful woman or another on his arm, and every time you saw some doe-eyed little starlet staring up at him like he was the most beautiful cash machine they’d ever seen, you were just reminded of the photograph Sinclair had shown you, some faceless bimbo with her head in his lap. You sometimes wished you’d kept that photo — you could have probably paid off your loan to your dad much faster than you did if you’d been able to sell it to the News of the World.

It was a good thing Cole looked more like you than he did Lionel. You weren’t sure you could handle seeing Lionel’s stupid face on a billboard proclaiming that Proud Radio was now broadcasting to the entire Sussex area, then go home and see the same face sitting across from you at the dinner table.

And now you were here, Cole was 400 miles away, and you’d be seeing Lionel’s stupid face sitting across from you at the dinner table every single night. Maybe Lionel had slipped something into your wine the day you went to his office demanding answers, because this was in no way how you’d expected the next year of your life to go. A part of your mind was still nagging at you, telling you you shouldn’t be depending on him. And when you told Lionel about this nagging voice in your head, he’d simply told you that you weren’t depending on him at all, in fact he was depending on you for his happiness, and if it made the voice feel better, it could believe that you were just using him for his money.

Of course, you both knew that wasn’t true, but it also wasn’t true that you were depending on him — as he frequently reminded you, he was supporting you. And true to his word, he was repaying you: after much debate, you asking for lower figures and he offering higher, you eventually settled on a number that represented eighteen years of unpaid child support. It was too high for your liking and too low for his, which you both agreed meant it was probably right.

You didn’t even want to see the money. You set up a savings account, Lionel paid the sum directly into it, and you left it at that. You told the man at the bank that you didn’t want regular statements showing your interest accruing, you didn’t want to hear from them at all unless someone tried to make a withdrawal, you just wanted the details of the account on a piece of paper that you could hide away in the safe in the wardrobe until you needed it. And if you never needed it, then it would just keep accruing interest, and Cole would have a tidy inheritance when you died.

Your shop had already closed a few weeks ago, the last remaining stock either sold at a discount or returned to the supplier. Maybe by now it was already something else, maybe selling books or clothes or records, or maybe it’d be a rival café, or maybe it’d be turned into an office.

On Monday, 400 miles apart, you and your son would both walk into your first ever university lectures. You’d managed to get a place at King’s College, and although the campus wasn’t quite close enough to Canary Wharf to visit Lionel and Sinclair for lunch as regularly as you used to, living with Lionel meant you were at least able to see him every day, and Sinclair would of course make his presence known as often as he could.

But before that — a party, to celebrate your moving in.

You insisted it had to be small. As large as Lionel’s apartment was, that didn’t mean it had to be filled to capacity. Sinclair was invited, of course, as well as some of Lionel’s colleagues you’d come to be friendly with when you visited him at the office or attended a work party as his plus one. You also invited some of the other shopkeepers from Cornelia Street who you’d made friends with over the years, including David of the delicious sandwiches fame, who Sinclair treated like a celebrity when he showed up.

The party was in full swing, people dotted around in little huddles of conversation with drinks in hand, when David finally managed to escape Sinclair’s ravings about how delicious his sandwiches were and how he should go into catering, and Sinclair bounded up to you as you reached for a beer from the cooler.

“Hey, [Y/n]! This is such a great party. There are so many interesting people here! It makes a nice change to have more than just the same circle of friends that Lionel and I have.”

“Yeah, it’s really weird for me, seeing mates from across the street talking to Lionel’s colleagues,” you said, glancing over to where the owner of the cobblers was somehow finding some common ground with the CFO of Shabandar Media.

“That’s what’s so fun about making friends over class barriers, you meet such a wider variety of people!”

While you opened your beer bottle, Sinclair reached into the cooler and pulled out a beer for himself. You reached over and opened it for him, knowing he always struggled with bottle openers, and he grinned.

“Thanks! I have great news, by the way!” Sinclair exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet as the two of you wandered away from the kitchen and towards the window. “I started therapy, and it’s going so well! Dr Johnson said she thinks I have something called ADHD so she’s referring me to another doctor so she can test me for it.”

“What’s ADHD?”

“It stands for Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder.”

You snorted. “Attention deficit and hyperactive are definitely words I’d use to describe you. Tell her I agree.”

Sinclair laughed. “You can tell her yourself, actually! She said she’d like to talk to people who know me, someone who knew me as a kid and someone who met me as an adult. So I’m gonna ask Lionel for the first one but would you be willing to talk to her about adult me?”

“Of course I would!” you said, and Sinclair beamed. “I’m flattered that you’d ask me.”

“Well, you’re the natural choice, of course, you’re my best friend other than Lionel, and I know you’ll be honest.”

“...I’m your best friend?”

Sinclair nodded, as if it were obvious. “Of course you are! You and Lionel are both my best friends. I can have two, right? One who’s related to me and one who isn’t. But you count as family anyway, even though you’re not married to Lionel yet.”

“Yet? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Clair, I just moved in today.” You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “Wait, he mentioned marriage yesterday as well. Is he planning something?”

“No! Honesty, he’s not. He’s told me he wants to marry you one day, though – but you already knew that, right? I mean, he has proposed before.”

“Yeah, and I said no! It’s not that I don’t wanna marry him one day, but… that’s a big commitment. And you know better than anyone that it’s a bad idea to rush into it. If it turns out to be a bad idea and we get divorced – I mean, look how messy yours is, and Lionel has a lot more money than you. And we have a kid. I want us both to be really, really sure before we make that commitment. How’s that going, by the way?”

Sinclair shrugged glumly. “Slowly. She’s still trying to drag her heels through court. I never once thought she was with me for my money, but that’s all she seems to care about now. She’s not trying to win me back, she’s trying to win my money. It’s tempting to pay her off so we can just finalise the divorce and be done with it, but I don’t want to reward her for what she did. But at what point does it become more expensive to pay for lawyers than to just give her what she wants?”

You took Sinclair’s hand in yours and squeezed it affectionately.

“I suppose you have to decide what’s more important to you — to save yourself the time, money and stress, and let her think she’s won… or pursue justice against her and pay the financial and emotional cost. And maybe, even then, she’ll still think she’s won because she knows she’s hurt you and cost you money.”

Sinclair cocked his head thoughtfully. “You know… I hadn’t thought about it like that. You’re very insightful, [Y/n], you know that? Lionel’s right. You have a clever way of looking at things.”

“He says I can see past the bullshit,” you said. You glanced over at Lionel, who was currently sitting on the sofa with a glass of brandy in his hand as he talked to Rachel, his PA. He caught your eye and smiled.

“Yes, exactly!” Sinclair agreed. “I think you’ll do well in finance. There’s a lot of bullshit. People trying to hide how much money they have, the true cost of things… most of my job involves poking around in my client’s lives, trying to really understand them, even if they don’t want me to. Maybe one day we could work together!”

“And maybe that day I’ll finally understand what it is you actually do.”

Sinclair laughed.

“I told you, I’m a stock analyst!”

“And I told you, I don’t know what that means!”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to pay attention in class and find out. Are you excited to start?”

“Excited and nervous. I’m a bit out of practice with the whole school thing. Cole and I had a nosy around the campus in Glasgow and it’s all so modern now. Loads of computers. I’m probably gonna have to learn how to use one.”

“I’d volunteer, but I’m afraid I don’t know anything about them either. My junior keeps telling me I need to go digital, but it’s so confusing. He says I should use something on the computer called XL? I asked him if he meant I needed an extra-large computer but he just laughed.”

“Well, computers are the future, apparently, so you should get on it. I’m sure it’ll make stock analysing or whatever much easier. Or you could analyse the stocks of computers.”

“Oh, definitely! Computer companies are always a safe bet in any portfolio. In fact, you should probably invest in them too, I could put together a modest portfolio for you…”

As Sinclair rambled on at you about stocks, on the other side of the room, Lionel was trying his best not to answer Rachel’s questions about you.

“Oh, come on, sir, you have to tell me something! All those times I could have reported you to HR for what you get up to during working hours…”

“Rachel, HR answer to me,” Lionel said sharply. “If they have a problem with me kissing my girlfriend during working hours, I’ll simply amend the office rules to specify that I may kiss my girlfriend during working hours.”

“Oh? And are you going to add shagging in your office in there too?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lionel took a sip of brandy and Rachel snorted disbelievingly.

“Yeah, sure. So when you lock the door and lower the blinds, you’re just playing chess, are you?”

“It’s none of your business what we get up to in there. Your job is to ensure nobody thinks they have a meeting with me when I lock the door and lower the blinds.”

“You do know I can hear you, right?”

Lionel froze. “…What?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s muffled, but I can hear it. I’m not so chronically single I don’t know what shagging sounds like. And you’re not exactly quiet.”

Lionel really hoped his cheeks weren’t burning red right now. That wouldn’t be very becoming of a lion like him.

“Oh, Lord. I thought those walls were supposed to be soundproof!”

“Not soundproof enough, clearly. Don’t worry, nobody else can hear it. It gets inaudible about halfway to the lift.”

