#like are the rocks from the little rock store by the ghost first hand or second hand
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trans-yllz · 22 days ago
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(approximately) categorizing (almost) everything in my room
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gilverrwrites · 5 months ago
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Discretely touching them down there to their parts and gently squeezing when no one is looking and them not being able to do anything (since it's in public).
Ft. Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, & Roy. AN: Anon you're a menace and I love ya!
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Bruce
You get exactly one, which he acknowledges with a stern pout and a cocked brow. Flawlessly concealing the fire you’ve ignited but for his laboured breathing and blown-out pupils. You’re walking a thin line, behaving like a brat in front of Gotham’s elite.
If he sees you reaching for him again, and trust, he will see; it will take him precisely 0.8 seconds to lock you in an unsuspecting death grip and pull you close. He wants you to feel the increased tempo of his heart against your chest. To feel the growing stiffness of his hard-on grazing your hip as he tells you assertively to; “Behave.”  
Dick
Dick sees your game; he raises you tenfold. He knows you’re up to something when he clocks the determined bite of your lips as you survey the subway car, and the mischievous glint in your eye as you look back at him. When your hand snakes under this shirt, caressing his v-lines, he juts his hips forward, presenting himself to you; daring you to take it further.
When you sink your fingers below his waistband he sucks in a deliberately loud breath. You freeze to survey your surroundings, but Dick does not. Dick starts grinding on you until he senses you growing nervous. He locks a sturdy hand around your elbow just in time to prevent you from pulling away, leans in close and whispers; “What’s wrong baby? Thought you wanted to play?”
Jason
“Is that a gun in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?” You giggle at your own joke, because Jason is always packing some form of heat. He might have laughed too, might have trapped your wrist in his hands and rocked against your outstretched palm if you’d been at home, or the club, or even the casino. But not the fucking grocery store, you little perv.  
“Are you drunk?” He offers you an out, glaring down at you with a gaze fierce enough to make a nun blush. You respond with a brazen-faced shake of your head, and he can’t help but imitate it out of disbelief at your cocky attitude. You stay like that, locked in a stare of, rock vs hard place, until Jason cracks first, noticing a couple rounding the corner at the other end of the aisle.
He grabs your arm with an unapologetic level of force, spinning you around and trapping you between his body and the trolley. Hiding his hardness by pressing it against your back. “You’re in for it later.”
Tim
Tim is the most taken aback. His pale blue eyes are rapidly examining your surroundings the moment he feels your devious fingers ghosting over the top of his thigh. He’s cute when he’s flustered, with pink cheeks and blown-out pupils. Nobody is looking, too focused on the conference speaker.
“What are you doing?” He hisses, but before he can get his words out, your hand is gone, casually pulling a non-existent thread from your sleeve.
You don’t reply, you just smile and shoot him a playful wink which puts him even more on edge. So much so that when you abruptly return, this time cupping his half-hard cock through his jeans that he fucking flinches. His knee hits the chair in front, and he sucks in a loud breath, earning him many pointed glares from multiple members of the audience.
“Babe.” Be tries to warn, but his hushed breathy tone makes him sound exactly as aroused as he feels.
Roy
You get it, you do. It was a long trip, and he’s starving but you’ve really been feeling his absence over the last few weeks, and the fact that you’re currently sat in a Burrito Bucket, watching Roy devour a tray of tacos, instead of being at home and watching him devour you, is a problem.
He seems to have noticed your sulking, but too late. “You okay ho- “
His question is halted by your foot tactfully situating itself between his legs. His gaze flits between his food and you, defiant eyes watching you through a mop of shaggy hair. A knowing grin spreads across his queso-stained lips as you answer faux-sweetly. “I’m fine, baby.”
“Right.” He huffs, breath hitching, freckled cheeks turning red when you press your toes down and something firm pushes back. He knows what you want, but he just loves to play dumb. So, he takes another bite, jerking every time you tap or roll your foot but never acknowledging what you’re silently begging for. “Is this one of those things where you say you’re fine, but actually you’re not fine?”
“I’m going home.” You finally concede with an exaggerated sigh, dropping your foot back to the floor and gathering your things.
“I’m coming with you.” He’s on you the moment you stand, draping his arm over you and placing kisses to the side of your neck, your face, whatever he can reach as you struggle to move with his deadweight over your shoulders. Notably, there’s still half a tray of uneaten tacos left on the table. “Funnily enough, I’m hungry for something else now.”
Taglist: @wandalfnation
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fuckyeahgoodomens · 6 months ago
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Good Omens graphic novel update: June 2024
Welcome to the June update. A lot of behind the scenes work at the moment but we're grabbing the travel sweets, popping in the Bentley and hitting the road. More on that below.
Admin
Ongoing reminder that the project FAQ can be found here. 
I pledged using my Apple ID, or no longer use the address my pledge is attached to, or I cannot work out what email address my pledge is connected to. What should I do? Please contact us via your Kickstarter account where the pledge is connected; we will be able to see on our system which address it is. If it's one you have access to, great! The FAQ has information on how to resend your invite link to access the PledgeManager. If it's one you are not able to access, then you can let us know which email is preferred and we can update this on the system, which will automatically send a new invite.
Events
We've had a lot of queries about when the Good Omens team will be attending events more formally, after some Aziraphale and Crowley spotting at conventions we'd been to previously. Well, we're excited to confirm the first: Good Omens HQ will be at ACME Comic Con in Glasgow, Scotland this September.
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We'll be bringing the actual-real-life-home-to-Crowley-and-his-plants Bentley from Season 2 of Good Omens, the first time the car has been made available publicly for fans to come see and get photos with, ahead of its journey back to the set and the start of Season 3 filming.
We also see Quelin Sepulveda, aka Muriel, has been announced for the event for some additional ineffable joy.
You can get your tickets for ACME Comic Con here. We hope to see some of you there.
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While we won't be rocking up with the Bentley to this next one, we want to let you know about Ineffable Con which, though sold out in person, is also taking place virtually in July. The fan-run event hosts great panels, auctions and more, with money raised going to Alzheimer’s Research UK, in memory of Sir Terry Pratchett.
Where next? We have - not an exaggeration - a list of about 200 events somewhere from when we asked fans this on Instagram and while we can't promise quite that amount of convention attendance, we're certainly looking to do some more things in future with Good Omens at large. Watch this space.  
Good Omens items...
This month has largely seen prototypes and samples for the wider Good Omens merch store arriving, and while we can't share those yet, we are certainly excited to see more fan product suggestions coming to life. That does, however, leave our public item updates a little slim on the ground.
To make up for that, here's some new panels from Colleen:
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Also known as, "What could possibly go wrong?" And:
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Also known as, "Well why don't you ▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇ ▇▇!@#▇" or words to that effect, we'd imagine.  
Update from Colleen
Following such a positive response to Colleen's piece last month, bringing you behind the scenes into making the Good Omens graphic novel, we are delighted to say that she has agreed to write something for our updates going forward! For June, she's going more in depth into the process of flatting and the technicalities of colouring on screen vs print. Over to you, Colleen.
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I mentioned the other month that I use a flatter to help me with technical work on GOOD OMENS, and here is a great example.
This is my original, hand drawn line art.
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And this is the flatting file which was created using the MultiFill computer program.
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It will put your eyes out.
The raw image above demonstrates how the color art lines up solidly under the line art. If it doesn't do that, you get a weird phenomenon in print called ghosting, a tiny little line of white around each segment of color. I had this issue on one major project and ended up redoing every single color file after I got a look at the first printing. Nearly two weeks of work.
The same image with the line art on top.
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The layer order looks like this.
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Background copy is the clean, line art layer.
I scan the art at 600 dpi, then make the blacks pure black, the whites pure white. Then I convert back to greyscale, then RGB, then duplicate the layer. Then I delete the white on the upper layer so the line art layer is transparent but the blacks on that layer are not.
If you have blacks on a layer that has been multiplied, you can see slight color through those blacks. You want pure black.
The lower layer is where I use the MultiFill program to create the digital flats. First you use MultiFill to drop in the random colors, then the companion plug-in Flatter Pro to make those colors seal under the black lines.
This probably sounds like a silly thing to worry about, but if the flat colors don’t line up perfectly under the black line art, you get the dreaded ghosting I mentioned. You can see it below in this image. It’s a tiny little white line that will appear around the black lines and color areas.
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This drives me nuts and is an absolute nightmare to fix.
It’s a very common problem, especially for people who work for web and don’t anticipate the problems going from web to print.
What looks great on your computer can cause big problems in print.
From here, my flatter Jul Mae Kristoffer, who is way over in the Philippines, does flatting that is more in keeping with the areas of color I want to isolate. As you see on Layer 1.
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But again, this is still pretty ugly, and not what I would use for final color. Flatting is a technical issue, not a creative one, though in some cases a flatter will make choices you may use. Most of the time they don't.
Here is my final color page.
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Sometimes my MultiFill flats are so wonky I have a hard time getting my brain to snap out of what I see before me. If I get stuck, it's a good idea to just pick at it and come back to it later.
If it really, really bothers me, I’ll take the MultiFill flatter layer and desaturate the color so it doesn’t poke my eyes out.
Here’s an example. The digital flat file.
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The desaturated flat file that doesn’t make me want to poke my eyes out.
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And the final color.
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Sometimes I just put in a solid white layer so I don’t see the flats at all. Flatting is there to allow you to easily pick spots to color in, and doesn’t usually appear in the final work.
Sometimes I want to create my colors using transparent color over a white ground, which is more delicate in the final.
Here’s an example from Neil Gaiman’s American Gods. I also selected all black line art here and converted it to sepia to give it a vintage look. Except for the fairies. They’re green.
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A colorist must also consider color settings.
Different clients can have different requirements. I find these color settings, which I got from the Hi-Fi Studio, to be pretty solid. I use them as my default for all my projects unless otherwise requested. If your publisher has other settings, they’ll usually send you a csf file which you can upload to Photoshop. The program will save your files and you can just switch between them as you need them.
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This tells the printer things about the paper and the spread of the ink you will use. That’s what dot gain means - it makes printed color look darker than intended, so you set up your files to account for it.
When you hover your pointer over each box, it will tell you what each setting is supposed to accomplish.
Another really important thing to consider when coloring comics is color range.
I’m coloring this book in RGB range, but for print you use CMYK.
I’m about to confuse the heck out of some people with this post, I’m afraid. But here we go.
Here is this shot in RGB color setting.
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And here is the same page calibrated for print in CMYK.
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The biggest shift is in the reds. Print cannot match those reds.
You may not see much difference here, but it’s the sort of thing that drives artists crazy.
A computer should be perfect for conveying exactly what you want, right? It's all just 0's and 1's, binary information, and that information should be the same from one computer to the next?
Nope. Not even close.
First off, computer monitors must be calibrated. You can use a computer program or a tool that measures the color on your computer screen and then adjusts the color to an industry standard.
Have you ever been in an electronics shop where a bunch of TV shows were on display, all of them playing the same show, and have you noticed how different the color was from one TV to the next?
It's like that.
I freely admit I don't pay a whole lot of attention to calibration, but if I were a professional photographer I would. I'd have a little spectrometer attached to my screen and software would adjust my monitor to the best possible standard range. As it is, I just use the default setting on my computer and hope for the best.
If your monitor is properly calibrated and your art is shown on another monitor that is properly calibrated, the art will look almost identical from one monitor to the next.
YAY!
But from one monitor to the next, that's about where the resemblance ends.
Colors are calibrated to something called RGB, or Red, Green, Blue.
All colors come from a mix of red green and blue. At their greatest intensity, all the colors in the spectrum together become pure white light.
This is why RGB is called ADDITIVE color, because you ADD colors from the spectrum to get ALL colors, and all colors create the entirety of the rainbow, and pure white light.
Your computer monitor, your phone, your television, all images are created via light using RGB, a gamut that covers all possible colors that can be created.
That's a lot.
And that's why some of the colors you see on your TV or phone are so deep and intense.
For the widest possible range of color and intensity, you use RGB.
Unfortunately, there is what you can create with light, and then there is what you can create with pigment or ink. And that is why printing what you see on your computer almost never looks exactly like what you see in a book.
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For printing, you must use a color setting known as CMYK. This stands for Cyan, Magenta, Yellow and Key/Black.
In printing, the pure blue is actually Cyan and the pure red is actually Magenta.
CMYK color range is not created by addition, but by SUBTRACTION. In order to get the color you want, you reduce the percentage of one of the four colors for ink mixing. Mixing all colors, instead of giving you white, gives you black.
The gamut of CMYK is limited to what can be created with ink.
You've probably heard the term four color press? This is what that means. Four colors, with each color of ink run over the paper on rollers which, combined in varying layers of opacity, create all the printing colors you see.
But remember, what you see on your computer monitor and what CMYK gamut can handle are two different things.
Now, I’ve been really careful with the color settings on Good Omens, so there haven’t been any big surprises, but let me show you a snippet of a project I did for the French fashion house Balmain.
The RGB version:
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And then this shot after it was converted to a CMYK file for print.
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That's a pretty big difference.
Now, you see this shift mostly with vibrant colors, such as that pink there. But other colors hardly changed at all, right?
That's because this issue is about range of color. CMYK and RGB occupy a shared range which you can see demonstrated by this graphic I got from Wikipedia.
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The graphic shows the RGB ranges supported by various digital formats. SWOP CMYK is the most common range my publishers use. Note that the bounding box line shared by the RGB and SWOP CMYK formats shares about half the range space. So whatever RGB colors you use that are outside that range will be digitally converted to the smaller SWOP CMYK range.
And you may not like what you end up with.
As you can see, some of the most ethereal and intense colors get lost outside of the SWOP CMYK boundary.
A look at the Dark Horse Comics color settings in Photoshop. Theoretically, this information should prevent your art from looking like mud on publication.
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Now, after I just told you the dangers of coloring in RGB then converting to CMYK for print, I tell you I am coloring Good Omens in RGB anyway. There’s a couple of reasons for this.
Remember, RGB give you a greater range of color, so it can be to your advantage to preserve your original files using a format that gives you the greatest range.
Again, here is the unaltered file.
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You can see what the CMYK result will be simply by clicking the Proof Colors button here. This will show you how the art will convert.
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And the Gamut Warning will show you which colors are out of gamut range for print.
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The intensity of that magenta and that purple in the top right are not going to print true.
This is how it will look in final.
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So even if you do what you think is perfect color on screen, there is no way it can perfectly convert to print. Almost everything will involve a little bit of compromise.
Even though you have to consider the color shift issues, preserving your files in RGB gives you greater wiggle room, especially if you get lucky someday and get to work with a printer who can print in 6 colors. Or maybe some technology you don’t know about will pop up and make printing super glorious. Who knows.
Regardless, you should keep an eye on that gamut and color for CMYK print, while preserving your master files in RGB.
Until next time.
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muwapsturniolo · 11 months ago
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✯Stress Relief✯
(This was a request from an anon but I couldn't find the request even though I replied to it 😭 sorry that it took so long anon but here you go!)
