#posting the best while I can and have those

[ilium-ilia]

Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Ten: a world inside a world

tw: none

Grand Hollow is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. 

It scars the land. Morphs it into some unrecognizable jungle littered with buildings that tower higher than any church you’ve ever laid eyes on. The ground vanishes underneath stone blocks and wood boards, leaving Jester’s hooves to pop! along the streets as you keep close to your little group of outlaws. 

Many of the stores you pass sport large windows to show off merchandise fancier than any you’ve ever seen, such as watches made of pure silver and hats from freshly trapped varmints. There are young boys standing on street corners shouting about newspapers or other goods, or strange folk in even stranger clothes attempting to sell bottles of what you think you heard them call snake oil. 

You don’t think you could ever make out your daddy’s steeple through this mess. 

The air smells different here. It’s thicker than Penmosa’s atmosphere—darker. Thin columns of black smoke rise high into the air in the distance, reaching far enough to stain Heaven’s basement with coal dust and human filth. There are kinder aromas that attempt to stave off the grime of horses and automation. Strong liquor pours through some saloons and hotels you pass by, and there’s something sickeningly sweet about the tailor's shop on the other side of the street. 

Sweat slicks your palms, bleeding into the leather reigns you grasp. You have never seen so many people in your life—not shoved into the confines of a city like this. Eyes wander, lips curl, mouths greet. Swallowing, you ensure your mother’s necklace is tucked safely inside your blouse. 

“Your eyes look like they’re about to pop out of your skull, Lamb,” Kyle teases. 

Looking to your side, you see him casually leaning back in his saddle as he leads Bear with one hand. His aura is cool—collected. While you’ve been panicking the moment you’ve crossed this new threshold, he’s only seemed to relax. 

“This is all… I don’t even have the word to describe it,” you admit, eyes flickering back to focus on the road before you. 

“Grand?” he chuckles. “It’s not quite as big as London, so it was an easy adjustment for us, but I imagine it might be a bit much for someone like you… no offence.” 

“None taken. You’re right, after all,” you laugh nervously. “Mr. Beckett would always tell me stories about places like this. Things he heard from travelers and such. None of it comes close to experiencing it for yourself.” 

“And there’s plenty to experience here. Shows, parks, libraries.” 

“Libraries?” you repeat. “I didn’t think those were real.” 

Kyle snickers, white teeth flashing between his lips as he shakes his head. “Oh, they’re real alright. If the human brain can cook it up, it’ll exist here in Grand Hollow.” 

Deep in the heart of this jungle, sitting proud on the corner of a large city block, lies The Twin Rose Hotel. Just like every other building in this city, it towers over all of God’s creatures with glistening windows and chestnut bricks. A balcony on the second floor looks down upon the streets with an excellent view of the city park just across the way, and hanging above that on the face of the wall is the building’s name. Squinting, you’re able to make out odd, small glass bulbs that line the lettering. 

Small metal poles dot the sidewalk around the hotel, staining the ground with the protrusion. John hops off his horse and hitches him to it, and everyone else follows to do the same. A pang shoots through your feet as you dismount, not used to the hard surface of the streets. Your thighs feel numb from countless hours of riding, and you do your best to stretch your hips out as you tie Jester to the metal hitching post next to Bear. Just as you knot it, you realize you can make out a small horse symbol etched into the iron. Even though this city seems so advanced, they still hold a place for the antiquated ways of cowboys. 

“Right then,” John speaks up. All ears in the vicinity perk at the clamor of his voice. He stands with his shoulders squaring backwards and his thumbs looped behind his belt buckle. “Mind your manners, boys.” 

Walking into The Twin Rose is even more of a culture shock than the entirety of Grand Hollow has been. Glistening crystal chandeliers hang high above your head, filling what appears to be the cleanest saloon you’ve ever seen with a warm, saffron glow. The floors are made of waxed wood that don’t have so much as a dent on them, and various tables lay around the room in polkadot-like fashion. A crowd of gentlemen sit at a round table, chuckling over full plates and bottles of beer, and a man in a silk top hat plucks away at a standing piano just next to the mouth of a wide staircase. 

Toward the back of the room lies a bar. There are no stools to sit on, but a young woman with thin lips busies herself with cleaning her mixing supplies. Sconces line the walls, leaving nothing unilluminated, yet you can’t keep yourself from squinting at them. 

“How do they keep the oil in all of these?” you whisper. 

Kyle attempts to stifle his chuckle. “They’re lightbulbs, love. They run on electricity.” 

Lightbulbs. You remember hearing about their creation when you were a kid. It was all anyone could talk about when every paper in the country slapped it on the front page. The great Thomas Edison had invented light that could be held in the palm of your hand. Of course, your poor little town of Penmosa never got to see such a feat, stuck with using oil lamps and campfires, you could only ever dream of witnessing such magic. Your father abhors the idea of it. He says it’s unnatural—ungodly and impetuous. 

How could God hate something so beautiful? 

John leads everyone up to the bar, weaving through tables with heavy feet. He crosses his arms and keeps his head low as he kindly greets the barmaid. Grey eyes look him up and down, seemingly unimpressed, before her gaze wanders over everyone else. She doesn’t even look intimidated by Riley’s stature and the bandana that covers his face. Suddenly, you find your pulse rising. The closest thing you’ve had to a proper bath in the last few weeks was that thunderstorm that rolled in before you hit Little Wood—you’re sure you look less than presentable. 

“Can I help you?” she asks, voice dull.

“I need to speak with Laswell,” John says. 

She raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t seem surprised. “Who’s asking?” 

“John Price.” 

The woman’s head quirks, and you think you might even see a slight smirk on her lips. She places her items down on the bar top before motioning for everyone to follow her. You’re led through a door marked private that brings you to a long hallway with several doors. The barmaid breezes by most of them before coming to a stop at the very end of the hallway. A terrible squeak accompanies the door opening, and through the threshold you’re able to see a large, rectangular table with several chairs to sit in. 

“Take a seat. Laswell will be with you in a minute,” the barmaid instructs. 

You find yourself squeezed between John and Kyle as everyone melts into their seats with a sigh. Red wallpaper adorns every inch of the room in a deep scarlet that soaks up the illumination from the sconces. Beautiful paintings in thick, mahogany frames dot the walls as decor, but the room is too tenebrous for you to fully tell what they are. You can vaguely make out a beautiful Arabian horse in one, and snow capped mountains in another, but your eyes strain too great to peer at them in detail. 

Soap leans so far in his chair that his neck rests on the backboard, and his feet brush against yours, though you don’t say anything about the intrusion. “I hope we’re invited over for dinner.”

“Enjoying Lottie’s cooking and then having a proper bed to sleep in does sound nice,” Kyle hums in agreement. 

“There’s still a lot of work to do, boys,” John reminds them. 

Huffing, Soap straightens himself out in his seat. “Aye, but we’re allowed to have a little fun every now and then, aren’t we?” 

Before anyone can comment further, the door swings open, then quickly clicks shut. A woman with a stern face enters the room, and she is the strangest lady you think you’ve ever seen. Her cream blouse is pressed so that it’s pristine and free of wrinkles, and her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows as if she was caught doing manual labor. Instead of a skirt to accompany it, she dons a pair of black dress pants with matching shoes. Her dirty blonde hair is pulled back into a bun, leaving only her fringe to cover her forehead and the sides of her face. For a long moment, she stands at the head of the table with her hands on her hips where she gets a good look at everyone seated in front of her before humming and taking a seat. 

“Never thought I’d see any of you ever again,” she says bluntly. “Last I knew, John Price and his posse had vanished further West where the land is wild and the laws are rare.” 

“You know we couldn’t stay away forever, Laswell,” John smiles. 

“Yeah, not with all that unfinished business you have in Blackpeak.” The air grows tense. Palpable with hesitation. The oddly dressed woman pauses a moment to let her eyes fall on you, and you find your breath catching in your throat. She scrutinizes you—soaks up every inch of you. She doesn’t look away from you when she continues to speak. “I see you’ve got a new member to this… posse, of yours.” 

John looks at you, eyes cold and face impossible to read. “She’s just cargo.” 

Laswell hums. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” 

Your mouth grows dryer than any desert Mr. Beckett has ever told you about in all his tall tales. John nods in encouragement, and your answer tumbles off of your tongue like a freshly jellied calf. 

“But we all just call her Lamb,” Soap interjects with a grin. 

“Where are you from, Lamb?” the woman asks. 

“Penmosa.” You answer her question as if you’re unsure—as if you don’t know if you’re right or not. 

“Penmosa?” she repeats. “You’re an awfully long way from home. What brings you out here?” 

Nervosity chews at the flesh of your ankles as your hands fall into your lap, fingers twiddling. Is this the part where you ask for help? Where you bare your father’s sins for some stranger to see—to sully his name? Eyes shifting, you look to John, who casually leans back in his chair as he raps his fingers against the tabletop. 

“Her daddy’s got a bad temper,” he explains simply. 

“Right. Cargo.” Laswell crosses her arms before glancing around the table once more. “You boys are damn near drooling on my table. If you were hungry, you could’ve asked.” 

“Well, we didn’t want to impose,” Kyle explains, though his grin bleeds into his words. 

“You know better than to play coy with me, Garrick,” she teases. Her chair scrapes across the floor as she stands to her feet. The sconce behind her sends a diffused ray of light around her—she looks powerful. Unlike any other woman you’ve ever seen. “I’ll have the kitchen cook us some lunch, then we’ll see about arrangements. Lamb, how does a bath sound?” 

Surprised to hear her address you directly, you nearly jump out of your seat. “A bath? Well… that sounds fine.” 

“Good. We’ll get you fed, then while you’re bathing, the men and I can talk business. Sit tight, I’ll be back.” 

It does not take Laswell long to return with two maids following along behind her in red dresses. They each push a small trolley of sorts, with large plates of food and pitchers of water jittering along the metal cart as they station it alongside the table. You eye platters of rolls, chicken, smoked ham, mashed potatoes, and a large gravy boat. Dainty hands place the delicate dishes on the table buffet style before handing everyone a fresh, rose designed porcelain plate. Then, they vanish behind the door, leaving everyone to their meal. 

Honey glistens off of the ham in an enticing amber color that the boys waste no time diving into, flesh peeling like the tender skin of an orange. Rolls are passed around, as well as the saltiest butter you’ve ever tasted in your life, and you find your stomach growling after the first bite. You try to recall when the last time you had a proper meal was. When you put something other than hardtack and dried meat into your body. 

It was the night you left, you realize. When you promised your father you would find the change that ripped out of your apron. Your throat closes up the moment you recall the way his hand kissed your cheek, and you drown your discomfort away with a sip of water. Algid liquid hits your teeth and makes you grimace—there’s ice in your cup. You don’t think you’ve ever seen such a thing before. 