“Rachel, you should have said something. I’m an arsehole but not so much as to subject you to that!”

Rachel shrugged. “It shocked me at first but I got used to it. Helps me relax at night when it’s just me and my vibrator.”

Lionel raised his eyebrows, and Rachel slapped a hand across her mouth.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she whispered. “Can we forget I said that? I’ve probably had a drink too many…”

Lionel just laughed. “No, no, it’s out there now. Who’d have thought Rachel Price gets off to the sound of her boss fucking his girlfriend?”

“I don’t — not during! I just��� remember it. Later. Oh, God, I should stop talking…”

Rachel buried her head in her hands and cringed, but Lionel was laughing.

“Who do you think about, me or [Y/n]?”

“I refuse to talk about this anymore.”

“[Y/n] always tries so hard to be quiet. She loves pretending to be shy, even though I know she’s just as hungry for it as I am. I’ll have to tell her next time that you’re listening and putting all her little moans into your wankbank…”

“I’m going to get another drink…”

Rachel stood up quickly, and halfway across the room, she almost bumped into you. You gave her a friendly greeting, and she just avoided eye contact and scurried off.

“Is Rachel okay? She looks like she’s seen a ghost,” you said as you joined Lionel on the sofa. He threw an arm around your shoulder and pulled you in close.

“I just discovered her dirty little secret,” Lionel murmured in a low voice so only you could hear. “You were right all along, she can hear us when we have the blinds down.”

You gasped. “No!”

“Mmm, and apparently, she likes to go home and remember what she heard as she fingers herself. It’s amazing what confessions you’ll get out of someone after a drink or two.”

“Oh, fucking hell. That’s so embarrassing! You know, I always thought she fancied you, but I kept telling myself I was just being paranoid.”

Lionel chucked and nipped at the top of your earlobe.

“Who says it’s me she fancies? Maybe she fancies you. You do make some delectable noises, after all. I’d certainly need a wank if I sat there and listened to your sweet moans as you cum.”

“Oh, yeah, I bet you’d love it if she fancied me,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “All your lesbian porn fantasies coming to life.”

Lionel shrugged. “Well, if it turns out she does want to lick your pussy, I don’t mind so long as I can watch. Have you ever thought about giving it a go? It is delightful, though of course you’ll never get to eat the most delicious cunt of all time, not unless your spine became very bendy.”

You swatted his chest.

“You absolute menace, Lionel. And here I was thinking I’d come over and we’d have a nice talk about our son starting university. Nope, your head’s in the gutter again. Maybe I’ll start calling you Pennywise.”

Lionel shuddered, and you laughed. You’d watched It a few weeks earlier, and that was when you discovered the proud lion had a fear of clowns.

“If you want my cock to instantly deflate, just remind me of that horrid thing,” he muttered before downing the rest of his brandy in the hope of erasing the image in his mind of the terrifying horror film you’d forced him to watch with you.

“You didn’t have to watch it, you know…”

“You said - and I quote - ‘If you watch this entire thing with me, I’ll let you fuck me in the arse.’ So yes, I had to watch it.”

“And… was it worth it?” you teased.

Lionel’s expression darkened into something mischievous. He smirked at you, his eyes alight with danger.

“Oh, it fucking was. In fact, if there’s anything else you’d like me to do in exchange for fucking your arse again, I’ll do it gladly.”

“Oh, that’s a dangerous offer, babe. There’s a lot I could ask you to do.”

“And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you… especially if it leads to fucking your arse.”

“Hmm, well, I’ll have to consider that… but for now, how about another beer?” you said, holding up your empty bottle.

“Of course.”

He kissed you on the cheek, took your empty bottle from you and stood up from the sofa. You gave his bum a pinch as he stood, and he shot a look at you.

“Watch it, you, or I’ll lift that skirt up and slap your arse for everyone to see.”

“That wasn’t me, it was Pennywise, he’s under the sofa.”

Lionel glanced down, and he almost looked nervous as he turned away to seek out some more alcohol from the fridge.

He was caught halfway when the lift door opened and Harry Deane entered, and he immediately made a beeline to greet Lionel. They exchanged a few words, Lionel managed to shake him off, and Harry looked searchingly in your direction. You gave him a little wave. Harry smiled when he recognised you and crossed the room to greet you, only to be accosted by the edge of the coffee table. He swore and rubbed at his shin as he hopped the few remaining steps to the sofa.

“Hello, [Y/n]. Sorry I’m late. Here, I brought you this.”

He handed you the bottle of wine as he took Lionel’s vacated seat.

“Oh, wow! Thanks, Harry.”

You glanced at the label. You didn’t know much about wine, despite having heard but admittedly not listened to both Lionel and Sinclair talk about the importance of vintages at length, but the label at least looked kind of fancy.

“So, back to school on Monday,” Harry said, slapping his knees jovially. “Looking forward to it?”

“Yeah, I am. I think. I just hope I’m doing the right thing. Not just school, but all of this —” You gestured around you. “I’ve never lived with someone before. A boyfriend, I mean. I’ve only ever lived with family.”

“Oh, really? Not — not even your son’s father?”

“No.”

“I see…”

Harry had been not so subtly trying to get answers out of you for months about who Cole’s father was, ever since you’d casually mentioned him in conversation, but you’d spent Cole’s entire life evading questions about his father; you were something of an expert in it now. Rival papers may have got wind that you existed and you were dating Lionel, but Cole’s existence had managed to evade them so far. They were all far more interested in the fact that you were the first and only ordinary person Lionel had ever dated.

“Will your son be moving in here too?” Harry asked conversationally.

“He’ll be in Glasgow most of the year, but when he comes to visit, he has a room here, yeah. Our last place was a council house, so you can imagine it was pretty small. He’ll even have a double bed here.”

“King-sized, actually,” Lionel corrected you as he approached with a fresh brandy in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. “Deane. Out of my seat.”

“Oh! Sorry, sir.”

Harry stood, but he also bowed his head, which made him look like he was fighting himself to stand up. Lionel confidently resumed his seat by your side and you kissed his cheek gratefully as he handed you your beer. Harry took the seat on your other side, wondering why Lionel didn’t just take this seat himself.

“Harry brought us some wine, Li,” you said, leaning forward slightly to pick up the bottle you’d placed on the coffee table. “Isn’t that nice?”

Lionel took the wine bottle from your hand and looked at it appraisingly.

“Hm. Acceptable, I suppose. We’ll keep this for guests we only sort of like. Deane, go and put this away, would you? The wine rack’s in the kitchen.”

“Oh, er, yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

Harry took the bottle from Lionel’s hands and stood up again to find the wine rack.

“Christ, you’d think I pay him for each time he says ‘sir’,” Lionel muttered. “Every other word, it’s ‘sir’ or ‘your Lordship’. It’s infuriating. Why can’t he just say what he has to say?”

“If he didn’t say it enough, you’d chastise him for that too,” you said, prodding Lionel’s thigh playfully. “I think you just like being mean to him.”

“I don’t like being mean, I just can’t stand fake niceties. That’s one of the many wonderful things about you, [Y/n],” Lionel said as he leant his elbow against the sofa cushion and began playing with your hair. “You’ll never give me false platitudes. I can always count on you to tell me if I’m full of shit.”

“You’re always full of shit.”

Lionel chuckled. He kissed your shoulder, and the hand that was playing with your hair began tracing the neckline of your top.

“See? Precisely what I’m talking about. Nobody else would speak to me like that.”

“That’s because everyone else is afraid of you,” you reminded him.

Lionel looked up at you from where his lips were now making their way towards your neck, his eyes glinting.

“That’s what happens when you have as much power as I do, chérie. Everyone either wants a piece of it, or they’re afraid of it. But you’re not afraid, are you, love?”

You snorted. “What should I be scared of? You have power, Lionel, but not over me.”

“Hmm, I don’t know about that… I have the power to make you cum so hard you see stars,” Lionel murmured in your ear. His fingers were creeping around your neck now, and he gave your throat the tiniest of squeezes. “Can anyone else do that?”

“I don’t need you for that, babe. Your game is good, I’ll give you that, but I don’t need you to make me cum, I can do that myself.”

Lionel stopped his sensual movements suddenly and looked at you sternly.

“Oh, really? You don’t need me to make you cum, do you? Well, then, I won’t bother in future. I’ll just use your hole for my pleasure and you can get yourself off.”

“Yeah, that’ll last,” you scoffed. “You love making me cum. You really saying you’re never gonna lick me out until my thighs clamp around your head and I squirt all over your face? Never gonna fuck me through my orgasm and keep fucking me until I cum again? Never gonna —”

“You’d better stop fucking talking,” Lionel growled, and his grip on your throat tightened threateningly. “One more filthy word out of you and I won’t be able to resist flipping you over and fucking you on this sofa for everyone to see. Give Rachel the full show this time. I bet Deane’d love it, do you think I don’t see the way he looks at you? Like a sad little runt, desperate for your attention. But you don’t want the runt, no matter how much shitty cheap wine he brings you. Do you?”

“No…” you whispered, trying to ignore the pool of arousal forming in your knickers.

