#like that is the sort of thing i would entirely make up if i needed everyone at the table to fuckin hate an npc

[hauntedfawnn]

rafe cameron omegaverse would eattttt i can never find any fics of that

(Ask and you shall receive!! This is sort of a trial run I guess? I’ve never seen omegaverse in the OBX fandom so I’m just not sure if people aren’t into it or if they don’t really know much about it. If you’re confused on any terms/have any questions about this troupe my inbox/DMs are open!!)

✰ When Rafe catches your scent at one of his parties… he just has to have you. (Alpha!Rafe Cameron x Omega!Reader) ✰

𐙚 Possessiveness/jealousy, general omegaverse behaviors (scenting, knotting, marking), biting, a tiny bit of blood, unprotected sex, spit kink, pussy eating 18+MDNI! 𐙚

Rafe smells you the minute you walk into his bustling Tannyhill party. Even if he doesn’t see you quite yet. Your scent is better than any drug he’s ever snorted into his nose or smoked into his lungs. It’s sugary, sweet, strawberry jam. It smells like someone is cooking the most saccharine, mouth watering strawberry shortcake cake ever made. And he absolutely needs to find the source. He feels like a fucking hound sniffing around this party, lingering on each omega’s scent that hits his nose. But none of them are the one he’s searching for. That is until he walks past you standing by the drink table.

The minute your scent wafts into his nose from a few feet away his entire being is locked in on you. He’s never seen you before but you’re here with one of the country club girls so he assumes you’re from out of town. You’re wearing this cute little pink top and this black mini skirt and you have the prettiest face he’s ever seen. Rafe isn’t one to notice small things about people but your make up is done up all pretty and he wants to shove his face in your perfectly styled hair and inhale your scent like it’s the air he needs to breathe.

Rafe watches you for a moment, observing the way you laugh and how your smile reaches your eyes. He’s in a lovestruck trance, that is until some meat head, alpha dude he went to college with walks up to you. His eyes rake over your form and Rafe can practically see the way he’s inhaling your scent.

It immediately fills Rafe with pure, instinctual, jealousy and rage. And Rafe doesn’t do possessive. He doesn’t get attached. He fucks girls, betas and omegas alike before ghosting them without remorse or a second thought. But he felt the need to own you the second he smelled you, before he even caught sight of you. He wants to bend you over and fuck you like a wild animal, fuck his cum into you, and sink his teeth into your neck, claiming you as his own for the rest of your days.

He can’t believe you’re walking around smelling like a goddamn bakery unmated and without scent blockers. You’re practically bombing the entire house with your scent and he can see other alphas looking your way and stalking around you like a pack of horny vultures. He can’t have that, not in his house, not his girl. He doesn’t even know your name yet but he knows for a fact that you belong to him. Rafe walks over to you. He shoulder checks the guy you’re currently giving your attention before standing in front of him, completely blocking him from your view.

“Hi, I’m Rafe.” He smirks down at you with a sparkle in his blue eyes as he offers you his hand. “This is my place. Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, you new?”

“Hey man, I was fucking talking -“ the sparkle in Rafe’s eyes turns to blue flames as he flips around to face the guy with his lip curled back in a snarl.

“You were just leaving, actually.” Rafe flares his nostrils at the guy, daring him to challenge him. He’s bigger than him by a lot and he’s a hell of a lot more important to this island that some fucking idiot who buses tables for him at the club. Rafe has size and authority on his side. The guy shrinks right before his eyes before muttering an apology and scurrying off.

Rafe runs his hands through his dirty blonde hair before turning back to you. The sight of your pretty face bringing a smile back to his lips. “Sorry about that. As I was saying, are you new around here?”

“Yeah, just visiting my cousin.” You giggle as you give him your name. You’re nervous but flattered he’d chase someone off like that just to talk to you.

You smelled Rafe’s scent the minute you arrived at his house and you’d be lying if you said your eyes haven’t been following him all night. You’ve never smelled anyone like him in your entire life. He smells like a warm night at the beach. With a fire burning and the wind whipping the salty ocean breeze into your nose. There’s a muskiness to it that just adds a little extra something and you want to wrap your arms around him like a koala and shove your face into his neck.

“I figured, pretty girl like you would be hard to miss.” Rafe offers you a flirty smile as he leans down so his face is inches from yours. “Plus I don’t think I’d be able to miss your scent from a mile away. You smell so fuckin’ sweet.”

Your skin heats at his words, your nipples pebble in your shirt and you feel your panties start to get slick. His forwardness is making your head spin. “Yeah? You smell really good too.. I caught your scent as soon as I got here.”

“Can I be brutally honest, baby?” Rafe’s tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip as he lets his eyes slide down your body. Not only did you smell divine, you were wearing that tiny little skirt he wanted to rip off of you. And the minute you started getting wet, he could smell your desire.

“Yeah.” You giggle, feeling shy under his intense gaze. The pet name didn’t hurt either.

Rafe tips his head so he can run his nose along your jaw, inhaling your delectable fragrance. His breath tickles your skin as he brings his lips to your ear. “I fuckin’ want you. Your scent is driving me insane and I want to rip that sexy little skirt right from your body.”

“Do it then.” You sigh dreamily, subconsciously rubbing your cheek against Rafe’s head as he shoves his nose into your neck.

“Fuckin’ look at you.” Rafe licks his lips as he stands over you spread out for him in his bed. He ripped your shirt off and manhandled you into your back the minute his bedroom door was shut. You’re still wearing that sexy little ruffle skirt and you have your legs spread just enough for him to see a flash of your pink panties that are covered in stars. His eyes hone in on the wet spot in the middle and it’s like he becomes a man possessed. He darts between your legs, throwing them over his shoulders so he can shove his face into your pussy. He inhales deeply, his eyes rolling back and a damn near growl escaping his lips.

“God you smell so fuckin’ good. I’ve gotta taste you, baby.” Rafe makes good on his promise from earlier, grabbing not only the hem of your skirt but your panties too and ripping them clear down the middle with his alpha strength. His pupils dilate at the sight of your glistening, wet, pussy. He runs his nose along your dripping slit, inhaling your sweet aroma. He shoves his tongue between your lips, gathering the sweet nectar that’s dripping from inside you. He swirls his tongue around and brings it to your clit, sucking it into his mouth.

“Oh god, Rafe. That’s so fucking good.” You whine as your writhe beneath him. His tongue circles your hole before he shoves it as deep as it can go inside of you, fucking you with it. He brings his thumb to your clit and it has you seeing stars. Your orgasm wracks through you like a tidal wave and Rafe has to pin your hips to the bed so you can’t get away from his sinful tongue.

“S’goddamn sweet.” Rafe moans as he looks up at you with hooded eyes, the bottom half of his face covered in your juices. He holds eye contact with you as he swipes his large ringed finger across his chin so he can gather your slick and then he sucks his finger into his mouth. “Can’t let any go to waste, can we?”

Your pussy clenches around nothing as you watch him, a rush of slick dripping from you, practically begging Rafe to shove his cock inside.

“Please fuck me, alpha?” You whine as you spread your legs, presenting yourself to him. Something fully snaps in Rafe then. He hurriedly rips off his clothes before kneeling between your legs, giving his rock hard cock a few languid strokes.

“Don’t worry, pretty, I’m gonna take care of you. Gonna fuck this pussy so good you’ll never want another dick again. Gonna make you fuckin’ mine.” He runs his tip through your folds and taps it against your throbbing clit a few times before lining up with your entrance and pressing just the tip in. He pushes in a few inches before pulling almost all the way back out and then he thrusts his hips forward, pushing his cock balls deep inside of you.

“Oh, fuck yes.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your pussy pulses around his thick length as he starts to fuck into you like a wild animal. Rafe grabs onto your jaw and it makes your eyes fly open.

“Fuckin’ look at me while I take what’s mine, I wanna see your eyes when you fall apart on my dick.” The look in Rafe’s eyes is feral as he lets go off your jaw to shove two fingers in your mouth. He hooks them along your bottom teeth, pulling your mouth open. He gathers some spit in his mouth before letting it fall onto your tongue and his taste lights up your senses.

“Mmm, you taste so good, alpha.” You moan as you swallow what he gave you.

“God you’re so fuckin’ sexy. Good little omega. Gonna scent every inch of your perfect body so every alpha within two miles will know you’re mine.” Rafe shoves his face in your neck and rubs his cheek against your scent gland to prove his point. He runs his teeth along the column of your throat, teasing you.

“Please mark me, alpha.” You crane your neck to the side, giving him more space. “Make me yours forever.”

Rafe has never considered marking anyone, claiming anyone as his own. But right now? He’s never felt more possessive in his life. He needs to claim you. Make you his. Breed you. He growls into your neck, his cock still thrusting deep and hard into your cunt. He flicks his tongue out across your skin, tasting your sweat and something that is just you before baring his teeth and sinking them into your flesh. Your back arches off the bed and you cum so hard you almost want to cry. You feel the bond between you and Rafe settle. That bite on your neck connecting him to you for eternity.

“Mine.” Rafe snarls as he licks the blood that’s dripping from his bite. He leans up, grabbing onto one of your thighs and pushes it up to your chest. The thumb of his free hand finds your clit as he fucks you brutally, without remorse. “Gonna breed this fuckin’ pussy, baby girl.”

“Yes, yes! Please fill me up, alpha! I want your knot!” That does Rafe in. He pounds into you hard and deep as his balls tighten and his cock twitches inside you. Rafe paints your walls with ropes of his cum and the feeling hurdles you into another orgasm right along with him.

“Good fuckin’ omega, such a good girl for me.” Rafe grunts as he feels the head of his cock start to expand and his knot pop inside you. You squeak in surprise at the pinching feeling but it soon turns into pleasure, another mind blowing orgasm that makes you nearly see white, overtaking your entire being.

“Wow.” You giggle and sigh as your body falls limp beneath him. Rafe wraps his arms around your waist so he can roll onto his back and pull you to his chest, his knot still nestled deep inside you.

“Mine.” Rafe growls as one of his hands grabs a handful of your ass and the other cups your cheek, tilting your head up to look at him. He realizes in his frenzy to be inside you he never kissed you so he connects your lips in a filthy, passionate kiss. “Never letting you outta my sight.”

“Good because you’re mine.” Your hand covers his large one that’s cupping your face. You tilt your cheek so you can rub your cheek against the scent gland on his wrist, marking him. It makes Rafe’s cock twitch and harden again inside you and then he’s fucking you again. And again. Until your eyes flutter shut with bliss, surrounded in both your scents, wrapped up in your alpha’s arms.

Tagging mooties: @eerielamb @dementedkittenribbon @cameronsprincess @nemesyaaa @that-sarcastic-writer @eddiesxangel

Dividers by @anitalenia

[azzandra]

Aw, man, can't believe it's been two years since I wrote that.

When I reblogged and added my little commentary, I actually hadn't anticipated my comment to be reblogged by more than a couple of mutuals or be seen outside of my followers. I was just sharing a term that popped up in my head as a joke.

If I knew this glib comment I dashed off one morning without much thought was going to breach containment and take on a life of its own, I probably would have added a few disclaimers.

Since then, I've seen some people miss the point about what I was talking about in a few huge ways, so I'll clarify now a few points:

I have nothing against the cockroach wife dude.

I don't know if that story is true or not (there are some weird people out in the world, so I won't dismiss it out of hand, but like. come on) and I sincerely do not care that his spankbank was exclusively taken up by a cockroach woman. The part of his tale that we should take as a parable is where he solely and without being forced by anyone else hinged his entire sexuality around an imaginary construct that then made him incapable of being attracted to real human women. Remember, his story starts with him complaining that he can't get it up with his human girlfriend without picturing her as a huge cockroach. He did that. Nobody forced him to develop this condition. This is a lesson for the rest of us.

people going 'I think they're both pretty!' like that's the centrist silver bullet to this phenomenon.

Listen, yeah. I agree. Both versions are meant to be attractive, just to wildly different demographics. You know who doesn't agree? The guys I'm talking about.

The dudes I am referencing do NOT think both characters are attractive to different people. They think the original is attractive to NOBODY, and everyone else in the world is just PRETENDING that the first one is attractive in any way, and they're convinced everyone else also objectively knows the original art is ugly but there's a conspiracy to subject poor defenseless heterosexual men to pictures of butt-ugly women in order to brainwash them or something.

The guys afflicted with Cockroach Wife Syndrome are on some gamerbro qanon shit where their perception of reality is slanted to a comical degree, but they think their experiences are objective and unbiased, and they're making it everyone else's problem.

people smugly going 'OP has an anime girl in their icon' like that's some sort of gotcha

Yeah, man, I'm not opposed to anime girls. I'm not even opposed to hentai, or blender porn, or masturbation. I think everyone deserves to masturbate if they want to, and the way the world is going, we all probably deserve to masturbate a lot more (porn addiction isn't a real thing, my dudes). I accept that some people are going to jerk it to stuff that I don't find attractive, and maybe consider repulsive, and that's just going to be a fact of life from here unto eternity. We all need to come to terms to that.

But the Cockroach Wife Syndrome sufferers do NOT want to accept it. They want the entire world to have only one porn preference that aligns neatly to their own, and also they want all fictional depictions of women everywhere to adhere precisely to their porn preference.

And like, why would we do what these guys say? Now, me, personally, each time I see one of their yassified sexy edits of an already pretty female character, it always looks like the tackiest shit to me, like they're a toddler who got into mommy's make-up. I want to start a GoFundMe to send them to beautician school. I don't care how much they screech about it, they cannot convince me their aesthetic tastes are something to emulate, so I coined this term for them just so I had a name for their obnoxious behavior.

All that being said, in the time since I wrote this post, I discovered it gained some traction outside of tumblr. "Cockroach Wife Syndrome" was added to Urban Dictionary. There are people slinging around the term on twitter. I personally got jumpscared by running into it in the wild on reddit, which was how I found out people are actually using it. Honestly, I am not that hyped about this being my legacy (and I am so sorry to the OP of this post that I got them stuck with seeing every reply or tag someone ever makes about the cockroach wife guy, like I'm some malevolent storytime cuckoo who dropped disturbing internet tales in their nest). But ultimately, I think this one is actually on the thousands of people who reblogged it and considered that I described a phenomenon that they also observed.

Y'all stay safe out there, and remember to vary your masturbation material once in a while.

i wish i could see this picture for the first time again

[satocidal]

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ Whispers and Wonders - Geto Suguru

warning: idk what or why or if it makes sense. hurt/slight comfort(?) word count: 0.7k

The silence felt ever-consuming, engulfing, pitiable.

The blood on his hands was fresh, his regret presentably amiable, your horror - expected.

-

“How long will you be gone?” you’d muttered as an after-thought fingers braiding through his hair - a hobby, barely conscious.

“Might be a couple of days?”

“Oh…okay,”

Last thing you spoke, last thing he heard from you - a hundred million left unsaid.

-

There on, you wondered often, why you didn’t bother - and you wondered further, why didn’t he open up? 

You talked and talked and talked, to yourself - he was gone, it was done, you couldn’t get yourself to blame yourself, it felt too much, and when this happened - you did, for a sliver of a second, understand him.

You couldn’t blame yourself and blaming the rest felt tiring.

-

There on, Suguru wondered seldom, he thought of you less, less of your voice, lesser still that smile and least of all, the hurt you’d caused - for it felt overbearing after a point, defending you in his head, it felt against every fibre of his body to find love for you. He was unable to let you go, his mind was forceful, heart?

Another wonder in itself.

-

“Suguru Geto murdered an entire village.”

The words felt haunting, for a second you’d almost laughed at the absurdity - surely there had been a mistake - suguru?

A when would slip you lips absentmindedly, later when you stared at the ceiling of your empty room, Suguru’s side warmed by your presence, you’d wonder again if that was the same sort of empty you’d offered Suguru.

A why would slip Satoru’s lips, you’d shrug - how did it matter running through your mind momentarily, and you’d wonder as the blanket sized you up, it felt so hot and yet - so so cold, your entire body lay. And as you rubbed your feet in a desperate attempt to warm yourself you’d wonder if this detached state you’d lead yourself and suguru to had been a cause.

You’d fall asleep then, wondering further if warming yourself in the blanket had somehow had you more invested instead.

-

“Join me,” suguru had approached Satoru so far, Nanami and Shoko, all in vain - he didn’t bother with you, he knew the answer.

He did however approach you regardless, with a proposition different entirely.

100 villagers - 2 girls and a bloodied man, not physically, but you saw it in every breath.

“Hello,” you greeted then as normal—acknowledging the girls as easily as you acknowledged Suguru’s wide eyes, almost more homely than the relation had felt in its later stages.

but the truth was bare - you’d never broken up - Suguru came back.

“You took longer than a couple of days,” you mumbled, eyes dazed as you cooked tea for him, warmed milk for the girls.

Days? It had been 5 months, 13 days and 21 hours since you’d last met.

“I’m sorry,” you could hear the shaky throat - the lick of his lips, “i got caught up,”

After that, it was silence again - he didn’t ask you for nothing, you didn’t offer anything. 

No i love yous, no i missed yous.