Conversation comes easy for everyone at the table except for you. John and Laswell murmur to one another in low tones while stabbing the meat from their plates with silver forks. Their eyes shift in unison, both of them on high alert as if anyone at the table might suddenly turn feral and nip at them. Riley and Soap are having some sort of disagreement, and Kyle isn’t helping with how he throws his two cents in so that they only get more riled up with one another. 

So, you’re left to sit. And sit. Silverware scraping against your empty plate, you face the bitter realization that this is the final stop for you. No more trekking through the wilderness with strange men who carry large bounties. No more long nights by a tall fire. You would hate to admit that you had gotten comfortable with them, but they were at least familiar. Now, you’re going to be dumped here. Left to wander in a strange town—a terrifying and intimidating new world—and John Price will be nothing more than a forgotten memory. 

After all, you’re only cargo. 

“Lamb?” 

Head snapping up from the scraps of your meal, you look at Laswell, who’s leaning forward in her chair with her elbows on the table. You realize you can’t quite read her as well as you can most other people. There is no tell in the corner of her lip like there is with Kyle, or a sly illumination in the depths of John’s cyanotic eyes. She simply speaks, and her tone implores you to listen.

“Yes ma’am?” 

“You finished with your food?” she asks. 

You nod, sharp and stiff. “Yes, it was lovely, thank you.” 

Laswell stands from the table, black dress pants riding up on her waist as she does. “Let’s get you in that bath, then.” 

You’re allowed to fetch your carpet bag from Jester before you’re brought up to the second floor. The chatter of well dressed patrons and their drunken games fades to white noise as Laswell leads you down tenebrous hallways marked with swirling vine and rose patterned wallpaper. Everything about this building is rich, from the sienna of the brick it’s built with, to the sconces that hold electricity in the very palm of its hands. 

As you clutch your bag closer to your chest—and all your pitiful belongings with it—you try not to feel like a walking stain in the establishment. 

“I can’t thank you enough for taking me in,” you blurt out suddenly. Unable to hold your tongue still, you swallow down the aftertaste of peppered mash before continuing. “John says you take in—well—troubled girls like me. That you’d give me a job, or at least help me find one.” 

“It’s what we do around here, darling.” Her reply is short and curt, though not impolite. Laswell’s feet stop just in front of a door with a gilded knob and the word bath engraved into rich wood. She quickly gestures to the door before her hands fall back to her sides. “Feel free to use all the amenities. And take your time. It’ll take me a bit to get all the fine details ironed out with John.”

Nodding, you thank her once more before slipping behind the door into what you can only assume is a whole other world. That’s all Grand Hollow seems to be—pockets of universes shoved inside one another. Endless doors stuck in a vast maze waiting for you to open so that they can fill you with veneration. 

There is a single lamp (at least, that’s what you think they are called—that interesting decor that looks like an oil lamp but with a shade and ten times bigger) that sits on a table just by the window, yet it’s more dim compared to the other electric light sources you’ve seen so far. The blinds are drawn, casting the room in darkness, but the shadows morph and dance on the walls as freshly lit candles sit on various surfaces throughout the room. 

The bathtub is larger than any other you’ve seen before. Clawed feet rest on the floor as it holds steaming water, and when you tread close you notice the distinct scent of rose. Upon closer inspection, you notice a few vermillion petals floating on the surface. A smile graces your lips. 

You think you might like it here. 

Before you undress, you seat yourself at the vanity. Its stool is plush, composed of thick velvet that envelopes your rum with comfort infinitely greater than Jester’s saddle ever does. It takes you more time than you’d care to admit to detangle your hair, but you know it’s well overdue for a wash, and life on the road hasn’t been treating any part of your body too well. Stripping yourself of your overdress and chemise, you slowly lower yourself into the tub while trying not to hiss at the near scalding water. 

As you rest with your back propped and limbs limp, everything fades away. The grime that nestles between your toes, the ache and sores between your thighs, the faint scars on your knuckles. Even the bitter memories of your father. It dissolves into the water to swirl around the rose petals that you toy with. Pure silk against your fingertips, you raise one to your nose and sniff. It’s sweeter than molasses—you’ve just eaten lunch and your mouth is already watering. 

A myriad of oils and soaps line the small side table next to you. You take turns picking each of the bars up and wetting them with your hands to feel the suds on your skin. Each one smells divine. Meadow grass in summer, petrichor in spring, Mama’s rolls in autumn—

—there’s a knock. 

For a moment, you almost think it’s her; your mother. She’s playing the knocking game again. Tapping on the wall that leads to your bedroom. Letting you know she’s still alive, that her tuberculosis hasn’t consumed her quite yet. It’s easy to fall into delusion when you’re enveloped by something so warm and so gentle—something that (for once) doesn’t have teeth. 

That thin shred of your imagination vanishes the moment a figure bursts through the door without even bothering to hear your answer. Though you know you should not be surprised to see John Price standing before you, you still are. Door clicking behind him, the gravity of the situation hits you, and you find yourself desperately attempting to save your dignity. Arms crossing over your breasts, thighs pressing together to hide your sex, your eyes widen as you sink further into the water. 

“John!” you shriek. “What are you…” 

Whatever malice laced confusion you harbor dies in your throat the moment you watch as his thick fingers reach up towards his neck. Then, one by one, he begins to undo the buttons of his shirt. Thick swirling hair sprouts between the fabric, and you’re left to gawk at the debauched display that is presenting itself to you. 

Unbothered, John untucks his shirt from his trousers before tossing it onto the floor next to your chemise, leaving him bare chested. If this were any other occasion, you’d be scandalized at such a gesture—his linens mixing with yours—but you find yourself infinitely more concerned with the odd twinkle in his eye. 