Summary: Matt needs to relieve stress and his best friend is there to help.
Warning: titty sucking, that is literally it.
technically this is part one but you don't HAVE to read it (but i would love if yall did🌸)
✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯
Y/n was relaxing in her room when she heard her front door open and close. She gets confused but doesn’t bother to get up. If it was a killer, she just hoped it’s ghost face, preferably Stu.
“Y/n?” She perks up hearing her best friend, Matt, ascending up the stairs. He walks into her room, looking drained. He had multiple meetings today, and then he tried going grocery shopping but got swarmed by fans.
He had a long day and needed comfort.
“You look like shit.” Y/n mumbles as she watches Matt take off his shoes and throw his keys down on her nightstand. “I feel like shit, no need to yap at about it.” She narrows her eyes at his irritated tone. “Watch your mouth when speaking to me Matthew.” They stare at each other, y/n’s eyes harsh. since the day they had sex and she found out he likes being dominated, their relationship has changed. she was able to be more stern with Matt, even tease him a little.
Her eyes soften when she sees his getting glossy. she eases up and becomes concerned.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me pretty boy.” She pulls him down onto the bed and holds him as he begins to sniffle softly. “I don’t know! I’m just so stressed! I h-had so many meetings and it seemed like they were yelling at me! Then at the store fans kept coming up to me! I just-“ he feels like he can’t breathe.
Y/n rocks him back and forth, trying to comfort him. “What do you need? Tell me what you need.” She mutters softly. Although her exterior is hard and mean, she has a soft spot for people she cares about. Matt being the main one.
He was her best friend.
“I need you.” He claws at her, attempting to pull her closer. “Matt, I’m not com-not like that! Just need to be close.” He begins digging his face into her chest, the need to be close to her overwhelming.
She lays them down, her being the big spoon while Matt remains the small one, his face smushed into her breasts. She allows her long nails to scratch his scalp, mumbling soft praises to calm him down. “It’s ok pretty boy. No one is yelling at you, you're ok.” He clenches his eyes shut and takes shaky breaths, trying to calm himself down.
He eventually stops crying, occasionally sniffling.
He’s calm, but there’s still this sense of doom looming over him. He opens his eyes and sees her boobs right there.
He gets an idea and slowly paws at her tanktop, asking without speaking.
She looks down and instantly figures out what he wants. After all, he did the same thing at the end of their first session. She nods and continues to scratch his scalp.
“Go ahead pretty boy.”
He eagerly yanks her top down, her boobs spilling out. Quickly, he takes her right nipple in his mouth and holds her left one, squeezing the flesh softly.
He begins to suck, allowing his tongue to lap over the sensitive bud.
Y/n clenches her legs and lets out a soft sigh. As much as this is turning her on, it’s not the time. She pushes her sexual needs aside and plants a kiss on the top of his head. “There you go pretty boy, it’s ok.”
Matt instantly feels relaxed, all of his worries and stress leaving his body. He closes his eyes and continues sucking and massaging her breasts, his leg intertwined with hers.
The two fall asleep, content in each other's arms.
Y/n is the first to awake. She looks down and sees Matt still fast asleep, his mouth slightly open as his hand still rests on her breast. “Matt baby, wake up.” She whispers softly. She strokes his face, allowing her thumb to brush over his jaw, his scruff scratching her thumb.
He slowly awakes, a bit confused as to where he is. Y/n says nothing, allowing him to come to his senses and process everything.
“I-I’m sorry.” Is the first thing he says once he notices the position they are in. She frowns and starts scratching his scalp again, “Why are you saying sorry? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I came over and was being dramatic then I…” his face gets red, not wanting to talk about him sucking on her nipples like a breastfeeding child.
“Fell asleep with my boob in your mouth?” He nods and looks away from her. She sits up and fixes her shirt. As she does so, she speaks softly but sternly. “Matt, you didn’t do anything wrong so don’t apologize. You weren’t being dramatic, you had a long and stressful day, and needed comfort. I wasn’t going to tell you no.”
“But you’re my best friend! I don’t want you to think I’m using you as a mock therapist or for your body!”
“Matt-“ she sits on her knees and forces him to look at her, “I’m telling you now, I don’t care about any of that ok? I’m not mad or upset with you. I’m telling you it’s ok. Get out of your head pretty boy.”
He looks at her trying to see if she’s lying.
She’s not.
He nods and Y/N smiles, kissing his nose. “Now, did you want to continue, or did you want to go?”
“C-can I sleep over…and we continue?” His voice is timid, not wanting to cross a boundary. “Go change into pajamas,” she demands softly. He nods and leaves the room to change.
When he comes back, he sees her lying down under the blankets with the tv on. He joins her and goes to pull her shirt down, but she stops him. He watches as she sits up and takes her top off.
He wastes no time in pulling her close and wrapping his mouth around her breasts once again.
The two lay in a comfortable silence, the only sound being from her TV.
✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯
im backkkkkk, lmao. sorry for not writing!!! I've been stressed this month with adult shit and my bday is very very soon so im stressed over that too!😅 but anyway, i have a few days off from work so im going to try and get some stuff out for you guys!!
TAGLIST🍑
@bernardsgf @bernardsleftbootycheek @blahbel668 @mattfrfr @gdsvhtwa @sturniolo-aali @lily-loves-struniolos @kynda-avery @causeidontlikeagoldrush
@st7rnioioss @carolinalikesthings @mattslolita @suyqa @xxloveralways14 @pepsiimaxx @judespoision
@ivonchetooo1239 @imaslut4kehlani @that-general-simp @m4stermindd @itzdarling @gigisworldsstuff @adoreindie @braindead4l @pettydollie
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evilminji · 6 months ago
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You know The Force™? Yes, from Star Wars.
What if It and Ectoplasm, as a vague, all encompassing Primordial Force That IS... were Exs?
Now, now, I here your scepticism. But hear me out! I am going somewhere with this! Possibly somewhere amusing! Might be candy! Who knows! ANYWAY~☆
The Primordial Forces That ARE.™
Imagine um like infinite, multidimensional, multidirectional, endlessly stacking, 2-D pancakes! That are ALIVE. Gods beyond godhood. Inherently Amoral. Not IMMORAL... Amoral.
As in removed from morality.
Outside it.
Just as they are with most things. Time, change, entropy and order. They are the textbook definition of "I EXSIST" in the eldrich sense. It's like trying to understand the thought process of rocks. A black hole.
The best thing everyone can do is move on and accept that our fleshy little meat brains are incapatible with the information we are trying to take in. They DO like us though! For the given quality of "like" as they are capable of understanding it.
It's neat. They are neat!
Why bring um up, though? Well~ >.> remember that "stacked" thing? Not EVERY universe has all of them. In fact, MOST universe don't have more then one! Why would you need TWO Infinte Powers watching you? You're not that special!
And if you ARE, that's not a GOOD thing!
So like? Star Wars? Has The Force. As does every variation and fic offshoot universe. The spin off series. Unknown, undiscovered, "and everything was peaceful, safe, and fine" universe's where nothing story worthy happened.
Danny? Gets Ectoplasm.
The Zone.
Which? Is where Ectoplasm stores their blorbos. The FUNNY ones. The INTERESTING ones. The "I just think they're neat" ones. And FRANKLY? It HAS TO STOP! It's getting out of hand! A hobby is ONE thing, but THIS? The last one tried to invade OTHER UNIVERSE. And now you want to put ANOTHER little crown on your favorite OC?
Stop TORMENTING the little thing! This is BENEATH YOU! No more "edgy" halfa creatures!
Give me that!
Aaaaaand Danny is in Space? W...Why is Danny in space? Danny doesn't WANT to be in SPACE. Danny was about to finally have a burger and a NAP! Guys? Guys, this isn't funny! Where the FUCK is he?? Why are all the ghosts blue?
Why can random space monks body him? But like... only conditionally? The swords are Tingly but the hand wave throw thing? Yeets like the football? And, hell yeah aliens? But boooo, most of them are jerks?
Also >:/ not so thrilled about how people talking about Clones. Or treating them.
And your "Chancellor" fruitloop is very... Vlad. Vibes be RANCID.
He wants to go home but might Have To Cause Problems On Purpose first.
Meanwhile? Skywalker n his secret wife are somewhere VERY green and the white not-wookies are very concerned about her health. But don't worry! They caught the problem early. And prenatal care in important. Also so is mental health. Here, talk to this soft pile of fur with a soft understanding voice! That's elder Councilfang!
Why? Because Ectoplasm is petty. Fuck YOU, Force. If you're gonna take THEIR favorite bloro, then Ectoplasm is gonna take YOUR current favorite TOO! See how YOU like your bloro missing!
@babbling-babull @the-witchhunter @hdgnj @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation @spidori @lolottes @legitimatesatanspawn
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angelstate · 1 year ago
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FWB!Ghost x InloveFemReader.
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FWB!Ghost who hates commitment, he doesn’t care about being in a relationship or romantic shit in the slightest, so you don’t even try to come asking for anything else than meaningless sex because he won’t give it to you, he doesn’t have the stomach to do so, neither the heart capable of feeling that sort of things.
FWB!Ghost only knows how to fuck you rough and hard, to make you feel more pain than pleasure, and fill your skin with bite marks and bruises. he doesn’t know gentleness nor care to learn, aftercare is fucking nonexistent with him, if you feel shitty after fucking then you better dress quickly and figure it out in your own house because he is too tired to care.
FWB!Ghost pretends like nothing happens between the two of you when there are people around, he won’t fuck you in the bathroom of a random bar or a dark alleyway, he wants no part in being associated with you in a romantic way. sex is just sex with him, nothing else so don’t get ideas on your mind, he won’t entertain them.
FWB!Ghost is as loving as a rock, with no emotions other than sarcasm and anger coming from him. He doesn’t understand why to stick around but doesn’t care enough to ask, one day you’ll leave him, it is only a matter of time, so he keeps himself clueless on how you see him so as not to strain the “friendship” you have in any way. (he doesn’t consider you a friend)
FWB!Ghost tried to pay you after the first time you had sex because he didn’t want you to think he took advantage of you or that he loved you in any way, it was just an exchange, a way for him to take out his frustration and for you…he isn’t sure what you get but it must be good because you keep coming back to him.
FWB!Ghost who definitely fucks other women, you aren’t the first or the last on the long list of people he has put his dick inside of, but you are the only one that stuck around and the only one he allows to stick around, no matter how much he tries to deny it, he feels like he owes it to you, maybe because he tried to pay you the first time he fucked you, maybe because you were a friend of Soap first that got introduced to a disgusting man like himself or maybe he just feels a bit guilty of how he treats you constantly (he doesn’t change though, at least not for a very long time.)
FWB!Ghost isn’t all bad at times, if you’re telling him something he listens to you till you finish, he sometimes buys you things you want, all sex-related of course, and he isn’t going to pretend he cares about your interest (he does care) he has been more times at a sex store and victoria secret than at a grocery store in the last 3 months.
FWB!Ghost secretly does enjoy spending time with you, don’t get him wrong, he values solitude and having space for himself, but you are good company, you please him in more ways than you just in the bedroom, you cook his favorite foods, watch horror movies even though he knows you hate them, you listen to the little information he gives you about his missions like his words are manuscripts from the bible.
FWB!Ghost loves little things in life, and he would never open his heart for anything or anyone that can hurt him, he doesn’t allow it out of self-preservation, having learned from his past experiences, he loved his family and they were dead because of him, he doesn’t want more blood on his hands, not of the people he loves. (but he doesn’t love you, right?)
FWB!Ghost is comfortable in silence, but with you being oh-so-quiet when you often talk till you have nothing more to say is definitely a strange sight, one that takes his breath away and makes him want to throw up. because he knows silence from you means something is eating you alive so much so you can’t speak.
so he watches you with careful yet empty eyes, nothing is ever really quiet with you, you’re a stubborn woman and he knows that, he knows you like the back of his hand, so when you stare at him, doe eyes full of something he can read it brings a set of emotions he thought he had buried a long time ago. and when you open your mouth to speak but stay silent it becomes his breaking point. “spit it out, will you?” he speaks, his tone rude even though he doesn’t mean to sound that way.
he sees your eyes become wider for a second, bringing your knees to your chest and looking away from him. He hates when when you shut him out of the sight that is your face, always so expressive he doesn’t even have to hear you to know what you think. “I can't do this anymore, I don’t want to do this anymore” you finally speak and time freezes for a second.
Stranger!Ghost doesn’t regret a lot of things in life, nothing burdens his heart to the point of continuous regret, to undying guilt…except you. He knows he wasn’t a kind man, he didn’t know kindness then and doesn’t know it now, but looking back he knows he should’ve learned for you, he should’ve allowed himself to love and accept that letting someone into his life and heart wouldn’t be a death sentence for that person.
Stranger!Ghost isn’t an honest man at all, but when he’s alone and his feeling catch up to him he can’t help to accept he indeed loves you, that he cared about you more than himself, and that he wished to be your lover, to be your husband to…to have a fucking family and a dog and all that corny shit he swore he hated for years.
He had an unknown hope for you to not give up on him back then, to always stick around no matter what because that’s exactly what you did for a long time, you were there and wore the bruises he gave you with honor and love he never understood, he did now.
He saw something shift in you the night you told him you couldn’t keep him around anymore, he remembers your words, they are engraved in his mind so strongly that they keep him up at night sometimes, and when he is drunk he thinks of calling, to confirm you don’t want him anymore.
Stranger!Ghost who can’t help but get drunk and let a few tears fall when he finds out through Soap that you had gotten married to your first love and were now pregnant, waiting to welcome a little girl into the world, and that your husband had gifted you a puppy as to complete the family.
Stranger!Ghost heart aches at the fact he isn’t the man who made you a mother and that he isn’t the father of your child, but he knows not to come into your life again, you deserve peace and build a family without ever facing him again, he wasn’t going to be cruel to you again, he was going to stay away out of love for you, love you will never know about.
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whinysoobin · 29 days ago
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Too thick... c.yj
Choi Yeonjun x fem reader
Genre: smut (MDNI- minors do not interact )
Warnings: overstimulation (f! Receiving), gagging, cum swallowing (pls no). Nothing else ig..
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Being fucked by your cousin during the visit to your ancestral house in bussan, isnt the greatest thing you did.... Sure the ghosts of your ancestors which roam around would be disgusted but more over yall were fucking in the room which belonged to your great great great great.... (Etc. Etc.) Grandmother. Or some grandmother of your mother's side.
But you didnt have time to think of all that.. The last thing you wanted to worry about is which ancestor's room this was while being fucked dumb on yeonjun's cock. Splitting you open as he thrusts in deeper and faster. Your hands claw his back and he lets out a deep moan.
Due to in the intense pace of yeonjun, you already found your self in your 3rd orgasm, and him not even done with his first release. Are men supposed to have this much stamina? Yeonjun takes your leg up to his shoulders to get you deeper.