The silence was soft, the girls sat in front of you one by one, suguru sat beside you - the blood on his hands was fresh still, in memory, your regret tangible, it didn’t matter, he was home. 

“Will you be gone again?” you finally whispered as an after thought, fingers braiding through the little brunette’s hair, “i will come back,” he whispered back, his head coming to rest on your shoulder - it felt needed, the embrace.

The ceiling of your wall seemed smaller now, the blanket wouldn’t be needed either.

“In a couple of days?"

“Just ask me to stay this time,”

You nodded, he grasped the hem of your shirt, he felt small now, younger, child-like, you’d realised quickly, the toll those 6 months had taken on him.

“please.”

All of this work is original and entirely my own please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

[sl-ut]

darlin’

pairing: timothy ratliff x fem!younger!reader

description: a trip to thailand is supposed to be a chance for some bonding between his three mostly-grown children and his new wife. however, that seems to be a much bigger ask than he initially anticipated.

warnings: smut, unedited (i wrote this in one sitting lol), follows the plot of ep 1 (not to the t), swearing, age gap, mentioned infidelity (both timothy and his ex-wife), reader gets called a slut once, the kids don’t like her, creepy stepsons, drinking, a really really bad attempt at southern slang sorry sorry sorry

words: 5.5K

date posted: 25/02/25

@graciesbow enjoy girl <3

Timothy had anticipated the sort of reaction he would receive from the general public when he made the choice to propose to his girlfriend, and even more so when it came to his own children. She was, of course, nearly twenty years younger than him, only three years older than his eldest child, and to make matters worse, she was also his former assistant. 

It came as quite the shock to some, and not at all to some others. He and his wife had not gotten along in years, only truly getting along during their occasional period of nostalgia-induced affection that occurred after each of their children’s major accomplishments, though those became fewer and farther between as they each got older. He wasn’t sure who had strayed from their marriage first, but he’d found out about his wife’s affair a month into his own, though he said nothing out of a selfish desire to protect his younger lover from public scrutiny. A few months later, his wife had come to him in a blinded rage, throwing a tiny piece of lacy cloth at his chest, an item he hadn’t needed to look at to know what it was. He didn’t feel ashamed at that moment, nor did he feel any sort of alarm at the attack as she screamed and cried at him. 

How could you do this to me? I knew it–I knew you were fucking your slut of an assistant for months now, but to bring her fucking underwear home? Have you no respect for me as your wife?

The words rolled off of his back easily, and he felt calmer than ever before. While his wife paced the floor before him, wailing about his infidelity and the pain he was bringing upon their family, all he saw was opportunity; finally the right time to leave his wife, a fresh start with someone newer, younger, who looked at him like he hung the stars in the night sky and had genuine interest in him, not just the security that came with being his wife. Plus, any regret or guilt that he ever may have felt had been melted away the moment that he discovered that his wife had also been unfaithful, potentially before even he had. She seemed surprised when he brought it up, but at least it made her stop screaming. 

Her questions then turned to, how long have you known? Why haven’t you said anything? What are you going to do?

The conclusion was simple: he moved into a penthouse condo by the end of the week, found a lawyer willing enough to take a few extra stacks of cash under the table to speed up the process of his divorce, and signed the papers. He allowed her to stay in the house with Lochlan until he was graduated and moved away for college, then she would need to find a new place to stay that she could afford on her own, with the help of her spousal support, of course (though, he was certain that she would weasel her way into the life of another man just as wealthy but not quite as stern as he was). 

The world seemed to be a brighter place when he woke up that very first morning in his condo with his lover curled into his side, nowhere else to be and no other life to go rushing back to. The transition was sudden and certainly not entirely helpful for his relationship with his children, but he knew that they wouldn’t stay mad at him for too long considering that they all knew fully well that their mother had been equally as unfaithful, only she had broken things off with her own lover after the divorce while he had his own move in. 

She needed to quit her job, of course, which Timothy assured her that she would be completely taken care of until she found a new job (though, he was attempting to convince her to stop working altogether). He was sore about having to find a new assistant, but hired a young man who was eager to schmooze his way up the corporate ladder only two days after her resignation, but it was all worth it when he was able to slide a heavy diamond-clad band onto her finger only a year later. 

The wedding had been small, only a handful of people from both of their families and a few close friends followed by a three week long honeymoon at the White Lotus resort in Sicily. He’d been happy to see his daughter Piper accept a position in the bridal party, though she was still quite cold to her new stepmother-to-be behind closed doors. His new wife had been cautious about integrating herself into her step children's lives, and though they were all very standoffish, she was able to find a soft spot within each of them, 

Piper kept a tight upper lip, seemingly finding very few qualities in her stepmother that were worthy of her attention, but was easily tricked into conversation about her studies in university. Lochlan was easier to handle, her greatest hindrance in getting to know him being his more reserved nature, though, like his sister, he too felt an obligatory loyalty to his mother and often steered clear of his father’s new wife. The eldest of the three, Saxon, was the exact opposite of his younger siblings. In fact, she had a harder time steering clear of him than she did getting through to the others. He was close to her age, endlessly spoiled, and outrageously horny, finding little problem in his father’s affair and even less so once he and his siblings had begun spending more time with their father and his new wife.

Timothy Ratliff was the kind of man who would do just about anything for the ones he loved. For his wife, he would move mountains, buy her the finest jewellery, or live out the rest of his days in a shack in the woods. For his children, he would ensure that they always had the newest and finest of tech, no material desire left unmet, always finding a way to allow them to grow and succeed as much as they possibly could. It burned him to see his family so divided–he knew his children might never fully come to terms with the way that their parents had separated, but he hoped that, in time, they would come to accept his wife into their lives. 

So, when Piper told him about her thesis on Buddhism, he of course saw an immediate solution to his problem and booked the trip to Thailand with little other thought. The excitement that radiated through each of their faces when he announced the vacation over an intimate family dinner, giving each of them just enough time to make arrangements for their absence and pack their bags. 

The travel in itself had taken more than a full day, and though he had afforded each of them a seat in first class, it was beyond draining, but their arrival in Thailand seemed to make it all worth it. After hours on end on an airplane, the boat ride to their resort was little more than a dream, aside from the fact that Timothy had been silently cursing about the fucking asshole who had also been aboard, poisoning their precious air with his cigarettes and rotten breath, as he had put it while his wife only laughed and ran her hand over his bicep while she calmed him down.

“Maybe Thailand was the right choice,” she joked, freshly manicured fingers curling around the collar of his blue linen shirt. A smirk crossed her lips as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “It’s like, the relaxation capital of the world. Maybe we could book a couples massage, maybe see what other treatments they offer?”

He scoffed, “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves here, darlin’. I’m just hoping that we can all find a little more peace here, now for you, that might be massages and facials and such, but me? I’m looking at a little slice of peace right now.”

She slapped her palm gently to his chest, watching in admiration as he lifted her hand, admiring the glint of sunlight radiating from the large diamond on her finger before pressing a kiss to the stone, “Timothy Ratliff, you big old softy.”

“Now don’t go spreading that around town, you hear?”

She laughed, pushing herself away from him and off of the bench they’d been sitting on, “I’m going to grab a water. Don’t miss me too much.”

She met the watchful gaze of her stepdaughter on her way to the large cooler of bottled water just inside the cabin, taking four bottles out and redirecting her path towards the three young people huddled together. 

“Hey guys,” she grinned at them, holding onto her attitude with an iron grip as she received little reaction from any of them, aside from the eldest of the three, who slid his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to give her a once over, “What do you guys think so far? It’s nice, huh?”

Lochlan glanced at his siblings for some kind of reassurance, though he found none, “Yeah, it’s… nice.”

“Oh yeah,” Saxon added, his eyes trailing every inch of bare skin on his stepmother’s body, following the low neckline of her sundress, “just can’t get over this view.”

It took every ounce of strength in her body to stop herself from cringing away from his intense stare. She was still uncertain as to how he had been raised by a man who never made her feel anything less than loved and appreciated, but always assumed that his attraction to her was either some sort of childish vendetta against his father or a sign of deep-rooted mommy issues. She’d never actually spoken to Victoria one-on-one, and certainly never long enough to grasp any sort of understanding of her relationship with her children. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s pretty great,” she brushed it off, raising the water bottles into the air, “I grabbed you guys some water though. I know it can get warm back home, but make sure you guys stay hydrated. The last thing I want is to see one of you guys with heat stroke or something.”

Both boys took a bottle, Lochlan offering her a weak thanks while Saxon simply popped the cap off and took a long sip. Piper, however, turned her head away without a word, as if the words that had been spoken were nothing more than a whistle in the wind. 

She took a step back, doing her best to not look so hurt by the blatant rejection. Offering the boys a soft smile, she turned and made her way back to her husband, who gladly took the water that his daughter had refused. 

“Now wasn’t that sweet?” He cooed, curling his arm around her shoulder and dropping a kiss to the side of her head, “I think you’re starting to wear them down. Pip

er will come around eventually, just an adjustment, s’all.” 

“You think?” She settled into his side, “I just…I don’t want them to think that I’m trying to replace their mother or anything, but I wish they would see that we can all just get along. I don’t need them to love me, but is it too much to ask for them to like me?”

Timothy was silent for a moment, “If it’s any consolation, Saxon likes you–a little too much, I’d say, but it’s better than nothing. Lochlan’s shy at heart, but he’s already coming around, and Piper, well, I think you two just need to spend a little girl time together. Say, why don’t you take her to do all that spa stuff? You’d probably have a better time with her anyway.”

She scoffed, “You can just say no if you don’t want to go. Besides, I don’t want to take up any of her time when she’s working on her thesis. I know how important it is for her.”

“Jesus, darlin’, I don’t know how you do it,” she stared up at him in confusion, “You just always know exactly what to say to make me fall even more in love with you. You and that big stinkin’ heart of yours.”

She glanced over her shoulder to hide the love-stricken expression that crossed her features, finding that the land had grown incredibly close, a long wooden dock supporting a string of overly enthused hotel employees, all waving at the oncoming flux of visitors as the boat finally docked. 

The five Ratliffs trailed behind their guide as she led them through a wooded path to their villa, a large structure that seemed to be primarily made of large glass panels, which she may have opposed if it had not been so hidden away in the tall palms. She was glad to find that she and her husband would be taking the master suite, which was a fair distance from both of the other bedrooms and allowed them some privacy–if she was going to be fighting for the respect of her stepchildren while on vacation, she was at least going to need some undisturbed alone time with her husband. 

Their guide finished giving them a quick rundown, crushing the dreams of the two younger males when they discovered that, not only was there no wifi, but their devices were not to be used outside of their private villa. She knew that Timothy would find this hard to deal with, considering his line of work, but she had no issues tucking her phone away in her suitcase for most of the trip, aside from taking the occasional sunset photo. 

“Oh come on, guys,” she groaned, shaking Lochlan’s shoulder teasingly, “live in the moment. I think it would be good for all of us to lay off the tech for a little while, don’t you?”

A pink tint bit at Lochlan’s cheeks at the unexpected affection, “Uh, yeah maybe.”

“If I put my phone in the bag, does that mean you’re gonna keep me entertained all week?” Saxon smirked at her, ignoring the groan of disgust from his sister; it just wasn’t enough for him to make a point about Piper and her genitals being fully grown, he seemed hellbent on hitting on their stepmother too. 

Their father ignored his son, as he so often forced himself to, “We’ll be keeping the phones, Pam.”

She rolled her eyes at her husband, moving instead to watch the rolling tide against the shore just below their private deck. When their guide, Pam, finally finished her speel and removed herself from the villa, removed herself from her stepchildren, moving upstairs to do some unpacking and rinse off the uncomfortable layer of sweat that twenty-seven hours of travel had brought on, sighing in relief as she felt herself relax under the warm spray for only a moment before she slipped out, wrapping herself in a fluffy towel and stepping out into the grand master bedroom. 

She smiled to herself at the sight of her husband lounging on the bed, staring down at his phone with a furrowed brow, “What are my chances of stealing you away from that phone for a little while?”

He spared her a sideways glance, “Sorry, sweetheart, just gotta finish something up this afternoon and then I’m all yours.”

“Alright,” she sighed dramatically, “but I’m holding you to that.”

“I know you will.”

She caught his eye as she dropped her towel to the floor, stepping out of it to reach for the bikini she had laid out for herself on the bed, slowly and teasingly sliding the garments onto her body before reaching for the bottle of lotion on her bedside. He watched her silently, blue eyes trailing over the length of her body as she massaged the lotion into her freshly-washed skin. He let out a small sigh of discontent as she wiggled a short blue floral dress over her body and turned back to him with a knowing smile before perching on the edge of the bed next to him.

“I’m gonna go take a nap by the pool. If you finish whatever this is soon enough, I would love for you to join me.”

He set his phone aside for a moment, his palm coming up to cup the underside of her jaw and draw her closer for a kiss, holding her face in place as he easily asserted his dominance over her. She pulled away before it could deepen any further, pressing one more short kiss to his cheek before forcing herself to stand up and put some distance between them. 

“Finish that work,” she pointed a stern finger at him, “like I said, I intend to have you all to myself tonight. No work, no kids, no distractions.”

He scoffed a laugh at her, waving his phone at her dramatically as she turned and fled the room, “Yes ma’am.”

A nap by the pool was so much easier said than done. Perhaps for others, the tranquility of the resort would sooth them straight to sleep, especially after so much travelling, but she had become hyper aware of the intense gazes burning into her exposed flesh as she stretched out on a lounger. Both of her stepsons were on the opposite side of the pool, both watching her with intrigue. She often feared the fact that Lochy was so impressionable, especially by his older siblings. Piper, at least, was more level headed than her elder brother, but regardless, she hoped he was able to form his own opinions without their intervention, and she especially hoped that he did not turn his sights on her as Saxon had, but the way that they both stared at her made her uncertain of that.

She was equally as disgruntled as she was glad when Saxon turned his attention to some of the other women lounging on the pool deck, but at least she was finally able to rest. She was unsure as to how long she’d actually slept for, only that when she woke up, her husband had taken a seat on the edge of her lounge chair, gently shaking her awake.

“Sleep any longer and you’ll miss dinner, sweetheart,” he chuckled as she stretched her arms above her head dramatically, “and what was that promise you made? Something about having me all to yourself?”

She smiled sleepily at him, sliding her sunglasses up to rest on her head, “Yeah, yeah, I know what I said.”

The couple stared at each other lovingly for a beat, fingers tangling together over her bare stomach as she spoke again, “Did you finish your work?”

He hummed in response, “Sure did, but I’ll admit I may have had an ulterior motive.”

“Oh yeah?” She smirked, “and what was that?”

“Strangest thing, actually,” he smoothed his hand over his mouth and chin as he fought off a sly grin, “there was this woman, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone quite so beautiful.” 

“So what are you doing here then?”

“Well that’s the thing, she told me she’d be here, and I swear you look so much like her it’s almost hard to believe,” he leaned in closer and lowered his voice, “only difference is, she was naked.”

She lifted her foot and nudged it against his side, laughing coyly at him, “Well, I would never.”

“Oh no? Cause I coulda swore–”

“Can you two be done being gross now?” Piper’s voice cut through their interaction like a warm knife through butter, “this is a public place, you know.”

Timothy sighed, “Yes, darlin’. Just came down to make sure everyone got ready for dinner in time.”

The younger woman scoffed, turning on her heel and marching back to the villa, not caring whether they were following her or not. 

Dinner went by with just as many turns and twists as usual, each of the children giving their father a reason to stress, while he reciprocated with semi-impossible standards and tough love. Timothy was genuinely glad to return to the villa that night, even after receiving some strange call from the Wall Street Journal. He’d returned in time to avoid his wife’s extensive bedtime routine in the bathroom, slipping in to take care of his own just as she exited and climbing into the plush king-sized bed in his pyjamas as quickly as he could, grabbing the book off of his nightstand. 

“Doesn’t this place just remind you of our honeymoon?” She called from within the walk-in closet, “I think we’ll just have to make an effort to visit all of the White Lotuses. I hear the one in Hawaii is nice.”

He chuckled, eyes fixed on his book, “Our first night in Thailand and you’re already planning a trip to Hawaii next.” 

“I can alway go with someone else if you don’t want to,” she mused, appearing in the doorway of the closet and leaning against the doorframe, “but it would feel like an endless honeymoon, don’t you think?”

“Why don’t we focus on getting through one vacation at a time, huh? Then we can talk about going to–” his breath caught in his throat as he finally tore his gaze from his book to where his wife was posed in the doorway, donning a loose-fitted lacy nightgown, the floral pattern revealing glimpses of her bare flesh underneath, “well, now what’s this?”

“Took you long enough,” she shrugged, “thought I’d have to claw that book out of your hands.”

He watched her closely as she crossed the room, crawling across the bed to straddle his lap and pluck the novel from his hand, tossing it on the nightstand haphazardly. Timothy sighed at her, hands coming to rest on her hips as her own hands smoothed over his shoulders and curled around the back of his neck, “You could’ve at least let me save my place, darling.”

She raised a brow at him, “Oh, my bad. Let me just grab it for you–”

His fingers tightened around her hips as she attempted to reach for the book, pulling her back into his lap firmly, the lacy fabric of her nightgown bunching at her hips, “Now don’t make me pin you down, darlin’.”