“You don’t mind if I join you for a moment, do you, love?”

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[outer-andromeda]

Usually I try to better clean up and color these... But I REALLY wanted to share 'em as soon as possible cuz I really like how they look already, sue me :')))

Some story time under the cut for those of you who want context >:000

((EDIT - Small TWs for some negative talk and mentions of grief. Also spoilers for the ending on Chapter 4 :00)

As mentioned in a previous post, Gabby and Doey's relationship is... Very strained after the events of the fourth chapter.

Doey joined the group (Gabby, Kissy and Ava) eventually while they were venturing as subtly as possible to avoid running into Huggy. It was a surprise, obviously - they all thought he was six feet underground since the aftermath of him crashing down. They were all relieved to know he was still alive, but something was different. He wasn't as jovial as his usual self was... He was just... Off. Quiet. Monotone.

(Which is understandable since the guy is literally GRIEVING the loss of the kids of the Safe Haven y'know- and he feels immense guilt for what happened)

At some point, they get separated - Kissy and Ava stick together, while Doey and Gabby venture on their own way, both groups hoping to join each other again eventually. Doey and Gabby still have that quiet dynamic going on, because the human guy doesn't want to make things any worse than they already are. So he tries to be the cheerful one. For both his and Doey's sakes. He tries as hard as he can. But it falls flat. And Gabby, despite himself, grows more and more irritated by Doey's unusual calmness. Something's obviously going on and he won't say anything about it.

Something happens that puts them in a dangerous situation, and everything spills out. Gabby wants to talk, he wants answers. Doey is trying to ignore it, but he's being pushed. And suddenly his anger blooms back out. And he lashes out on Gabby. Shouts all the words he hadn't gotten out. How he was never any good for the kids. How he could've done so much more. How if it wasn't for him, "they'd still be breathing and standing right now". How Gabby can't understand. And Gabby... Takes it. He stands there, listening to every single thing he says. Silently.

He's not afraid. And Doey notices. It's unnerving. It catches him completely off guard. It's like something is starting to break inside of him. Something he's not sure he wants to let shatter much more...

And then Gabby hugs him. And the thing in Doey's core is completely obliterated. And the crocodile tears are finally, finally let loose. And his shoulders finally relax to wrap themselves around the short man.

They talk after some VERY good comforting words from Gabby. They find Kissy and Ava after some searching, and they're back on track.

And from then on, their relationship changes back slowly to the small friendship they had formed in the past, plus more. They both understand and trust each other, and Doey feels relief from having someone he can confide in and let himself relax with. And just... Be a kid. Even if just for a bit. All three kids need that so badly, and Gabby tries his best to give that to them. To Doey. Because he, out of anyone, deserves a break the most.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Besotted 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes

Note: It's hump day, my dudes.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You don’t see Bucky at all the next day. His motorcycle is gone when you leave for work and when you come back. You assume he has his own work to do, or some running around. He did just move in. You try not to take it personally but you are disappointed. 

This is a lot more fun than all those other times. You’re not as stressed, not as insecure. Maybe it’s because you’re not hoping for more. Because you took a page out of Angelique’s book and stopped caring. One way or another, you’re going to get rid of your v-card. It doesn’t have to be special, it just has to happen. 

On your day off, you decide to get rid of the prickly weeds around the front porch. It's the perfect opportunity for you to show off your shortest shorts and blast some tunes while you’re at it. You put on your rose gold headphone and the best of girly pop. 

You smell coffee but don’t see your neighbour. You don’t want to be too obvious. You get down on your knees and pull-on the dollar store gardening gloves. You’re not good at any of this but these damn plants keep scratching your ankles. 

Before long, your alternative motives drift away as you wrestle with roots. You yank free a particularly stubborn weed and send up a cloud of dandelion fluff. You sneeze into the back of the glove. A shadow passes over you and a gentle tap lands on your shoulder. 

You squeak and drop the leaves. You pull off your headphones and twist to look up at Bucky. Your shoulder tingles where he touched. It’s hard to think someone like him can be so soft. 

“I’m headed into town...” he crosses his arms, the cleft in his chin deepening as he mulls his words, “you said you wanted to test out the motorcycle...” 

“Oh really!” You exclaim as you look up at him. You focus on his face, even as you’re innately aware of how close your are to something else. “Oh, Bucky, that’s so awesome. I’ve been so excited for this.” You gather up the compost bag and he offers his hand. He hauls you up to your feet and reluctantly let go. “I’ve been so patient.” 

He hums, “you can’t wear those. You’ll get burned.” 

He looks down at your shorts. You giggle. You pull off your gloves and clutch them together. “I’ll get changed. I have the perfect pants!” 

He just nods. 

“I’ll wait,” he assures and points over his shoulder. 

You grin and spin to rush away, headphones bouncing around your neck. You dump the gloves and bag on the porch and clatter through the door. You stop to wipe the dirt off your knees and strip off your shorts before you get to the bedroom. 

You search out the fake leather leggings with all the fake zippers. The sun won’t be kind but you don’t mind. You slip into them and find a strappy red top with a bandana style cut at the hem. The bejeweled letters across the front read ‘sinful’. It’s cheesy but you love it. 

You find a pair of sunglasses with thick black cat eyes and trade your sandals for leather booties. You hook your purse across your body as you come out with a jangle of your keys. You zip those away with your phone as you come down the stair. 