"T-to mu-much! To-too much!" You whine overstimulated as fuck as you release your 3rd orgasm. Yeonjun lets out a frustrated moan. Something was wrong. So you decided to ask him.
"I-is something wrong j-jun? Im sor-"
"No, no, its just.... I cant feel you at all.." Yeonjun pulls out of you. He lays next to you,his cock still rock hard and throbbing as he takes off the condom. Then you realise it, making you slightly giggle. Yeonjun shoots you a confused look hearing you giggle.
"I think those condoms are extra thick. You should have read the label before buying it" yeonjun lets out a groan as he realises. But as he got up your hands find his wrists. You looks at you and tilts his head.
"You are still hard" you point out.
"I know, but its oka-"
"Are you serious iam not just gonna let you go when you fucked me soo good whereas you didnt even get to release once? You need to feel good too!" You get up and your knees hit the floor as yeonjun stares at you in slight shock. But smirks slightly when you wrap your hands around his big leaky cock.
"You dont have to if you dont like"
You didnt respond, instead you wrapped your lips around it, swirling your tongue making sure to lick up all the precum you could.
"F-fuck y/n"
Yeonjun hands find their way towards your hair as he slightly tugs them. As you suck his tip he let's out a loud moan. He sounded absolutely beautiful. Hearing loud pornstar moans slip out of the mouth and knowing that you made him do it, gave you little more confidence knowing he enjoyed it.
He pushed you down even further. the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat as you gagged on the rest of it.
"god…you're s-so perfect like this"
His praises were enough for you to push through, you moved your head back up and then immediately back down to take him in fully again. You could tell he was about to finish because his hips bucked into your mouth. And you repeat your motions pulling each and every sound out of him.
it wasn't much longer before you felt his hot cum inside of your mouth, leaking down your chin as you pulled him out. You wiped you face with the back of your hand as yeonjun collapses onto the bed. You chuckle as you lay next to him.
"fuck, i never knew you were this good..." Yeonjun says as his hands wrap around your body as he cuddles you in. You squish you face into his chest as he chuckles.
"I never knew i was this good. But now that i heard the sounds you make... I kinda feel like an expert even tho this like my second time giving someone a head"
"Who was first?"
"Why would you ask?" You raise your eyebrows at his direct question.
"Just asking" yeonjun shrugs.
Just minutes later you both hear the bell ring. That's when it snapped you both that your parents would have came back from the store. You and yeonjun immediately jump out of bed to get your cloths on.
....
"Where were you both?" Your mother asks and soon she spot you both coming out of the room.
"Just playing games aunty" yeonjun responds quickly with a fake smile on his face like he wasnt lying straight to her face.
"Dinner will be ready in a hour i think... I hope you both aren't hungry" yeonjun's mom says.
"And pack your things we will be leaving after lunch. I think we have cleaned up this place well enough." You mother says as she looks around.
....
"Dont worry. We will see each other again" yeonjun whispers to you as both your mothers say bye to each other. You weren't sure if it would happen any soon because the last time had seen him was when he was 14 and you were 12 and now you were 18.
"Yeonjun say bye to y/n" his mother says as she gets in the car.
Yeonjun hugs you as he whispers "i love you, take care"
.... Years later-
"Hey y/n!! I found this really cool group which makes amazing music! U should listen! And look at this guy! He is one of the group member " you didnt even advert your gaze from your book as your friend goes on and on about her kpop.
"Hey just look at how handsome he is!" Your friend slaps your shoulders to look at her phone. You frown a little as you finally look at the picture not recognising it at first but..
"Yeah yeah he look sooo good- wait.. Whats his name again?" You face suddenly changes as you take in the picture clearly.
"I know right! I knew u would have a crush on him the moment you look at this! His name is yeonjun-" so you were right this was him. "You should stan txt girl! I have been telling you to stan kpop but all you do is keep your nose stuffed inside that book" her words make you finally place a bookmark and close your book. As you kept it on the table your friend fake gasps teasing as you see a big grin spread across her face.
"You know what? Tell me more about this group.."
—★—
Note: this was actually supposed to be small smut(drabble? I forgot what it is called.) Much shorter than this. Only the first part planned in my head. But the more i write, more ideas i get. So idk if i should turn this into a fic.
(Should i? ) (Asking for your ideas and opinions)
The title is a bit weird yk.... I meant the condom not umm.. Maybe him too >_<!
Let me know if you enjoyed this. Feedbacks really appreciated.!! :D
If you have any requests or ideas. My Ask page and inbox is open!
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lovingapparition · 5 months ago
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If Would Sure Do Me Good (to do you good)
Genre: Angst, Slow Burn, Smalltown American Aesthetics
Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader
A retired Simon moves to town. There are vibes.
Light warning for not very subtle sugar daddy implications that will ramp up later on.
AO3 Link
Modern civilization would be all but dead and gone, turned to dust, before this guy stopped talking. He's a regular at this dingy little convenience store, in at exactly 5:15pm Monday through Friday because it's, “just down the road from my job, and on my way home!” he reminds you, over and over as if you could possibly forget after being told for the second time that week. He insists you call him Pat but you never do, he's mostly just this fucking guy in your head. And boy, does this fucking guy love to yap your ears off. 
You blink rapidly, not that he notices, focusing in on his hands. They're dirty, always are, with some weird mystery grime that makes you vaguely queasy when he hands you his warm dollar bills. You think he might be a mechanic, he must have told you at some point, but information like that doesn't really stick during the evening rushes because hello dude there's like ten people behind you- 
Deep breaths. You are taking deep breaths, nodding, and smiling. The guy pauses for a breath, and you pounce. “So your total’s gonna be $13.47, the usual,” with a tight smile, your jaw a little clenched. Across the counter, he hums and digs his wallet out of his pocket. He's still describing something, gesticulating with his free hand before he pulls out a few bills. Through a couple of well-placed hums and nods you manage to focus on counting the proper change from the drawer. He pockets it without recounting his bills, too busy looking right at you as he tells you to, “Have a good night. Stay warm, honey.” 
Ugh. 
At least the next few transactions go quick, other people also getting off work but not as willing to talk your ear off. The weather was too cold for anyone else to feel like idly chatting. Your shift was just beginning, and already you felt worn out. Working evenings into the early hours of the morning wasn't ideal, but a job is a job. You value paying your rent more than seeing the sun or having time to hang out with your friends and family, at the moment. At least your cat was always happy to see you at one in the morning. 
When the first rush eventually slows down, you're able to take what feels like your first real breath since clocking in. You let your mind wander as you wipe the counters down, fill out the daily logs, and stare at the grimy spot on the ceiling that seems to grow inch by inch each time it rains or snows. It's all become a familiar routine, as horrifically boring as it is. You'd listen to a podcast or something in one ear bud if you could, but your phone barely got service inside the old building. A perk of the cheapest phone plan you could find.
The night goes without too much fuss, and when you've tidied the shelves and double-checked that your boss hasn't left any cryptic notes for you to interpret, you find yourself leaning against the counter. There's early 2000’s rock playing softly over the old speakers, and you desperately wish that your boss would give you permission to change it to anything other than 98.8 FM The Rock. 
Against your will you hum along to a Nickelback song as you watch the clock tick its way closer and closer to 9:30pm. Lunch. Also known as the only time you were allowed to lock the store. Your boss doesn't really vibe with the idea of paying two people at a time, so obviously you still had to help customers on your fifteen-minute breaks.
Halfway through the song you step out from behind the counter to go lock the front door. It's dark outside, and the street lamps cast everything in a warm, rusty yellow. The unshoveled and slushy snow looks like crushed gold, mixed with the oil and dirt from the parking lot. Inside, the lights inside Mo’s Mart buzz overhead. Their sickly green cast makes you feel a little ill if you think about it too hard. Looking outside just reminds you of it. You try to not feel disappointed as you trudge back to the counter to sit down for the first time in four and a half hours. 
The stool beneath you is only a little rickety, and you sigh as you lower yourself into it. For lunch you pull a bag of potato chips out of your bag. You'd bought them from the store yesterday and saved half for tonight. At a certain point the frozen burritos and hot pockets stopped being appetizing. This isn't much better, though. The chips are already going a little stale, gumming up in your molars as you chew. 
You're in the middle of digging at the crevices in your teeth with your tongue, zoned completely out as you stare at yesterday's crossword section from a newspaper your boss had left out. To be without. Six letters across and it ends in T. You're tapping your pen against the paper in thought, trying to ignore the urge to check the clock to see how much time you've got left on your break. You know you've got to have at least- 
The locked front door clunking in the frame snatches your attention. You sigh. There are three loud knocks on the glass. You set your pen down. Without a doubt in your mind you know you taped the handwritten, “On break! Back at 10!” sign up at eye level. When you look up and make eye contact with the man out front, this only seems to incense him. You recognize him, a regular who's never really happy about anything. Why he keeps shopping at Mo’s you'll never understand. He shouts something that's muffled through the door, like you're the asshole right now. A quick glance tells you that you've got eight minutes until the inevitably awkward confrontation where you have to let him in. You would rather sink into the tiled floor and never come out. It almost makes the rest of the break not even worth taking.
Almost. 
Trying to quell the unease his presence brings, you stay behind the counter. It's your break, and it's your right to take it without having to worry about some guy who wants his convenience store snacks in the middle of the night.
When you approach the door you try to avoid his eyes, you can practically feel him staring daggers already. As soon as the lock turns in your fingers he's pushing the door open, brushing past you as he haphazardly stomps the snow and salt off of his boots. You mentally add sweeping and mopping back onto your short mental to-do list. 
You count your breath on the inhale, and again on the exhale, as you walk back to the counter. The small monitor on the cluttered counter shows the store’s security cameras on three separate little boxes. You’re vaguely aware of the man hovering by the liquor section, but you can’t bring yourself to head out into the center of the store to bother him in the hopes of deterring theft, your boss be damned. His abrupt entry brought in enough cold air to make you shiver and jam your hands into your pockets. Standing behind the counter gives you an odd sense of security as the guy wanders from aisle to aisle. You know exactly where the store's panic button is under the counter should anything go away. Some cynical part of you wonders if it even works, knowing how cheap Mo is. 
The door chiming as someone else enters the store jolts you out of thought. You turn your head to greet the customer and you're met with probably the scariest individual you've ever seen. He's huge, wearing a heavy black work coat that doesn't hide the bulk of his body. The fact that he's wearing a skull print balaclava is what makes it worse. This guy could be totally normal and just wearing it because it's snowing out. He could also be about to ruin your night. 
He's looking right at you as he beelines to the counter. 
Anxiety bleeds into your hands, makes them feel like you've just stuck them in freezing water. Slowly, you take them out of your pockets and press them flat on the counter. You watch your own fingers spread out. From some job training or another, you recall that it's worse to look into the eyes of someone trying to rob you. “Hey there,” you try and fail to sound like you're not nervous. “What can I get you?” He's quiet for a long time. Too long. Risking a glance up at him, you find he's not even looking at you. The guy is carefully scanning the rows of cigarettes behind you.
You breathe a small sigh of relief. He doesn't say anything and you don't feel like pushing your luck tonight. You scoot over to the side and quietly thumb over your abandoned crossword. With a quick glance up you can see the man running a gloved hand over his jaw. There's a faint sound of his stubble rubbing against the balaclava. His eyes are dark, half lidded. Without moving his head, his gaze flicks to meet yours, and you look away without even thinking. Bright blue. Jesus Christ this is awkward. You tap your pen against the newsprint, wishing whatever was happening right now would just end. This guy isn't a regular, and he's certainly no one you've ever seen around town. Fingers crossed he's just passing through, never to be seen again. 
“Hey dickhead, anytime now!” Your head jerks up. The masked man slowly looks over his shoulder. The guy who came in earlier is cradling a bottle of cheap rum and a liter of coke, clearly pissed about the long wait. Your stomach feels like it's about to fall out of your ass. A stranger you've never seen and a pissy regular, what could possibly go wrong? Chewing at your lip, you take a step back from the counter. 
“Hey Marvin, I can get you over here. Relax,” you say over the stranger's shoulder, just barely managing to remember his name. You've carded him everyone else in this town enough to remember a few faces. The giant man in front of you steps over wordlessly as if Marvin hadn't just insulted him. Wanting to get him out as quickly as possible to avoid anymore confrontation, you check Marvin out. He's still grumbling to himself, working the toothpick in his cheek with his teeth. “Have a good night. Drive safe,” you tell him as you hand him his brown paper-bagged liquor. Marvin scoffs at you and yanks his items from your hands. You try not to react as he lets the door slam on his way out. 
The fluorescent lights buzz above you. Coldplay is on the radio, crackling softly. The man approaches your register, already reaching into his coat for his wallet. “I'll have your cheapest menthols,” he rumbles in an accent you've definitely never heard in town. What the hell was this guy doing in Mo’s this late at night? The vibes were sketching you the fuck out. You school your face into as neutral of an expression as you can manage and turn to reach for a pack of Marlboro Black Menthol 100’s from the shelf of tobacco products behind you. The man is looking down at your crossword, still unfinished, when you turn back to him. You were half tempted to ask where he was from. You don’t. 
When you ask him for ID he hands you a card from his wallet. Upon inspection, you find that it’s a British Military ID and heavily censored. It only tells you his first and last name initials. S. R. The photo is censored as well. As far as you can tell, it looks real to you. If it’s not, then he’s gone through an awful lot of effort for the worst cigarettes Mo’s has to offer. You weren’t in the business of prying. Most everyone else who lives in town you stopped carding years ago. Over time you just know through the grapevine who has what birthdays and when. Hard not too. Regardless, you nod uneasily at the man and carefully slide his ID back to his side of the counter.
You tell the man his total and he slides you a crisp twenty, avoids touching you directly. With a quick hand, you count his change back to him. It's all very normal until he neatly drops the cash into the dusty tip jar by the register. What the fuck? The cigarettes were barely five dollars, and you're pretty sure in your entire tenure at Mo's you've never been tipped anything other than the loose coins people don't want to keep. You're in the middle of trying to figure out how to thank him when he nods to you once, and turns to leave. 
Stunned, you have no idea how to react. Genuinely what the fuck was any of that? You eye the tip jar suspiciously as if the man had filled it with Monopoly money instead of enough cash to buy yourself a couple of hot meals. You entertain the idea of going to the local burger place you used to love as a kid. Hot, fresh fries and a large coke would probably fix you at least a little bit, you think. When you return to the comfort of your crossword you see in very neat, small handwriting, that the last word has been penned in. 
Bereft. 
The rest of the night goes without much else of note happening. You sweep the floors and mop the salt and grey sludge from the entrance. The coolers are stocked and the cash drawer is counted when your replacement arrives at two in the morning. Mo liked to keep the place open 24 hours since it was close enough to a busy highway that folks came through at all hours of the day. Your coworker, Olivier, arrives a little early so you can check them out at the register. Each morning they like to buy an energy drink in a tall pink can and whatever gummies they wanted to snack on that day. You enjoyed the little moments you got to have together. Olivier was one of the few people in this town who you could relate to. Their hair seemed to change color and style by the week, and they always had the best fashion sense. It seemed they were an expert at thrifting in a way you could only dream of. Layering different fabrics and patterns, they seemed to somehow never repeat an exact outfit.