She shook her head, pressing kisses up the column of his throat, “Nuh-uh. I’m taking care of you tonight.”

He pulled back for a moment, “You sure, sweetheart? I know we’re both pretty tired, you don’t gotta–”

“Are you telling me that you don’t wanna?” She muttered as she dropped her hips down to press herself against the growing tent beneath the sheets.

He grunted, “Now you know I will always want to with you, but–”

“So then you just need to lay back, relax, and shut that big mouth of yours.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She smirked at him, lifting her hand to carefully pluck his reading glasses off of the bridge of his nose and setting them on the nightstand, then finally leaning in to capture his lips in a slow, breathless kiss. He groaned into her mouth as she easily slid her tongue along his own, creating a familiar rhythm that they’d gotten down within their first few nights together. They were so in sync with one another, easily melting into one another’s embrace, sliding her hands underneath the thin fabric of his white cotton t-shirt and over his soft, muscular torso. 

“You are wearing way too many clothes,” she spoke against his lips, breaking away to slip his shirt over his head. 

“I was just thinking the same thing,” he murmured, pushing the lacy material up her sides, watching as every inch of her bare skin revealed itself to him, breasts bouncing as they were released from the soft cups of the dress and leaving her in only a matching lacy thong. 

His mouth dropped to suck one of her pert nipples into his mouth, tongue rolling over the sensitive nub greedily. She sighed at his touch, head lolling back and spine arching closer to him as he swapped over to the opposite breast. 

“Tim,” she gasped, “hey, this is supposed to be me taking care of you. How is it you always do this to me?”

“Guess I’m just too charming for you to hold your own.”

“Yeah, okay,” she chuckled, “now shut up. I mean it this time.”

She pushed herself away from him, crawling back just enough to pull the sheets and his pyjama pants down his thighs, watching gleefully as his hardening member rose to slap against his belly. When she had finally cleared the way, she moved to lay on her belly between his thighs, fingers curling around his thick cock and giving it a gentle squeeze, grinning at the sound of his breath catching. Holding his gaze, she leaned in, tongue gingerly tracing the leaking slit and humming at the salty taste of his arousal. At the sound of his first true moan of pleasure, she finally took him into her mouth, guiding his member into her mouth until his tip prodded at the back of her throat.

“Just like that, baby,” he let his head fall back to rest against the headboard while his fingers curled into her hair, gently guiding her movements as she began to bob her head along enthusiastically, small grunts and choking noises escaping her each time that he bottomed out inside of her. “Always so good for me.”

He allowed her to take over, keeping his hands in her hair as a reminder of exactly who was in charge while giving her the freedom to move as she saw fit. Perhaps she was right, maybe he did need to relax, and if this was how he could do that then she would not hear any more arguments from him. 

Finally, he pulled her up and off of him, a deep chuckle rumbling through his chest as she whined defiantly, “As much as I’m enjoying this, there’s something else I’d rather enjoy so much more.”

She giggled as he manhandled her across the bed until she was pressed to the mattress on her back, her husband hovering over her as his fingers teased over her barely covered cunt. She gasped at his touch, wiggling her hips eagerly to help him slide the lacy material down her legs, leaving her completely bare to him. He kissed her quickly on the lips, moving down her body to return the favour when her grasp tightened around him. 

“Nuh-uh,” she whispered between the kisses she trailed across his neck, “I am so, so, so ready.”

He raised a brow at her, chuckling as he ran his fingers through her folds, finding her soaked, “My goodness, darlin’. Have I kept you waiting like this all day?”

“Mhm,” she laughed, pulling him up to almost entirely cover her body with his own, legs wrapping around his waist as she rocked against him, a melodic sigh falling from her parted lips as his thick tip caught against her clit, swollen with anticipation. “Fuck, Tim. Are you gonna put it in or not?”

His palm tapped against her cheek in a mock slap, never willing to truly hurt her but just hard enough to put her in her place, “Patience is a virtue, my love.”

Her ankles hooked together just beneath his bum, using the strength of her calves to pull him impossibly closer. The defiant glint in her eyes quickly melted away into one of desperation as the moments slipped by, gasps of anticipation and annoyance as he continued to move against her, carefully prodding against her entrance before sliding upwards to her clit before he could fully slide into her warmth. 

“Patience,” she scoffed, her indignation growing with every moment as she stared up at his proud face, “I think I’ve been patient enoug–oh!”

He finally pushed his hips forward, sinking into her warmth until their hips were flush together. His head dropped to her shoulder with a groan, stilling as his tip pressed so deeply inside of her, easily finding that spongy spot inside of her that made her head spin and her limbs feel like jelly, though the pause was more a chance for him to collect himself rather than to allow her to adjust, but neither of them really addressed it. Her long nails traced up and down the length of his back, calming his nerves as he began ministering slow rolls of his hips.

She whimpered, thighs clenching around his hips, “Fuck, you feel so good baby.”

“Yeah?” he panted, finally pulling back to meet her lips in a soft, breathy kiss as his movements quickened, “Just like that?”

Her nails sunk into the muscles of his back, “Oh yes, right there.”

Timothy bent his neck, a somewhat uncomfortable angle for him as he moved back and forth between her breasts, offering each just as much attention as the other while his movements turned into firm, quick thrusts. One of her hands tangled into his hair, pulling his mouth away from her chest and back to her lips while the other slid down the length of his spine and took hold of one of his round asscheeks, squeezing it appreciatively as he let out a loud groan-stifled laugh. He could never fully understand his wife’s fascination with his ass, nor would he ever bring it up to anybody, but he was not opposed to her wandering hands when they were behind closed doors.

She was quick to topple over the edge, her moans growing louder and less reserved as she climaxed, body trembling from the aftershocks, though he gave her little reprieve as he pulled out, forcing himself onto his knees while flipping her over to lay flat on her stomach. He slid a pillow beneath her hips, angling her core towards him as he slipped back inside and draped his body over her own, his weight supported by one hand pressing into the mattress next to her head while the other gripped her hip, pulling her back to meet his every thrust.

Timothy didn’t miss the fingers that she had slipped down to rub at her clit as his hips pistoned in and out of her dripping core, “You need’ta come again that bad, darlin’? You needed me that bad?” 

“Mhm,” she whined, “needed you all day, Tim.”

“Let me take care of you, baby,” the hand on her hip moved around to the front of her, pushing her fingers out of the way and replacing them with his own, “you just lay there and take it. That’s right, turn that pretty little brain of yours.”

She followed his every instruction, cheek pressed into the mattress, lips parted to allow every cry and whimper to escape her as her back arched even more into his hips. Her legs bent at the knees, calves wrapping up the side of his hip. 

“Gonna fill you up baby,” he rasped, cursing as her walls began to flutter around him as the knot in her stomach threatened to snap for the second time that night, “you like that idea, huh? You want me to make you a mama or somethin’?”

Though they had no intentions of having any children in the near future, they had been equally responsive to the idea of her falling pregnant during sex. Her walls clamped down on him hard, body tensing as her juices gushed out around him. Her clit throbbed beneath his fingertips for a moment before her body went lax against the mattress, somehow even more so at his mercy than before as his hips began to stutter in response to his own orgasm rushing through him, sending spurts of his seed into her core, collapsing over her back in relief. 

“Goddamn, baby,” his breath was heavy against her cheek as he spoke, “never ever gonna get my fill of this pussy.”

She huffed out a breathless laugh, glancing at him over her shoulder, “Yeah, yeah, I love you, too. Now take me to the shower and let’s go to bed, I’m feeling awfully tired all of a sudden.”

“Oh yeah?”  He asked while he carefully unravelled himself from around her, climbing off of the bed while he guided her into his arms, swaying them side to side as he walked them over to the bathroom, where he left her to do her business while he started the shower.

“Yep,” she mused, that familiar glint of desire in her sleepy eyes, “besides, you’re gonna need your beauty sleep before round two in the morning.”

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Two: cellophane wrapping on funeral flowers

tw: alcohol, intoxication

It’s always sweltering in this damn restaurant. 

Countless patrons pack themselves tightly into booths and tables throughout the building. Their hands palm at sparkling tabletops as their wine glasses stay full and their food comes out hot, steam wafting behind plates like the smoke plume of a train. You’re unsure how they can smile through the heat that radiates off of their bodies as they stuff their mouths full and chuckle with friends. Suffocating, you wipe the sweat from your brow. It clings to every inch of your body, soaking you as if you’re a drowned cat. 

Despite your discomfort, you perform your job to the best of your ability. Weaving between tables, you lead guests to their seats before racing back to the kitchen to package to-go orders, and you’ve only gotten yelled at once tonight by the waitstaff for incorrectly seating a family of five. 

(And the fight that ensued from Bianca—or, Bee—defending you was only mildly uncomfortable. You still feel the gaze of every patron staring at you as if you’re some poor creature to be doted on.)

Really, tonight is no different from any other night that you work. Things are always semi-chaotic at a restaurant as successful as Sapori—a controlled chaos, as Bruce would remind you—but your pay as hostess is manageable. And they usually turn a blind eye when your hours start to brush close to the fifty mark within a week. You’re glad Bruce pays you under the table for that time. It’s not entirely legal—making money without reporting it to the government—but it helps you when you desperately need it.  

A blind eye—it’s always better this way when you don’t have someone trying to look out for you. 

Except, someone is always looking out for you, which is why you shouldn’t be surprised to find Aelin strutting through the entrance with an obnoxious foam pirate hat on her head. It’s poorly made, and the Jolly Roger design is beginning to peel. Your first instinct is to grab one of the menus and hide your face, but she’s much too perceptive for you to slip away without consequence. You manage to hide away most of your grimace with a smile as she approaches your counter. 

“Ahoy, matey!” she exclaims, though she uses only half of the enthusiasm you know she can muster. 

“I don’t think Jack Sparrow ever said that throughout any of the movies,” you deadpan. 

“Captain Jack Sparrow, mind,” Aelin corrects as she points to her hat. Made for a child, it sits too small on her head and knocked slightly to the side. 

“Right, of course.” 

“I thought you would’ve remembered that better after you oh so ceremoniously dubbed me Sparrow yourself, after him,” she eggs.

“Row,” you correct, “and it was well deserved.” Playfully, Aelin sticks her tongue out at you while she fiddles with the foam hat on her head. “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m here to pick you up,” she responds as if you should already know the answer. 

Just as you open your mouth to question her further, the answer smacks you. Halloween. No wonder why she’s wearing that stupid hat. It all comes back to you—the car ride, your promise to attend the party at Terminus with her; everything. You had agreed to it, and then promptly forgotten about it, which is why you’re nearing hour eleven of your eight hour shift. Had you remembered about your previous promises, you would have gone home a long time ago to recharge before spending the remainder of your exhausting night in a packed nightclub during a holiday. 

“You’re off soon, aren’t you?” Aelin asks as your silence starts to stretch. 

“Uhm, yeah,” you answer as your eyes flicker to the clock on your left. Five to ten. “Just… give me a few minutes and I’ll be good to go.” 

In reality, no amount of preparation can ever truly ready you for any sort of intense social outing, and you dread arriving at the club the entire ride there. As you sit in the passenger’s seat of her car, you find the palms of your hand slick with sweat. No matter how many times you try to wipe it off on your pants, it only seems to be immediately replaced with more perspiration. You’ve been to Terminus a few other times before this, all by request of Aelin, and still it’s not enough to become comfortably familiar. Everything is always too loud, too much, too close. 

But this is Aelin—you’d do anything for her. 

So when you find yourself in the private parking lot outside of the building, you try your best not to complain. It stands several stories tall, a hulking baronial beast that looks like an old storage building turned partyhouse. Foggy windows allow you to catch a glimpse of the sanguine lights flashing within, and you swear you see the panes shake with the beat of the music that bleeds through the stone.

A deep throb begins to gnaw at the soles of your feet and you feel a tension headache bloom by your temples as Aelin leads you to the VIP entrance. The outside area is well maintained with clean stone and well illuminated lights. There are several signs that state overall rules and regulations drilled into walls on either side of the entrance. Still, it’s not enough to hide the half-smoked butts of cigarettes and spilled liquor. In an attempt to quell your nerves, you suck in a deep breath of the cool night air as you remind yourself it can’t get much worse than this. 

Except it does—because it always does. 

You almost don’t recognize the large figure that stands outside of the entrance, but once those dark eyes land on you and you feel that pang rip through your stomach, you know it can’t be anyone other than Simon Riley. His gaze meanders back and forth between you and Aelin. Soft, inquisitive even. He lingers on you for a beat too long as if questioning your appearance like he can’t comprehend why you’re here in a place like this. As if he knows you don’t belong here. 

“Evenin’ ladies,” he casually greets. 

Even if you hadn’t recognized him visually—which would have been an odd feat, considering the sheer size of him—his voice would have been more than enough to jog your memory. You can still feel the way his breath tickled your ear the other night while playing pool. His timbre holds a delicious baritone that you swear can haunt your dreams. 

“Stuck on guard duty tonight, Riley?” Aelin teases. 

“Somethin’ like that,” Simon humors. 

“Shame. Well, Chip and I—” she continues as she tosses an arm around your shoulder to bring you close, “—are going to get wasted.” 

A slight smirk pulls at Simon’s lips. “That so?” he asks playfully. He says it as if he’s tempted to challenge her, but he steps to the side after a beat while gesturing to the open door behind him. “Cheers.” 

There isn’t any time to mutter a thanks before Aelin’s pressing onward, dragging you along with her. 

Walking into Terminus is what you imagine walking into hell feels like. Aptly named, thick air threatens to singe your hair, and you feel your diaphragm screaming as it attempts to suck a breath into your lungs. Countless patrons dance beneath florid lights, and it seems as if Aelin isn’t the only festive one tonight. Many of them wear masks, cheap costumes, or unabashed lingerie. The cheering from the dance floor forces your eardrums to pulse as if you’re listening to the screams of the damned. You swallow as you paw at your left ear—it aches already. 

Aelin yells something at you that isn’t strong enough to cut through the chatting of the crowd. Grimacing, you shake your head. Pointing her finger upwards, you’re vaguely able to read her lips. 

Up top. More room. 

Though the VIP section is usually reserved for smaller groups of people, the second floor is just as suffocating as the bottom. There is slight reprieve to be found in the fresher air and more restricted population, but not much. Aelin makes a beeline to the first bartop she sees, leaving you no choice but to follow along behind her. The bartender glistens beneath purple-toned lights that dance off her body glitter in a hypnotizing way like she’s a fairy lost in some concrete prison. Mirrors line the ceiling above her, so when you look up you’re really looking back down at yourself. Wide eyes, clammy skin, and an aura of exhaustion reflects back at you perfectly.

Once your drinks are filled, Aelin leads you to a private table in the far corner of the floor. It skirts close to the railing of an overhanging balcony that overlooks the dance floor below. Somehow it’s quieter. The speakers are positioned to blast their music toward the bottom floor rather than right in your face, giving you room to breathe through the discordance of the club. Swallowing, you toy with the rim of your cup, running the pad of your finger along the edge while trying to fight off the fatigue that yanks at your legs. 

“Well?” Aelin speaks up expectantly. She poses the word as if she had given you a question to answer, but it’s the first thing that’s been said between the two of you since you took your seats. “How have you been? How have you really been? We weren’t really able to talk the other night with all the other distractions, but I’ve been missing you.” 

“Oh. Well, you know…” you start only for the words to die in your throat. 

It’s never easy answering a question like this—not without lying. How are you supposed to twist your life into something interesting when you’re anything but? All you’ve done for the last few months—no, years—is work. Work, pick up extra shifts, and sleep with whatever free time you manage to scrounge up. Every pence you earn goes towards bills. You’re nothing but a cog in a machine. 

No, the only things worth telling Aelin are the things you can’t speak. You’re not sure your tongue would know how to form the words, but it’s not like this is anything new. You’ve gotten used to dodging the invasive questions. You’ve gotten good at lying. Sometimes you can almost convince yourself that you’re just a very imaginative storyteller rather than the rotten deceiver you truly are.  

Almost. 

“Fine. I’ve been fine. Just… working, mostly,” you excuse. 

“Oh, come on,” Aelin groans. She takes a quick sip of her drink—rum, as she had made sure to point out earlier—before overdramatically leaning back in her chair. Her hat slides to the side of her head, and she fixes it with a huff. “You always say that. It really is just work with you, huh? No redecorating the apartment again or getting excited over new cutlery? No getting out to talk to people?” 

Scoffing, your fingers tap against the table. “I think we both know that getting out is more your thing than mine. As is the excitement over cutlery,” you tease. 

“It could be your thing too if you didn’t ditch me half the time I invite you somewhere,” Aelin counters. As if tasting her own venom, she sighs as she leans forward, face softening like wet porcelain. “I meant what I said the other night. You are worrying me. More than just a little.” 

In order to give yourself some time to think, you raise your cup to your lips. Face contorting into a grimace, your vodka cranberry seems to be nine parts vodka and one part juice, and the brash alcohol tastes worse than cough medicine on your tongue. 

“What’s there to worry about?” you ask while trying to hide your cough. 