Your chest jiggles with each step as your upper tummy peeks out beneath the fabric. Bucky looks over and arches a brow. You approach as he takes a helmet from the handlebar. 

“Found a spare,” he offers. 

You take it and thank him. His eyes skitter between you and the bike. You giggle and tap your heels in excitement. You're genuinely amped up for this. 

“It’s so cool!” You say, “oh, will you take a picture of me with the bike?” 

He squints and his cheek dimples. He shrugs, “sure.” 

“Amazing,” you unzip the small crossbody pouch, “here.” 

You unlock your phone, your background a picture of you, Angelique, and another friend, Tracy, your backscreen. You bring up the camera and hand it over. 

“Oh, can I get on or?” You face the motorcycle. 

“Sure, be careful.” 

You put the helmet on and let the straps hang loose. First you pose in front of it and cock your hip. He aims the lens, your flowery blue and purple case looks dainty in his large tattooed hands. Then you cautiously approach. He comes closer and puts his hand under your elbow to help you onto the backseat. You notice the backrest that wasn’t there before and the shining new chrome bolts that hold it on. 

You straddle it as he backs up. You stick your tongue out for another picture. Then you smile and give a peace sign. 

He lowers the phone and nears, offering it to you. You snag his forearm, “and a selfie? Together.” 

He twitches. “I don’t much like pictures.” 

“Just a memory. Promise, I won’t show anyone.” 

He growls and shows his palms, “what... what do you want me to do.” 

“Here, turn,” you direct him, “put your arm around me and get in frame.” 

You flip the camera and extend your arms. He moves stiffly and hovers his arm over your shoulders. He smells like oaky cologne. You smile as he growls at his own reflection in the phone. You lean into him and watch his features calm then snap the photo. 

“So cute,” you exclaim. “That’s my new wallpaper.” You tap on the three dots and quickly replace the pic of you and your girls, “see.” 

“Huh?” He stands straight. 

“Everyone’s going to think I’m so badass. I mean, I’m not, but they’ll think I am,” you chime. “Oh, uh,” the straps tickle your neck as you put your phone away, “Bucky, I’m so dumb. Can you help?” 

You pinch the straps and flick your lashes at him. He exhales again. You stare at the front of his plain black tee. It clings to his muscles and squeezes his thick biceps. He takes the straps and loops one through the metal ring. His fingertips brush your throat and chin. 

He slowly tugs it snug and his hands freeze. He stares at them and his gaze slowly crawls up to your lips. The air turns stolid around you. He winces and puts his hand on the helmet, wiggling it to test it. 

“Good to go,” he drags his hand off and turns his back to you.  

He grabs the other helmet and pulls it on over his hair. He slides on his sunglasses before he straddles the bike in front of you. He grips the handlebars and takes it off the stand, kicking it back as he easily supports the heavy beast of a bike. His strength is felt in the shifting axel. 

“Gotta hang on unless you want road burn,” he says over his shoulder. “Gonna be loud.” 

“I can handle it,” you assure him as you lean in and wrap your arms around his middle.  

You feel his stomach clench. He turns the key then brings his hand back to turn the throttle, making the bike roar. He walks it back and angles it down the street. He gets it rolling then puts his feet up, zipping off through a tunnel of wind. 

You let out a gleeful holler. The rush is unlike anything you felt. Your heart is pumping and your veins are on fire. You hug him tighter and laugh raucously. 

He stops at a sign and plants his boots, “you okay?” He calls over his shoulder. 

“I’m perfect. I’m-- I’m in heaven!” You answer and wiggle in the seat. 

He takes off again. You squeal and cling to him. You watch the smear of the buildings, trees, and pavement. You feel like you’re flying. Not to mention, you’re vibrating. You feel your leggings getting wet. This is more than fun, it’s fucking hot. 

At last, he stops and quiets the beast. You look around the plaza as he kicks down the stand. He waits and signals you off first with the tilt of his head. You get off and he follows. 

“Hope you don’t mind,” he says. “Boring stuff.” 

You look over at the organic shop sign. You laugh, “are you buying gluten free granola?” 

“Something like that,” he almost smiles. Almost. 

“Hang onto that,” he taps the helmet. 

You unloop the straps and hang it from your elbow, “yes--” you have to stop yourself from saying daddy. You’re not sure if it’s a joke or serious at this point. “Sir.” 

He eyes you then scoffs, “alright, then, doll, let’s go.” 

His cheek ticks and he looks away. He turns his back to you quickly and beckons you with his hands. You follow. 

“Doll,” you say. 

“Sorry--” he begins. 

“I like it. It’s cute! Like a Barbie, right?” 

He sniffs and opens the door of the shop, “sure, something like that.” 

Or a sex doll? You think to yourself. You nearly dance through the door. This is an amazing day. 

He enters behind you. You radiate to the rack of plant-based candies. They are all so colourful. He sidles along to the bin of trail mix. He takes a paper bag and dumps a scoop inside. 

“They have any with M&Ms?” You shuffle up next to him. He grunts. “Kidding.” 

“Good food,” he mutters. “Nice place.” 

“I’ve never been before,” you say. “You’re not vegan? That pie I made had real meat?” 

He snorts and shakes his head, “nah, just... try to appreciate the small things, these days.” 

“Right. Well, it’s a really cool place—oh, cookies!” 

You brush by him and snag up a box of the vanilla glazed shortbread. They look delicious. You turn to him and grin as you show him. 

“Small things, right?” You bounce back toward him. 

He stares at you a moment, “yeah.” He nods and folds over the top of the paper bag. “There’s... there’s a bar around the corner.” 