“How was everything? Good night?” they ask, already rooting through their bag of gummies for the blue ones. You shrug, making a high-pitched noise somewhere in your throat. Olivier, bless them, immediately understands. “Did that weird masked guy come in again? He pulled in with a giant moving truck the other night.”
This immediately perks you up. “No shit?” That guy was moving here? “What's wrong with him?” you half-joke as you punch out on the register. Olivier chuckles with you, and the shared judgment over a new face in town reminds you how glad you are to have them. These small moments in the quiet hours of the morning made the town feel like it wasn't so small and empty. 
As you pull your heavy coat on you look out the windows into the parking lot. The lot had been heavily salted, but it was dusting snow. You could see the suspended motes in the yellow street lights outside. Part of you was a little jealous of Olivier. This time of the morning always seemed so peaceful and quiet. You knew you’d never want to work their hours though. Waking up at midnight to get ready for work? No thanks. You wish Olivier a good shift as you pull your gloves on, before pushing out into the parking lot. The air shocks a chill into your chest as you breathe it in. Your breath puffs in a heavy cloud as you exhale. Already you could feel your fingers burning as the cold licked it’s way through your heavy layers. Awkwardly, to avoid slipping, you shuffle your way across the lot to your truck. It’s a little blue beat-up thing. How you’ve managed to keep it running all these years, you have no idea. Apparently, luck and hoping for the best are good enough for the ancient beater. It takes a couple tries to get the engine to turn over, and you sigh in relief when it finally roars to life. After idling in the cabin for a few minutes, you shift into drive and begin the slow crawl home. The roads aren’t plowed, but it’s not slick enough to worry you. The sound of snow crunching beneath the tires, barely audible over the low hum of the radio, accompanies you home. 
When you pull into the driveway you can feel your shift finally weighing down on you. You turn the key and slouch down in the seat, eyes shut. Your feet are cold. Your shoulders sag under your heavy coat, but you're somehow not warm enough. The cold always finds a way in. After a few moments, you manage to drag yourself out of the truck and you make the short walk to your front door. The only benefit of small-town living was the fact that you could afford the rent on this little house. Never mind the fact that you were pretty sure your landlord lived about an hour and forty-five minutes up the highway and owned most of the houses in your street. 
Your nightly routine goes without much fuss. Tabitha, your cat, is pleased that you've come home on time to refill her dish with wet food. You undress, shower, and bundle back up in your warmest sleeping clothes. The house is cold, no matter how well you insulate the windows and the cracks in the baseboards. In the dark, you sit in bed with microwaved pasta in its plastic packaging with the instructions on the side. It's not good but it warms your belly and fills you up. As you eat you scroll on your phone, lazily browsing your social media and clicking through posts. Your mind wanders to the man you saw today. He was odd, and him moving here was even stranger. In all your life you can't really remember anyone moving into the town. Mostly your friends from high school have slowly trickled out, save for Olivier. You weren't sure why you'd never left for the bigger city, you'd just never felt the pull to get out and see more. 
When you sleep that night it's restless as ever. You wake up often, teeth chattering. Your cat is nestled somewhere beneath the blankets with you, and you're careful not to roll onto her. You vow to do a once over, just to see if you can stuff any more of your hand-me-down towels into the draftier baseboards. It feels like it's been winter forever now, but with Christmas barely around the corner, you knew it had just begun. 
You start seeing that guy around town. You pass by him in the grocery store. He's got a cart full of stuff, and you figure he's just stocking his kitchen. You grab your scant groceries, milk, and some canned goods that will last. While you're in the checkout line he pushes his cart behind you, leaving a respectful amount of space. You're not really the type to engage in the painfully long-winded Midwestern custom of talking about everything you possibly can, so you don't acknowledge him. You set your items down on the belt when it's your turn, and you offer a polite smile to the cashier. 
“Hey, find everything okay?” he asks, nice as you please. 
“I did, thanks Carter.” He was a few grades above you back in school. He also stuck around after his class had graduated. You vaguely wonder each time about his dreams of joining the military, and whatever happened to them. Maybe it was just life that happened. You know he's got a little boy to take care of with his high school sweetheart and another on the way. Maybe that was all it came down to, at the end of the day. 
Carter tells you your total and you mentally curse. You'd counted your cash twice before you'd come in the store, and you were certain you'd been doing the right math as you grabbed your items. Carter gently angles the register's screen to you so you can see the line items. God damn. You'd just plain miscalculated, probably too tired to keep it all straight in your head. You look down at the things you'd grabbed, trying to calculate what you could do without. You force a laugh. Humiliation roils in a dark pit in your chest. You find yourself speaking without thinking, “Oh whoops! Sorry, go ahead and take off the soup cans.” Carter, bless his heart, doesn't make a fuss. He punches the register keys quickly and counts the cash you hand him. You very much do not want to look at the stranger behind you. You pray to whatever god might be listening that maybe he wasn't being as nosey as everyone else was in this town, and that he didn't just hear that you can't really afford an armful of groceries. 
Carter hands you your single plastic bag, tells you to “Have a good one, hon,” You speed walk back to your truck, your breath puffing in clouds around you. 
The next time you see him you're driving to work. The radio is playing softly and your truck's heaters are blowing semi-cold air onto you. You're stopped at a light when you see the guy, dressed in a light coat and the same balaclava. He's jogging, somehow managing to work a sweat on the cold. You have no idea what kind of psychopath goes on a run in the dead of winter. When the light turns green you have to drag your eyes off of him before you accelerate through the light. 
It was rare that anyone in your town went on a jog. Unheard of in the winter. You were certain the old ladies would be gossiping up a storm at church. You figured it was no different than you and Olivier at Mo’s. You smile at the thought of sharing your sighting of the masked stranger with Olivier tonight. The little chats in the quiet morning hours were a light in the dark of winter. 
It was easy to get lost in the cold. It seemed all your waking hours were spent in the dark, during these months. You'd wake up later in the afternoon, always too tired to rise any earlier. It wasn't great for your mental health, but neither would being homeless. You'd take your victories where you could get them. Without much family nearby to rely on, you had to get by on your own.
The joy of adulthood.
You see him again that same night. He comes in around midnight. He's the first customer in around an hour. There had been a small rush of truckers passing through, trying to make it off the major highways before some snowfall was forecast to hit the area. You note that he's better dressed for the weather than he was earlier while he was jogging. He's in the same black work coat and leather gloves as before. You find it hard to meet his eye when he approaches the counter. 
Something about seeing him in town made the transaction feel off in a way that you've never experienced before. Getting Janet her pack of Marlboro Reds and ringing her son Nick up for his energy drinks was never sullied by the fact that you saw them at the Sonic Drive-In in their old beater from time to time. Seeing him now with the sense that he was apparently sticking around in town made you feel strange. You didn't know anything about him besides his initials and the skull print on his balaclava. Knowing he was likely some retired military operative from a foreign country was nerve-wracking and exciting and weird as hell for your little town. You had no idea how to interact with him. 
When you're getting the register open to count his change, you can't help but blurt out, “Are you liking it here?” Immediately you wish you could stuff the words back in your mouth when you see his eyes flick to meet yours. How on Earth could anyone be enjoying one of the worst winters your town has seen in years? 
To your surprise he humors you. “It's nice. Quiet,” he says after a beat. You blink at him, quickly looking back down to the cash you're supposed to be counting back to him. 
“Good. That's good. Folks can be weird about new people, but I'm glad you're settling in.” Oh God, you're rambling. Make it stop. 
To this, he hums. It's a low sound, almost silent, deep in his chest. You suppose that's the only response you're getting as he accepts the cash. You slide his pack of menthols across the counter. Your eyes widen as he doesn’t even recount the bills you’ve handed him, just folds them once and drops them into the tip jar. Sputtering already, cheeks red with embarrassment, you search for words but find none. This had to be about the grocery store. You were completely fine. Really, you were. You get paid this week and you would definitely go back to the store and probably pick up some extra groceries. None of this is coming out of your mouth though, as the man has basically vanished already. You can hear his truck starting up outside, the crunch of the snow and gravel as it pulls out of the lot. 
Guilt rolls through you, thick and familiar. You had no idea what to make of this guy. First, he blows into your dead-end town and starts leaving you ridiculous tips on the cheapest cigarettes possible? What the fuck? It makes you feel ashamed and unnerved. No one had ever given you more than the change they simply didn’t want to carry around, and you’d never expected anything more than that. 
When you talk it over with Olivier that night in the early hours, they eye you mischievously, clearly very interested in the man’s motives to give you excessively large tips. “C’mon, let the guy toss you a little cash here and there, it’s a free country. He can do what he wants, even if it's to give all his money away,” they tease over the lip of an energy drink. You hang your head, groaning in response. 
“I dunno… I don’t know what to make of it, is all,” you admit. That little pit of nervousness in your gut had been sitting heavily all night. Olivier gives you a pitying look. 
“Don’t worry too much about it, I think you should just let it ride. And tell me all of the details.” You can’t help but choke a small laugh at their insistence on being in the know. Almost nothing new ever came to town, of course it was the juiciest thing ever to Olivier. You give them a weary smile and wish them a good shift before heading out.
The next few weeks are more of the same. You see the man around town, like any other local. At the grocery store, he’s always got a cart full of food, and you’re sure to hurry off out of his way with your armfuls of items. Once or twice you’ve seen him meandering around the local shops, and you sort of dread the idea of running into him at the little cafe you sometimes indulge in when you’ve got a little extra cash on hand. Something in you wanted to be protective of your favorite spots in town, but you knew it was irrational. Soon enough he would be just as familiar to the folks around here as you were. 
Without fail, he continued to come into Mo’s with large bills. He’d ask you for his cigarettes, tip you far too much, and leave before you could really say anything about it. He never spoke to you more than you spoke to him and he was never anything other than perfectly polite. You hadn’t begun to have a single idea as to why he insisted on tipping so much. 
Eventually, you had come to terms with his insistence on leaving all of his excess cash with you. You started squirreling some of it away, using it specifically on groceries and smaller bills. It was nice to have a little extra padding in your wallet, especially during these cold months. You definitely weren’t touching the thermostat though, that’s for sure. Old habits, and all that. It was easiest to be thankful, to not look this gift horse in the mouth, and to do your best to just keep pushing through the winter. 
A winter storm was forecast for your town. The weatherman you’d grown up watching warned this would be one of the worst in years, and to stock up on the essentials. You knew you had about a month’s worth of cat food and a few cans of something or other in the back of your cupboards and called it good before heading to work that day. Calling out wasn’t really a thing Mo liked you to do. It didn’t help that you’d woken early today, sweating through your layers of blankets and somehow still chilled to the bone. 
Getting ready for your shift had taken about twice the time. You’d taken a cold shower, teeth chattering and your stomach turning the entire time. You did not look in the mirror while brushing your teeth and getting dressed. It had to be bad, the way folks looked at you when you arrived. You were bundled up in a hoodie and an oversized flannel. There was something about being ill that just made the cold weather feel so much worse. The black K-95 mask you’re wearing isn’t doing much to hide the puffiness or dark circles under your eyes. The near-constant sniffling and perspiration aren’t doing you any favors. 
Between the little rushes of your shift, you unabashedly sit on the floor behind the counter, not caring if Mo saw you on the cameras and wanted to give you a pissy little talk about it later. You hadn’t had any medicine to take at home and all the store carried were caffeine pills and Tylenol for eight dollars per two-pack. You do your best to stay hydrated, refilling a small styrofoam cup from the soda machines often. The water tastes vaguely like Hi-C Punch, and you try to not think about it. When you’re able to focus on your own hands, you see them shaking as they bring the cup to your lips. 
You think it’s around one in the morning when you hear the door chime. Close to the start of Oliver’s shift, the end of yours. No one has been in the store since around eight, you think. Time has stopped feeling real at this point. Breathing heavily, you muster the strength to stand. You lean heavily over the counter, trying to wet your mouth against the sudden nausea crawling up your throat. Under your layers, you’re sweating and chilled and just so uncomfortable. Whoever’s just entered the store stomps the snow off of their boots, and you can hear their steps squeak on the linoleum straight to your counter. A quick glance up and you’re making eye contact with the masked man who has become strangely familiar to you. 
You can only manage a nod to acknowledge him, before turning around to grab his cigarettes. He’d been in the night before, so you weren’t expecting him tonight. Normally his packs last him a few days. Why would he come out so late, especially during this bad weather? You can’t really bring yourself to think too critically right now, instead choosing to focus on not passing out before you can clock out and go home. When you turn around, pack of menthols in hand, you find that the man is eyeing you more intently than normal. You think? The mask made it hard to tell. Your hands are shaking, you realize it just as the cigarettes slip from your fingers. 
“Fuck, ‘m sorry-” You bend to pick them up and are met with a rush of blood in your ears. When you rise you lean against the counter for a moment, eyes closed. It would later come back to you as an embarrassing moment, but currently, you’re focusing very hard on staying upright. 
“You're sick,” the man says, so plainly it's kind of funny. You huff a small laugh, nodding. 
“Why’re you here? Storm’s gonna get bad tonight.” It’s a poor attempt at deflecting the obvious statement. Something bristled in you at him, it was enough that he’d seen you at the grocery store. Being seen by him like this now, especially after all the cash tips he’s been leaving you, makes you feel cagey and defensive.
“I could ask you the same.” He slides you a twenty as he says this. You meet his eyes, briefly. It’s easier to look at him with half of your face covered, you realize. Maybe that’s why he’s never been seen around town without his balaclava. He meets your gaze evenly, seemingly unaware of the shame that pulses under your skin. You sniffle loudly, not looking down at the bill on the counter. You’ve got about a dozen questions for him, but your jaw is clenched so tightly you’re not sure where to even begin. Just when you’ve worked up the nerve to fire a question at the man, the door chimes. 
Both of you turn to see Olivier entering the shop. They wave one mittened hand at you. “Oh hey! You’re here too, Simon. Nice to see you again.” Simon? Somehow Olivier had failed to mention his name after all this time. Admittedly, you’d never even thought to ask. He’d never introduced himself formally, and you weren’t one to pry, especially into the lives of odd men who only buy their cigarettes after sundown. Simon raises a hand to greet Olivier, the most human thing you’ve seen him do so far. 
“Hey Liv,” you croak, clearing your throat a little. At the sound of your wrecked voice, Olivier grimaces at you. Already, they’re reading into their tote back and donning a mask. 
“Stay over there, and disinfect the counter when you leave!” They harp, only half joking. You nod wearily and quickly check Simon’s cigarettes out on the register. It feels strange to even think of him using his first name. Simon takes his leave, and as soon as you've got your coat on you’re following right behind him, waving a quick goodbye to Olivier as you go. They’re immunocompromised, and the last thing you want is to make their life harder by getting them sick.