Raising an eyebrow, Aelin tosses a few strands of her hair back over her shoulder. “What isn’t there to worry about? I mean, you’re working yourself half to death, I feel like I hardly get to see you anymore—hell, I don’t even think you’ve ever managed to score a boyfriend!”

“I think I’m doing just fine without a partner,” you interject. 

“My point is,” she continues, “I just… I’m… terrified you’re still trying to punish yourself.” 

It’s difficult to believe that a place so full of life can fall so silent. Everything fades to black, leaving you with just a sharp ringing bell and an underwater fuzziness. Normal, the doctors had said. Typical for someone who went through what you did. Absolutely plaguing. There’s nothing you can say in response. Her words stun you because—unlike usual—she sees right through you. Like you’re nothing but the cellophane wrapping on funeral flowers. 

Putting you out of your misery, she continues talking so that you don’t have to. 

“Look, I… I know we’re not really family. It’s not my place to say stuff like this, but it’s… fuck.” Aelin cuts herself off with a slight shake of her head as a nervous chuckle expels past her lips. “I know I never got the chance to know you before… everything. But I look at the way you were back when you lived with John and I, and I look at you now and… it’s, I dunno. And I know that you’ve always been a little quiet, and you like your alone time but this just feels different, you know? Like you’re… pulling away from everyone. I just don’t want you to blame yourself for surviving.” 

It must be the alcohol. Surely. Aelin never talks about the accident, and neither do you. A silent rule settled between the two of you one day where you just stopped talking about it. You’d utter nothing about it when the anniversary came around, or when the events plague your sleep. You tell yourself that you’re quiet about it for her sake but really—you don’t talk about it because you’re certain the contrition will choke you on its way out of your throat. 

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Aelin continues softly. “For surviving it.” 

You swallow.

“I know.” 

She raises an eyebrow at you incredulously, forcing you to quickly give her a smile before she can chastise you for your sloppy deception. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever not feel guilty about it, Row,” you continue, a bit more truthfully. “It’s something that just… stays with you. I know it’s not my fault, and I’m not trying to self-sabotage or anything but it’s- like- just, some days are harder than others.” 

A bittersweet smile crosses her face as she nods. “Yeah I… I get that. Just remember that you’re not alone, okay? You’ll always have me and John. No matter what.” 

An awkward silence falls after you mutter a rigid thanks, yet everything continues to pulse around you. The music that vibrates the very molecules in the air, the patrons who jump and dance below you like a heaving pile of flesh; it all continues. 

The only thing that changes is the stale scent in the air. 

“Wow, what a way to ruin the fun,” Aelin chuckles. She shakes her head as if she’s physically removing the bad thoughts from her brain as she shakes her cup. “No more sappy talk for the night, I promise. I’m just about empty. Wanna come with me for a refill?” 

Just like Aelin had promised earlier that night, she spends the rest of the evening getting wasted, and it doesn’t take her long to get there. In a matter of hours her speech begins to blend into the mess of noise around you with fits of giggles and heavy slurring. Each step she takes is unsteady. She can hardly hold herself upright as she drags you to a pool table for what she swears will be a quick game. Her inebriation becomes so concerning that you forget all about your discomfort of being trapped in this club. You’re more focused on making sure Aelin doesn’t fall over. 

You consider it a blessing in disguise that you now have something else to focus on other than the prying eyes around you. Aelin seems completely immune to any outside forces as she sloppily leans over the pool table with her stick in hand. Each time she attempts to line up a shot, her hands seem to sway away from the cue as if its weight is suddenly too heavy to carry. This game has gone on for what you swear has been for the last hour; half in part due to you missing your shots, and half in part due to Aelin not being able to stay quiet long enough to focus on hitting anything properly. 

“Stop kicking the table,” she groans. 

“I’m not kicking anything,” you assure. 

“Why’s it vibrating?”

“That would be the music.” 

“The music?” she repeats. 

“Yeah. You know… the bass?” 

Nodding like she’s understood what you’ve said, Aelin makes her shot only to royally flub it, sending the cue ball ricocheting across the far side, nearly pocketing one of your balls instead of hers. You chuckle as she straightens herself up. Surprisingly pleased with herself, she adjusts the crooked pirate hat on her head as she grins at you. 

“Too bad Riley isn’t here to give us some pointers,” she teases. 

There’s something familiar in the tone of her voice that sends a jolt shooting throughout your spine. That familiar, yet confusing heat courses through your veins as you think back to dinner at Aelin’s house. Suddenly, you’re back in that garage. You feel everything; the felt of the pool table against the palm of your hand, Simon’s fingers brushing against yours, his voice rattling your ruined eardrum for all it’s worth…

“He seems busy with work,” you excuse. 

“Yeah?” she taunts. Her grin slowly melts into something hazier at your comment. It’s not quite malicious, yet there’s something oddly devious about it. Like she knows something you don’t. “Shame. You two seemed awfully comfy the other night.” 

You open your mouth to respond just for it to snap back shut. Of course she brings that up. Aelin can be worse than a mother teasing her school aged children about silly crushes, and you’re mortified that she’s doing this in her drunken stupor. Really, there was nothing special at all about what happened that night. Except for maybe the fact that it was the first time in quite some time that a man touched you and it didn’t make your skin crawl. 

“You’re reading too much into it,” you excuse while waving your hand. “He was just being helpful.” 

“You know, you should just date him,” Aelin says as if you had never spoken in the first place. 

For a moment, all you can do is stand there and blink. “You’re being ridiculous.” 

“No, I’m being serious,” she slurs. “He’s a good guy, really. Quiet, too. Sure you gathered that from the other night. Bit of a smart arse sometimes, but I think you two get on well. He’s like… roughened. Girls like that, yeah? That’s sexy.”

“Row, I don’t think-” 

“And you need someone to look out for you at home, too. Those apartments? Those ones you got for dirt fucking cheap? They’re falling apart at the seams. I wanna kidnap you sometimes and just, like, bring you home. You’re gonna get robbed one of these days.” 

“Really, it’s-” 

“Besides… he seems to be having a much better time following me around now that you’re here,” she huffs. “He never seems this interested when it’s just me.” 

You freeze. There’s nothing but shards of ice in your veins. Your mouth grows sere as you attempt to shake the frost off your shoulders—you’re in too much disbelief to attempt to look around the area for him. Simon—following you? How could you have missed such a thing when he towers over nearly every head in the building? 

“What?” Aelin teases, nodding her head to the area behind you. “You mean you haven’t noticed your little shadow?” 

It’s only then that you brave a glance over your shoulder. Your throat grows tight at the sight of him. He sits at a small gossip table in a chair that’s dwarfed by his size; you’re surprised the wood hasn’t given way beneath him. Long legs stretch out to the side so they’re not awkwardly bent, and he slouches against the back of the chair as if to make himself appear smaller. Luckily, his attention seems to be absorbed by his phone. The screen casts a dull glow on his face, vaguely illuminating the rosy scars that faintly line the bridge of his nose and the corner of his lip. 

You don’t think you could’ve handled it if you had looked back at him just to see him already staring. 

“John likes to send him as a guard dog whenever I come here. Things got a little crazy one time and now he’s gone all scorched earth thinking I’m gonna get assaulted or something,” Aelin explains flippantly. It seems as if she’s given up on your game of pool as her hands playfully bat the balls around like she’s a cat with a roll of yarn. “I promise he’s not being a weirdo. Not on purpose, anyway.” 

Things only start to get worse. Her teasing, her insisting that you try to talk to Simon, her drinking—they only increase. Aelin’s words and insinuations make your mind spin more than the small sips of alcohol you’ve allowed in your system. You stare at her with her glazed eyes and frizzy blonde hair, and your stomach twists like you’ve been stuck with a knife. 

Your only saving grace is John Price. He crawls out of some room a little past one in the morning in an attempt to wrangle his wife in. It’s impossible to talk any sense into her, it seems. Hands on her hips, John tries to prevent her from swaying too much as she giggles. You awkwardly watch from the sidelines as she pulls at his shirt in an attempt to kiss him—you’re jealous at her ability to ignore the crowd around her. Always confident, she acts as if she owns the place. 

In a way—you suppose—she does. 

“Wanna get some fresh air?” 

You don’t realize Simon’s even approached you until his fingertips rest on the pool table in front of you. Blinking, you follow the line of his arm. The wideness of his hand sits like a riverbed for the veins that dance beneath the thin skin. It ends abruptly at the long sleeved shirt he somehow manages to wear despite the stuffy air in the club, and still you continue up along his thick shoulders until you meet his dark eyes. 

Pulling at your left ear, you grimace when the pressure changes. “Huh?” you ask while you twist your right ear toward him to hear better. 

“Some fresh air? Wanna head outside on the terrace?” he asks before chuckling. “Thought we could give the lovebirds over here some alone time.” 

Blinking, you quickly glance back at John and Aelin before answering. They’re still standing there in each other’s arms, swaying and talking to one another. Aelin’s smile is bright as she looks up at him, and John can’t help but grin at her crooked pirate hat. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Outside sounds nice.” 

Simon brings you to the back of the VIP section where a door littered with heavy sharpie graffiti leads you to a terrace. The noise level instantly changes the moment the door shuts behind you. Plenty of patrons mingle about in the cool, fresh air, but their chatter is nothing but a whisper compared to the rush of the music trapped inside. Cold autumn air chills your feverish skin as he guides you beneath a canopy of lights. 

At the end of the terrace lies a thick, metal railing. The cold iron bites through your palm as you grip it and look down at the alleyway below. Just on the other side of the railing, where the ledge juts out against the building, there are pots of flowers. They’re small, waifish little things, but their attar cuts through the dull night air all the same. 

“You smoke?” Simon asks as he shoves a hand into the pocket of his jeans. 

He’s on your left again. Sighing, you watch him carefully take out a pack of cigarettes where he beats the bottom of the carton against the palm of his hand. Shaking your head, you turn around so that your back is against the railing, putting Simon on your right side. 

“No,” you say bluntly. 

“Good,” he hums. “Don’t start.” 

It doesn’t take long for him to light the thing and start puffing away. The scent of it cuts through the air, smothering the redolence of the flowers behind you, but you don’t mind. Each time he exhales, he makes sure to turn his head away, blowing the smoke well out of your way. 

“So, Mrs. Price is a pirate. What’re you dressed as?” he asks. 

Chuckling, you stare down at your work uniform. It’s nothing special. Just a plain black dress shirt with the pants to match. There’s a small stain of ranch that haunts the hem of your shirt, but you try not to bring any attention to it as you cross your arms. 

“Oh, uh, a Sapori hostess,” you answer humorously. “Didn’t really have time to change before getting dragged out here.” 

“Sapori,” Simon hums. “Heard that place is pretty fancy.” 

“It’s up there, yeah,” you concur. 

“They pay well?” 

“Thirteen fifty.” 

“Not great.”

You shrug. “It’s enough.” 

A sharp breath cuts through the air as Simon inhales another long drag from his cigarette. The embers at the end dance to life in a bright orange before going cold when he exhales. You feel your head go light as a feather as you watch the smoke swirl and dissipate in the air. 

“What about you?” you ask. “I know you work for John, but like… you know…”

“Security mostly. Makin’ sure people don’t get too rowdy. And whatever odd job he assigns,” he answers. “Usually end up workin’ nights. Same as you, I reckon.” 

“Yeah, though I’m usually off around midnight most nights,” you chuckle, then sigh. “I’d be in bed by now if it wasn’t for Row.” 

“Row?” Simon repeats. 

“Oh, uhm, Aelin.” 

“What’d she do to earn a nickname like that?” 

Your teeth dig into your lip as you smile. “I could tell you, but I think I’d have to kill you afterwards.” 

“Ah, one of those stories,” Simon chuckles. There’s a short pause in the conversation as he finishes off the rest of his cigarette before tossing it to the cement at his feet. He stomps out the embers with the sole of his work boots. “Alright, what about your name then, Chip?” 

A sharp, awkward scoff escapes your lips as you stare at your feet. Reliving the story of your nickname is something you haven’t had to do in a long while, and it feels wrong saying it. Like you need to keep every little thing about yourself hidden, lest someone see how truly pathetic you are. 

“You promise not to make fun of me?” you question. 

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he says facetiously as he leans his elbows on the railing. 

“A while back, Aelin’s grandma invited us over for tea. The cup she gave me was broken on the rim. Like, a perfect slice just missing from it. I was too… I dunno. Nervous, I guess? I couldn’t bring myself to ask for another cup, so I drank out of the broken one the entire time. When Aelin realized, she just laughed at me. Said it was like that little teacup. You know, from Beauty and the Beast? Chip? She’s called me that ever since.” 

A quiet chuckle rattles through Simon’s chest as he turns to face you. It’s deep. Canorous. Without the cigarette between his fingers to distract him, he’s able to give you his undivided attention. His gaze ignites your intestines. Burns your offals until they feel too warm within your skin. You swallow as he blinks at you. 

“Cute,” he murmurs. 

“Riley!” 

Both you and Simon turn at the calling of his name, and it doesn’t take long for either of you to find the source. John marches across the terrace with Aelin stumbling behind him. She’s somehow managed to lose her hat since you last saw her, though she doesn’t seem too heartbroken about it as she throws her arms around you the moment you’re within her reach. 

“You vanished,” she slurs, spiced rum heavy on her breath. 

“I was only gone for a few minutes,” you chuckle. 

“Too long.” 

“Riley,” John repeats again, quieter this time. “Would you take the girls home for me? Don’t want them trying to head home when she’s this… well… Just take her car, since I’m sure you took your bike here, yeah?” 

He hands off a set of keys to Simon, who shakes them around a bit like he enjoys the sound of the jingle. “I’ll take good care of ‘em.” 

Getting Aelin into the car is a difficult task. Swaying worse than a drunken sailor, she nearly sends you tumbling into the back seat after her as she plops her entire body weight while tugging on your arm. Eventually you both are able to settle just in time to watch Simon struggle to get into the driver’s seat. The poor man proves himself to be significantly taller than Aelin, and he somehow manages to bash the side of his head on the roof of the car with a grunt. After some quiet cursing from him—and plenty of merciless giggles from Aelin—he moves the seat back far enough so that he’s not completely scrunched over. 

The moment he ensures both you and Aelin are buckled in the back seat, he takes off through London. 

“This is what you get for being so tall,” she teases. “I mean, really. There’s no reason for anyone to be this tall. What did your mum feed you as a kid?” 

“You know, your husband is only a bit shorter than me,” Simon retorts. His eyes find yours in the review mirror for a split moment before his attention is back on the road. 

“Yeah, but John puts his inches somewhere a bit more important than height,” Aelin teases, low enough for only you to hear. 

Aelin manages to sober up some by the time Simon pulls into the driveway, but only slightly. Rum still taints her breath as she gives you a tight hug and thanks you for coming with her tonight, and she’s unsteady on her feet as she climbs out of the car. Simon keeps his hands up like he’s watching a toddler who can collapse at any moment. Once she’s set, she turns around to look at you where she points a finger in warning. 

“Stay,” she orders as if speaking to a dog. 

Confused, you glance awkwardly at Simon. “Uh… aye aye, captain.” 

After your confirmation, Aelin slams the door shut behind her before allowing Simon to lead her inside the house. It takes her three failed attempts to get the keys into the lock, each punctuated by an array of colorful words. The entryway is shrouded in a thick numbra that disperses when she flicks the lights on, and she confidently struts toward the living room. 

“Simon,” she says, motioning for him to follow her inside. 

Dumbfounded, he listens. Aelin makes it all the way to the living room where she slowly lowers herself onto the sofa with a huff. “Yeah?” 

“I want you to keep an eye on Chip for me,” she hums. 

Simon stiffly crosses his arms over his chest. “Of course.” 

“No,” Aelin whines, “I don’t just mean tonight. Like, after tonight. Keep tabs on her, or something. You’re good at that stuff, aren’t you?” 

Confused, Simon quickly glances over his shoulder as if he expects to find you standing in the entryway. “Is she in trouble?” he asks. 

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Leaning her head back, Aelin rubs at her eyes as if she can remove the drunken haze that clogs her vision. “It’s difficult to tell with her. She’s really good at keeping things hidden, but I just know something’s wrong. I’d just feel a lot better if you helped keep an eye on her. Especially in that fucking apartment. Simon, I swear, I’m surprised that place hasn’t collapsed yet.” 

“So, you just want me to be her friend?” Simon confirms. 

“Well obviously don’t be a fucking creep about it, but yes. I suppose,” Aelin nods. “And don’t tell her about this, either. And obviously not about… anything else. You know. The business and everything. I know John is strict about that but you really can’t share that with Chip. She just… needs someone in her corner.” 

Nodding, Simon mulls over her request. There are certain things that are expected out of organized syndicates—protection is one of them. When you own the streets, there’s a duty required of that mafia to serve the people who live within the community. He’s lost track of how many heads he’s knocked together in the pursuit of making sure people know the rules. Watching over you would be no different. After all, there’s really only one thing Simon Riley is good at:

Fighting.

“Consider it done.” 