“No… you want the lion. You want the Shabandar lion to fuck you hard and fast until you pass out, because no matter what you say, your fingers will never do what my cock does for you. I do have power over you, love, just as you have power over me. You’re the only person in this entire bloody world that has power over me. The only person who can drive me fucking insane. And Christ, I love it. I love the hold you have over me. I love you, darling, so much I’m prepared to share my throne with you. I’d give you fucking everything if you asked for it.”

He grabbed you by the chin and tilted your head back so you were looking up at him.

“But you never do. Never ask for anything… except when you’re begging to cum.” Lionel grinned wickedly. “So don’t even try to claim you don’t need me to make your cum, sweetheart, because it’s the only thing you ever ask me for, and I give it so fucking gladly.”

He kissed you fiercely, his lips wet and hungry and tasting like cigarettes and brandy. You still had a beer bottle in one hand, while the other grabbed Lionel’s thigh, as if grounding yourself. His grip tightened on your throat, just a little, just enough to make you grunt into his mouth.

“Sorry, Shabandar, are we intruding here?” laughed one of Lionel’s friends.

You gasped for breath as Lionel pulled away from you, his eyes dark and blown with lust, and you knew trouble was brewing.

“Not at all, mate,” Lionel replied. He poured the rest of the brandy down his throat and placed the glass down on the table. Then, despite your protests, he took your beer and put that on the table too.

The next thing you knew, you were in the air, Lionel having grabbed you by the hips and thrown you over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“You lot carry on eating my food and drinking my booze. Don’t mind us.”

“Lionel!” you squealed in protest, but he just slapped your arse as he made his way past all your watching friends and carried you to the stairs.

“The lions are retiring to their den,” Lionel announced to the crowd. “Anyone who tries to disturb us will be fired. Even if you don’t work for me!”

“Lionel, put me down, you absolute menace!” you laughed. “There are about two dozen people in your living room, we can’t just disappear to go and shag!”

“Strange, because that’s exactly what we are doing,” Lionel said casually. “I think you’re forgetting that I’m Lionel Shabandar and I can do whatever the fuck I want. If I want to fuck my girlfriend while all our friends are downstairs, then I will. If they don’t want to listen, they know where the exit is.”

He pushed the door to his bedroom open with his knee and threw you unceremoniously down on the bed.

“Now, I’m going to remind you and everyone down there exactly who you belong to,” Lionel purred as he reached for his belt.

You placed your hands over his, stilling his movements.

“Li… as much as I love it when the lion comes out to play… I really don’t want to have sex while there are other people here. I feel bad enough knowing Rachel heard us in the office. Can we wait until the party’s over? I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

Lionel growled in frustration, but he let go of his belt and raised his hands.

“Alright. You know I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. But… how, exactly, do you intend to make it up to me tomorrow?”

“I’ll let you fuck me in the arse.”

Lionel groaned, and you could tell by the way he was fidgeting that he was fighting his arousal.

“Fucking hell. How can I turn that offer down, hm? Deal. No sex tonight until everyone else is gone. Speaking of which, maybe it’s time I kick them out…”

“Oh no you don’t!” you laughed, jumping up and grabbing his arm before he could go downstairs and tell everyone to fuck off. “We’re going to be good hosts, and we’re going to talk to the lovely people who came to congratulate me for getting the furthest any woman’s ever gone in taming the Shabandar lion. They’ll leave when they leave, and then we can fuck. If I don’t collapse with exhaustion.”

Lionel gave a mock sigh of exasperation as he put an arm around your waist to walk you back downstairs.

“[Y/n], you forget, Sinclair’s here. He’ll never leave of his own accord. The one and probably only good thing about Natalie was that her constant complaining meant he’d leave parties in good time.”

“You have my permission to kick Sinclair out if he’s the last one here.”

As he walked down the stairs, Lionel could feel his cock still erect in his boxers. He glanced down, and you chuckled at his predicament.

“Go talk to Harry, that’ll deflate your little problem.”

“Only if you come with me. The way he fawns over you amuses me.”

You rolled your eyes and slipped your arm through the crook of his elbow when you reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Fine, but in exchange, you’re making the coffee tomorrow morning.”

“Deal. Pleasure doing business with you, Miss [L/n].”

“And you, Lord Shabandar. Come on — into the jungle we go.”

Two Days Later

The strangest thing about starting university at 38 wasn’t the two decades of technological advancements since you’d last set foot in a classroom, nor was it the freer, less structured day universities allowed than schools. It was the fact that you were surrounded by children.

You knew you were going to be older than your coursemates. You knew they were all going to be the same age as Cole. But the reality of it didn’t really hit you until you walked into the lecture hall for your first class and felt like you were surrounded by children.

The course was mostly boys, all white, and the majority of them looked like… well, they looked like Lionel.

Not literally, of course. There were only a few blondes, and none of them had his combination of Roman nose, small eyes and perfectly shaped Cupid’s bow that made him so irresistibly handsome. It was less the way they looked, more the energy they exuded. They looked like they all thought they were the best person in the room because their parents owned something or other. They all looked rich.

You couldn’t help but wonder if this was what Cole would look like if he’d grown up as Lionel’s son. The entitlement, the snootiness, the my father will hear about this attitude to any perceived injustice. And the accents! Every time the lecturer asked someone a question, you heard voices responding that were posh enough to greet the Queen. You didn’t sound common at all - you were from Winchester, after all, a notoriously posh city - but compared to this lot, you might as well have been from Wolverhampton.

“They were probably just putting it on,” Lionel said to you later that evening as you told him all about it. “Believe me, most people who speak like that are either faking it or have spent so much time faking it that it became real. I don’t sound like that, and do you know why? Because I don’t go out of my way to make sure people know I have money. I let my wealth speak for itself. People who walk around with a metaphorical sign saying ‘I have loads of money’ usually don’t have loads of money. There, how does that feel?”

You pulled slightly against the rope Lionel had just finished tying around your wrists.

“Good. Can you pull me up a bit higher? I like it when there’s a bit of a pull on my shoulders.”

“Alright, but tell me if it’s too much.”

Lionel adjusted the other end of the rope, which was currently fastened to a pole that was running over the bed, holding your arms above your head. He shortened the length of the rope, and you felt a slight stretch on your shoulders.

“That’s good,” you said, and Lionel resecured the rope. He sat back on his ankles and smiled as he admired you, kneeling naked on the bed, your wrists tied above your head, completely under his control.

He placed his hands on your knees and gently spread them apart, and he growled when he saw how wet you were.

“Look at you. Completely at my mercy, just as you should be. I could just leave you here and there’d be nothing you could do about it, just kneel and wait for your lion to let you go.”

“I don’t think that’s what you bought this rack,” you teased. “I don’t think you’d tie me up and spread my legs just to walk away.”

“Mmm, you know me too well, love. I can never walk away from you when you’re naked, let alone naked and tied up.”

Lionel’s eyes were raking over you hungrily, as if he needed to memorise every part of your body. He hadn’t even touched you yet, and you could feel your cunt getting wetter.

“I wonder what those boys thought of you,” Lionel said thoughtfully. He placed a hand on each of your knees and began slowly, tauntingly, moving them up your thighs.

“Probably thought I was someone’s mum,” you replied with amusement, and Lionel chuckled.

“They probably wondered what such a gorgeous thing was doing on a finance course,” he said.

His hands reached your hips, and he continued his sensual exploration of your body by tracing your waist, and you twitched a little as his touch tickled, but you did your best to keep still.

“It would be unfair, after all, for one woman to be both smart and beautiful. But no, you have to be perfect, don’t you? Smart, beautiful, funny, fierce… with a tight cunt and gorgeous tits.”

His hands reached the tits in question and enveloped them in his palms, and he groaned, as if he didn’t grope your breasts every single day.

“I heard some of them talking before class,” you said, and you tried not to let out a squeak as Lionel pinched your nipples. “My father owns this, my uncle owns that, I went to this posh school, I have this many horses at our third country home…”

“Oh, I’m sure they all had their measuring tapes out,” Lionel chuckled. He was kneading your breasts now, and you could see from the way his hips were moving up and down slightly that his cock was getting impatient.

“I heard your name being dropped. Well, MY father’s old school chums with Lionel Shabandar. Like being two degrees away from you makes them richer somehow. They probably wouldn’t believe me if I went in tomorrow and told them that last night Lionel Shabandar’s cock was leaking before he even started fucking me.”

Lionel glanced down and saw that his erect cock was, indeed, starting to leak, as if he needed any more lubrication than what your soaking wet cunt was aching to provide.

“Looks like Lionel Junior wants something,” you teased.

Lionel’s eyes snapped up to yours, his pupils blown with lust.

“Then let’s give him what he wants,” he growled.

Lionel grabbed your thighs and lifted you up. You pulled on the rope above your head to allow yourself to raise your hips, and you let Lionel guide you as he positioned himself below you and lowered you onto his lap. You felt his cockhead breach your entrance, and you slid easily down the rest of his shaft, the wetness you were dripping for him allowing his cock, girthy as it was, to easily stretch your inner walls and penetrate you up to the hilt.