The snow falls heavily, immediately sticking to your eyelashes and blinding you. You drag your gloved hands over your eyes, trying to clear them. Blinking rapidly, you see that the parking lot is a smooth expanse of honeyed yellow. The street lamp makes the area look warmer than it is. You can already feel the cold sinking into your fingertips. The trees on the edges of the lot are bowed heavily under the snow’s weight. When you step into the lot, the snow is powdery soft, but icey beneath. Not good. It would be a very slow drive home once you got your truck moving. The snow is only about halfway up the tires, but you’d still need to shovel it out to give it a fighting chance of leaving the lot if you could get it started in this cold. 
When you get it started. 
Historically, your beloved fossil of a truck has not done well in the cold. You’d been meaning to replace the battery and get the transmission checked out this Summer. You had forgotten. 
The sound of snow crunching behind you tells you that Simon has not left the lot, and is apparently watching you have your silent meltdown now. Great. “You want some help getting that snow shoveled?” It’s strange hearing him outside of the contained environment that is Mo’s. The wind changes his voice. It’s odd to be shoulder to shoulder with him, and not talk about cigarettes. Dejected, you know when to choose your battles. You nod your head and lead him to the driver's side door of the truck. 
“I might need a jump, it really doesn’t do well in this weather,” you admit wearily. Simon nods like he knows that already. Maybe he did, it’s not exactly the nicest-looking vehicle anyone’s ever seen. You crank the door open and hop in the seat. When turning the engine over multiple times does nothing but pitifully crank the engine, you lean your forehead against the steering wheel in defeat. Before you can say anything you can't fight the urge to suddenly cough. You turn away from Simon, who's kind of hovering near the open door of your truck, to bury your mouth in your elbow to cough. You've honestly had enough of being gross and embarrassed in front of this guy for one night. When your coughing fit is done you lean back, exhausted, against the seat. Your throat is raw, and your entire body feels weak. The thought of shoveling out your truck and waiting on the battery to charge fills you with dread. “Fuck this, man.” 
Snow has started sticking to Simon's coat, dusting white onto the black fabric. He's standing a small distance away with his hands in his pockets, giving you a decent amount of space. “You want a ride home? Can come deal with it in the morning with you, if you like.” You turn your head to regard him, thankful again for your mask to hide behind. There's plenty of security footage of him coming into the store over and over again. You supposed if he wanted to kill you there would be at least a half-decent physical description. Plus Olivier probably knew more about him, given that they're a chatterbox no matter the time of day. 
Your eyes flick out to the lot. The snow shows no sign of stopping. Fuck it. 
“My house isn't far from here.”
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writingoddess1125 · 1 year ago
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Discovery
Previous << triplet series
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⚠️ Warnings: ⚠️ Sad Topics, Postpartum Depression
Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader +OOC
Simon had been to the worse of war zones, heard the deafening sound of gun fire and screams of the fallen.
However nothing would prepare him for being a father to 3 newborns..
The triplets had been in the NICU for 4 weeks before you and him could bring them home- Stuck on tubes for the first two weeks before transferring to bottles eventually.
What neither of you expected was the how your PPD kicked in- You felt.. awful in everyway. You loved your children, yet you felt- like you weren't the same person anymore because of your children... Which those thoughts had faded quickly and you managed to get over that a bit with the help of Simon. Truthfully you were thankful that Simon was here with you and that you had time to recover from the surgery before you got to take your babies home- it helped mentally and physically. Simon being there with you to hold you at night and help you was perfect-
The day the triplets came home was both the most magical day {besides their arrival of course} and most stressful-
Nothing could prepare you two for the next two week with the triplets. It had been a Rollercoaster of emotions you and Simon experienced. Diapers mainly from Hazel who liked to blow out her diapers which had turned into Simon almost vomiting-
Spit up, Mainly from Rose who seemed to take inspiration from the Exorcist and spit milk on you and other surfaces-
Lack of sleep, Your Sore Nipples from Pumping, Crying- So Much Crying.
Especially from Johnny-
Your little Johnny who seemed to be a colic baby...
Speaking of which, you stood in the nursery rocking Johnny as he screamed to the heavens. Hazel also screaming loudly as Rose just fussed- You were so exhausted, Simon downstairs as he put away the groceries he just got at the store, Johnny hadn't stopped screaming since Simon left- in truth he never stopped screaming ever.. You were at your wits end.. So out of it you didn't hear Simon coming in behind you till his hand touched your lower back.
"You take the girls love, I'll help with the Lad okay?" He said softly, reaching a hand fortlward to take the boy.
Being too tired to argue with him you hand him the screaming baby, walking off with the girls to get them bathed for bed and just lay them in the cot in your and Simon's room.
"For Fucks sakes kid you have a set of lungs on you" Simon muttered, rocking the newborn carefully against his chest as he finally began to settle down. Simon saying a prayer of thanks as the boy settled down in his arms-
The baby began to make some very loud gurgling sounds- Simon preparing for another burst of screaming but instead Johnny just gave loud noises as he started to drift off to sleep against his chest.
Simon stood there rocking Johnny in his arms, His brows furrowed in confusion- he was greatful that his boy was finally asleep but he couldn't help but think about them... His screams and coos were too loud and uneven, it was odd..
You walked into the room, giving a sigh of relief at seeing Johnny asleep and comforble. You having just started cleaning up a bit since the house was a total wreck-
"He's asleep" You whisper softly, Simon however still staring at the boy as if deep in thought.
"Simon?" You whisper softly, confused by the concentration on his face. He lifts his hand next to Johnny ear and loudly snaps his fingers making you jump.
"Wai-" You start not wanting him to be woken up but- Nothing.. Johnny doesn't even flinch at the rather loud snap-
The air freezes in your lungs as you watch now closely. Simon moves his hand to the other ear and does it again... No reaction at all from the sleeping baby.
Not a word was spoken at this as the crushing gravity of the situation settled on your shoulders and it felt like your heart went to your stomach..
Simon finally tearing his eyes away from his son and onto you, seeing the guilt in your gaze.. He stepped towards you, seeing the swirling emotions in your exhausted eyes-
"(Y/N)-" He started, But you shook your head and turned away crying.
The next day you'd scheduled an emergency appointment at the local pedestrians office, they just managing to for you in that day so you and Simon flew to the Doctor to have now all of the triplets checked over.
"Hm- It does indeed seem like he is indeed deaf.. Most likely due to the traumatic birth he had but we will run some more test on what kind of deafness he has" The pedestrian explained which devastated you further, Simon sighing softly as he stared down at his boy who was fussing on the table. Gently reaching a hand forward to place his palm on the newborn which settled his fussing for the time being.
"How can this be missed? He was in the hospital for a month? Don't they do hearing checks?" Simon questioned, your pediatrician sighing at this.
"Sometimes it does go unnoticed-" He said simply making Simon glare- Not liking that fucking answer clearly.
"Is there anything we can do?.. He doesnt sleep well and screams all the time, we just thought he was Colic since he only sleeps if Simon is holding him" You ask softly, That sinking guilt eating you alive as you hold Hazel to your chest and Rose slept in her car seat.
"It's actually fairly common for deaf children to have a harder time sleeping, colic is an allergy but you said he eats well and sleeps for a while after eating or if your husband holds him. He's probably just tired which is why he's crying so much" The pedestrian said calmly, Gesturing to Johnny who was now fully relaxed with Simon's hand on him.
"I'd say a swing or something with movement, or a T-Shirt with him that smells like the both of you. It sounds odd but a lot of babies do well with movement like in the womb and he can most likely feel your husband's heartbeat quite well so hes more comforble on his chest" The doctor explained- Simon narrowing his eyes wondering if the doctor just said he had a big chest without saying so-
The rest of the appointment was the doctor giving tips on how to proceed and even some papers, even a nanny service to help the new parents as well.
You and Simon left the pediatricians office in sort of a shell shock- You holding Johnny as he fussed in his car seat while Simon held the girls. The car ride back home was dead silent, but you could feel Simon glancing at you every once in a while.
Back home you and him both set the triplets up, giving them a warm bottle and changing them- Simon taking one of his shirts and laying it down for Johnny to hopefully stay asleep.
You stood there staring at the triplets, a numb feeling washing over your weathered form.
'Was this my fault?-'
'Did I not do a good job?'
'Did I neglect my children cause I was depressed?'
Terrible thoughts swirled through your mind, fear invading your brain as you worried. Simon wrapped his arms around you tightly, stopping you in your tracks and yanming you from your mind.
"(Y/N) It's not your fault- You did everything right.. He's going to be fine, he's healthy, lively and so are Hazel and Rose who are just as healthy... and you're doing a great job as a Mum" He whispered in your ear- You felt your body shake as the guilt hit your chest full force and you sobbed leaning into your husband's embrace and cried against him.
It's all you wanted to hear-
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sunshine-and-moonshine · 2 years ago
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Cod Men In Bikinis
Requested: No
Warmings: Suggestive
A/N: I like putting big buff men in pretty dresses and also sexy bikinis, I refuse to be stopped
You were at it again. Your lover could tell just by looking at you. It was just supposed to be a trip to the clothing store for some new swim clothes. But you had to go and look at the bikinis, a grin on your face as you glance between your partner and the revealing swimwear.
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Ghost
Ghost is not very happy but he does as you silently ask anyways, letting you grab something from the rack before practically shoving him into the changing room. He’s a little amused by your choice, the black swimsuit sticking to his skin nicely, the gaps between the laces showing off his pale skin. His favorite part is probably the strings on the top though. It reminds him of some of the lingerie that he likes to see you in. He’s actually surprised at how much he likes the sight of it on his pale scarred skin. He won’t wear it anywhere public because he feels that he almost always has to keep up an intimidating appearance. But in private, he wouldn’t mind, if your brain can handle him in the sight of it, bending over to pick something off the ground. (There was actually not anything on the ground)
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Soap
Soap is eager to try on a bikini even without you, snatching one off the rack and heading to the changing room, barely even checking to make sure it’s the right size before he does. What he comes out in is a blue bikini top and one of those side skirt things, absolutely rocking that shit. He’ll rope you into trying on one too though, and once that happens he’s immediately purchasing whatever you pick out just so he can go home and fuck you in it. Might not even make it home actually, but his car has tinted windows so he swears it’s fine. He just handle the sight of your body so exposed, he needs to be on you, in you.
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König
König is, just like when you made him try on the wedding dress, absolutely confused. His eyes wide and puppy like when you lay the bikini in his hands. He’s a little less confused when you shove him into the changing room. He’s very hesitant at first, this being a lot more revealing than the wedding dress, but he does put it on after a moment. He refuses to come out though, instead dragging you in with him, letting you see how the pink and white fabric accentuated his curves, the ruffles of the top making him actually feel a little cute. He actually would like to buy it, though he’d never wear it in public. Maybe you both could invest in a nice private pool instead.
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Alejandro
Alejandro initially grabs this super revealing micro bikini but he literally could not come out of the changing room because his whole balls were hanging out of it and he did not want to be fined with public indecency. He thinks it makes his ass look great though so he gets it anyway but what he does come out in is a nice simple red bikini. He’s more to then a little teasing as he leans in, asking if you like it on him as he straddles your lap. Eventually you are both asked to leave because Alejandro can’t stop kissing you, heavy and wet, and people are beginning to stare.
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hauntedhokage · 10 months ago
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Sightings
Bakugou/Camgirl!Reader
word count: 1.7k
summary: he's seeing you everywhere, and has to combat his own internal struggle of whether or not it's creepy to live across the hall from you.
warnings: mature themes, Bakugou overthinks everything, mentions of sexual content, reader is a sexworker and this is a sw positive space!!, no explicit sexual content tho.
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He can’t get over the fact that you’re the one. You, his neighbor that he knew existed but had never seen, was the girl he paid a monthly fee to for affirmations of varying levels of erotic undertones. He would be laying in bed, eyes closed as he listened to your voice, while you were across the hall recording more content. What doesn’t help is that he sees you everywhere now. 
The mailboxes, the grocery store, coming in as he’s leaving and vis versa. Every now and then you’d strike up a conversation with him, clearly flirting and he was happy to flirt back, but he was terrified of you knowing that he subscribed to your content. Would you want to keep talking to him if you knew your neighbor paid for your nudes? Regardless of whether or not he looked at them often (he’d looked at maybe three in the eight months he’d been a subscriber), that was still weird wasn’t it? He was a customer, an active consumer of the content you produced, and now he knew where you lived. Would that make you uncomfortable?
When you ask him if he wants to go to a cafe with you one morning since you were both headed in the same direction, he has to say yes. And he notices the way you look at him, it wasn’t much different from how women looked at him in general, but there was something in your eyes that was different. You were clearly analyzing him, eyes carefully trained on him as he orders then obviously surprised by him when he buys your drink. 
The following night, your weekly audio surrounds how appreciative you are when someone takes care of you. How even picking up the tab on little things like coffee makes you so appreciative and how you’d like to show your appreciation by getting on your knees and undoing their belt for them to take care of them in return. He doesn’t feel guilty when he listens to it, he likes that he thinks you’re talking about him specifically. It could have just been inspired by him, but to think that you want him like that is quite the ego boost. 
He doesn’t see you for a few days, but the next time he does it’s at the mailboxes. You were closing yours up with a couple envelopes in hand, keyring dangling from your finger when you turned to see him approaching his own mailbox. He makes some idle conversation as you wait for him to finish up at the mailbox, noticing the way you practically rock on your heels in his peripheral vision. 
And then you start on about plans for the evening, asking if he was going to watch anything special. He doesn’t watch a lot of TV, so it’s an honest answer when he says he doesn’t have anything like that planned - just dinner and then reading a bit before he went to bed. 
“If you need some entertainment, one of these nights you can connect to my vibe,” you suggest, and he has to tilt his head a bit as he tries to figure out what that meant. Was that like Twitter or something? He’d have to ask the intern at the agency in the morning because he definitely wanted to do whatever that was for you - he just didn’t know what the hell it was. 
“Yeah, possibly. I don’t really do social media though.” And he’s watching as your shoulders drop a bit, confusion ghosting across your features for a moment before you smile at him while leaning against the wall of the elevator. It’s then that he noticed you’re wearing an oversized All Might shirt that was long enough to cover the shorts he’s hoping you’re wearing underneath. “Do you like any other heroes?”
“Dynamight is alright, I think he’s the cutest in the top ten.” You’re obviously trying to flatter him, smirk on your face as the elevator doors open and he’s gesturing for you to exit first. “But let me know about the vibe thing. I’d be happy to send you a link to the app for free.”
“You pay for it?”
“Other people do. You wouldn’t have to.”
“Because I’m a pro?” And you’re giggling as you open your door, forcing a pink to bloom along his cheeks at how stupid he feels for clearly not understanding something you were trying to tell him. “It’s rude to laugh at people!”