The drive to your apartment is quiet. There’s nothing but the sputtering hum of the engine and the cracks in the road to fill the silence between you and Simon. Every now and then you mutter directions for him to take, but otherwise you’re thankful that he doesn’t spark up any real conversation. With it nearing two in the morning, you doubt you’ll be able to say anything coherent anyway. Instead, he turns up the radio and lets whatever station Aelin last had it on fill the dead air between you two. 

The next thing you know, the car is parked in front of your apartment complex, and Simon is opening the door for you with his hand outstretched. Blinking the weary fatigue from your eyes, you take his hand and allow him to help you out of your seat. He’s so incredibly gentle despite the fact you’re certain he could crush your fingers with a simple squeeze. He shuts the door behind you as you pat your pockets down for your keys. 

“Thank you so much for the ride, Simon,” you say once you have them in hand. 

“No problem,” he replies with a nod. Your teeth dig into the inside of your cheeks as you wait for him to leave, except he doesn’t. It’s not until he glances at the ancient building behind you that you realize he intends to walk you to your door. “Which floor do you live on?” 

Each step that stretches between you and the third floor is grueling in a cruel way. If the lift was fixed, you would have taken it but it’s been out of order for the last two months, no thanks to your less than helpful landlord. Your feet are screaming by the time you make it to your door, and you feel the earth begin to tilt. Your keys slide into the lock with ease, and it takes nothing more thana simple turn of the knob for the door to swing open and reveal your studio apartment. 

It’s nothing special. Peeling wallpaper adorns the walls like crunchy autumn leaves, and its yellow tint is brought out by the lone lamp that sits on the nightstand next to your bed. Messy sheets adorn your mattress where it sits shoved into the corner of the room closest to a lone window, and there’s a single door slightly ajar on the far side of the room revealing a claustrophobic bathroom. The entire apartment is small enough to be a coffin, but the rent is cheap enough to not leave you bankrupt every month. 

Ready to dismiss Simon for the night so you can get some well deserved sleep, you turn to face him only to see his attention has been consumed by your door. Everything in this building is near ancient, but your front door and window are probably the worst. Chipped paint and rusting brass plague the hinges, but he seems more intrigued in the plating on the frame. 

“Find something interesting?” you ask stiffly. 

“More concernin’ than anythin’ else,” he mutters. Thick fingers brush against the old metal plating where he scrapes at the screws holding it in place. “How long ago were these replaced?” 

You shrug. “I have no idea.” 

“I’ll get you new hardware,” he hums, straightening himself up. “Someone could sneeze on the damn thing and it would fall over.” 

A million excuses flood your mind on why he doesn’t need to do that, and you’re certain they would’ve left your mouth if you weren’t so exhausted. Instead of trying to deny his offer, you yawn as your heavy eyes glance towards your bed. 

“Get some rest, yeah?” Simon prompts as he places his hand on the doorknob. 

You turn to face him with a quiet smile, and for a moment you find yourself at a loss for words. The ivory light of the hallway casts a dark shadow on his face, but it’s not enough to smother the soft concern in his eyes. 

“I will. Goodnight, Simon,” you say as a gruff vocal fry seeps into your words. 

Despite his size—tall enough to nearly brush his head against the doorframe and almost just as wide—you don’t feel any fear as you witness him. There’s nothing insidious about him, especially not with the small smile that manages to tug at his lips as he shuts the door. 

“Sweet dreams, love.”

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[captain-kit-adventuress]

No, mutual aid and general strikes are not the only shot left at staving those things off, but I don't have the bandwidth right now to spell out why.

We need an entire roster of solutions, of which mutual aid and general strikes can be a valuable part, because this is a multi-faceted problem, and honestly, if you're going to talk about leftist solutions to avoid violence, this is stuff you should know and already be involved with, or should at least be curious about researching in greater detail.

We are definitely not at the point yet where we need to be having the conversation about "it's this or violence!" I'm going to give the benefit of the doubt and assume no one here is advocating for accelerationism, because the Glorious Revolution is also not going to solve our problems, at least, not as currently portrayed.

Please know different ways of advocating for yourselves than just relying on neighbours and and strangers, and withholding labour. There is no point in going zero to sixty and missing out on all of the potential solutions in between.

One major, crucial step I haven't been seeing is calls for volunteers to help in building robust networks of support (even for mutual aid and/or striking), many of which already exist, and which a lot of leftists new to this sort of activism don't seem interested in doing. Ignoring that (beyond donating money, I mean) only sets up whatever mutual aid and general strike activity you have planned to fail. Mutual aid isn't going to get very far if there's no supply reserve (food, toilet paper, clean water, etc.) or solid network for distribution. And general strikes may actually be more dangerous now because it's looking like it will be very easy to get fired and you won't be able to rely on things like the NLRB and the EEOC and the DOL in general to back you up, which is when that mutual aid you haven't planned for becomes even more important so people aren't starving and homeless in the meantime.

A lot of the "solutions" I've seen proposed rely on normal channels to support them, but if you're going to go outside of the system, you have to first figure out how to do that without tanking the movement. Do you have a plan for if you can't use USPS, or UPS, or FedEx, or anyone else, for example, if normal package distribution channels fail (like if you need to send food or supplies to people who don't live close by)? And that's just one facet of providing larger-scale mutual aid. Do you have major networks in various cities to help support getting aid to the people who need it in rural areas, of which there are still an overwhelming amount in the US? Do you know how best to use a small amount of resources to make a big impact even if it's just in your local area, other than just having a plan in your head that's never been tested in the real world? Have you tried it when things are still accessible now or are you going to rely on making it up as you go along when push comes to shove, which puts a lot of the most vulnerable people you'll need to help in danger?

You don't start planning for this stuff when things are already bad, you get it in place as much as possible before then. I'm willing to bet that if anyone who wants to get involved mutual aid (like food banks as one existing example) or the labour movement would look beyond a simple internet search or their social media bubble, which trends toward echo chambers even under ideal conditions, they'll find that these resources already exist, or are at least being planned for, and they're perfectly happy for people to help but may need it in ways that don't seem obvious. That way, when push comes to shove, mutual aid and labour are already a well-oiled machine which can scale up--and the time for planning that is now, not the moment it's desperately needed--rather than getting off the ground in the first place.

Look for the helpers. Don't despair and assume that there's nothing between "things are bad and need to change" and "we're on the point of violence because things went bad so quickly." There need to be lots of points of entry to slowing this down, first.

votes don't influence policy, and now there's no way for anyone but 1% of the wealthiest to leverage buying power.

the only power anyone has left is withholding labor.

to do this we will absolutely require alternative sources of water and food.

if, as is so much more likely, everything falls apart, we will still need water and food.

Mutual Aid + General Strike are literally our only shot to stave off mass mayhem and aimless violence.

[ghcstao3]

was??? going through old wips for inspiration and??? no clue when i wrote this, nor where i was going with it, Nor if i’ve ever shared any of it so. let me know if i should continue

‘09 ghoap AU — “one last job” / cw implied drug use

-

The world comes to in a series of sluggish blinks and hazy memories, and Simon already wants nothing more than to crawl back into the hole he’s just emerged from.

The sweat pooling at his temples isn’t exactly conducive to comfortably resting against the wall of the toilet cubicle, skin slick with perspiration keeping his head upright about as effectively as a newborn baby’s neck. But he has no choice so long as he wishes to keep the scant contents of his stomach intact, especially with every swoop and pulse of nausea that washes over him in rhythm with the muted thump of music from the club whose loo he’s been occupying for an indeterminate amount of time. It’s probably disgusting—is disgusting, getting so intimate with the sharpied cocks and vulgar words and stains of mysterious origin plastered all over the partition in such a way, but Simon is dizzy, the wall is solid, and this is hardly one of the worst positions he’s ever been in.

Simon’s leg bounces erratically, the curved edge of the toilet seat digging into his thigh as he struggles to blindly fish his phone from his pocket. His fingers are clammy, tremorous; a frustrated growl tears from his throat when the device slips from his grasp more than once before he’s able to pull it out and pry it open like it isn’t currently the most offensive thing to his senses.

But he pauses, then, not entirely certain why he needed the phone at all in the first place. There had to have been a reason, surely, but as Simon glares at the backlit numbers through a single squinted, bloodshot eye, he can’t find it in himself to be arsed to remember. If he’s honest, he can’t really recall much of anything at the moment, much less why he thought the old burner would serve as any kind of solace, any kind of cosmic saving grace. As it is, the phone is merely a foreign object, silver and scratched and impossible to comprehend the longer Simon stares at it.

An idea strikes him after many minutes have dragged by, whether or not it’d been the one he’d originally forgotten, and he begins dialling his brother—until about halfway through he thinks better of it, knowing that on the off chance Tom actually picks up at this ungodly hour, his voice and inevitable spiel would be more grating than it’d be reassuring, and Simon has already discovered enough new kinds of headaches in the past several minutes to last him more than a lifetime.

He sighs a raspy, crackly sort of exhale, then unceremoniously snaps the phone closed and shoves it back into the lint-filled depths of his trousers. His eyelids are leaden, his shoulders burdened, and he’s content to slump further against the wall and slip back into the embrace of that unconscious void if only because it’s the one thing he can manage without making things worse for himself.

A sudden, sharp rap on the stall door startles Simon just as he’s succumbing to that temporary relief, setting off the drum of his heartbeat like a jackhammer in his chest, a crescendoing panic unhelped by the intruder’s insistence, their continuous knocking on cheap metal. With strength previously entirely sapped from his body, Simon’s sitting up, alert, prepared to flee, even when his aching limbs and substance-addled mind are so adamant to keep him tethered to this, quite literally, shitty place.

“Oi, you right in there?” A Scottish brogue demands of him, booming, deafening; it rattles Simon’s bones, seizes his spine, worms beneath his skin. The words have Simon inexplicably ill all over again, and once he manages to wrench his mouth open to respond along the lines of either fuck off or fuck you, he discovers his mouth has been stuffed with cotton, his lips cracked and tongue stapled in place.

Another resounding beat of knuckles on the door, shoes shuffling on the dirty tile outside. Simon’s heavy gaze drifts downward to loafers far too pristine for an establishment such as this, too expensive and too polished and too out of place, and suddenly he’s even more terrified, more baffled by this individual so keen on seeking him out. Why should someone be so concerned of his rotting away on filthy porcelain, if not for some ulterior motive? If not to ruin him further, somehow more irreparably?

“I know you can hear me, Riley,” the voice says, low and gruff and teetering on the verge of threatening. It speaks a warning, Simon thinks, but he also thinks it could be a million other things he hasn’t the time nor capacity to consider. This warning means little to him, is no more significant than the sweat still beading on the nape of his neck, and he shoves it from his mind with the ease of swatting away a particularly bothersome fly.

He still can’t force himself to reply. Simon smacks his lips instead. He has second thoughts about not calling Tom.

[acynicalsweetheart]

DDLG hcs with dad curly ? similar to your faux innocence work, but your thoughts/hcs you’d have for that type of scenario? :3

hai unfortunately came to the conclusion that i suck at hcs but tried my best LOL… got a little long apologies

content warning: 18+, dead dove do not eat, daddy-daughter incest, ddlg, praise, faux innocence sort of

dad!curly is a dope and a total sap who’s well aware of you being past a little girl by now—but that doesn’t mean that he’s ready to let you grow up. not when… 

dad!curly has been too busy with work your entire life, spending his time in and out of space with little time to tend to you the way he should’ve. now that he’s retired from his position, left behind the ludicrous fiasco that is pony express, he can finally be your full time dad… and daddy :3

dad!curly barely recognises you, prancing around with those things on your chest, in clothes clinging to your body tighter than vacuum packing. it all happened so fast. he knew you’d be older, matured, independent and that makes his stomach sink. 

what if you don’t need him anymore? 

dad!curly feels dumb having bought you teddy bears as a gift, yet you hug him ever so sweetly—thanking him and smacking your lips straight onto his cheek. you look at him the same, like nothing’s changed, like he’s been here all along. 

dad!curly doesn’t know how to get properly accustomed to you being all grown up now—luckily for him, you don’t seem to mind. you let curly treat you the way he should’ve all those years ago. it’s a coping method for the both of you. 

hold your hand? check. sleep in his bed? no problem. feed you? that’s a given. call him daddy? of course. read you bedtime stories? sure. plushies? boatloads. baby talk? you secretly love it. bathe you? you’d bite his fingers off like bunnies do carrots. 

dad!curly is fine with that, he doesn’t want to overstep his little girl’s boundaries. he quickly adjusts to the routine, probably ‘cause you’ve both already been through this before, it’s just like reliving a memory. 

dad!curly kisses you on the mouth and you don’t even flinch, they come as often as they do for boyfriends and girlfriends. him reading you fairy tales about princesses and their princes is nightly practice. you falling asleep on your daddy’s chest is as well. 

now…

dad!curly as we established, isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but does notice your thighs shifting every time he reads kissing scenes—you’re not exactly subtle with it. clenching them together like you’re trying to relieve an ache between them but don’t know how. 

dad!curly is conflicted, he just wants to help his princess, what kind of a daddy would he be to let you walk around that needy? he’d heard you struggling prior in your room, whining out of frustration ‘cause you just can’t get it right. poor baby. 

dad!curly sets the book aside, stroking your head and checking with you to assess the situation. what’s going on? where does it tingle? need daddy’s help? he bares you from the covers, feeling your body with large hands ever so tender like he doesn’t want to hurt you. 

dad!curly helps you get your panties off, a sticky string stubbornly stuck to the gusset as he pulls them down. you’re embarrassed at the sight, hiding your face in your hands. he thinks it’s cute, but wants you to look at him. 

dad!curly noses at your knuckles till you peek at him through the cracks of your fingers, keeping his gaze on yours. once you loosen up, he continues. 

dad!curly trails his calloused fingers up your thighs, holding you close as he makes contact with your swollen bud. you whimper and buck your hips up out of impatience, calling out for daddy as you blink up at him. 

“Shh, honey, just stay still. Daddy’s gonna help, okay?”

dad!curly resumes his touch after a nod of your head, rubbing soft and gentle circles on your clit till you’re squirming. your hole is leaking, crying out like it wants to be filled by something thick and long—much like that something thick and long curly’s got in his sweats. 

dad!curly is humble but aware that he’s much too big and would break you in half if he tried to fit inside his baby. he slides his hand down further instead, circling your entrance with his middle finger.

dad!curly lets you squeeze his other hand when he works his digit inside, lets you grip onto his shirt when he starts to carefully plunge in and out. your body’s tense but gradually unveils as curly’s fingers move against your spongy spot.

“That’s my good girl, taking daddy so well.”

dad!curly pecks your cheek, watching you come undone and shake in his arms. your legs clamp shut around his hand like a clamshell—moans and whines spilling out of you alongside your cum. 

“You did so good, honey. ‘M so proud of you.”

dad!curly murmurs into your hair, pulling out and collecting your slick onto his fingers so you can taste yourself. he lets you suck his digits clean, completely disregarding the stiffness painfully straining against the fabric of his pants when he grabs your face to kiss you. 

dad!curly can’t help but moan at the taste of his little girl on his tongue, horrifyingly close to cumming in his pants. but he sucks it up and helps you get your panties back on, lulls you to sleep on his chest with his sweet voice continuing the book of the fairy tale. 

[doumadono]

Hello! I'd like to ask for an emergency request if that's alright—your inbox says there's still 2 slots available so I wanted to give it a try. I don't wish for anything overly complicated and to put it simply my request would go as follow: could you write something (whether headcanons or one-shot, it's up to you) with Shigaraki and Dabi with a very, VERY lonely fem!reader? As vaguely as it sound, I find it fitting to add some background: reader is an only-child who comes from a small family with basically no aunts, uncles, cousins—the other half of the family either dead or living far away abroad. Due to constantly moving since early childhood, there's no such a thing as childhood friends, neighbour friends or any sort of community to belong. Additionally, she's always been single since it was impossible to build any long-term relationship while constantly changing the place of living. She's independent, used to being all alone (in school, job, home...) and doing everything alone (shopping, cinema, coffee shop, watching movies...) but sometimes it can get really lonely being all by herself in the world... If it's not emergency enough it's okay but if you'd be willing to write something on the subject I'd be very grateful!

Synopsis: after you skip Toga’s party, Dabi and Shigaraki start following you, noticing how lonely you really are. Confronting you at your favorite café, they make it clear - you’re not alone

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST - PART 2

The café smelled like freshly ground coffee and warm vanilla, the kind of scent that usually wrapped around you like a comforting hug. But today, it did nothing to ease the weight pressing on your chest.

You curled your fingers around your cup, letting the warmth seep into your skin. Your favorite drink sat untouched in front of you, steam curling lazily into the air. The noise of the city outside hummed through the glass windows, the chatter of people blending into a steady backdrop, but none of it really reached you. It was just you, your thoughts, and the empty seat across from you.

You weren’t surprised by the feeling anymore - the familiar weight in your chest, the hollow ache of knowing that, at the end of the day, it was just you. No family to call. No childhood friends to reconnect with. No one to notice if you skipped a meal or spent the entire weekend inside without speaking a word to another person.

Which is why it wasn’t exactly surprising that no one questioned it when you’d declined Toga’s birthday gathering a few days ago.