“Fuck, that feels amazing,” Lionel groaned. He wrapped his arms around your torso, holding you steady. “How does it feel, love? Are your arms alright?”

“I wanna touch you,” you whined, and Lionel chuckled.

“All in good time, love. For now, I’m going to fuck you while you’re tied up and helpless and unable to touch me no matter how much you beg. I’m going to cum inside you, and I’m going to watch my cum dripping out of your cunt all over these nice clean bedsheets. Then, I’m going to turn you around and do the exact same thing with your arse. If you’re a good girl and take your lion’s cum as you’re told, I’ll let you suffocate me with those thighs and I’ll eat you out until you tell me to stop. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Lionel grinned hungrily.

“Oh, chérie… you are going to be sore tomorrow.”

He was as good as his word. It took all your effort not to cum while he thrusted up into your cunt, and when he turned you around and fucked up into your arse to fill you up a second time, you were glad your hands were tied above your head, or else you might not have been able to resist rubbing your clit while Lionel took your arse. If you’d been doing that while he roared through his second orgasm, you may well have passed out.

Lionel was full of praise for how good you were being for him, and just as he promised, he laid down on his back and let you lower your hips over his face so he could eat you out. When you looked down and saw him hungrily devouring your cunt from below, you couldn’t hold back the orgasm that washed over you, and even when you finished, Lionel kept a firm grip on your thighs that told you he wasn’t finished with his dessert.

You managed one more orgasm before you had to call it quits. If you hadn’t, Lionel may well have happily carried on eating you out all night, but your arms and legs were aching, you were desperately thirsty, and you thought if you did cum again you would almost definitely pass out.

Lionel muttered words of praise in your ear as he untied your wrists, and you practically collapsed onto the bed, falling face-first into the pillows.

“You’re cute when you’re exhausted from shagging,” Lionel teased as he tossed the rope aside and laid down next to you. You turned your neck to look at him, and he smiled at you.

“Feeling okay?” he asked, gently stroking the side of your face.

You nodded and threw an arm over his torso to lazily embrace him. Lionel planted a kiss on your nose, then turned to reach for the bedside cabinet.

“Oh, fuck, my fags are in the other room,” he sighed.

“We can go back to our room,” you mumbled sleepily. “You might have to carry me, though.”

“You’re not the only one who’s exhausted, sweetheart. I’ll go get them…”

You shook your head stubbornly and managed to push yourself up onto your elbows.

“No, let’s go together. I don’t want to fall asleep here.”

It took you a minute, but you managed to get yourself to your feet, and Lionel placed a hand on the small of your back as you both sleepily made your way down the hallway back to your bedroom.

“We should put a lock on that room,” you said thoughtfully. “If we’re gonna have sex stuff in there, I don’t want Cole finding it.”

Lionel snorted. “That is not a conversation I want to have with him. ‘Oh, that? That’s just where I tie your mother up so I can use her body like a warm sex doll.’”

“Oh my god, don’t,” you laughed, swatting him playfully as you entered the bedroom. You made a beeline for the bed and practically threw yourself under the covers. “We already traumatised Sinclair, I don’t want to traumatise Cole too.”

“There were seven other bedrooms in that house, Sinclair could have moved at any time. Maybe he liked hearing your moans.”

“Oh, eiw, gross.”

Lionel laughed as he climbed into bed next to you and pulled his lighter and box of cigarettes from his bedside cabinet. You pushed yourself up to rest against the headboard next to him and grabbed a cigarette from him before he managed to close the box.

“Oh, I must have fucked you well,” Lionel teased. You put the cigarette between your lips and he lit it for you before lighting his own.

“I’m surprised my arms aren’t stuck like that,” you commented, and you rolled your neck to relieve some of the tension. “That’s gonna be something we only do occasionally.”

“Mmm, as much as I love having you restrained, I also enjoy it when you touch me. Can’t scratch your nails down my back if your hands are tied.”

You giggled, slightly delirious, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

“We should get a cat.”

Lionel looked down at you, bemused. “Where did that come from?”

“I always wanted a cat, but the council make you pay higher rent if you have pets. Cole wanted a dog, but we can’t have a dog in a flat, even one this big. Anyway, we don’t need a dog, we’ve got Sinclair. Same thing, but he won’t shit everywhere.”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t want a dog either. Far too much work. I could deal with a cat, they mostly ignore you until they want food. Any particular kind of cat?”

“Orange.”

“Why orange?” Lionel asked with a laugh.

“They’re weird little guys.”

You took a puff of your cigarette, and Lionel thought you looked just gorgeous like this, your hair a tousled mess, your eyes half-closed with exhaustion, a cigarette between your lips and the duvet only pulled over your waist, leaving your breasts on open display for him, with bite marks and bruises forming. If he had any artistic skill at all, he’d paint you just like this.

“Alright, let’s get an orange cat.”

You looked at him, eyes alight with excitement.

“Really?”

“Yes, but it has to be an indoor cat. And we’ll have to cat-proof the place. And you’re right, we definitely need to lock that room, it’ll think it’s a playground.”

“Can we have a baby?”

Lionel’s heart skipped a beat with alarm before he realised you meant a kitten.

“Christ, [Y/n], don’t scare me like that! …You are still talking about the cat, right?”

“Yes, of course.” You frowned, confused, then realisation dawned as Lionel took a drag from his cigarette to calm the heart attack you’d just given him. “Oh, you thought I meant a baby baby. No, Christ, I just started university, I can’t get pregnant again now.”

“You can’t get pregnant again at all, thank you very much. You are taking your pill?”

“Course I am. Don’t worry, Li, you won’t be cleaning up baby sick any time soon. Unless Sinclair knocks someone up, I suppose. Aww, then we can be Auntie [Y/n] and Uncle Lionel!”

Lionel shuddered. “Do we have to? Can’t we just wait until it can use the toilet properly?”

“You could dress it in a lion onesie.”

Lionel paused in the middle of stubbing out his cigarette. You grinned cheekily.

“You’re considering iiit!” you said in a sing-song voice. “C’mon, babe, admit it, you’d be a great uncle. All the fun of baby but when it starts crying and shitting itself you can just give it back.”

“Incorrect. There is no ‘fun of baby’.”

“Yes there is, they’re so fun when they’re in a good mood! Cole was such a cute baby, he had these little chubby cheeks, and he was bald for months. And they have tiny little hands and feet all balled up, and you get to dress them up in teeny tiny little socks — until they try to eat them, Cole was always shoving his socks in his mouth. He was always shoving everything into his mouth, food especially, and he never stopped in that regard, especially when he hit puberty, he could give Sinclair a run for his money.”

You reached over Lionel to stub your cigarette out in his ashtray. He put his hand on the back of your head and tried to guide you down between his legs.

“Talking about shoving things in your mouth…” he said.

“Stop it!” you laughed, and Lionel let you go. You sat up again and gave him a peck on the lips. He grabbed the back of your head again and pulled you in for a deeper kiss, until you both sank back down into the bed, heads resting on the pillows as he peppered you with kisses.

“Do you really hate babies that much?” you asked.

“I don’t hate them, I just see no redeeming qualities in them,” Lionel replied as he wrapped an arm around you and you snuggled in against his chest. “If Sinclair does knock someone up and needs a babysitter, that’s on you, not me. I’ll look after it once it’s old enough to shake my hand properly.”

“Cole’s the same, he hates babies.”

“Wise lad. Hopefully he won’t be knocking any girls up.”

You giggled.

“What?” Lionel asked with a frown.

“He can’t knock girls up, Li. He doesn’t have the equipment.”

“…Oh, right. Well, good, nothing to worry about, then.” Lionel paused, frowning. “Wait, can he get pregnant?”

“Of course he can. His womb didn’t magically stop working the moment he declared himself a boy, as much as he’d have liked it to.”

“But… hang on…”

You looked up at Lionel with amusement as the cogs whirred inside his brain. He always looked so cute when he was confused, especially when he frowned and he got a little crease between his eyebrows.

“Does he like boys or girls?” Lionel asked at last.

“He likes both, but he seems to like boys more.”

“So… he could get pregnant? If he had a boyfriend — but then I suppose the boyfriend could be like him… or he could have a girlfriend that was born a boy…” Lionel pinched his nose. “Christ, this is confusing. Why can’t everyone just be the way they are when they’re born?”

You frowned.

“No, I don’t mean he should have stayed a girl,” Lionel said quickly. “I mean, if he’s a boy, it would be a lot easier if he was just born a boy.”

“Well, that one’s on you, babe, the sperm brings the Y chromosome. Not my fault if your swimmer brought an X instead,” you said with a playful poke to his arm.

“Ah, but, the egg lets the sperm in!” Lionel said with a counter-poke. “I’m sure I had plenty of strong male swimmers trying to get in, but you let the wrong one in.”

“Oh, sorry, my bad. You’re right, that was definitely a thing I had control over, and yet still didn’t know I was pregnant until two months later.”

“When do you think we conceived him?” Lionel asked curiously. “I’ve been thinking about it, I can’t recall a time the condom seemed to break.”