“Not laughing at you, I promise. You’re just very cute, Katsuki. I like talking to you.”
“Yeah?”
You pause, looking up at him through your lashes as you murmur a soft, “Yeah.” 
His face is hot now, and he’s fumbling with his keys as you tell him that you need to take your dinner out of the oven but want to see him again soon. He wants to have dinner with you, and then some, but the thought of asking you out when he was subscribing to you felt weird. It had to be creepy, so he swallows his want and drowns himself in the sound of your soft moans and affirmations as he ruts pathetically into his hand to alleviate the stiffness in his jeans that he’d been dealing with since he got a glimpse of your bare legs. 
But when you ask him if he wants to come over for dinner a couple weeks later, he doesn’t say no. In fact, he’s saying yes before you can even finish the question completely. He wanted to get to know you not just in passing and outside of what he paid for. He has to cash in on a favor Kirishima owed him, but it's more than just worth it to be sitting in your apartment eating the dinner you’d cooked. 
And it was a lovely dinner, followed by him helping you wash the dishes before sitting with you on your couch. You’re telling him how you hated only seeing him in passing and wanted to take the time to actually get to know him better since he’s your neighbor, and he’s agreeing with you wholeheartedly while the weight sits on his shoulders about the fact that he knows what you look like naked and you don’t know that he knows. 
He can’t stop wondering if it’s weird for him to be sitting on your couch while knowing what was beneath the sweater and leggings you wore. Would it be made weird when you found out? Would you be upset - he hoped not, considering it was your job. But he was your neighbor, and it wasn’t like he knew that when he initially subscribed - but he didn’t unsubscribe after finding out, so would that make it weird? Was he overthinking it? He had to be, considering you were still talking and he’d tuned most of it out. 
“...and I’d like to spend more time with you.”
Oh, god. This was when he had to tell you, so you could make a clear decision about wanting to spend time with him now instead of finding out later that he’d been a subscriber and then thinking he was some creep trying to get closer to an idol or something. Your comfort was so much more important than his ego.
“I want to spend more time with you, too. But I gotta tell ya that-”
“I know you’re a subscriber.” And then you’re giggling at the loud shriek he lets out in shock at the information, leaning against the back of your couch as his face turns bright red. So you didn’t think he was creepy, just fucking stupid. He could live with stupid. “I can see your shipping and billing address on every commission, even if the delivery is digital. But I think it’s very cute and honorable for you to try and act like you didn’t initially.”
“I didn’t want you thinking I was creepy.”
“Not creepy, just very cute.” You even pinch his still hot cheek, and his nose scrunches up at your touch on instinct as you grin at him. “I wouldn’t have invited you over if I thought it was creepy.”
The weight is lifted with the reassurance that he wasn’t creepy, that you knew he subscribed and still invited him into your home. You scoot to sit a bit closer to him now that he’d visibly relaxed, and he lets his hand seek out yours and revels in your smile at the contact. You didn’t think he was creepy at all, and he gets to kiss you a few times while lounging on your couch with you. He’d always wondered if your lips were as soft as they looked, and now he knew that they were softer and the soft moans you made when his hands grazed over more sensitive spots of your body sounded so much sweeter live than they did recorded. 
It’s when he gets home he sees that you’d sent him a special thank you for being a top supporter. There’s an audio file and a zipped folder, and he opens the audio file first since that’s of more interest to him. 
“I know you mostly watch the audio content, so I wanted to record something special that fits your style. Thank you so much for being a continued supporter, it truly means the world to me. I hope to continue providing content for you for the foreseeable future, and I’d love to hear from you if you have any special requests. I hope you enjoy the photos, I took them just for you.”
God, he just loved your voice. It was like you knew just how to talk to him despite having such limited interactions. The fact that you wanted to date him seriously was unreal but he’d keep you for as long as he could. 
When he opens the photo folder he truly knows that those were taken just for him. In the first you’re wearing what appears to be only one of the shirts he’d seen sold online that said ‘Dynamight makes my pussy explode!’, with a replica of one of his gauntlets intentionally placed between your spread legs to cover your crotch. The other was just a picture of you, fully clothed and smiling for a selfie with a caption on it that said ‘hyping myself up to ask my cute neighbor out’.
Then he notices the date stamp: you’d sent that email to him two days ago - which was the day that you’d invited him over for dinner. 
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ysljoon · 1 year ago
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Love Maze-Chapter 2
pairing: single dad!simon 'ghost' riley x live-in nanny!reader wc: 1.3k warnings: none for this chapter a/n: this chapter was a little slow BUT we made some progress eeee im so excited to go from here yall 🫣 MINORS DNI (have your age in your bio or you're getting blocked) <prev chpt. >next chpt.
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You stare at your apartment triumphantly once you see everything packed away. You lugged your suitcase out the door and now you’re on your way back to the Riley household. You were curious about Ella’s father. He was a very hard man to read and didn’t seem like a man for much conversation. Hopefully, you could bring down the walls he’s set up and get closer to him because to live with someone who appears unapproachable seems awkward to say the least. Yes, you’re there for the child first and foremost, but it would be nice to get to know him outside of being your employer.
Also the mask? What is that about? That should’ve raised more red flags in your mind, but the opportunity seemed too great to be able to look over that. He seems to be hiding a lot, but maybe he just needs time to warm up.
You showed up at 8 a.m. on the dot and knocked on the door. You distracted yourself with the pleasant dewy weather of the morning while you waited for Simon to answer the door. The door swung open faster than you expected and you had to dodge it at the last second to avoid it hitting you square in the face. Simon gave you a gruff ‘good morning’ and moved out of the way to let you inside. He still had on the black surgical mask, but his attire was a jarring difference in comparison to the first encounter. He had on blue cargo pants with harnesses hugging his thighs and a zipped-up blue windbreaker. Ella was held against his hip with one hand and the other hand had a black vest in the other. You were well aware that he was military personnel, but you didn’t think you would be acquainted with that side of him so soon. 
You rolled your suitcase in behind you and awkwardly stood in his kitchen while waiting for him to give you further instructions. He placed Ella down in her bouncer and leaned against the counter across from you. His eyes looked bored when looking at you and there wasn’t really an emotion you could use to describe it, but it didn’t feel good to see the least. “I just fed Ella her morning bottle. The formula is in the cabinet over there.” He pointed above your head behind you. “And all bottles are in the dishwasher. Feed her about every 3 hours or whenever she’s feeling fussy.” 
He tilts his head to the side to indicate to follow him and you do. He takes you to her nursery and it is very bare bones of a nursery. It has all the essentials with a crib, a dresser equipped with a changing table and baby monitor on top, a black suede rocking chair, and a trash bin. “In the dresser is where all the diapers and wipes are stored. The top drawer has all of her binkies,” He crouches down to the lowest drawer. “Here’s an extra baby monitor. I already have one in my room so keep it on your bedside table.” You nodded, taking mental notes of all the information he was giving you. He wordlessly walks out of the room and takes you across the hall. “This is the spare room, make yourself at home. The closet should have enough space, but if you need more just let me know and the bathroom is attached.” You gave him a grateful smile. 
“Thank you so much for your hospitality, Simon.” He gave you only a grunt in acknowledgment of your words. “I’m heading to work now, since we’re in a lull right now I should be home around 6 pm. Text me if you need anything. If you don’t hear from me within the hour contact my captain. His name is John Price.” He handed you a small square of card stock with John’s name and number scribbled on it. You reached for your phone immediately out of your pocket to input the number. Simon gave you one last look over before heading out the door and you bid him one last farewell. You made your way to the living room and looked at Ella with a fond expression. “Well, Ella it’s just me and you now.”
The day moved along swiftly. It was easy to turn on your caregiver mode, but you did do some quick online shopping when Ella was having her afternoon nap as it came to your attention quite quickly that there was a scarcity of baby toys for her to play with. Ella was an easy baby though she was rarely very fussy and during diaper changes, you were able to keep her distracted enough to have her giggling. The sounds of her laughs had you wrapped around her finger. She was an adorable little girl. 
Once 4 pm rolled around you decided to scour Simon’s cupboards to see what you could cook for dinner when he comes home from work. His pantry was scarce and you made a mental note to visit the grocery store tomorrow. You were able to scrape together a garlic chicken pasta for dinner and once that was done you let it sit on the burner on a low heat to keep it warm as it was only a few minutes until Simon was home. You made your way back to Ella to scoop her out of her bouncer that you kept her in while you were cooking, bounced her on your hip and sang lullabies to her. Her wide little eyes stared at you and observing her face made you realize how her eyes were identical to Simon’s. You weren’t sure how the rest of her facial features compared to Simon’s as he kept it concealed. 
The door knob jiggled and the jangling of keys alerted both you and Ella to the arrival of Simon coming back home. Suddenly Ella started getting squirmy in your arms and wanted to be held by her dad. He quickly shuffled at the front door putting down his belongings and kicking off his boots. He made his way over to you and scooped Ella out of your arms and cradled her in his strong, muscular ones. “How was she today?” “She was great, barely fussy at all! Oh, I made dinner by the way so whenever you’re ready to eat I can dish it out for us.” Simon did smell the aroma of food in the air, but he thought you only cooked enough for yourself he didn’t expect you to cook for him. He also noted how you said us instead of just him. He wasn’t used to someone being this nice to him since he joined the 141 and the task force tried their best to welcome Simon. This was definitely something to get used to. 
“I’ll take a shower first and then we can eat. If you’re hungry now though you can eat without me. You waved him off and told him you’d be fine waiting for him. He doesn’t strike you as someone who has an extensive shower routine. You sat on the couch with Ella accompanying you by your feet just crawling around and found a cartoon for her to enjoy on the TV.
Simon came out of the bathroom in 10 minutes flat with his blonde hair damp and-oh. Simon was standing in front of you without the mask and wow. You couldn’t understand why he covered up his face. He is handsome, to say the least. You averted your gaze and cleared your throat making your way to the kitchen. You silently plated servings for the both of you and Simon silently was by your side getting the utensils. Dinner was uneventful as Simon didn’t have much to say and you could see it in his face that he was tired so you didn’t want to bother him too much. Simon said he’ll wash the dishes since you cooked and you nodded. He wished you a goodnight and you made your way into your room to get ready for bed. The first day of the job is done and you would think it went pretty successfully. You couldn’t help thinking about Simon’s face until your eyes became heavy with sleep. 
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forbidden-sin-bin · 2 years ago
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By Your Side | Chapter 2
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Summary: You meet with the man who made Infinite, Eminem; Or as everyone calls him Marshall, for the very first time. 
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“The hell do you want?”
You were taken aback by his aggressive demeanor, wondering what you did to provoke his annoyance. “Hey, take it easy man.” You raised your hands to show surrender. “I don’t want any trouble-”
“Then why’d you stare at me?”
You blinked.
“Uh... what?”
“You were staring at me.” He repeated, a little bit slower this time like you were hard of hearing. “You stare at people, means you’re looking for a fight or you’ve got a problem with them.” The guy huffed, looking a little less miffed. “You don’t know that?”
‘Sounds like this place is way too goddamn sensitive.’ You mentally quipped, still, you kept that to yourself.
“Nope.” You popped the ‘p’ as you lowered your arms. “I do now though.”
He hummed, tilting his head at you inquiringly. “A’ight then, so what do you want?”
“Looking for a guy named Eminem.” You replied. “Or, you know, Marshall.” At the mention of both his artist alias and actual name, his brows raised in surprise for a moment before furrowing.
“That’s me. How’d-”
“The guy in the store told me that you had the cassettes for Infinite and all. Mind if I can snag a copy of your album?” You interrupted quickly.
His face morphed into a variety of emotions in a matter of milliseconds, ranging from surprise, to a glimmer of hope, and then back to suspicion and a mask of cynicism that he was so used to experiencing. 
He was expecting disappointment, and he was long prepared for it as he gave you a scowl.
“Look, if this is a fuckin prank or something, just say it now.”
This time you had return the sour expression, half annoyed at his negative attitude, the other half confused as to how he came to that conclusion.
“Seriously?”
Marshall shoved his hands in his pockets, lifting his chin up to glare at you in a defensive manner. “I’m serious. Why the fuck would you wanna buy my album? There’s stuff like Kid Rock in that store ‘n shit. And how the hell did you know about it?” He shrugged, nodding towards your attire. “As far as I know, cause I know you ain’t from here, you had someone tell you about it.”
He was observant, that’s for sure. Yet his matter-of-fact tone like he already knew the situation and how it was going to end made your eyes flash with anger and chip harder at your patience that was running thin.
Not like you were a very patient person to begin with.
“And you think whoever told me is asking me, a total outsider that’s not from here, to pretend to be interested in buying Infinite?” You scoffed, hardly believing your own ears right now. “Actually, I saw the poster in the store myself, believe it or not; And no, this isn’t me feeling pity or some bullshit like that. I want to buy it cause I’m interested; I ain’t fucking with you buddy.” 
The two of you stared each other down, neither letting up. You were beginning to have second thoughts, if he was so sure that you were messing around. ‘That’ll be his loss anyway.’ You thought, narrowing your eyes.
Finally, Marshall threw his hands up in an ‘oh well’ manner.
“A’ight. If you say so.” He motioned you to follow him as he fished his keys out of his pocket. “Didn’t answer my question though.”
You followed him close behind. “What, you mean why would I wanna listen to it?” He nodded, and you shrugged. “Well, call it my gut instinct; Out of all the album covers I saw, it was yours that caught my attention.”
“Uh huh... And?”
“And... I guess I had a feeling it might be worth listening to.”
“Even more than, oh, I dunno... Vanilla Ice?”
You gave him a disbelieving squint. “You serious? Nearly ruined hip-hop for me.”
Marshall didn’t say anything, but you swore you saw a ghost of a smile on his face, and you mentally gave yourself a pat on the back before asking:
“I really don’t look like someone who would be into rap music, huh?” This time, he actually broke into a brief grin. 
“Fine, you got me.” 
Unlocking the trunk of his car, he lifted the lid wide open, revealing a messy pile of cassettes, vinyl's, and CD’s, all of them Infinite. You in turn had already fished out the required six dollar cost that’ll pay more than enough for your new addition to your collection. “You know what? You’re pretty chill, my bad man.” He admitted.
You grinned, glad that you’re getting along well with him despite the rocky start. “All good, honestly I can’t blame you.” You paused before adding with a smirk. “Well, not too much, anyways.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Oh, so that’s how it is.” Raising his free hand, he stuck his middle finger at you playfully. “Well fuck you too.”
This time, it was your turn to laugh as you returned the gesture. ”Likewise.” Letting the obscene gesture stay in mid-air for a few moments, the two of you cracked up, looking away as you both tried to stifle your snickering.
“Okay, okay, seriously.” You managed to calm down and gave him a crisp ten dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
Marshall raised a brow as if you were crazy. “You sure ‘bout that? I mean, I ain’t gonna say no, if you were expecting that.”
You shook your head, smiling.