You’d made some excuse about feeling sick, about needing to rest. It wasn’t entirely a lie, not when loneliness had a way of making you physically exhausted. The truth was, you hadn’t been in the mood for anything. 

Still, you hadn’t expected anyone to care beyond a passing “feel better” from Twice or maybe Toga pouting about missing your presence. And what you hadn’t expected surely was being followed. And you definitely hadn’t expected them to show up here.

The screech of a chair dragged against the floor cut through your thoughts.

"Alright, this is fucking depressing," Dabi stated, moving a chair. "So this is what you do when you’re too busy for Toga’s party?" The black-haired man drawled, slouching down into the seat like he owned the place. "Sitting in a café, looking like the poster child for depression?"

Your fingers twitched around your cup, your mind catching up to the fact that he was here. You barely had time to register that before another chair moved, this time with more hesitation.

Shigaraki.

Unlike Dabi, he didn’t sit right away. He hovered, almost like he wasn’t sure if this was a good idea but had already committed. His red eyes flickered to you before landing on your untouched drink. "That’s getting cold."

You blinked. "What—"

"You've been staring at it for fifteen minutes," Shigaraki muttered, finally sitting down beside Dabi, slouching like he was trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible by pulling his hood lower on his face. "Took us a while to figure out your routine," he muttered, sounding vaguely irritated. "You go to the same places. In the same order. It’s kind of pathetic."

Your mouth opened and closed. "Excuse me? You've been watching me?" you asked, suspicion lacing your voice.

Dabi smirked, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Yup."

"For how long?"

Shigaraki gave a noncommittal grunt. Dabi, on the other hand, leaned forward on his elbows, improving the face mask he wore. "Oh, you know. Just a couple of days."

Your stomach twisted. "Are you serious?"

"You didn’t even notice we were following you," Shigaraki continued, fingers twitching slightly against his sleeves. "That’s careless. If it were anyone else, you’d be dead."

You stared at them, brain short-circuiting. "Why?"

Shigaraki shifted, eyes darting toward the window before landing on you again. "You looked miserable."

"You didn't leave us much of a choice," Dabi added quickly, stretching his arms behind his head. "You think we wouldn’t notice you acting weird? Turning down a party? Avoiding everyone?"

Shigaraki tilted his head. "Toga was worried."

You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "So that was why you followed me around?"

Dabi snorted. "We observed."

"Like creeps."

"Hey, if you didn’t want creeps watching you, maybe don’t look like you’re about to start narrating a sad movie monologue every time you sit alone in this café," Dabi shot back, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously, do you even talk to anyone outside the League?"

You hesitated.

And that was answer enough.

Shigaraki exhaled sharply through his nose, leaning back in his chair. "That’s what I thought."

Your fingers tightened around your cup, the familiar ache in your chest pressing down again. It was one thing to know you were lonely - it was another to have someone point it out like a glaring neon sign.

"Why do you care?" you muttered, voice quieter now.

Shigaraki didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared at you, fingers twitching slightly like he wanted to fidget with his sleeves but resisted the urge. Finally, he muttered, "Because it’s fucking annoying."

You frowned. "What?"

Dabi chuckled, shaking his head. "What he means is, it pisses us off that you think you have to do everything alone." His voice was lighter than Shigaraki’s, teasing even, but there was something underneath it - something genuine. "Like, come on, you’re part of us, ain’t ya?"

You swallowed hard. Part of us.

The thing was, you had never really considered the League of Villains your family. Sure, you worked with them once in a while, trusted them in the way soldiers trusted the people fighting beside them, but outside of missions? Outside of sitting in the hideout and tolerating their antics?

"I don’t really have anyone," you said finally, voice quieter than you intended. "No family, no old friends. It’s just me. And most of the time, I don’t mind, but sometimes, it gets lonely." You stared down at your cup, fingers tightening around the warm ceramic. "That’s all."

"That’s fucking stupid," Shigaraki uttered bluntly.

You blinked up at him. "Excuse me?"

The leader of the League of Villains scowled, shifting in his seat. "You do have people. What the hell are we, then?"

You opened your mouth, but Dabi cut in, his voice oddly serious. "You think we’re just watching you for fun? That we care if you go missing for days because we’re bored?" He leaned forward slightly, eyes locked onto yours. "Newsflash, sweetheart. You’re ours. You’ve been ours for a long time now."

Something in your chest tightened. "But—"

Shigaraki huffed. "You put up with us when no one else does. That counts for something." He glanced at his hands, fingers twitching again. "So stop acting like no one gives a shit about you. Because we do."

Dabi drummed his fingers against the table, tilting his head. "We’re not exactly model citizens, but we take care of our own. You’re one of us, whether you like it or not."

Your throat tightened, and for a second, you couldn’t speak. You swallowed, trying to force down the sudden wave of emotion creeping up. "You guys are really bad at this whole cheering someone up thing, you know."

Dabi snorted. "Yeah, well. If you wanted sunshine and rainbows, you picked the wrong friends."

Shigaraki crossed his arms. "Are you coming back or not?"

You hesitated, but before you could answer, Dabi suddenly reached over and stole your cup right out of your hands.

"Hey!"

He pushed his face mask down enough to take a sip, but then he immediately made a face. "What the hell is this?"

"My coffee, you asshole!" You tried to snatch it back, but he held it out of reach.

"This is gross," he complained, handing it to Shigaraki, who - surprisingly - did not drink it, just set it back in front of you like a normal person would.

Dabi grinned. "Guess I’m buying you a new one. Something that doesn’t taste like liquid disappointment."

You rolled your eyes. "I like it."

"And that’s the problem," he shot back, already waving down a barista.

Shigaraki stood up, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. "You’re coming back to base after this," he said, not even asking, just deciding. "No more sitting in cafés alone like some kind of tragic novel protagonist."

You looked between them, exasperated. "So that’s it? You’re just forcing me to rejoin society?"

Dabi smirked, tossing an arm lazily over your shoulders. "Damn right we are. Whether you like it or not."

You shook your head, unable to stop the tiny, tired laugh that escaped your lips. It wasn’t much - not some grand, emotional declaration or a life-changing moment - but it was something.

And maybe that was enough.

Because when you looked up at them - Dabi, slouched with a cocky grin, and Shigaraki, pacing back and forth as he already wanted to leave the place - the ache in your chest didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

@pixelcafe-network

[likeawildanimal]

for a book that's supposed to be continuing jean's healing journey, the golden raven sure does miss a lot of important milestones on the page.

why did we not see jean learning how to ride a motorcycle? it was built up in tsc that the freedom and control he would likely feel over his life whilst on the bike would be crucial yet we don't even know how he feels about riding from his pov. we just know that he's in awe of his new bike, it's something he does with cat, and that he suddenly knows how to ride. we find all of that out from jeremy's pov.

kevin convinces jean to finally start actually talking with betsy, which is such a crucial step that jean's been actively resisting, yet we don't see any of those sessions or hear about them. in fact, we only learn that jean followed through on kevin's therapy insistence when jean needs jeremy to drive him to his specialist therapy appointment. does jean consider it a necessary evil? is he finally seeing the merits in it now that he's making progress? we don't even know if jean's feelings towards betsy have changed at all.

jean starts the secondary therapy to overcome his fear of water and, once again, we don't see a single second of the work he's actively putting in. it's not that we need to see every therapy appointment jean has, but the issue is that we don't see any of them at all. we aren't seeing the active effort he's putting in and the determination for progress he's pushing for, which is a pivotal change for him.

as a result of tanner's persistent enthusiasm, jean starts teaching him and a few other trojans ravens drills. considering that jean's becoming more and more overtly repulsed by the ravens lifestyle, shouldn't we know how he feels about teaching the trojans, a team that's becoming increasingly important to him, ravens training methods? how does he feel revisiting the strict training in a teaching role? is he repressing frustrations more than he's letting on? we don't know the answers to any of these questions because, you guessed it, we don't experience any of this extra court time from jean's pov. you'd hope that the more he uses these skills for good with the trojans that he's able to recontextualize them, separating them from the traumas they sparked, but it's all excluded from jean's pov.

jean has his list of things he now enjoys in life, a mantra of sorts that brings him comfort and reassurance. one of which we, yet again, don't even know he added to the list until he's adding a subsequent word. sure, you can see the radiance he feels with the fireworks, but we don't get to experience his thoughts as he adds it to his grounding list even though we'd read him adding all of the other important items to the list. we don’t know his thought process behind adding fireworks to the list at all and instead it’s only implied.

when jean finally voices that he didn't deserve what happened to him in the nest, I honestly wasn't entirely sure what had pushed him to finally believing that truth. yes, the obvious reasons, of course, but the fact that we aren't seeing his resilience in these building block moments means we don't know what newfound strength he's standing on and how solid it actually is.

instead of consistently digging deeply into jean's healing progress, we skip past these crucial, in-process moments and tend to jump to their end point. through jeremy's pov, jean's actions themselves or jean's thought pattern shifts, we find out the results of jean's efforts rather than most of the efforts themselves. so much is implied to have happened off of the page. jean's storyline would be even more effective if we were witnessing each step forward as he builds his new foundation toward becoming his own person.

[tgirl-swagless]

Making a Perfect Date

Tags: big sister, little sister, sisters, incest, underage sex, OC, highschool, smut, porn, masturbation, trans female character

Summary: Astrid, a cisgender older sister, makes sure her transgender little sister Emily has a good first date.

Word count: 3858

Part 1

Emily finally got her first date, not that she was too interested in dating to begin with.  She is only really doing it to satisfy her highschool friends.  I mean, she's 17 and still hasn't went on a single date, so her friends felt the need to pressure her to get out there and find someone.  Deep down though, Emily has someone she wants, and it's none of her classmates.  She might not realize it's what she wants right now, but her big sister Astrid is all she thinks about.

Emily and Astrid are inseperable, or... at least they were.  Astrid graduated just last year, leaving Emily to fend for herself while at school.  They used to meet up every lunch period to hang out and joke around with each other.  As long as they weren't in any of their classes, they'd always be seen together.  But since Astrid graduated, Emily has gotten noticably distant and lonely when at school.  Her friends are only trying to help her.  They care about her.

Astrid hasn't bothered leaving home yet.  Nothing has really called to her.  She got a job at the corner store in order to give back to her parents at least a little, which they are very appreciative of.  She got today off work due to some schedule mix-up, but that is no bad thing to Astrid; she gets to see her baby sister come home from school!  To her dismay, Astrid doesn't get the chance to see Emily too often anymore.

Emily walks through the door, letting out a big sigh, her bookbag falling off her shoulder to the floor right by the front door.  Astrid is just sitting on the couch, half waiting for Emily, half just killing time watching TV.  As soon as Emily notices her though, her entire expression changes.

Her eyes light up and she lets out a high pitch, "Oh, Astrid!  Hi big sis!"

Without a care for her belongings left at the door, Emily rushes to the couch and bounces onto it right beside Astrid.  "I wasn't expecting to see you so soon today," Emily exclaims with a big smile across her face.

Astrid can't help but get a little giddy at the sight of her little sister being so excited to see her.  "Yeah, work had a mix-up and I dont work today.  How was school," Astrid asks.

Emily rests herself on the couch facing Astrid.  "It was ok, nothing special."  Astrid is about to reply, but Emily cuts her off saying, "but... my friends kinda pushed me to ask someone out, so I guess I have a date tomorrow."

A rush of gloom flows through Astrid.  Why would she feel so bad at the thought of her little sister seeing someone?  She should be happy for Emily.  She knows her little sister has been feeling down while at school for some time, she should be happy that Emily is finally getting out there some.  It's not like she would be able to be there with Emily forever.

The unenthused statement definitely reaches Astrid, though.  She teases Emily saying, "What's with that, not excited for your first ever date?"  Astrid has been on tons of dates, had a couple boyfriends and girlfriends at different points through highschool as well, but she too has been in a slump of sorts since graduating.

Emily sits facing forward now.  She can tell Astrid is still looking at her in her peripheral.  "Well... like I said, my friends kinda just pushed me to do it.  They have been for a while now, and I guess I just caved because I was getting annoyed with them.  So I asked out one of the first girls I saw.  She must have been into me because she was really excited when I asked."

Throughout Emily's reply, Astrid could tell she was not interested in this one bit.  She hates to see her little sister so unhappy though, she has to think of something to help cheer her up.  Astrid gives an acknowledging hum after Emily finishes, and looks off into the distance, thinking of anything she could do.  An idea comes to mind, she lets out an "Aha!"

Astrid turns towards Emily again, and Emily towards her.  Astrid takes her little sister's hand and says, "What if we go out and get you a brand new outfit for the date, something cool and you.  Maybe you'll feel more into it if you get something nice for it."

Emily thinks on it a moment.  She couldn't possibly deny going out shopping with her big sister, even if it wasn't for Astrid or for them.  "That's a great idea," Emily says with a big smile on her face, trying to hide the dread of a date with someone she honestly doesn't really care about.

The two sisters get in Astrids old, beat up Subaru and head to the mall.  Astrid prefers stores like Hot Topic and Zumie's, but Emily hasn't really had a preference.  She always was happy to follow her big sister through stores and seeing what she would pick out.  She usually just got Astrid's hand-me-downs anyway.

Once they arrive, as the sisters jump out of the car and start walking for the entrance, Astrid asks, "So... who is your date?"

Emily looks down at the ground as they walk to the entrance.  "Eh, it's just Jocelyn Danials." 

Astrid audibly gasps.  "Damn little sis, you scored a baddie," Astrid exclaims.  "I remember her pretty well still.  She always had killer style, and I was a little jealous she got her hair colored pastel before mom and dad would let me even cut mine this way."  Astrid lifts the hair on the side of her head, revealing a large part that is shaved down to the skin.  The way it was cut and styled made Astrid look a little wild, or feral.  Either way, when she initially styled it that way, Emily was in awe of how cool she looked.  She isn't nearly as brave to do something so crazy with her hair right now, but is envious of her big sister's raw style.

Now inside the mall, they gotta decide where to go.  Astrid asks, "Where is your date gonna be at, by the way?  Should help us decide what kinda clothes you want to get."

Astrid takes Emily's hand again and Emily can't help but blush a little and look around to see if anyone is staring.  It embarses her a little when her big sister is so physical like this.  She manages to get out, "I-it's actually the theater here, we were gonna go see [redacted] right after school."

Astrid ponders a moment, then replies saying, "Ok, ok... so something a little warm.  Although, the theaters here tend to run a little hot.  Made that mistake one too many times... uh, anyway, so maybe something light with a jacket?"

Emily looks up to her sister and says, "I like that idea!  Where should we go for that?" 

Astrid starts pulling her little sis by the hand off to the store she has in mind without bothering to say where.

They enter a Hot Topic, typical Astrid.  "Around the sides and back you can find most of the clothes.  They have a ton of cute dresses.  You go pick one out, on me."  Astrid pushes Emily in as she goes elsewhere in the store.  Just a little confused, Emily follows Astrid's direction and goes to look at the dresses.

There's frilly ones, long and short ones, a few really bland ones, and also some fandom ones that Emily has no context for.  Eventually, Emily spots a cute little thing that draws her in.  It's like a dress, but the top is connected to the skirt bottom by a couple straps on each side.  She rushes to the changing room to give it a whirl.  Once changed, she pops out to show her big sister what she found.  To Emily's surprise, Astrid was right there holding a very punk looking leather jacket, complete with sharp studs on the shoulders and a few metal loops at the elbows and down the sides.

But as soon as Emily notices her big sis standing there, she instinctively does a little twirl to show off all the angles of the dress she picked out.

Astrid blushes bright red at the sight.  Her little sister's curves are perfectly captured.  The top of the dress is basically a croptop, showing the world her soft belly, her cruvy sides, and her lower back.  Plus its just tight enough to make her perky little nipples poke through.  Astrid tries hard to hide her sudden arousal.  Emily notices the reddening face of her big sister and gets aroused thinking of what could be getting her big sis all red.  Did she really get turned on by her little sis?  It's not like she was trying to. Why did that thought make her little estrogenized dick leak a little?  She can't help but blush as well now, thinking of how the skirt of her dress would be tenting if it wasn't for her panties she has on.  Now tight around her hips with her bulging dick.

After a moment of silent staring at each other, Emily pipes up with, "S-so uhhm... what do you think, big sis...?"  Emily looks so innocent standing there, hands held together in front of her to try and hide any semblence of her being turned on.

Astrid stumbles over her words, feeling like she is in free fall as she tries to speak.  "I-it uh um y-you are p-pretty, yeah, uh y-you I mean the dress is i-its good.  Yeah." God , Astrid thinks to herself, how dare I have these thoughts of my little sister?!  She must be doing this on purpose.  Her eyes are clearly pleading for me.   This is so wrong, I need to distract myself.   Her mind is flooded with images of her little sister barely clothed, beckoning to her.  "H-here try on this jacket.  Maybe not quite your style, b-but it looks pretty cool in my opinion."  Astrid thrusts the jacket towards Emily, nearly smacking her face with a sleeve, making sure her face stays blocked from Emily's view.