“Oh, a bar?” You chirp. “How about I buy you a round? For the ride?” 

“Mm, I was just gonna run over and deal with... talk to a friend.” He browses as he speaks. “Thought you could wait with the motorcycle.” 

“Oh,” you deflate, “whatever you like.” 

“Or... you can sit for a drink. Won’t be long,” he shrugs. 

“Bucky, I’m all yours. I’ll do whatever you want.” 

He coughs and grabs a loaf of ten grain. 

“One drink,” he grits out. 

👙

You buy your cookies and Bucky his small haul of groceries. He fits it all in his saddle bags as you watch. He comes around and points you around the other side of the plaza. He walks beside you. As you think about how you must look together, you get all fluttery. 

You’re tempted to grab his hand but you don’t want to spoil all your progress. After all, he invited you. And now he’s taking you for a drink. Sort of. 

He holds the door at the bar for you, greeting the bouncer with familiarity. You look around the dim space. It’s just after noon, there’s not too many people there. He points you to a table. 

“What do you drink?” He asks. 

“Do you think they have appletinis?” You ask. He blinks. You laugh at him. “Joking, I’ll have a light beer. Any brand.” 

“Right, doll, coming right up.” 

You sit and watch him go. He talks to the bar tender and points to the table. Then he walks up around the curve of the bar and into the backroom. You narrow your eyes curiously. Huh. 

The bartender pulls a tap and pours the pint. He brings it to you. “Miss.” He retreats as if he’s afraid of you. Before you can even thank him. 

You pull the tall glass close as condensation hazes along the outside. You taste the thin layer of foam. It’s a bit tangy. You peer around listlessly. This isn’t very exciting. 

This isn’t the typical sports bar. There's a pool table and a dartboard but no TVs for the games. There’s leather jackets and skull emblems and a few disarmed guns on wooden plaques. 

There’s a thunk from the back of the bar then the slam of a door. You peer over as Bucky emerges and stops at the bar. Without a word, the bartender pours him a dark glass of liquor. He grabs it and marches over to you. He sits and sighs. 

“Had to hit the restroom,” he says. 

“No worries,” you make yourself drink the beer. Wheaty. 

“You make up your mind?” He asks. 

“Hmm,” you wipe foam from your lip. 

“About the motorcycle. Still want one?” 

“I definitely want one!” You grin. He brushes his fingertips over his knuckles. They’re reddened. Is one of them split? Were they like that before? 

“It’s an investment. Those new ones are... well, if you’re looking for a vintage model, I know some people. I could do any bodywork you need,” he offers. 

“Really? Oh, Bucky, you’re so sweet!” You chime. 

His mouth slants, curving at one corner. He takes a swig of his drink. 

“Not really, doll,” he rests his chin in his hand. “But for you, I’ll try.” 

[trickstarbrave]

Again I think there is a miscommunication of what I’m saying which is that there are multiple ways to read this blog post (likely intentionally) and that people are biased. Was Tiber Septim a shitty guy who used a giant robot to commit war crimes? Absolutely. There’s likely a lot more about him that simply isn’t covered in the lore because we go between complete condemnation of him and complete worship. Even if the agent is Zurin’s penpal, what information has Zurin missed? Is there anything he might not want to tell the player? Like how many atrocities was he willingly complicit in he isn’t disclosing? How many things were ‘his’ idea rather than Tiber Septims? Are there good things Tiber did (that don’t erase the bad he’s done obviously) that he won’t disclose because it doesn’t further his goals?

People all have biases. Tiber Septim is dead and we cannot even give our own biased first person accounts of what he was like, we have second hand information at best and that means there will always be something missing. Or even that trying to chase an idea of “who someone REALLY is” is a fools errand, doubly so if they’re a dead historical figure, triply so if they’re a dead emperor and have the soul of a dragon that demands conquest and subjugation.

What is Tiber Septim REALLY like? We dont know for certain. We never see him. We have to guess based on the incomplete information that will paint an incomplete picture. There’s a lot we will truly never KNOW.

For his writing I don’t think it’s word soup that he’s using to disguise the fact he means nothing. He’s copying specific styles. In fact I think he copied them a little too much. I get that unless you’re the kind of weirdo I am where you go “let’s read different translations of the Bible to compare and contrast and also dig up and analyze various occult texts” that will not be apparent. But it does mean stuff. The 36 sermons are so heavily inspired by the book of the law it literally quotes it at some points and the meaning is basically similar to what Crowley was going for irl.

And like. Annoying fans are going to be annoying. I have seen the most obnoxious people in various other fandoms who misunderstand what authors are saying while also taking that misunderstanding as gospel and that I don’t think you can pin on those authors either. Acting like it is his fault removes the personal responsibility from the people being annoying assholes and also muddies the water of actual shit to criticize him for like intersexism and transphobia.

Because I see people who hate kirkbride’s work and think the 36 sermons are “lies and historical revisionism” saying ESO isn’t canon. I see kirkbride fanboys say that when ESO has help canonize a bunch of weird forum and blog posts he’s made. I think it’s really dumb to say either way that esp is 100% non canon because fuck you when obviously it is lol and it’s dumb to ignore the sheer amount of content in it for arbitrary reasons.