“I’m serious. This isn’t a charity case or anything; just think of it as a future investment.” You winked, hopefully in an encouraging way and nothing else. “I got a good feeling you’re gonna go far.”
“Well then,” he took the bill out of your hand. “At least you’ve got more faith in me than my last manager-” He was about to hand you the cassette until a familiar voice hollered from behind you, making the both of you jump.
“MAMAAAAAAA!!!”
“Oh shit-!” Whipping around, your heart dropped to your stomach as you saw Quinn practically half-hanging out of the car window, arms flailing as he waved to get your attention. You could hear the voice of your mother shouting: “Quinn! Get down from there!”
At that point, you already knew she was holding into the edge of his winter jacket, trying to yank him back into his seat.
“Uh- hold that thought.” You sheepishly gave Marshall the finger guns as you began to walk backwards, jabbing a thumb behind you. “I’ve got somebody who needs me-”
The boy waved you off. “I ain’t going anywhere, go get your kid.” you gave him a thankful smile as you turned tail and practically sprinted towards the van.
“Quinn! What are you doing?!” Grabbing him by the shoulders, you gently pushed him back into his seat. “That was really dangerous, you know!”
Your mom finally let go of his jacket. “Look, he already wants to leave!” Forcing your temper down, you leaned into the open window, letting her angrily chastise you with a stony look on your face. “Are you done? Can you get back into the car, or are you going to idle around this place and waste your time?”
“I was talking to someone-” You were cut off just as soon as you tried to explain.
“Well stop talking and let’s go!” Your mom snapped as your dad was just as ready to hop onto the bandwagon of yelling at you into listening.
“Y/N, get in the car.” He warned. “Now.”
Clenching your jaw, you whipped back around and walked a few paces away from the van, hands clenched in fists as you fought to keep your rage in check. 
Once in a while, you’d let it slide and keep your head down to avoid having to drag it out any longer. Having to hear it often  - and sometimes you really didn’t know what you did to make them scold you - was tiring.
If it weren’t for Quinn quite literally in the middle of the conflict, you would’ve blown up at them by now. But no, you couldn’t. You shouldn’t. You have to do it for him; You have to be better.
Taking in a deep breath, you strode back to the car and once again leaned into the window. Before they could say anything else, you simply announced:
“I made a friend.”
It wasn’t a lie, but to say Marshall was a ‘friend’ was a bit off. Either way, it made both your mom and dad shut up a little bit. It had been a while since you actually mentioned anything about friends, if you had any.
Your parents stared at you incredulously, not exactly understanding what you were trying to imply. “What does that have to do with anything?” Your dad demanded.
“It means: It’d be rude to just hop in the car now without saying goodbye to my ‘friend’, while we just ride all the way back to our hotel doing absolutely nothing until tomorrow. And by the way-” You gestured to the child pressing his ears shut with the palms of his hands. “You can yell at me later, okay? You’re scaring him.”
Thankfully, that seemed to have quieted everybody for now as they all looked at Quinn apologetically as he slowly lowered his hands. “Hey, baby... I’m sorry about that.” You patted his head comfortingly. “What did you want to call me over here for?”
The toddler looked back innocently. “I wanna go outside, please?”
You stared at him, exasperated. ‘Well, at least he gets right to the point.’
“What do you say?” Giving the child a stern look on your face, making yourself clear that you weren’t happy with how he handled that situation.
He looked down. “I’m sorry.”
“Uh huh. And?”
“I won’t do it again.” He mumbled. 
You sighed, stroking his hair. “Thank you. That’s what I needed to hear.”
Glancing inside of the car, you waved to your parents. “Just for a minute or two. The whole place is safe, don’t worry.” Smirking a little, you added: “I’m right, aren’t I?”
Not bothering to wait for their response, you swung the side door open and lifted him into your arms. “We’ll be right back!” You called to them as you kicked the side door shut and repositioned him into being held sideways like a plank of wood. “Alrighty mister, it’s time to fly!”
Quinn giggled joyously as you spun around a few times before setting him down, taking his hand in yours. “You wanna go say hi to one of my friends?” You asked him. He nodded, already more focused on avoiding the cracks in the ground than actually listening. 
Leading him back to where an amused Marshall waited, the sheepish feeling returned as you rubbed the back of your neck with your free hand. “Sorry about that,” you started. “I, ah, hope you don’t mind my nephew tagging along.”
To your surprise, Marshall’s demeanor completely shifted. You watched as he bent down, smiling warmly at the suddenly shy toddler hiding behind your leg.
“Hey little man, what’s your name?” He held his hand out, offering him a handshake, but Quinn burrowed his face into your side.
You patted his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay baby. He’s not gonna hurt you, I promise.” You reassured him soothingly. “Why don’t you introduce yourself? Think of it like it’s the first day of school and you tell the whole class your name.”
Quinn was quiet for a few moments before he slowly turned to face Marshall, sticking an arm out. “Mmh... Quinn... Am’ four.” He managed to mumble out before hiding again, though he still stuck his hand out, and Marshall gently took it, doing a little handshake. You shared an amused look with him, holding back a laugh as you both knew he looked more like a three year old than what the child claims.
“Well it’s nice to meet you Quinn.” He replied in a soft tone, one that you didn’t expect. “You got a nice name y’know? My name is Marshall, but you can call me Eminem.”
Hearing the name of one of his favorite chocolate brands, the toddler stuck his head back out. “M & M’s?” His eyes glimmered with wonder, initial shyness beginning to fade away. “Like the chocolate?”
“Yeah!” Marshall grinned. “Do you like them?” The toddler nodded. “Woah, me too! Isn’t that cool?”
You watched the two interact silently, trying not to grin. ‘Who knew a guy who acts and dresses like a gangster could do so well with kids.’ You thought as you leaned down to join the conversation. 
“Be careful honey.” You reminded him as Marshall let him see his pierced ears, tilting his head to the side so he could touch the golden hoops.
Having completely forgotten his timidness, Quinn brushed his fingers across the earrings. “Did they hurt?” He asked, admiring the shiny metal.
“A little,” he admitted. “But only for a little bit. After that, I’d completely forgotten.” Quinn nodded along.
“Mama’s got earrings too.” Both boys looked up at you. “Right Mama?”
“Right...” You trailed off, not knowing if you should correct him. 
‘I really shouldn’t have let him get away with that, calling me something that I didn’t earn the rights to.’ You thought, holding back a sigh.
“That’s your mama, huh?” Marshall asked him, to which the child eagerly replied with an “Mm hm!” 
“That’s cool, she’s a cool mom, ain’t she?” They shared a nod, which you held back a laugh. “What about your da-”
“HEY!! Hey, you wanna hold onto my music player baby?” You cut in, bitter ice rushing into your veins at the mere mention of Quinn’s dad. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice your panic as he was more eager to interact with your sacred walkman, bouncing excitedly.
You showed him the music player, holding it above his head as you laid out the ground rules.
“Alright, if you wanna hold it, promise me this: Do not drop it, do not wander off, and you have to be very, very gentle with it. Promise?”
His tiny hands reached for it. “I promise!” 
Finally relenting, you gave him the walkman as he held onto it like a priceless treasure.
“You wanna sit here buddy?” Marshall patted the edge of the open trunk, giving you a quick look that clearly meant he wanted to talk to you. You gave Quinn a nod as he looked to you for permission, and he reached his arms out to him as he was picked up in a manner that only someone who dealt with kids before could do.
“Now you’re a big man.” He patted the toddler’s head before turning to you, moving closer so he wouldn’t eavesdrop.
“What was that all about?” He asked, frowning.
You sighed, putting your hands into your pockets. “Well, first off, he’s actually my nephew.”
“Huh...” Marshall furrowed his brows. “So, where’s his mom?” You saw this was coming, but that didn’t stop you from wincing a little.
“Gone.” 
“What do you mean go- oh.” His face turned to one of realization. “Oh shit. I’m sorry.”
You shrugged in a vacant manner. “It’s all good.” You quickly changed the subject, praying he wouldn’t bring up either parent any further. “You’re pretty good with kids, have you got any younger family members at home?”
He smiled, almost shyly. “Yeah, I got a little brother, Nate.” He looked down, trying hard to contain his sense of love and pride. “And I have my little girl, she just turned one last Christmas.”
‘Ah, so that explains it.’
“Definitely says a lot about you, y’know.” You returned his expression warmly. I’m glad I bumped into you when I did, I put in a damn good investment.” 
“Aha, cause I know how to handle kids, or is it really cause of my rap skills?” Before he could hear your reply, he suddenly added: “Speaking of handling kids, you say that’s your nephew, how come he calls you mom?”
“Well-”
“Also, where’s his dad at?”
Giving him a grimace and a look that clearly showed you didn’t like to even think about the damn topic, his face turned to realization and disgust as he put the pieces together.
“Shit, he a deadbeat?!” There was heated snarl in his voice that matched the fiery rage lighting up his eyes. “Fuckin pussy jus’ fucked off and left his baby?!”
While your nod was a satisfying confirmation, his thoughts on this coward of a man weren’t. He turned away from you, muttering out insult after insult behind his breath before composing himself.
“Goddamn, I’m really sorry you have ta’ deal with that. It’s his loss, your boy’s a sweet kid.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” You replied, stealing a glance at Quinn, making sure he was still right where you left him. Sure enough, he hasn’t lost interest in your walkman at all.
“Well, there’s your answer. And judging by that look on your face, you want to ask me why the hell he calls me mom, eh?”
“Took the words outta my mouth.” He looks at you expectantly. “Well?”
You paused, feeling sheepish once again as you rubbed the back of your neck. “I mean - you know - I told you before, he’s my sister’s son. So... him calling me ‘mom’, well you know-
“-But you’re still his mom.”
You blinked in surprise, Marshall’s face turned into a slight frown.
“He sees you as his mom, and you take care of him like a mom.” He affirmed. “Doesn’t make your sister any less of his mom, but if he calls you mom, it’s cause you are his momma.”
There was silence after that, but not in an uncomfortable way; It was a few seconds of contemplative quiet, the occasional sound of cars passing by and Quinn’s fiddling with your walkman being the only background noise that gave way for a good time to consider his words.
Perhaps pausing one too many times before you finally found the words, you eventually replied: “You’re probably right.” Again, another pause as you kept your gaze to the ground, hands in your pockets. “Honestly, you’re probably the first person to tell me that; Doesn’t make me feel any better though.”
“I getchu.” Marshall nodded in understanding, tilting his head slightly to get a better look at your downturned face. “An’ I don’t blame ya, wouldn’t be surprised if your parents beat yo ass if you ever brought that shit up.”
The two of your shared a nearly humorless chuckle.
“Either way, don’t take my word for it.” He added with a shrug. “I just think he’s a real lucky kid if he gets to have a mom or aunt like you, fuck anybody who says otherwise.”
You shared eye contact, though this time it was out of mutual comprehension for each others’ situation, rather than uncertain intent of potential hostility.
While it was a pleasant interaction between two strangers, you both knew your conversation was coming to a close. After all, you had a plane to catch tomorrow morning, and he had a job to do to pay the bills and put food on the table.
“Speak of the devil,” You muttered as you heard the obvious noise of the family van’s engine creeping. “I ain’t gonna keep you for much longer, you probably-”
“-Yeah, yeah.” He was quick to finish, suddenly feeling awkward. “Shit, it was nice talking to ya. But- yeah - I got stuff to do, working on my next album-”
“Oh shoot, really?” It was a sudden knee-jerk reply, likely feeble in attempting to make the moment last a bit longer. “Damn, you know when you’re gonna release it?”
Marshall made a mix between a grimace and a pondering look as he made the guesswork in his head. 
“Probably... maybe late this year or early next year. Gonna try somethin different, like, ‘fuck everyone’ kinda different. How ‘bout you?” He inquires.
Tilting your chin in acknowledgement, you replied: “Yeah, I got an audition coming up in a few days in New York. It’s supposed to be some sort of minor role in this… fighting movie? Not too sure yet.”
“Oh, word?!” Marshall looks a little shocked, eyes wide. “Shit, I got a movie star buying my album. That’s dope.”
You huffed an amused chortle. “Hey, don’t get your hopes up yet. I’ve got a couple dozen other people I need to compete against if I ever want to get another callback or a test screening.”
He replies with a confident glint in his eye. “You’ll make it, like I said: Fuck anybody who says otherwise.”
You grinned. “Fuck anybody who says otherwise.”
He holds out his hand, and you return it with a firm clasp and a shoulder bump.
“Hey, you know whether if your next album is mailable or not?” You asked, and he raises a brow quizzically.
“I mean, you could ask my manager if you’re that desperate? You got a pen’n’paper? I ain’t usin mine...”
Like a remote controlled button press, you reached into the inside pocket of your hoodie and whipped out your notebook, pen clipped to the cover. “Does this technically count as an autograph?” You thought aloud, to which he laughed.
“If it is, you’re the first one asking for it.” Taking the pen and notebook from your hands, he flipped to a blank page and quickly jotted down the contact info. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
As he handed your notes back, you quickly glanced down to skim over his writing, seeing the name ‘Paul Rosenberg’ on it. Noticing another name at the bottom corner of the page, your brows raised, intrigued.
“Slim Shady?” You read out.
Marshall tilted his head up proudly. “My new alias; Gonna be the side of me that holds nothin back next album. Jus’ you wait.”
You smirked, giving him a look of approval. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Quinn broke focus off of your walkman as you called for him, letting him know it was time to head back. Shuffling himself off of the car trunk, he toddled his way over to you, taking your awaiting hand, taking the walkman back and putting it in your pocket.
“Nice meeting you Marshall.” You gave him one last nod, which he returns with a faint smile, before you leaned down to Quinn’s ear. “What do you say to the nice man?”
Quinn turned to face Marshall, looking a bit sad, but far less shy than he was initially. “Thank you...”
Marshall chuckled, giving the toddler a pat on the head. “No problem lil’ man. You take care of yourself, aight?”
Nodding, Quinn waved as you slowly led him back to the van. “Bye!” He eagerly waved with his free hand, not breaking eye contact until he heard the door of the van open, and he climbs into his booster seat obediently.
Buckling him in, you slide the door shut and go to climb in on the other side, but not before turning around to call out to him one last time.
“Hey Marshall!”
“Yeah?”
“Remember me once you’re famous, okay?”
The surprise on his face was one to remember, just as much as the loud and joyful “HA!” he lets out; One that he really needed, before hollering back:
“Only if you remember me once you’ve made it big, baby!”
Your face breaks into a massive grin that you couldn’t remember ever doing in ages, as you give him one last salute.
‘I’ll be holding you to that… Slim Shady.’
——————
A/n: IT’S DONE. IT’S FINALLY DONE, HOLY SHOT.