You shrugged. “No idea. We were shagging a lot. Definitely after you came home for summer, last time before that was Easter, that was too early. Imagine it was the first day back? ‘Hey babe, I’m home for the summer, I brought you some fancy wine to ease my guilt about fucking around and a broken condom so you’ll always be reminded of me after you find out and dump me.’ Good thing it broke with me and not one of the other girls, I suppose.”

Lionel frowned at you.

“What? I’m trying to make light of it to show I’ve at least kind of forgiven you. Stop looking at me like that.”

“You’ve still not asked me about it. I promised to tell you if you asked but… you’ve not asked.”

You bit your lip.

“I’m not sure I wanna know. Except, maybe… what was going through your head?”

“Very little. I was always high when it happened. Sinclair would go to cricket, I’d invite someone over to do a line with me… I always told myself nothing was going to happen this time, but as soon as the coke hit, it took over. I know my decisions were my own, even if they were driven by addiction, but I don’t want you to think I was doing it with a clear mind. When I was sober, I hated myself for it. Hated myself when I was high too, but the addiction was stronger than me.”

“But you were fine when you came home. You were never — you were never high except on New Year’s, and you never seemed to be withdrawing.”

“You weren’t always there. I’d get high when you went home.”

“You kept it from me.”

“…Yes.”

You sighed and rolled onto your back. There was a long silence. The minutes stretched out, and Lionel desperately wanted you to say something, but he knew he had to let you think.

“The boys on my course… they’re the same age you were. The same age as Cole.”

Lionel nodded, waiting to see where you were going.

“And they are, they’re just boys. They’re kids who think they’re grown up. I didn’t really see it at the time, because I was just a kid too, but… you were a kid, Lionel. More than that, you were sheltered and privileged. You said it yourself before, you thought you could have it all. You’d never seen a consequence in your life. Add a cocaine addiction and an unnaturally high libido…” You laughed incredulously. “God, that was a fucking recipe for disaster, wasn’t it?”

“[Y/n]…” Lionel said cautiously, still unsure whether you were angry or not. “I know I’ve said it before… but I really am sorry.”

You turned back towards him, and he flinched when your hand moved suddenly towards his face, but instead of slapping him as he expected, you gently stroked his cheek with much more tenderness than he deserved.

“I know, Li. I know you are. And… I won’t say I’m not still upset about it, of course I’m upset. I’m not sure I’ll ever truly be at peace with what you did. But that doesn’t change what’s always been true.”

“…Which is?”

You smiled softly as you looked at him. Your eyes were wet, but you weren’t quite crying.

“I love you. I loved you then, and I love you now. You loved me then, and you love me now. You were at the mercy of an addiction to one of the worst drugs out there — and you’re responsible for every decision you made. But you’re also responsible for every good decision you’ve made. If there’s one thing you’ve proven over the last year, babe, it’s that you absolutely are the same Lionel I knew back then. You’re still a mess of contradictions. You’re an entitled, privileged arsehole who publicly donates to controversial charities because you know they’re doing good. You’re horrible to Harry but lovely to Rachel. You never wanted kids, but you love our son. You find Sinclair annoying but you’d do anything for him. You are completely, utterly devoted to me… and you cheated on me.”

Lionel looked at you curiously.

“That’s how you see me?”

“Yes.”

“That’s… bloody hell, [Y/n]. That’s the most honest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Everyone either worships the ground I walk on or they spit on it. I’m either a god or the devil, and I’m used to that. I’ve never had someone see me from all sides before.”

“Yes, you have.”

Lionel frowned, but you just smiled and poked his shoulder.

“You numpty. I’ve seen you for what you are for almost twenty years.”

“And that’s what I am? A mess of contradictions?”

“Mmm. Also known as a human being.”

“How dare you.”

You laughed.

“Look, as a mess of contradictions, you can be both a human being and a mighty lion. But there’s one thing you are that will never be contradicted.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

You leaned in and kissed him, then looked at him with an adoring smile.

“The love of my life.”

[third-time-charmed]

Dance the Night Away

An HSR smut fic

⚠️Rated E⚠️ ~13.5k words Aventurine/Dr. Ratio | Post-Penacony | Character Study | Top Ratio/Bottom Aventurine | Porn with lots of feelings | Angst and fluff

After Penacony, Aventurine takes on the biggest gamble of his life — his heart, soul, and desires laid out on the table. He only does it because he doesn't expect Ratio to match his wager. But not only does the good doctor match it, he raises the stakes so far beyond what Aventurine could have ever allowed himself to dream of winning.

Preview:

Slowly, he reaches his free hand up, hooking gloved fingers into the chain dangling from the taller man’s neck. Not hard enough to pull, just toying with it, his gaze fixed on it in lieu of meeting those vibrant eyes so closely scrutinizing him.

“What do you want from me, Ratio?” he whispers.

“Nothing short of your honesty,” Ratio replies, equally low and so very soft. “In whatever form that must take. I want for you to be as straightforward with me as you possibly can.”

A wry smile twists its way onto his face, and he feels the mask begin to slip. It doesn’t frighten him as much as he thought it might, though he finds himself squirming uncontrollably under the pressure.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he begins after a long moment of silence, plunging ahead before he has a chance to second-guess himself any further. “Had a lot of extra time for it after… you know, while I was in recovery.”

He still can’t quite bring himself to mention the Penacony job more directly. They still haven’t really talked about it at all since coming back to Pier Point. He’s not sure if they ever will. If left up to him, of course, it’s water under the bridge at this point. He’d rather not bring it up.

A soft hum of acknowledgment bolsters his resolve, reassures him his audience is listening. His words are poorly thought out and unrehearsed, but he ignores the flicker of embarrassment as he stumbles through.

“Anyway, without getting too deep into all the unpleasant details, I realized that I… I’m not satisfied. With our current arrangement, I mean. And… being forced to come to terms with the reality of my own mortality like that… gave me the motivation I needed to do something about it.”

The gambler shrugs, one eye peeking up from under his blond fringe to gauge the reaction of his solitary listener. He gives the chain in his hand a soft tug, insistent, pointed, but still not quite the blatant request he yearns to make.

Won’t let himself make.

“Not a bad start,” the scholar says as he hesitates. “Three points.”

“Three points?” Aventurine mutters under his breath. “Goddess, Ratio, you’re such a hardass sometimes.”

Ratio ignores him, though there is a twitch in the corner of his mouth. “And your strutting around and posturing?” he asks instead. “Was that part of your plan to… ‘do something’ then?”

“Give me a break here, doc,” the blond huffs out. “I don’t exactly have a ton of experience in this department. I thought that I could… entice you into making the first move so that I wouldn’t have to, but clearly that was a miscalculation on my part.”

They’re so close together now that it’s near driving him to madness. Aventurine has always been very particular about his personal space, and Ratio has never been so deep into his personal space before, and for such a long time. The warmth of the other radiates along his skin and sets his veins alight. His fingers itch to pull.

He wants… more.

“Today… I don’t know. I guess I got fed up with the more delicate approach and decided to try provoking you instead.” He shrugs again, keeping his voice as level and casual as he can, even though he can feel something deep in his core vibrating, begging to reach out and take. “Thought it might help to heat things up a bit, so to speak.”

“Four points again for honesty,” Ratio says, his tone firm like he’s correcting a student during a lecture. “But minus two points for such a blatantly terrible plan of execution. Your hypothesis hinges entirely on the supposition that I, too, am dissatisfied with our current arrangement.”

“And you’re not.” Aventurine’s head drops in defeat, his gaze fixing on his lap as he fights to hold his composure together. This rejection stings a little less than the previous one, but he’s still taken aback by how disappointed he feels.

This is still no less than he had realistically expected. After all, Ratio isn’t entirely correct. He’s mostly been banking on Ratio being at least moderately easy to seduce, not necessarily harboring his own feelings of dissatisfaction. This whole endeavor was from an entirely selfish standpoint.

There is a subtle softness that seeps into the doctor’s voice, one that Aventurine has only heard very rarely. “How could I possibly find myself dissatisfied,” Ratio says slowly, “when you have never once indicated that you were willing or even at all interested in offering more than you already have? To ask more of a man so intensely guarded with his own intentions and desires… How could I possibly do such a thing, in good conscience? And what’s more, I held no evidence to suggest that any of your flirtations were not simply made in jest.”

A pause, a slow inhale, and something between them shatters.

“No, gambler. I made my peace with you some time ago. I made myself satisfied with what I had.”

Aventurine’s hand falls away from the chain, feeling suddenly heavy. His body flops backward, head landing on the armrest with a dull thud, and an empty, humorless chuckle punching out of his gut. Eyes sliding shut in defeat, he breathes a sigh. And yet, he can’t resist one last desperate grasp as he feels the win slipping out of his hands.

“No chance of changing your mind?”

There is no answer, for such a long period that he becomes curious enough to open his eyes and see what sort of expression the doctor is giving him. He expects something close to pity, or a remorseful frown. But what he sees instead is an intense and focused contemplation. As if the man is actually considering the question seriously. It is unanticipated enough that it nearly makes him startle.