Emily takes the jacket from her big sister and tries it on.  Astrid was right, definitely not her style, even though she looked very cool with it.  In the end, she decides to just get the dress.  She has a couple of jackets she could wear with it, anyway.  She thought it was alright, but the way her sister reacted to seeing her made her need to have the dress.  Does she actually want to make her big sister lust for her?  It sounds so wrong to think about, but she can't help herself.  The thought of her big sister going crazy at the sight of her little sister's body in turn drives Emily crazy.  She tries her best to brush all these thoughts aside as she changes back into her clothes, but her buldge is still so obvious through her shorts at this point.  She has to take a few extra minutes to calm herself so she can tuck her dick back in place.

The two sisters checkout the dress and head for the exit.  They start to pass by the theater when Emily slows.  She stares into the theater, thinking of her date tomorrow.

Astrid notices her lagging behind, so she asks, "Are you alright, sis?"  She walks back to Emily, radiating comfort for her little sister, cheeks still a little red.

Still staring into the theater area, Emily replies, "I'm just... nervous.  It's my first date, and I'm just... yeah, nervous."  Emily doesn't want to do this, but she already fell to the pressure.  No going back from that now.  She doesn't have it in her to turn Jocelyn down at this point.

"Well," Astrid says after a moment, "we could go see a movie.  You can pretend it is a date too, like, to practice for what you'd do tomorrow."  Emily's face lights up red again thinking about going on a date with her big sister.  It's not like they've never seen a movie together before, but the way her big sister worded it makes her feel so elated.

Emily's eyes twinkling with glee, barely hiding her enthusiasm, "yes, please.  I mean, uhm, I really like that idea." 

Astrid replies, "I'm full of those today," and shoots her little sis a wink, instantly making Emily blush and want to hide her face again.

It doesn't even matter to them what movie they see.  Emily is just excited to go on her first, albeit technically fake, date with her big sister.  Astrid is trying hard to hide it, but she is also ecstatic that Emily said yes.  Astrid just wants to cheer up her little sister.  A smile on her face is all she needs.  They get a couple tickets to see a random movie, grab a bag of popcorn, and find their seats.

A ways into the movie, as the sisters are intently watching the movie, Astrid goes to grab some popcorn from the bag sitting in Emily's lap.  She completly misses the bag and lands her hand on her little sister's bare leg, just above the knee.  She prodes for just a moment until she realizes what she's done.  Astrid whips her head to the side to see what she just did and whispers to Emily, "oh my god, I-I'm sorry, sis."

Astrid yanks her hand away, ashamed of having touched her little sister, even just on accident.  She has been so on edge today with everything going on.  Emily whispers back to her, "I-it's alright, sis.  Think nothing of it."  Although, Emily herself is unable to stop thinking about it.  She froze as soon as she felt her big sister's hand on her.  It felt good, even just a very momentary touch.  And now her dick is begging to be free again.  Luckily she has the bag of popcorn to hide her bulge, she thinks to herself.

"Here, uh, I'll hold the bag," whispers Astrid, as to not make the same mistake again.  Even in the dim light of the movie screen, she can see how turned on her little sister is.

Emily goes bright red and excuses herself saying, "I need to use the bathroom.  I'll be right back."  She then hurries down to the exit of the room and to the bathroom.

Alone in a stall, she pulls down her shorts and panties, freeing her rock hard cock.  "Ahh... Astrid... why...?"  Emily grabs her little dick and starts to slowly stroke it, her glands already soaked with precum.  She can't help but question why it turns her on so much, but her mind is too hazy to think straight right now.  She continues stroking herself off to the thought of her big sister.  She imagines Astrid pushing the bag of popcorn away and undoing her button and zipper, pulling out her little sister's cock right in the movie theater.  She imagines her big sister's hands stroking her dick, making her feel like the prettiest little sister anyone could have.  She imagines her big sister whispering in her ear, "I didn't realize how much my baby sis wanted me, wanted this.  You're so dirty, Emmy."  She lets out a whimper at the thoughts flooding her mind.  Luckily she's aline in the bathroom right now.  Emily continues to stroke her dick until she finally orgasms, leaking a few drops of cum into the toilet and down her shaft.

Just as Emily is cleaning herself up, Astrid enters the bathroom and calls out for her.  "Emily, you still in here?  The movie just ended."  She spots the familiar shoes of her little sis underneath one of the stall doors and waits near the entenace to the bathroom for her.  Astrid's entrance makes Emily scurry to finish cleaning up.  She exits the stall to see her big sister with a worried expression on her face.  "Are you feeling alright, sis," Astrid asks.  Emily's face is flushed after having just orgasmed.

Making her way to the sink, she replies, "Y-yeah.  I-I'm alright, sis."

The way she walks, the flushed face, the dazed words coming out of her mouth; Astrid knows exactly what her little sis was just doing.  And it makes her mind go wild.  She notices she's starting to get wet as she tries hard to push the thought away, but it lingers still.

Astrid waits for her little sis to finish up as she steps out of the bathroom.  They walk to the car in silence, keeping a gap between them.  The tension is so palpable.

In the car, as Astrid is starting it up, Emily's stomach growls.  It catches Astrid's attention.  "Sounds like you're hungry."  Not a moment later, Astrids stomach also grumbles.

Emily giggles.  "You're one to talk."

Astrid lets out a small laugh.  "We should go get some food on the way home.  That alright?"

Emily gives her big sis a smile and says, "You're right again.  Lets."

The sisters can feel the tension loosening as they drive towards home.  They stop at a local borito joint, a favorite of Emily's.  They order and sit down.  Emily stops a moment and notices her sister's face.  Nothing has changed, other than the little bit of guac on the side of her mouth.  She giggles at the sight of it.

Astrid stops, too.  With food still in her mouth, she teasingly says, "hey, what're you laughing at?" 

Emily can't help but smile.  She feels so warm, just her big sister and her at one of her favorite places.  "It's just... thank you for today.  It means a lot to me you want to help with my first date."

Astrid gulps down what was in her mouth, a little surprised to hear Emily so grateful.  She replies, "Oh, well, of course Em.  I know you haven't had a great time lately, and I wanted to be sure you were prepared for your first date.  It just eats at me to see you so unhappy."  Only now does she bring a napkin up to wipe her face clean.

Emily let's out another giggle.  Full of her little sister brattiness, she says, "yeah, and I can't believe you would steal my first date from me, too," while grinning the whole time.

Astrid scoffs at Emily's remark and her cheeks lightly glow red.  "What?!  I-it was just to test it out!  For you!  I mean, it was like, uh, I was just trying to make sure you would have a perfect first date.  I mean the real one!  Not the one we just did."

Emily can't help but laugh at how embarrassed her big sister got from her little teasing.  "Aww, come on now, sis.  You know I joke," Emily says and sticks out her tongue.

Astrid gives a little chuckle and continues eating her borito.

Once the sisters finish eating, they head home, listening to their favorite radio station the whole way.  It is pretty late by now, so they both retire to their rooms and ready themselves for bed.

Astrid lays on her bed, contemplating the weird day she just spent with her little sis.  She really enjoyed it, but her mind kept getting flooded by thoughts of her Emmy.  That dress she chose looked so perfect on her.  Her skin was so soft when she accidentally touched it.  Her flushed face right after having orgasmed.  God, her face.  There's no doubt she thought of me when she left to use the bathroom , she thought.

Astrid's hand starts to drift down her body, feeling the goosebumps on her skin as she goes lower.  I could clearly see her buldge in the theater.  God, I want to see her.  I want to see her little dick.  I want to feel her soft skin.  She continues down until she reaches her panties, slowly rubbing her clit over her underwear to the thought of her little sister.

Astrid lets out a small moan.  "Ahh, Emily..." she whispers to herself.  Again, and again she calls her baby sisters name as she picks up the pace, rubbing her clit until she can't take it any more.  Astrid pulls down her underwear revealing her wet lips to the open air.  She spreads her labia as she moans, a little louder this time.  Astrid penetrates her pussy with her middle and ring fingers as she moans and writhes for her sister.

Emily lays in her bed, about to drift off to sleep when she faintly hears her name be called.  It sounded kind of like Astrid calling to me , she thought.  She brushes it off and closes her eyes, but hears her name called again.  That's definitely Astrid's voice.   Emily decides to get up and drearily walk towards Astrid's room.  The house is otherwise quiet.  All the lights are off except for a dim light peeking out the bottom of Astrid's door.  Emily turns the door handle and opens the door just to the point she can see into her big sister's room.

But as soon as she does, Astrid lets out another moan, "ffffuck~ Emily, ahh, ahh."  Emily freezes with the door slightly ajar as she stares in astonishment at the sight of her big sister fingering herself while moaning her name.  "Mmm, Emmy, ahh, Emmy..." Astrid breathily cries out, completely oblivious to the fact her little sister is watching her now.  Emily can't help but turn bright red as the buldge in her silky-soft panties grows bigger.  She cant fight her urge.  Her hand drifts down to stimulate her little dick as she intently watches her big sister pleasure herself.  Emily's breathing starts to pick up as she feels herself up, her other hand groping her tender breast.

It only takes a few more moments for Astrid to climax, spraying her juice all over her hand as she falls limp.  Emily decides to scurry away before she can be noticed.  Astrid turns her head to her door and notices its open.  She could have sworn it was closed.  She shakily gets up and peeks out into the dark hallway.  Nothing.  She shrugs it off, closes her door, and gets herself ready for sleep.

Emily back in her room is now furiously stroking her cock.  Big sis, you really want me, Emily thinks to herself.  Sheets out a small whimper as her fingers go over her glands.  But, no, it's not right, this is so wrong, I cant do this.  Wrought with shame and anxiety, her hand slows and her little cock slowly goes limp.  Now she lay in the darkness of midnight on her bed, contemplating her emotions.  So much shame.  What if mom and dad found out, she thinks.  They would make Astrid move away, no doubt.  They may even disown her.  Or maybe they would blame me!  She holds one of her plushies tight.  Emily silently weeps as the anxiety spirals in her mind.  Until she has worn herself out so much she drifts off to sleep.

Part 2 coming soon :3

[imagine-silk]

How would Cait, Hancock, Nick, and Piper react if Sole jumped on their back because they wanted a piggyback ride?

》 Some nice fluff. Good. I need some "( – ⌓ – )

【Cait】 "Be fucking careful."

She almost shot them and 100% threw them off her back. Once she knows what they want it really depends what mood she's in. If she's feeling alright or in a good mood she'll do it. But if she does they're not going to get off for a while. They went through the trouble of convincing her so she might as well get some sort of workout from it. If she is tired or annoyed they won't be standing for long. She punches them for doing it and walks away.

【Hancock】 "Let's get outta here!"

Before he even knows it's SoSu he holds them up. When he checks he immediately starts running. If they ever thought it would be a peaceful endeavor they must have been high. This man has no chill so full speed until they either fall off or he gets tired, laughing the entire way.

【Nick】 "You comfy there?"

He does not give a fuck. It doesn't matter if he sees them as a friend, a child, or a lover, the reaction is the same. A snarky comment before going about his day like they aren't on his back. Make no mistake, he might act high and mighty but he doesn't want them to actually get off. He likes that they're comfortable with him and all his metal. Makes him feel wanted, on some levels needed.

【Piper】 "Jesus, Blue, warn a girl next time."

She had to deal with Nat doing this for years and years. Just because SoSu is bigger doesn't mean she has any trouble with it. This chick is strong and she knows it. As a bit of a punishment she holds them still and spins really really fast. Regardless she does like it, reminds her things aren't all bad.

[bomberqueen17]

continuing

I had decided that my strange periodic insomnia was caused by alcohol-- even half a beer and i found myself in bed at 10, tossing and turning until 11:30, waking at 1 and being up for the day.

But it's now happened twice this week, after I gave up alcohol entirely two weeks ago. so. it's not the booze. mayhap i will not-celebrate with a beer. :(

Anyway. Apart from that, I have also fallen entirely off the wagon of attempting to make to-do lists. I was trying, and then finding I would do a random assortment of things anyway, and then I was having the best appearance of success by going back at the end of the day in filling in the to-do list with the things I had already done, and then checking them off. very satisfying, but not actually in any way useful. like.... i could try to get a better idea of what i can get done in a day, was my thought, but then i don't know that that's actually useful.

the problem is. i still don't know how to either make or follow a to-do list. they are not useful to me. i can appreciate them, but i cannot follow them. the medication I'm taking is supposed to start showing effects in another week, so we'll see then. I've had many of the side effects for a while now, though most of them have settled in. I eat a lot of fiber and drink a lot of water now, which is probably generally good for me idk.

But! I think part of my problem with to-do lists is that I have been writing, and at a fairly furious pace, and somewhat-obsessively, and so it's not surprising that other things are falling by the wayside.

I am trying, therefore, to make a goal, to finish the draft of this novel by March. This seems like a reasonable goal, and seems like a thing I would do anyway, and so making it a goal is sort of pointless, but it feels like a useful thing to do anyway?

I would be very excited to actually finish a draft of the novel.

It will need edits, and structural ones, but I don't know how to do that, but I don't have to know how to do that yet. By finishing the draft I will know how it ends, and will be able to go back and prune it into a shape that actually supports the ending.

The ending is... setting up for a sequel, alas, but, that's not all bad. I realized I couldn't wrap the whole thing up without cutting out most of what I'd written to step up the pace a lot, and I don't want to do that. I think it's got plenty of meat in it and makes sense to be.... maybe not quite that long but mostly that long. And the sequel is extremely complex and involves a bunch more characters, so I might as well just start fresh.

Anyway. It would be super rad to finish a draft and then edit. I have only done this a few times in my life and it would give me a lot of new skills. So-- March, is my goal. I can set goals!

We'll see.

[fluffydeoxys]

need to stop being like "shut upppppp" to myself and treating this like my space (which it is) so! My thoughts behind my 2BD design + how it's changed in the ~3 months since I first did it.

Firstly I reevaluated how I see 2BD as a character. Obviously very grouchy and grumpy in this particular, sort of emotional sometimes subdued way. He's been alive for a while, has seen and endured many things, and has been tempered in the fires of this world. Older than Sanmos, not as old as Hank (although I attribute Hank's existence to a different kind entirely). This contributed to the shape language I decided: primarily stocky, rectangular shapes with the occasional rounded feature.

Edit: oh Ratchet from Transformers also helped/guided a lot of these thoughts and choices as well. Some overlap between the two in my mind.

He's muscled but not overtly, it's more out of necessity to defend himself and enact his goals. He prefers to do things from a distance and ends up a little more sedentary from extensive computer work, whether hacking or researching. Plus I think it's endearing in this gruff old man way. There is a softness (a roundness) that is particularly notable when he is vulnerable (dressed down, without the jacket and gloves in particular, wearing lazy clothes and especially with his mask off) so many don't get to see it.

The choice to give him a jacket that's rather ornate and cropped was partly self indulgence, but it was a conscious choice to make him look a bit... cooler? A bit of a crude way to say it but it's like "casual swag." The casual part is primarily in his pants, which are just plain and baggy with simple boots. Additionally I think I would lean more into this casualness when he's not working. When working, his mindset is different. Focused, in control. On his own, he cares a little less, and is a little more open.

As I described in the tags of a previous post, I think he has a lot of sentiment for personal details and enjoys mending and personalising clothes, albeit it has waned nowadays cus there's not much downtime. The jacket is something he's had for a long time. It's been beaten, cut, ripped, and each time he's filled it in with a new patch. Much like his own body.

The armband was subconsciously inspired by Persona 3, but it more explicitly came from the real world. Armbands usually signify some kind of occupation and rank, and I think it's a fun, cute detail. 2BD considers this operation important and I think he would take it seriously in that way, whereas everyone else kiiind of doesn't. Least I can't imagine Sanford or Deimos willingly putting on an armband to represent their allegiance. I don't know why they're working with 2BD tbf (I mean so the world doesn't . Die is a fair reason), but I guess its a messy and perhaps partially personal reason.

The cane is relatively self-explanatory in the original post, but I was quite happy with my idea that it has practical and multi-tool applications. 2BD is resourceful and proactive, almost to a bit of a pedantic degree. Plus I imagine it's 2BD supplying all those gadgets and implements when retrieving Deimos and Sanford, aside from the shit he probably steals as well.

The gloves were complete self-indulgence. I like claws. BUT I think it conveys his weird "doctor" occupation quite succinctly and gives him another cool point. Albeit I imagine I will switch to bare forearms and fingerless gloves whenever he's handling his VSS Vintorez, because they wouldn't really work well with a gun.

His colour palette ended up leaning into warmer tones sort of "accidentally", but I think it works well. Red in Nevada is a prominent, reoccurring colour that I think symbolises life (and death), and the Other Place. Zero, Hank and 2BD all have very strong ties to these concepts, so reds are prominently featured in their designs in different ways. 2BD, in my interpretation at least, is the most "human" in contrast to ZeroHank specifically. Those two are beings "beyond this world", and 2BD is the "mortal" between them.

The key on his neck is practical and symbolic, with a hint of being cute. It's just his house key, but it "represents" the idea that he is the key to open all secrets in this world. He's the one in control, the one in power, the one with answers. Plus I wanted a little piece of him that Zero or Hank could tug on.