If I see one more person credit Elder Scrolls's worldbuilding to Kirkbride I'm going to crash out. Everyone who says that should be forced to play Arena and Daggerfall for a mandatory 10+ hours and see that most of the series's major worldbuilding happened before MK was even a writer or concept artist. And even then MK didn't actually do much of the writing for Morrowind, either, he wrote a few lorebooks that make no sense and actively conflict with other parts of the game (ex. The Arcturian Heresy saying Zurin is not the Underking when the GAME'S OPENING CUTSCENE accredits a quote to "Zurin Arctus, THE UNDERKING"). And yes this could theoretically be in-game lying but then so is 36 Lessons of Vivec which is the other major thing Kirkbride wrote, which would mean that basically all of MK's major canonical contributions to TES lore would be lies lmfao

Put some damn respect on TED PETERSON'S name, he's the real fundamental TES worldbuilding writer all the way from the beginning with Arena, through Oblivion. History of the Empire, On Oblivion, 2920, Feyfolken, The Warp in the West, and so many more fundamental lorebooks in the series written by HIM. There are, fairly obviously, many MANY other writers for this series. It's been going on for decades. But since everyone seems determined to attribute all of TES lore to one guy, at least pick the correct one

[lapdogchase]

on the topic of special ed. i specifically remember in 6th grade one of my best friends was in both the gifted-and-talented program (we were in the same group for english, we did secret book club together) and the special ed program, and. you know those like. stool chairs with round bottoms that u could rock back and forth on, for like, kids with accommodations for adhd or whatever, idk if that's universal, but they were widely coveted and you could only have one in a normal classroom if you had it on ur disability accommodations plan. but if you were in g&t you got to use them in the Secret Meeting Room where you'd do secret book club, right. and i kind of assumed the special ed room was like that too, like you get a bunch of fun items and stuff and everyone treats you like the smartest kid in the world. well it is Not like that.

but i remember one day specifically where my friend was having a really bad day and was on the verge of a meltdown and she was like hey can i take my friend with me to the isolation room. (it was called something like that, maybe solitary room? either way it was something that even at age 11 i was like. bro what?) and i was like. the what? and she was like Oh that's where you go if you're having a meltdown or something and you're in special ed. so we went down to the room and it was in a corner near a janitors closet and i'd never even noticed the door before. and we went in and it was this. narrow, brick room, probably like 7 feet wide and 15, 20 feet long? and it had bright fluorescent lighting that was still somehow jarringly yellow, absolutely nothing on the walls or anything, and at the back wall. one (1) singular bean bag chair.

and i was like. this is where they bring you to CALM DOWN????? and she was like. yeah you get used to it i guess. if you have a meltdown they lock you in here and then screaming won't bother people since it's out of the way. I have forgotten most of my memories from elementary/middle school but i still remember standing in the doorway to that room feeling. so deeply horrified by the whole thing. while my friend thought of it as completely normal.

and like. that same year, or maybe the year before, my little brother was in another school, and he was having a lot of meltdowns and Problem Behaviors (as they were called). and the staff would tell my parents "he had some Behaviors but we Restrained him and he calmed down :)" and. while i was a kid at the time so my parents didn't tell me most of the story. what i know is my parents almost sued his school (and would have if we weren't poor) because when they say they "restrained" him, they meant they locked him in a tiny closet alone until he stopped screaming and crying and hitting the walls. and he was a tiny fucking kid. he was like, 8 at the time? weighed like 50 pounds. my parents found out bc he was coming home with bruises. it's evil it's inexcusable and frankly i hope every adult who turned a blind eye to it dies.

and it wasn't just him, it wasn't just that school, i've heard so many horror stories from my friends who were in special ed & stories my parents have told me about their friends' kids & stuff i've heard online from ex-sped kids etc etc etc. like the way these kids are treated is like, near-universally horrific.

like, if you were neurodivergent in the way where you were "smart" and didn't bother or upset anyone, while it was Very Traumatic (for reasons that have been Posted about by many many people, i don't need to explain them here i don't think). we were treated SO much better than the kids who were in special ed, or who had impulse control problems or meltdowns or anything like that that Bothered adults. and those facts can and do coexist. and it upset me when i was like 15, bc i had that kneejerk "are you saying my trauma isn't that bad" sort of reaction, but like.

being undiagnosed neurodivergent came with its own trauma obviously. and being in the g&t program could be stressful and isolating. but at the end of the day, like. as much as it could suck. they were treating us like we were special, throwing treats in our enclosure, telling us how Smart we are and how we definitely have an iq of 120 or whatever. we'd have little snacks and learn long division and whatever. Whereas they were straight up abusing the kids in special ed. objectively the way they were treated was horrific and cruel and inexcusable. and far worse than the g&t program was. like sorry if it upsets you to hear that. but they weren't locking us in closets they were throwing pizza parties and letting us use the fun chairs. it's just not comparable at all really

[ghostxrose]

𝑫𝒊𝒆 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒀𝒐𝒖 | 𝑩𝒂𝒌𝒖𝒈𝒐 𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒔𝒖𝒌𝒊 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

Part One |

Summary ~ The news of you getting killed in action hurt Katsuki far worse than any villain ever could, than any villain ever has, and he’s died before. But when the details, or lack thereof, of your death reach Katsuki’s ears, there’s too many things that don’t add up. So, while avidly ignoring the concerned words of his friends telling him to grieve and try to move on, Katsuki starts his own investigation into your “death.” Where exactly this path will lead him, he isn’t sure, but he’s hoping it’s back to you.

Tags/Warnings ~ Fem!Reader, canon-typical violence, character death (kinda🤭), undercover work, angst, eventual fluff, slight themes of body/image/identity dysmorphia/derealization, shady HPSC tingz, more tags to come as the story develops..