“If you would do so,” Ratio says carefully, “you would need to be forthcoming about what exactly it is that you want from me. Stating simply that you are dissatisfied with our current arrangement is far too vague.”

“I don’t know if I can do that, Ratio,” he responds flatly.

“And why ever not?”

Because I’m a greedy selfish fool and I’m afraid of suffocating you.

Because once I start taking I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stop.

Because I’m not allowed to want things, because everything I’ve ever desired has been withheld, removed, or destroyed and I’m afraid of you ending up the same.

“Because… I don’t really know what I want. I never really… got that far, it’s too nebulous, just…” He stops, licks his lips again, eyes darting to the side as if to check for his escape route. His hand trembles so hard the shivers wrack his entire frame, but his attention catches on the molten gaze that is trained intently on his face.

It catches on the way that gaze dips toward his mouth almost imperceptibly, on the sparks that flicker in its depths, on the way the taller man is leaning slowly closer, chin tilting ever so slightly.

Straightforward. Honest. Sincere.

“I just… want more,” he finishes breathlessly, the words feeling ominous and unfamiliar as they leave his mouth.

“Then why don’t you take it?”

Because I’m not allowed to.

Because I’m afraid.

Because…

“What if… I take too much?”

Tip your hand. Just a little. Just enough that I know I’m not losing everything I have left if I take this bet.

“Should that be the case,” Ratio whispers in reply, “I shall inform you. But I find it highly unlikely.”

They are so very close now, barely a breath of space between them. So much so that the doctor’s velvety baritone vibrates in his chest, thrumming through every one of his bones. There is an undertone to it that Aventurine hadn’t detected before, something… almost ravenous and hopeful that sends sparks running up his spine.

...all in, then.

Before he can overthink it, he relents to the burning greed that urges him to take. Gently — but not hesitant — he shifts forward, closing the scant distance to press his lips to the ones taunting him. It is a chaste gesture, simple and unhurried. Almost tender, but definitely inviting.

Ratio’s response is immediate, returning the gesture in such a way that their lips slot together seamlessly. The firm brush, full of intent and answering want, pulls a soft, quiet gasp from the blond. He pulls back, almost reluctantly, his head starting to spin as their mouths come apart with a sound so delicate it makes him feel weak.

And then Ratio gives a low, thoughtful hum, as if appraising the action with careful consideration. “Much better,” he says, the murmur of it dancing provocatively against the curve of his lip. “Five points.”

(Keep reading here!!)

[what-bot]

United Front

After so long keeping his mechanic and revolutionary worlds apart, even after rescuing Able from Cyrus�� explosion, Beck still sometimes forgot he was at the lair.

Which led to him spilling things only meant for Tron, such as:

“Sorry I’m late. Got stuck at Paige’s. What have we got?”

Able turned slowly from his discussion with Tron, eyes blown wide.

“Did you just say…Paige? As in, occupation commander Paige?”

“…uh. Did I? No, it must be a different Paige.”

He didn’t have time to think of a better save. And Able’s suspicions were already raised. He’d seen Paige talking to Beck around the garage. This just cemented it.

“Beck! Are you insane?! She tried to kill you!”

“She tried to kill the Renegade! She likes me.”

“What do you even see in her? She’s one of them!”

“She doesn’t want to be! She disagrees with a lot of what they’re doing! She just thinks it’s the right thing to do. If I can convince her otherwise, she’ll join us, I know it.”

Tron squinted at him.

“Why were you at her house?”

Able leaned forward, waiting for an explanation.

Was Tron seriously pretending he didn’t know about them?

“Uh…well…I was returning some of her things, and I stayed over for a bit.”

“Didn’t she break up with you?” Tron asked.

Oh. That made more sense.

“She just un-broke up with me, and now I don’t know what’s going on.”

Tron nodded sagely.

“Hold off on the politics. For a month at the very least.”

Able gaped at him.

“You knew about this?”

Tron shrugged.

“You think I have control of this kid? He does what he wants. And anyway, who am I to stop him?”

“What?!”

“When you’ve fallen for someone, you gotta do what you gotta do.“

Able grabbed Tron by the arm and pulled him aside. Beck could still hear them quietly arguing.

“We need to put on a united front,” he hissed. “We can’t let him do this.”

“We? No, you can’t let him do this. If we keep an eye on him-“

“It’ll be too late! Anything could go wrong!”

“I’m right here. If you’ve got something to say, say it to my face.”

It came out louder than he intended.

Seeing the two of them fight was never a good feeling, and them fighting over Beck was the worst of all.

Able pointed a demanding finger.

“You have to stop seeing Paige immediately.”

“Or what? You’ll ground me again?”

Able frowned, no doubt knowing Beck was right. Last time he’d just snuck out anyway, and he’d do it again.

“I told you, punishing him won’t work,” Tron said.

“Don’t you tell me what will and won’t work with my kid.”

Tron grumbled under his breath.

“Your kid.”

“Well, he’s certainly not yours!”

Tron squared up, and Beck had to intervene before they reached the shouting stage.

“Hey! Can you two cut it out?”

Able looked from Beck to Tron. A pang of guilt crossed his face, though not enough for him to apologise.

“Fine. You two talk dating tips. I’m done here.”

Able stormed off, no doubt to think up some other deterrent.

Tron glared after him.

“I’d say I’ll talk to him, but you’ve seen how well that goes.”

“I knew he’d react like that.”

“He has somewhat of a point. It is risky, but you already know that.

Don’t tell her your secret, obviously.”

“Because it’ll put us in danger, yes, I know.”

“And you revealing you’ve been lying to her for cycles won’t go over well.”

Beck hadn’t even thought of that.

“I thought she might finally understand.”

“That you’re actually her sworn enemy? She’ll think you’ve been using her for information.”

“You’re right, she can never know.”

He wasn’t sure how long he could keep lying to her, was the thing. It already weighed on him keeping this from his friends.

“I feel terrible. Like…some kind of fraud, which is appropriate.”

“Are you willing to live with that?”

He’d been doing it long enough already, hadn’t he?

“I’ll try. See how it goes. And if it doesn’t work…I’ll end it. Better for both of us.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

[speedywizardland]

Hiii hruu?

I was wondering if you can write something about baek-jin too🥺🥺🥺 it can be anything!

Hey,sure. I try my best:)

---

Title: “Only If You Want To”

Pairing: Na Baek Jin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, First Love, Slice of Life, Slight Humor

Word Count: ~1800

---

You weren’t sure if it was a real date.

When Baek Jin had awkwardly muttered, “Do you want to… hang out? Just us,” you weren’t sure whether it meant a fight, tutoring, or a conversation about one of his complicated plans.

But then he added, “Only if you want to,” and didn’t look you in the eye for five whole seconds.

That’s how you knew.

This wasn’t school. This wasn’t strategy.

This was a boy who didn’t know how to ask you out trying to do exactly that.

You said yes.

He blinked like he hadn’t expected that.

Then he smiled, shy and a little crooked. “Okay. Saturday, then.”

The Date

You found him waiting at the subway exit, dressed casually in a hoodie layered under a gray coat, hair tousled like he’d spent too long debating whether to brush it or leave it. His ears were red. From the cold—or nerves—you weren’t sure.

“Hey,” you greeted.

Baek Jin looked up, and his gaze softened instantly. “You’re here.”

You smiled. “You sound surprised.”

“I just…” he paused, then let out a breath. “I thought maybe you’d change your mind.”

You tilted your head. “Did you want me to?”

He gave you a look. “No.”

You fell into step beside him. He wasn’t touchy—of course not—but you noticed he adjusted his pace to match yours exactly. He kept just enough distance to be polite, just close enough to feel intentional.

The city bustled around you. But for some reason, it felt quiet.

He took you to a tiny, tucked-away café, the kind that didn’t show up on maps but probably had the best coffee in the city. The place was warm, with soft jazz playing and mismatched chairs that made it feel like someone’s living room.

“I come here when I need to think,” he said, almost apologetic.

You smiled. “Then I’m honored.”

He blinked, flustered. “No, I just meant—I trust it. The place. It’s calm.”

You sipped your hot chocolate, watching the way he tapped his thumb nervously against the side of his cup.

“Na Baek Jin,” you said. “Are you nervous?”

He froze. Then let out a tiny, embarrassed laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“A little.”

“I’ve never done this before.”

Your heart skipped, but you kept your voice light. “The hot chocolate? Or the date?”

“…Both.”

You leaned your elbow on the table. “Well, for a first-timer, you’re doing pretty well.”

He looked at you like he wasn’t sure you were teasing. But when you grinned, he smiled too.

It was the kind of smile he didn’t show often. Small, unguarded. Sincere.

You didn’t expect Na Baek Jin to suggest going to an arcade.

But when he mumbled something about “doing something fun,” and “not just sitting,” you followed.

Turns out, he was terrible at claw machines. And quietly competitive about it.

You watched him fumble on his fifth try to win you a plush shark, and your laughter made his ears turn red again.

“This machine is rigged,” he muttered.

You nudged him. “Want me to try?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You think you can win it?”