*me literally saying that chapters would be quicker when I posted chapter 1*
*five months later*
*me, sweating like a sinner in church*
HHHHHHHHH-
I’m Canadian, the amount of apologizing is normal don’t worry-
But for real. I’m so sorry. Thank you all so much for your patience. I hope I was able to deliver and that it was worth the wait. I promise you guys, the reason it took so long was me constantly rewriting the conversations you and Marshall were having. I needed it to feel right, and I’m still feeling it’s not completely right, but it’s maybe right enough.
If you read this far, thank you very much and I hope things will be much better and quicker from here on out!!! &lt;3
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despitethecold · 14 days ago
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Helloooo @whichstoodonrockyshores !!! I was your secret santa this year 🧑🏻‍🎄 All of your prompts were magnificent but I chose the second one because it was too damn cute.
I hope you like reading just as much as I liked writing it!!! Merry Christmas 🎄 ❤️
And thank you for hosting the event as always @gtafest 🥳
….
Niko made his way through the store cramped with all the people who did their Christmas shopping last minute, thinking of what he could get for the McRearys, who were kind enough to invite him over to their family Christmas dinner. They had told him just to bring his ass over and not worry about gifts, but it had been too many years since Niko had last celebrated Christmas, and he wanted to do it properly. The few times his mother had tried to get the remaining family together, it had been gloomy at best and chaotic at worst. They would always miss his brother and aunt, and maybe, after all, it had been for the better not to continue celebrating the traditional way. It pained Niko to know that there was no warmth to be found in cold December nights any longer for his mother, but there was nothing he could do about that. Life had reminded them of its cruelty time and time again, and he knew better than to dwell on the past.
Part of him had to admit, though; Liberty City had given him a new chapter. It wasn’t a completely spotless slate – every time he looked Roman in the eye, he remembered finding out about how his aunt had been viciously raped and murdered. Every time he heard a gunshot, he felt a cold shiver run through his body, hand automatically reaching for his belt even when he wasn’t carrying a gun. They had been through things no person should ever have to experience. He was a changed man, and not for the better. Pulling the trigger wasn’t something he thought twice about anymore. At some point, he had come to accept his fate — he was one of the soulless soldiers now, and that’s all he would ever be.
Sometimes, though, Packie was by his side, grumbling about his brothers after his fifth beer, or cursing like a sailor after losing the game of darts, he found himself staring at the wall and wondering how a soulless man could feel such feelings. Packie made him laugh, much more than he did since he was a small child. Packie made him feel compassion, something that was only reserved for family these days. They could talk about pretty much anything, and Niko knew Packie trusted him.
The feeling was mutual.
One thing they had in common was their fucked up past for sure. Packie knew about Niko’s life before America, what kind of man he was, and still wanted to be his friend. And likewise, Niko knew about the ghosts haunting him. Packie often talked about the horrors casted on the McReary sons by the man who still had a massive portrait hung on the wall in the living room, and Niko found himself wanting to make him pay for it each and every time.
But it was Christmas for fuck’s sakes, and they all deserved a little peace and quiet. It was the most they could hope for. So Niko grabbed something for everyone. He paid extra to get the small boxes in giftwraps to not waste any more time by doing it himself, driving straight to the McReary house, Liberty Rock Radio droning on in the background. Packie’s favorite. It wasn’t long before he was pulling up by the curb and knocking, waiting for someone to answer, but the commotion that could be heard even from the street was obviously too loud for anyone to hear the door. He let himself in then, and Kate was the first to see him since Derrick and Packie were heatedly arguing over whose Irish accent was better. She let everyone know Niko was there before she introduced her boyfriend to him — Niko shook his hand and eyed him up. He seemed like a decent guy, and he figured that Packie and Derrick would have gotten rid of him already if he wasn’t. Maureen was setting the table at her pace, and Niko thought she seemed more energetic than usual. It was obvious that Christmas meant a lot to her. He told her apologetically that Roman and Mallorie couldn’t be there because Mallorie’s parents were hosting their own dinner, kissed her cheek and wished her a merry Christmas, to which she said it was fate that Packie had met someone like him. Niko briefly nodded, not knowing how to answer. Maybe she wasn’t wrong — he had saved Packie’s life, and God knew Packie had saved his.
Dinner went nice. Much nicer than Niko had ever expected, knowing how the family tended to start an argument over the smallest thing, but maybe him and Kate’s boyfriend being there helped. And the best part about eating with the McRearys was that Niko didn’t have to talk about himself too much. If there was one thing the family was undeniably good at, it was telling old stories. They had a bountiful supply of them, most of them Maureen didn’t approve of but still listened to; not all of them were funny, but they were all interesting in their own way. It was a breath of fresh air to not be asked about himself all the time, if Niko had to be honest — he could only answer so many questions people asked, wanting to find out more about the mysterious European. He ate a little bit of everything while he listened to the story Derrick and Packie started telling together about a job gone hilariously wrong, laughing like they hadn’t been arguing half an hour ago. Maureen gave them a disapproving look, told them they would burn in hell like her husband if they didn’t give up their ways. Derrick looked upset by the comment but to Niko’s surprise, even then they didn’t start anything. It made Niko think they were capable of change; no matter how fucked everything was, maybe they didn’t have to fight at the kitchen table for the rest of eternity.
After the dessert, they moved to the living room to have drinks. Mauren gave each of them a selection of chocolates and gloves, and no one else had gifts to put under the tree except for Niko since apparently, the topic of gifts had always been another source of argument in the family. When Niko started handing them their gifts, Packie looked just as pleasantly surprised as the rest of them, but as everyone opened the wrapping, he told Niko quietly that he had something for him upstairs.
They took their drinks to Packie’s room, where Niko put his glass of wine on Packie’s bedside table while Packie dug something out of the closet. “You’re gonna love this, lad,” he said cheerfully, looking proud of himself. He held out the car bomb he was holding in his hands to Niko.
Niko thought it was a joke at first, and he laughed. “Very funny, asshole,” he huffed, not making a move to take it. “Where’s the real gift?”
“This is the gift,” Packie said, looking dead serious, almost offended. “It’s a fucking bomb. Useful. Best of its kind. I made it myself.”
It clearly wasn’t a joke, then. Niko nodded and took the bomb, not sure how to take it home when everyone else was enjoying their drinks downstairs. “Thanks, Packie. I’ll be sure to use it well.”
Packie patted Niko’s arm. “You should. Be careful, though. It’s more powerful than the last one I gave ya.”
Niko nodded, put the bomb on the bed next to the gift he had gotten for Packie that was still wrapped. “Are you gonna open yours?”
“Yeah, sure,” Packie grinned, grabbing the package. “Can’t believe you got everyone a gift. I bet they’re all socks and shit.”
“Not quite.”
Packie didn’t really seem to believe Niko, hastily ripping the gift wrap and pulling out what was inside as if he wanted to say I fucking knew it.
His expression changed to one of confusion, then surprise when he saw the box contained a small sketchbook and pencils instead of socks. The good kind.
The silence lingered on for so uncomfortably long with Packie’s head hung low that Niko began to think that maybe he had misinterpreted something. Maybe Packie didn’t like drawing that much, after all, and he only doodled on receipts and napkins to pass the time. And the worst of all, maybe he didn’t know Packie as well as he thought.
But eventually, he looked up from the box, and Niko could swear that Packie had tears in his eyes. “…Are you crying?” he blurted out just so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge the fact that seeing Packie like that made things to his heart. Heart of a hardened criminal who wasn’t supposed to be affected by anything.
“No,” Packie grunted, furiously wiping his face with his sleeve. “There’s just water in me eyes, Niko boy. Fuck off.”
Niko snorted out a relieved laugh. “So… I take it you like the gift.”
Packie didn’t answer it, just muttered, “How did you know I like drawing?”
With a shrug, Niko said, “I see you always draw on the napkin when we drink at the bar.”
“…Really?”
“Yes,” Niko said. “Not bad for a drug dealing de-fucking-generate from some armpit in Eastern Europe, huh?”
Packie laughed, then wiped his eyes again. “Fuck. And I gave you a fucking bomb. Fuck me.”
Niko shrugged, leaned down and picked up the wrap to tear off the sticky gift bow from it, lightly slapping it on Packie’s forehead. “Now I have two gifts.”
Packie cursed, threw the gift box on the bed and playfully wrestled Niko. Under fair circumstances, Niko would have won easily, but Packie’s sudden attack made him fall on the bed on his back with Packie on top. He removed the bow from his forehead and chucked it across the room and grinned. “Not so easy, Niko boy.”
Instead of fighting him, Niko stayed still, looking up cautiously. “Yeah?”
Packie grabbed his face with his hand, still looking mischievous enough until he hummed, “You want a proper gift? I’ll give you one.” Niko closed his eyes, heart thrumming in his chest as he felt Packie’s lips on his own, kissing him roughly. Before he could answer it, it was over, and Packie was staring down at him with an intense gaze. “That good enough for you?”
Niko swallowed heavily, flushed under Packie’s gaze. “I think I prefer the bomb,” he breathed out before one of his hands found the front of Packie’s shirt to pull him down for another kiss, warm and playful but genuine.
When they went downstairs ten minutes later, Niko watched Packie realize that everyone else had gotten socks with an amused smile.
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augment-techs · 2 months ago
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📁 + Ollie, Aiyon, Amelia and Javi
Ollie has actually really horrible depression in the aftermath of working under Zedd and realizing that his very first relationship was destroyed because apparently the uninhibited person hiding underneath his exterior was a psychopathic asshole that was down to murder 24/7. Billy ends up having to get him to see a therapist that was a former Ranger and could also prescribe him medication when he dropped twenty pounds.
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Sometimes Aiyon just gets so sick of everyone and everything that has to do with being a Ranger that he turns off his communicator and puts his morpher away and just walks around town and the boardwalk and the forest. Goes shopping for food, or does laundry at a wash place, or goes into little thrift book stores and settles down in the back amongst paperbacks that look truly hideous, but sometimes can hold his attention until either the owner gently tells him it's closing time...or one of his teammates comes and settles beside him and they buy a couple books and then go across the street to the coffee shop to sip drinks and read in silence.
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The first time Amelia thought about getting pregnant and then all that would entail, she vomited at her feet and then into some bushes, because the thought hit her while she was out ghost hunting with Javi after all the chaos of Zedd's bullshit died down. Which was weird, because while the idea of her and Javi together with a child made her so, so, so happy, the idea of something occupying her insides for months on end--and then leaving in the most painful way--gave her a massive panic attack.
Really, the only reason she calmed down without talking about it was because Javi held her hair back until all she could bring up was stomach acid, and then he gave her a piggyback ride back to base--stopping by a good Thai restaurant to buy an extra large order of egg drop soup to go. He assumed it was just all the stress of everything hitting her like a truck (Billy having gone through what to do if that happened, because it would happen to all of them; it was all part and parcel of Ranger trauma) and they never got into it. He just tucked her into bed, and fed her soup patiently, and then snuggled in next to her when she finally fell asleep.
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Javi collects little things that take up his apartment that remind him of his team and other Rangers his met or admired. Mostly precious stones or crystals from theme shops (rose quartz for Amelia, crude jade for Izzy, carnelian for Fern) but also just plain old rocks out by the river or some sort of nuts that fall during the change of seasons (a stone with a hole in it for Aiyon, a smooth rock from the ocean that was blue or black depending on the light that was as big as Javi's hand but had a weird jagged edge for Ollie, an acorn that must have been from a really old tree because it was as big as a baseball that Javi kept in memory of Zayto).
Billy and Solon don't have any items for them yet, so Javi has a tendency to keep an eye out for things that remind him of them. His brain keeps telling him to go into toy shops for this, but he doesn't want to explain himself if he bumps into anyone.
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@skyland2703
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linkemon · 1 year ago
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Youtuber AU headcanons 2
Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here.
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Chongyun
✧ This boy plays all (absolutely all) paranormal games. He is also no stranger to horror as the two genres often go hand in hand. For this reason he got a lot of viewers, as he sticks to the trends.
✧ He started recording thanks to you and his friend Xingqiu. He believes that this is how he can easier meet someone who spoke to ghosts before which has been his dream for a long time. He had a few reports so far but though he had thoroughly investigated them, they turned out to be false. His dream is to see at least one ghost in his life.
✧ Chongyun likes conspiracy theories. He has a couple of videos commenting on them. He believes in a lot of strange things.
✧ Fans loved him mainly for his personality. He is very open towards them and does not criticize. For this reason there were some haters very early in his career saying that he was actually faking kidness because no one can be so nice all the time. Chongyun said he didn't mind but you decided to intervene because it shouldn't be like that.
✧ One of his special signs is ice cream. He overheats very quickly and always keeps spare tube in the freezer. He ate them in front of viewers to such an extent that a brand of frozen sweets offered him cooperation. He agreed and now you can see his entire line in stores. In return, he got a huge supply, so he's happy.
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Yun Jin
✧ She started her career working in the opera. Thanks to this and education devoted to singing, she dedicated herself to this field for the rest of her life.
✧ Once she started working regularly, she realized how little people know about the behind-the-scenes work in a place like this. So she started with a few videos with trivia about the opera. She was very keen on spreading culture and older traditions in a modern version. Then she moved on to covers of all sorts of songs and it stayed that way for a long time. Her timbre of voice is perfect for calmer titles but she has been persuaded several times to collaborate with Xinyan and her rock tracks.
✧ Viewers are surprised by her relationship with her father. They find it cute how he passed on his passion to her. She recorded a video with him and her mother, where they talked about her beginnings in her career and also the dance abilities, which was rarely shared.
✧ Yun Jin does not stream. Her involvement with viewers is manifested in responding to comments. She does it in her free time, which she doesn't have that much. However, many times it happened that fans of her online work came to the performances. It was often their first time at the opera, which she confided to you that she enjoyed the most.
✧ She's getting ready to put on a big opera now. For the first time as a person coordinating the whole thing. You help her gain inspiration. She can be very tired but every day she asks you to tell her exactly all the interesting things that have happened to you. She's hoping she'll get the epiphany. Her dream is to create the greatest play the country has ever seen.
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Yanfei
✧ Lady lawyer whose channel is very small. Mainly because Yanfei rarely plays and quite niche titles at that. For this reason, she does not invest in equipment and has problems with it. Yanfe is a streamer because she values real-time interactions with viewers.
✧ A little more publicity brought her series called Ace Attorney. The adventures of the main character, who performs the same profession as her, meant that she could perfectly relate to the events on the screen. She explained in an accessible way what are the differences between the game and how the law works in reality.
✧ When someone leaves donations for a new piece of equipment, she sets it so they can choose a certain law and she recites it from memory. She has never been wrong. You wanted to buy Yanfei a better camera for her birthday but she said no. She wants to buy things for her hobby on her own.
✧ Yanfei considers it unethical to handle the affairs of her viewers. If someone introduces himself like this to her law firm, she will transfer the case to someone else. However, if these are general questions that appear on streams, she will answer them right away and quite extensively.
✧ Her Grandma - Ping sometimes comes into view. She usually brings tea or cookies. She waves to viewers but has not agreed to appear in public outside of these occasional meetings. You also stay away from your darling's youtuber work.
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