I still think the monoeye goggles are cute, but they end up being a bit too cute for the intent of my "main" design. I will absolutely still draw him with them (especially for simplifications) but it ends up losing the intimidating quality a bit.

Also I saw that comment abt 2BD having burn scars and yeah I think I will experiment with adding those, I like the idea of them being on his face and forearms and that's why he has such prominent coverings on them. I'm not as experienced with depicting/stylising scars like that though so I might need a lot of practice.

I am pretty content with giving his scars more "story", in that a lot of them originate from being tortured during or shortly after his dissension (which is a circulating headcanon I personally liked).

Oh and here's his height difference with Zero.

Guy gets perfect eye level with Zero's chest like okay man. I'm also quite pleased with their contrasts because Zero is imposing and huge in this detached, almost cold way (additionally supplemented by her monochrome palette), whereas 2BD is imposing in this stout, grouchy way. Straight lines and curves and angular points.

Zero is still warm inside, but it doesn't reflect outwards. They're not human, they're not an existence that belongs here. Conversely, 2BD is warm, and full of "life" in this specific way. They don't quite covet 2BD's humanity, but they certainly feel something for it, like cradling a flame in a lantern.

I may revisit Zero's palette but I think I like this strict monochrome but who knows. I've always ascribed the windblown Nevadean desert to her, the desert wanderer, hellbound ghost, buuuut who knows. Maybe that could be reflected more strongly in her Magiturge form. The true self. I imagine I'll revisit it someday + perhaps create a version where her temporary "ascension" is contained in her physical form, letting it last longer at the cost of power.

Oh and I do still like 2BD's with long, soft mohawks but since I draw his fur collar in a particular way, doing the mohawk in that way felt like doubling up. Plus I love how it looks like a scratchy rough broom, it adds to his grouchiness. Pick him up and sweep with him

[nerdieforpedro]

Not made of Glass

Part Seven of A Safe Place for Us Series

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

Summary: Decisions about where to live are made and Dieter starts the “daddy” jokes. Sort of. The pair discuss states of health.

Warnings: Domestic conversations, various dirty talk (utter filth - I’m only 20% sorry), talk of children, talk of health conditions and disparities, feelings, unprotected p in v, aftercare

Word Count: about 2.1k

Notes: The daddy and momma thing won’t be that much of a thing. I tried it, it was funny but won’t be a recurring joke. I promise though I do think if Dieter did stick to it, he would be insufferable 😩 The horror.

Main Masterlist/ Dieter Bravo Masterlist/ AO3 Link

A small bodega serves coffee, bagels, sandwiches and assording baked goods based on the day of the week. It’s near a top floor condo that Dieter and Aisha are looking at today. It’s two days after finding out the life changing news, the expectant parents are still looking at different places on Aisha’s insistence. She made sure that the OBGYN she saw sent her tests and information to her home doctor, though she was considering moving here. The writer is curious about living in New York most of the time and being in Los Angeles when needed. She enjoys the thought of just taking the subway to a broadway show or the museum. Dieter is already talking about a house outside of the city, something he hasn’t mentioned before. The realtor is as confused as Aisha is but they both look through some listings until Dieter says it was the one he dreamed about. The home in question is a brick with a white roof and a yellow mailbox out front.

“It’s cute but it’s not in the city.” That’s Aisha’s response but Bravo convinces her to sleep on it and that they can talk about it tomorrow. The small meal consisting and sandwiches, water, tea and two pieces of chocolate cake makes her want this condo more.

Even when they get back to the hotel and attempt to relax, she still thinks about the high ceilings that would be excellent for natural light, working on some drafts and maybe watching Dee paint. That night, despite knowing that she’s only two or three months along at best, Dieter insists on laying his head on her belly. It’s in a series of moments that he never thought would come to pass. Humming ‘twinkle twinkle little star,’ he hears laughter that he’s become accustomed to hearing much more often.

“I liked the place near the little bodega. You could paint there and I can watch while I write. Plus I don’t know about maintaining a yard Dee.” Aisha’s fingertips massage his scalp while he lets a a short purr inturrpting his song. “We’ll go see this brick house though, it might be too much room.”

“Not too much room if we decide to have more children. Plus there will need to be room for Cookie.” He looks up and she knows he’s referring to his goat but he treats the pet like any dog or cat. Giggling, Aisha nods until she fully processes what he’s said, ‘more children.’ It was written in the contract they both signed. She’d never pictured herself with more than one. It led to her next question,

“Dieter how many children do you want to have? You know I’m-“ Bravo slides up the bed, shirtless and in his favorite Hugo Boss boxer briefs.

“I know, and it’s your fault. Now I’m a father and think about giving our current bun other future buns to play with.” The scruff of his patchy beard tickles her neck and then cheek as he peppers her neck and chest with kisses. “Now I get to call you sexy mama.”

“Dieter you’re so goofy.” Aisha’s hands runs along Dieter’s soft sides, feeling his warm skin. “I don’t hate you calling me mama though. I’m not sure if I’ll get used to calling you daddy. It feels like a weird fanfic prompt.” She releases a moan as Dieter moves between her legs and grinds his hips into hers.

“Let me hear it. Say, ‘give it to me daddy.’ Just for me.” He grins while he watches’s her eyebrows furrow from lifting her hips off the bed. His next line is cooed into her ear, “Tell me that you want daddy to fuck you sexy mama. Feel how wet your for me with my baby inside of you.” Dieter reaches down to slip out of his boxers and then raises the hem of Aisha’s nightgown. He catches her scent and when he runs the head of his cock along her folds, she’s already soaked. “I’ll keep the mother of my child wet, stuffed and happy. It’s what daddy’s supposed to do, aren’t I?” Aisha’s response isn’t with words, she reached down and guides the head of Dieter’s cock to her entrance and slides him in.

“You’re right Dee. That is daddy’s job. Give me daddy’s thick dick so mama can milk it since I want my walls painted.” Bravo doesn’t move his hips yet, he lets Aisha keep griding upward.

“Fuck baby…so damn good. Definitely at least one more kid after this one. I won’t be able to stay out of this pussy.” He interlocks his hands with hers and gives slow shallow thrusts. There’s no call times, no early appointments, just the two of them in their hotel room enjoying each other’s bodies. There’s no rush at all. “You only want the one or you open to more Aisha?” He presses his chest to hers, not set on forcing her into the mattress yet. Her eyes flutter and she looks up at him. Dieter’s watching her like he always does whenever they have sex, though recently there had been more slow sessions like this. Making love - that much Aisha is sure of.

“I’m open to having another one, but let’s see how this one goes. I’m not even past the first trimester. W-Wait, there Dee…again!” She widens her legs to allow him deeper, he’d found that extra sensitive spot within her fleshy canal and was hitting it with each slow stroke. She knew he wouldn’t go any faster, not right now. Bravo smirks a hits again twice before purposefully changing the angle to miss it and hear her hiss. He kisses her lips and ensure to hit it again to have her whine into his mouth.

“That’s fair Ai, and I think despite it being outside the city, you’ll like those house. We’ll have room to grow into it.” The smirk remains on his face as he waiting her out, he wants her to ask him to speed up, be rougher. It’s a game he may have started a few weeks ago. Dieter notes that Aisha is trying to release his hands and putting her feet flat into the matress to have him go deeper with his cock.

“You enjoy making me ask. It’s mean, but fine. I want it harder Dee. You’re supposed to be keeping mama satisfied aren’t you daddy?” The giggle is from this wordplay he started, it isn’t bad just weird as he releases her hands and wraps the around the back of his neck.

“Of course sexy mama. Your wish is my command.” Dieter winks as he takes a handful each of her ample hips beginning to piston into her, now with his goal of dipping her into the mattress. Her previous soft moans were replaced by deep groans and his grunts. They both climaxed quickly from their slow buildup and after washing up afterward laid in bed naked, facing each other under the blankets.

“Think we can put a pause on the mama and daddy thing? I gotta get used to that. It was weird.” Aisha admits and Dieter agrees. She snuggles up next to him and he wraps his arms around her.

“I didn’t think you’d play into it so hard.”

“I’m just glad you weren’t too serious about it.”

“You know what I am serious about though?” Aisha looks up as Dieter draws some circles into her back. She tilts her head and hums waiting for an answer.

“Because you’re worried about how this pregnancy can go and I’m worried about you, no matter where we live, we’re having a certified midwife checking in on you in addition to your follow up appointments. It’s non-negotiable.” It’s a stipulation that Dieter had mentioned before as well. It isn’t that Aisha didn’t appreciate it, she did immensely. That he cared about her being healthy along with the baby, but to be watched in her own home. Well soon to be their home, it would be a bit much for her.

“They’ll come for visits right? It won’t be like a live in nurse, someone watching me 24/7 is too much Dee.” Aisha attempts to get up and out of the bed to wash up but Dieter quickly rises with her and sits on the bed next to her.

“You know it’s not just because I have the money to do so right? It’s not a flex or something Aisha. We’re both older, and even though I know you have a clean bill of health and so do I, so many things can go wrong. It’s dangerous.” Aisha stands and walks to the bathroom and begins to wash up with Bravo nearly on her heels. “Are you listening to me?”

“I hear you dammit!” Her yell has her looking at Dieter surprised, both at him and herself. She didn’t expect to get so worked up over it. More than anyone, Aisha knows due to her research and appointments how dangerous pregnancy can be for any woman, let alone, a black woman and her first pregnancy is at age 35. It’s what she was cautioned against even though the only unhealthy thing about her was her weight. No other lifestyle risk factors. She finishes washing and cleans her hands before leaning against the counter, she can’t look at Dieter’s face in the mirror, he looks hurt.

“I didn’t mean to yell Dee. I know that despite everything, my age and race puts me in the high risk category. I just….” She pulls him close and lays her head on his chest. “Just want to enjoy the pregnancy. It might be my only one, we don’t know. So just stay in the moment with me okay? I know there’s things we need to watch out for and I do love that you’re being this protective of me.” She kisses his chest before rubbing his back, more to soothed herself than him while he cups the back of her head. “Please let’s just enjoy it.”

“Okay. I’ll still worry though. I want to have you and the kid you know?” Dieter kisses her forehead and they lay back down in bed to sleep for the night. Aisha is awake long after Dieter’s called asleep still holding her, he’d brought up fears that she was hoping she’d buried. They’re still creeping in the edge of her mind when the drive out to the brick house Dieter had found.

It’s large, six bedrooms and five and a half bathrooms with a large room downstairs with plenty of light that Aisha says would make a good mini-atelier for Dieter to paint in. She found herself an office next to the master bedroom which is the size of her current apartment. Dieter describes making it a comfy place for her to sleep and nest. He read about nesting online and figured it might be fun for Aisha to try in a few months. She laughs and shakes her head but between the beautiful yard with landscaping and a small garden she can try and not kill plants in and it being in a gated community with the neighbors spread out but not too far away. She agrees to buy the house, with Dieter putting both their names on it.

Driving back into the city and eating at a small outdoor cafe, Aisha asks something else that’s been on her mind, after Dieter settles next to her at the small table. He brought a shawl despite her already wearing a thick red sweater with her navy skirt and red converses. She wanted to wear them while she still could. Dieter is comfy in one of his rainbow sweaters, purple lakers shirts and jeans. He kisses her cheek while they’re handed menus. “Um, how should we tell our families the news? There’s a lot.” Bravo laughs and so does Aisha knowing it’s going to be an entire mess to sort after being seen out in the open like this.

“We’ll tell them together and one piece at a time.” Is Dieter’s answer after they order the soup of the day: French Onion with extra cheese and plenty of bread to dip.

Their joy makes for a beautiful picture that pops up all over social media and the news. The headline: Oscar Winner Dieter Bravo and his longtime friend writer Aisha Smith seen out and about in New York? Are the rumors true? Have they crossed the line between friends?

It seems neither of them has to break the initial news to their families, the world did that. Dieter and Aisha only had to answer the specifics of to what extend had their relationship changed, which they agree would be done when they were comfortable with doing so.

Part Six Part Eight

Tagged peeps: @readingiskeepingmegoing @megamindsecretlair @soft-persephone @pedrostories @littlemisspascal @baronessvonglitter @nathanbatemanfucker

[decepti-thots]

☕ i vaguely remember a meta post of yours mentioning that point one percenters were a useless concept and that it also messes up megs' narrative, i'd love to read the full version of that take!

You are remembering this post, which covers the basic reasons I feel like IDW Megatron specifically does not work as a point one percenter!

More broadly, I have two big problems with the concept existing in a general sense. The first one is that it's simply ill-defined in a way where it simultaneously is not clear what it even means and yet that ambiguity is not taken advantage of for storytelling purposes the way that, say, the nebulous idea of what an outlier is gets used. Outliers don't have a clear definition, in the story- but the basic concept of 'some of these robots can do weird superpower shit outside the norm, and they are recognised as being a kind of weird group everyone sort of side-eyes suspiciously' is easy to understand as a reader and by keeping it vague, it can be used to explain quite a wide variety of character abilities without running into too much nitpicky 'hey, but that ability doesn't really match what we know about outliers, so...' stuff. It's also presented pretty value neutrally a lot of the time; Skywarp and Thundercracker aren't like, Special Chosen Ones because they can do a couple weird tricks other characters can't, they're just sort of anomalies with a couple useful abilities up their metaphorical sleeves, yknow.

Compare that to a 'point one percenter'. What is the one-sentence elevator pitch for this concept? That their sparks are... stronger, somehow. (Higher energy? More resilient? Harder to snuff out?) Okay, and what does that mean for the characters, what does that do? Well. Maybe it's why Megatron is Just That Strong, apparently. MTMTE also says this, not being an outlier, is why Minimus can wear external armour without issue- but also it's not like every point one percenter can necessarily do this, so I guess it's different depending on the mech? Or maybe they can all do it and just don't. Who Knows. I guess it's why Overlord survived becoming a phase sixer- but it's not what makes him Just That Strong. But also I guess Megatron could beat him in hand to hand combat at some point. Magnus can't though, and he's ostensibly a point one percenter? Basically, there's never really even that very broad line drawn around what the hell it means or why anyone cares someone has an extra-radioactive green spark.

And I think the point there is that like... most of the fandom just assumes Minimus' ability is being an outlier, right? And for a good reason: a ton of the stuff point one percenters can potentially do is better explained by them simply being outliers! And there we hav a problem. Having these two unrelated groups of mechs that are nebulously Different And Special to explain certain things they can do that other characters can't is just confusing when really, one would realistically do, and the reason I think it's the point one percent concept that ought to go and not the outlier concept is that the latter just raises a lot less questions.

Questions like, you know, hey, why the entire hell does this comic need an objectively measurable way to tell if someone's soul is somehow just inherently kind of "superior by" some metric. That's such a bizarre fucking thing to introduce into a narrative trying to do what MTMTE is doing; if the forged/cold construct divide brings a lot of baggage into MTMTE's themes, the point one percent stuff is just a total albatross around its neck, IMO. All point one percenters have forged souls (even Megatron, that being the twist of EC), and point one percenters are all these big important genuinely Just Plain Better characters like Megatron and Optimus and so on where the reader is clearly supposed to have this feeling of like, 'oh of course those guys are the special ones'.

If there was some attempt to explore how like, being a point one percenter just meant you could lift real good or whatever and wasn't actually meaningful in any other way but became unfairly treated as a sign of greater "superiority" nonetheless, I might see a clearer goal to the concept being introduced; you could maybe do something with "this thing that is actually very small and arbitrary is fluffed up by the powers that be as way more than it actually is". But like... all the named point one percenters we ever see outside a couple cons Megatron made bigshots in the army are genuinely these people who outside just being physically very strong, are on a narrative level understood to be the sorts of characters one might call 'destined for inherent greatness', or something. Right? There's no random nobody never-did-anything-special Lost Light background character who turns out to be a point one percenter who's just Some Guy, or anything. They're all iconic named high command type characters with Epic Fates and shit, lmao.

(Minimus could have been that character, even as a protagonist, because of the conceit of his arc in MTMTE- but they really never manage it with him either, tbh. And again, it really feels like that was much more in line with the outlier concept, and fits better there anyway.)

There's just a lot of 'have your cake and eat it too' with this whole barely-touched plotline in MTMTE, for basically no payoff that couldn't be achieved another way. Where Roberts falters with character writing is IMO when he's writing characters he is kind of precious about due to being a longterm, hardcore fan with nostalgia- you see a lot of that sentimentality at points when he's writing these characters from his childhood like Optimus or Megatron. A sort of elevation of these characters due to their metatextual status as iconic and narratively important that other characters (including, notably, Rodimus) benefit from not being subject to. And the point one percenter idea is, ultimately, a way to try and make that an objective fact in universe, it feels to me. Some of these characters just are better in a special, vague, you-know-why way. But like. MTMTE is a story that wants to talk about how presenting certain kinds of people as Just Better is wrong and cruel, too- and that tension doesn't wind up being used for anything productive. So if there's one single piece of worldbuilding I would fully remove wholesale from the comic, it would probably be this one. More than just being largely narratively irrelevant, it's also genuinely something of a problem for the comic's attempted themes.