You didn’t answer. You just stepped up, inserted the coin, and—with a bit of luck and way too much dramatic flair—snatched the little shark on your first try.

Baek Jin stared at you like you’d just performed witchcraft.

“…I feel betrayed,” he said.

You handed him the shark. “Here. So you can say you got it for me.”

He looked at the plush, then at you, then back again. Slowly, he smiled—wider this time. “Only if you keep it.”

You took it and tucked it under your arm. “Deal.”

Evening had started to settle. The sun dipped low, painting the sky in shades of gold and lavender. You walked side by side, the city quieter now, the air crisp.

You talked about small things—how terrible cafeteria food was, what song had been stuck in your head all week, how he had actually lost his phone once because he left it in a textbook.

“I didn’t expect this,” you said quietly.

Baek Jin glanced at you. “Expect what?”

“You. Being so easy to talk to.”

He looked away, a little embarrassed. “I don’t talk much unless I know it’ll be heard.”

You nudged his shoulder. “You’re being heard.”

He stopped walking. So did you.

He turned to face you fully.

“I know I’m not… great at this,” he said. “Dates. People. I think too much. I overplan things. I get awkward. But I wanted today to be real. Not part of some plan.”

“It was real,” you said.

He hesitated.

Then: “Would you… want to do this again?”

You smiled. “Only if you ask the same way.”

“The same way?”

You mimicked his voice, grinning: “Only if you want to.”

He groaned softly, but his smile didn’t fade. “Alright. I deserve that.”

Then, for the first time, he reached out.

Not to hold your hand, exactly.

Just a quiet brush of his fingers against yours. Testing the water. Waiting.

You laced yours with his.

He didn’t let go.

-Later-

You got a text from him.

[Baek Jin]: Did you get home okay?

You replied:

[You]: Yeah. You?

[Baek Jin]: Me too.

[You]: Thanks for today. It was cute.

There was a pause. Then:

[Baek Jin]: You were cute too.

Your face flushed.

You started typing, paused, deleted. Then finally sent:

[You]: So... is this official now?

[Baek Jin]:

Only if you want it to be.

Hope you like it :)

[damistrolls]

Little Bug

hihihi i randomly decided to write a lil smthn smthn abt kizien from some random fleet soldier's perspective

umm i hope u enjoy ✌️ tho its not proofread oops

(google doc link)

—

The inky blackness of your unconscious mind thrummed dully in the deepest part of your skull. That was the first thing you remembered as you came-to. The pulsating. The pounding. The way your head ached with collision from your scuffle. Scuffle with who? And how did you lose? You’re fleet, aren’t you? 

Your grogginess was unnatural, but familiar, reminiscent of that time you were put under for surgery following a battle. You were sedated, for sure. How else would such a skinny thing best you? 

Skinny. Tall and skinny. With round goggles that reflected ominously in your peripherals while he whispered something that made your skin crawl. Of course. How could you be so stupid? It was Dr. Helzir. 

It wasn’t like you thought you were safe. Despite the frustrated requests of his superiors, Helzir still managed to get away with picking off soldiers if he liked their zombification potential. What a laugh. How can a fleet commander fail so spectacularly at leashing one goddamn fish? 

Blearily, you open your eyes. The overhead surgical lamp burned a bit, so you turned your head to the side with a wince, squinting into a less bright corner of the room. There was a floater in your vision from the light, but you eventually blinked it away, and your gaze settled on some terrible, hulking amalgamation pacing behind a thick glass.

You’ve seen these before. Never this close, though. Brutes, they were called. Helzir made many kinds of zombies, but these were the ones the fleet liked the most. They’re destructive powerhouses, far more than the sum of their literal parts. The rumor is that he strips the densest thew out of multiple trolls and intricately weaves them together, braiding muscle strand against muscle strand until he’s made something stronger than any natural thing. 

You’re not sure it works like that, but regardless, it makes your stomach turn to see the way their muscles ripple unnaturally under the tight, dead skin. Whatever repulsiveness is occurring beneath the surface, you’re just glad you can’t see it. 

“Do you like him, little bug?” 

You visibly startle, and instinctively pull at the reinforced leather straps around your wrists and ankles, the little metal bits jingling as you do. Silence follows, and for a moment, you almost believe you made him up in your mind, like some kind of bogeyman you made up to scare yourself. But your gaze soon settles on a figure seated beside the brute’s containment tank, smiling placidly. 

Your stomach feels rotten again, only worse. 

“He’s to be shipped off soon. I’ll be sorry to see him go. I think I really outdid myself this time.”

Kizien’s voice was even, almost droning, but something about his tone carried a certain ill-fitting airyness. You stare at him, getting a glimpse of his eyes behind his goggles. His tone was innocent, but his eyes betrayed this. He didn’t do this for the money, or even the notoriety. He did this for fun. Like everyone was just a doll in his toybox. 

“Save it,” you spit venomously, “the commander won’t let you have me.”

The biologist brings a hand up, adjusting his goggles as a toothy grin breaks out on his face. 

“Oh, he won’t know until you’re long gone. I prefer to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission.” 

Kizien rises from his seat, trailing a gloved hand over the brute’s enclosure as he passes by it. He approaches you on the vivisection table, and you instinctively lean away. Twiggy as he may be, Helzir unsettles you. You and every ensign that has to tiptoe around his floor, that is. You don’t understand how some people can hold a normal conversation with him, knowing that he’s always thinking about which of your parts he can upcycle. He has no loyalty to anyone. That’s scarier than any zealot, imperial OR rebellious. 

You strain against your bindings again. The violet tuts and pulls a rolling hand table closer. The instruments on display there may be clean, sharp, and well-maintained, but it brings you no comfort. It will be immensely painful regardless. You’ve heard the screams from his lab before. 

“Well, now that you’re good and awake, we should probably get started. I can’t wait to get my fingers under your skin and really feel what I’m working with here…” 

“Wait-” you interrupt, trying not to sound like you’re stalling. Kizien hums and looks over. His hand hovers over one of the surgical tools, fingers twitching excitedly. Think. What can you get him talking about? “... I know I’m not getting out of this. Can’t you tell me the secret?” 

Kizien’s gaze is fixated on you curiously, seeming to turn the request around in his brain a few times. 

“The secret?” 

“About the zombies. About why no one can make them the way you do. I heard about the commander’s old research team. Everyone says it’s special, what you do– that it’s the only reason they let you stay.” 

“That isn’t the only reason.” 

“Well, I’m as good as dead, right? And you’re probably dying to brag to someone about it, right?” 

Kizien’s quiet at first, and it’s hard to know what he’s thinking. But you don’t mind, he can chew on this for as long as he wants, if it delays your non-consensual murder-surgery/surgery-murder. But eventually, he does speak again, a smile ever-present on his face. 

“I’ll let you stall us just a little bit, little bug” he acquiesced. 

Kizien picked up a scalpel to turn it over in his fingers idly. Thinking about what he would have done with that makes you shudder… You have to find a way out, now that you have time. You swallow thickly and give the biologist your attention, hoping he’ll be too distracted by his words to notice you trying to get your ankle out of its restraint. 

“Growing up, I thought magic was just science we haven’t figured out yet,” he began. “That’s what many scientific minds say about it, at least. But in time, I learned that magic really is an entirely different phenomenon than biological or chemical studies, and only a select few are blessed with the ability to utilize it. It isn’t like psionics. You can’t prod at it through the mind or body. Magic is from somewhere else. And then… I discovered that you can still prod at it, even if you can’t use magic yourself. It’s a delicate process, but the previous Sorcerer’s notes were more than enough to get me started.”

“The previous Sorcerer?” 

“Yes.” 

Your brows pinch together. 

“I didn’t know there was a previous one. Titles aren’t usually passed down.” 

“Mm, well, the title was stripped from him when he abandoned the fleet in favor of seeking power and immortality, and the mantle fell to his descendent, our lovely commander Kollin. They figured he ought to be just as powerful as his ancestor, but…”

Kizien's eyes narrow in amusement, and you feel a prickling sensation at the back of your neck, suddenly defensive over your superior. 

“The commander is a powerful sorcerer. What do you know about magic?” 

“More than he does, actually. But we’ll get to that part of the story later. I want to answer your question first, about the ‘secret’. It should come as no surprise now that the secret is magic. I can’t actually wield it, but if I get my hands on raw magical energy, there’s a lot else I can do with it. Most other scientists don’t have the right sort of mind to understand it, though. It’s why your precious commander could never find a team to do it properly.” 

“But that’s not the only reason.”

“No. The other reason is that Velzka Kollin is a fraud, and he needs me.” 

Your mouth feels dry. You try to focus on getting your ankle free, but you begin to wonder… Would the commander even be able to help you, if you got out? 

“What do you mean?” you manage through the cottony dryness of your throat. 

Kizien smiles again, spinning the scalpel around in his fingers. 

“Any magic-user can certainly learn and train and generally improve their skills, but one’s inherent magical capacity is effectively immutable. Some trolls will simply never be able to reach the same heights as others. Not without outside assistance. In the commander’s case… I acquire raw magic for him to take, so that his superiors don’t replace him with someone better. Think of it like… performance-enhancing drugs, but to a more extreme degree.” 

“You’re blackmailing him?” 

“Is it blackmail if I don’t intend to reveal him to anyone? I think it’s more like a bribe. Either he can take it, and enjoy reaping the benefits of his station, or he can send me away, and risk being made obsolete. Really, it’s a choice he’s making here. A selfish choice, when you think about it.” 

You swallow. You were nervous before, but now you’re… scared. The commander is under Kizien’s thumb. There’s no protecting you, even if you get out. The violet takes notice of your demeanor shift, and that big, toothy grin returns to his face. You begin to fight against your restraints again, despite the fact that you know the Ripmaw isn’t safe for you anymore. Anything– ANYTHING to delay the inevitable. 

“I think that’s enough distraction for now,” the biologist hums blithely. 

You yell and squirm and thrash your head, restraints clattering against the surgical table. You almost can’t hear Kizien’s calm voice beneath it all. 

“Don’t worry, little bug,” he all but whispers. “No one will even recognize you by the end of it.” 

[milk-is-stable]

Everyone needs to know that it's @mikesflaccidlemonade7's fault for enabling me by letting me ramble in his dms about this the other day XD

So! here's the bullet points version:

I headcanon that Maria Clarissio has magical abilities. Similar ones to the Xavier's, that are passed down genetically from mother to daughter. In other words, the women in her family have always had a gift. However, Maria is the only one left in the family with this power, because let's not forget, the Grape Depression is in 1925, so what has just recently happened?

That's right, it's the Spanish Influenza Pandemic!!! :D

So her grandmother (such a malevolent and benevolent woman, who always said that it was Maria's job to use her power to protect their family) is dead, her mother is dead, the child that her mother was carrying when she fell ill is dead, and Geppetto is devastated. Maria ends up using her power to summon the Blue Fairy, and wishes that her papa would be happy again so that they can be a family. Alessandra grants this wish by bringing the puppet of Pinocchio that Geppetto was making in his grief to life, and then a slightly altered version of the og fairytale happens (where not only does Pinocchio have to learn to be a real boy, but Geppetto must learn to move past his grief and be there for his children again).

(the rest is under a cut because this got long and also a little dark)

Five years later, and Maria Clarissio is 16, and the harvest fails, and for the first time in a long time, she feels that fear that she felt at 11 years old, of not knowing how they'll survive the next year.

Geppetto, a much more attentive father now, tells her not to worry, that he will make it right, that he will go to the Don and ask for a loan. Maria (who has noticed the growing glances from the men of the village as she's gotten older, including from the Don) is afraid that the Don will ask for something in return and is trying to mentally prepare herself for that (which is a big Yikes, I know, but in my defense Sam actually brought it up in the play itself), but then he asked for something she wasn't expecting.

So Maria summons the fairy again and suddenly finds herself facing down an impossible choice: refuse the Don his wooden boy and slowly starve with her father and brother, or sacrifice the brother she helped bring into the world and raise and care for so that she and her papa can live.

I like to think that she overheard Geppetto's conversation with Alessandra, where he offered his own life to her, and that part of the reason she chose the way she did is that she was (rightfully) worried that Geppetto would try to sacrifice himself for them, leaving her alone at 16 to try and care for herself and Pinocchio (a canonically frail and sick child) with no support. Her choice really is more about "who do I let die so the rest of us can live, my father or my brother?"

She makes her impossible choice, and tries to offer the boy up to the Don, and then he blatantly spits in the face of everything she's worked for and sacrificed and now her father hates her and it was all for nothing and....oh. Pinocchio is alive again. And now the Don is at their home and he wants to take Pinocchio away from them and Maria has never been so furious in her entire life, but before things escalate any further, her sweet baby brother, who has no idea how cruel the world is, who has no idea how terrified she was, who doesn't know what she did to him, wants the four of them to all live together and be a happy family.

So now Maria is expected to live in a house with the man who terrorized their family, who forced her to make the worst choice she's ever made in her life, who was willing to rip their family apart to satisfy his own grief, who brings dangerous people around at night and expects her to serve them drinks and endure their leers while they talk of terrible deeds.

And all the while, Geppetto is still clearly terrified of the Don. He's still intimidating and mean and Maria feels his eyes on her when she walks through the house, and every time he spends time with Pinocchio Maria can see how tense and afraid her father is, and she shares that fear. What if the Don decides that he's tired of playing house with them and just takes Pinocchio away? What if he stays, but his influence warps the sweet boy who she and her father love into somebody cold and calculating and cruel like him? What if their family is targeted by his enemies, just like his real son was? The stress of it all is wearing on Geppetto's nerves, and Maria just wants her family back, dammit!

And then late one night, after one of his clandestine meetings with his "business associates," he's had a bit too much wine and gets a little too comfortable and her worst fears about his intentions with her are confirmed, and she decides enough is enough. Her past experiences have taught her that there's no one she can rely on to fix this but herself and her power.

So she goes to summon the blue fairy one more time, and this time, she will not be wishing to give life.

It's like Grandmother said, she has to use her power to protect her family, and that's exactly what she's going to do.

Ok....do I have enough fanfic clout (/j) in here now to talk about my idea for a story where Maria Clarissio murders Don Vincenzio for what he did to her family or is everyone still too attached to the don/geppetto ship for that XD

[ohbo-ohno]

Hi!!! This is my first ever ask so sorry if it’s weird lol. Out of all the 141 boys, who’d you think would be most likely to sneak lactation pills into readers food in hopes of reader coming to them for help??? I can’t stop thinking about it and I need to know your thoughts too

no worries at all!!!!! i did not realize lactation pills were a thing though omg this is wild to me

here's my ranking from most to least likely: price, ghost, soap, gaz

i'll be honest, i only put soap below ghost because when i did some googling the Internet said lactation inducing medicine can take several months to work and soap does not have the patience for that lmfao

anyways price is the most likely culprit for this (imo) because that man is the walking definition of a Breeding Kink. he wants you knocked up and pregnant the moment he decides he even wants you. it's his first fucking priority. he'll start slipping you lactation supplements concerningly early in your relationship (because of the aforementioned several months) and masks the way he feels you up in the shower as horniness instead of medical curiosity lmao

also i personally don't see the appeal in drinking breast milk but John Price sure does. that man is drinking you dry, and tbh it's lowkey better if you don't actually have a baby to feed because he gets to keep all your milk for himself

ghost would do this and like 10 other things to keep you as reliant on him as possible. he just wants you to come to him for everything, and he's far from above manufacturing a reason for you to need him. and with breast milk drinking, it's just another way for him to consume you, another part of you he can literally drink down. of course he's into it. that man starts salivating the first time you complain about your tits being sore

(also ghost is totally a dominant freak but tbh there are certain versions of that man that i think have a very deeply buried mommy kink)

soap would do it just because he's a fucking freak. he sees like a singular porno with breast milk drinking and is like "I Need That Now" and starts slipping you the lactation pills. tbh he probably just gets into a routine of doing and forgets about it after a while, by the time you actually start lactating he's like "oh hell yeah" because he just completely forgot

gaz would probably suggest that you take them while you're pregnant, and he just ends up being fucking obsessed with the milk you produce. before the baby's come, it's got to go somewhere and he deems it an insult to just pump and throw it away :/ he'll lay on your chest for as long as you'll let him lmao (and maybe keep slipping the medicine to you post-baby and post-baby-being-weened)

[skys-archive]

It makes me really sad when I see people who are making videos or podcasts or just posting on social media feel horrible when they stop or slow down content creation. Like no, you don't owe us anything at all. Work at your own pace. Focus on yourself when you can. We're here for you once you're ready. It's okay.

[pollen]

i've been diving a lot deeper into adhd symptoms and comorbidities and misdiagnoses and whenever i tell my boyfriend something i learned that sounds like me he responds with something like

[crowlore]

no, dragon age 2 is not the best dragon age game. but it’s also not the worst. and most importantly, it is my favorite.

[mintincubus]

the party in-game btw :^)

[chuchayucca]

Discussions of implied fictional CSA & SA

I recently been wondering if there’s a chance Richard thinks Roy’s aggressive and distant behavior is normal and not a sign of CSA because he acted similarly to Roy when he was younger

Reasonings in the tags

[koalemoslepus]

//Warning I have a tendency to accidentally hide my true vents in the tags by total accident

-----

I just saw an AI bot meant to give you the AI prompts to write AI image generations like at what point do we literally just get to revoke brain if you're not going to do it like literally we don't need you to copy and paste the machines could do that quite easily with a script and frankly I vote we pay them instead of you because shit maybe we could get some deflation in here if the money starts disappearing and it's not like you're fucking doing a damn thing for it also in my like in my warped verision of reality I cling to maybe?? If we let everyone go down this rabbit hole of the tech we have at present being sentient we could somehow crackpot loop our way back around them being regulated more than a worker maybe we'd help curb the cash incentives cause I know they'd get more protections / freedoms than a woman would in my lifetime FUCK anyway