Note ~ Hi Lovelies, it's been awhile..😅 Anywho, this is the fic from this teaser that I posted almost two months ago, heh.. Please know that I love and appreciate all of you!! Hope you all enjoy the read! <3 <3 <3

Ps, if the summary sucks, I'm sorryyy. It might be temporary because I kinda hate it, but I didn't want to give away too much🥲

“No one can know, Ms. L/N. Absolutely no contact at any point. Not with your friends. Not with your family. Not with your fiance.” The HPSC Director’s stern tone is almost as hard as the steely look in their eyes.

“I understand, Director-” You firmly assure, forcing confidence and determination to hide the fear lingering beneath.

“I should hope so. Just remember that you signed up for this willingly.” The Director cuts you off with their daunting words, something in their tone sending an unpleasant shiver of fear down your spine…

𖤛 𖤛 𖤛

“She’s gone..”

Katsuki can remember those damned words being sputtered by your stupid fiance clear as day. He remembers how he was reluctantly dragged by Kirishima to the apartment you shared with that lame-ass extra on the basis that he needed to discuss something with everyone. “Everyone” meaning the group of people that you had been friends with since UA. People that extra was only friends with because he was in a relationship with you.

“I said, she’s gone..”

Your dumb ass fiance had repeated in response to Katsuki’s disbelief-ridden question. But he still hadn’t quite understood what your fiance had meant. Where had you gone? On a mission? On a vacation? Did you run away as a means of breaking up with this extra that you had claimed you loved? Katsuki was struggling to understand why so many people around him had dissolved into tears.. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to understand.

“-she’s dead..”

Kirishima had dumped the ice-cold reality of your fiance’s words over Katsuki with a hand on his shoulder and a teary, sympathetic look on his face. Clarity had run through him like an electric shock, and for just a moment, his normal facade had cracked. But the only person who had seen the anguish was Kirishima seconds before Katsuki shoved his best friend’s hand off his shoulder and stormed out of the apartment.

Everything had felt so surreal and suffocating, and he was panting by the time he had burst out of the main doors of the apartment complex. All he wanted was to go home to his own apartment where he could feel his feelings in private, but Kirishima had driven. So, he started walking, staring ahead blankly as the cold winter air bit at the exposed skin of his face and neck. Unfortunately, the cold had done nothing to wake Katsuki from the nightmare he had been so sure he was having.

Since that day, Katsuki has been repeatedly going through the five stages of grief. Every time he thinks he’s finally accepted that you’re gone, that feeling of something being off with this whole situation pulls at the back of his mind and sends him right back to the denial stage. He tried to talk to Kirishima, Midoriya, and Ashido about it, but they just looked at him with such pity and sadness that it made his skin crawl. He still doesn’t understand how everyone else has just accepted that you’re gone. Even your dumb fiance accepted your death without question and has moved on to a new relationship. However, the fact that the extra was able to move on so fast just makes Katsuki wonder even more just why you had ever wasted your time with that loser.

Katsuki’s therapist believes that the reason for his setbacks in the grieving process, along with his feeling of something being off, is due to the regret he feels. Regret for never telling you how he felt about you. Regret for letting you waste your time, effort, and love on some sleazebag who only ever just gave you the bare minimum. But his regret isn’t the source of this feeling sitting like a rock in his gut, at least, not in his opinion.

His suspicions started a few months after your death when he had asked your fiance for the full story behind what had happened to you. The guy told Katsuki that he was contacted by the HPSC, and they told him that you had been killed in action. That was Katsuki’s first red flag. Typically, HPSC officials would go to the home of the next of kin, and deliver the news of their loved one’s passing that way. The fact that they had called your fiance is extremely weird.

The second red flag that had been raised in Katsuki’s mind came after he had asked your fiance if anyone from the HPSC had come by to bring him in to identify your body. Your fiance had given Katsuki a strange look as he shook his head. He told Katsuki that he was only given the address to the funeral home where he had picked up your ashes. It had taken everything in Katsuki to not make a face at your fiance, he was truly astounded that someone could be so blindly trusting. Then again, the majority of the population isn’t aware of the kind of shit that the HPSC pulls in the name of “good”.

The last red flag that caught Katsuki’s attention and pushed him to believe that something was definitely off about your sudden death, he found on his own. He had stayed late at his agency, waited for everyone to leave, and spent the night in his office searching through every reported crime that had been made in the area of your patrol route from the day you supposedly died. The area you had patrolled that day has always been known for being pretty sketchy with the crime rates and villain activity there being pretty high. Even so, you were a very capable hero, it’s one of the reasons why Katsuki admired you so much. He knew that you could have handled yourself in nearly any situation.

When Katsuki had finished reading through the nearly 60 reports made that day of nothing but low-level activity in that area, it was pretty much confirmed in his mind that there was something that the HPSC was hiding. As he had sipped on what was probably his fifth coffee, he couldn’t tell if he was moving further away from or moving closer toward becoming the “string-covered-conspiracy-theory-board” guy.

𖤛 𖤛 𖤛

Sitting at his desk, Katsuki lets out a heavy sigh as he fights the urge to rub his tired eyes because he knows that’ll just irritate them further. Finishing up his written patrol report, he pushes it off to the side, mentally assuring himself that he’ll file it away properly later. He slides his keyboard closer to himself and hits the space bar to wake his computer, then types in his password when prompted. One hand shifts over to the mouse, and he opens the database program. He goes through the process of uploading a clear photo of your face, then hits the button. It’s not long before he’s zoning out while staring at the rapidly changing faces in the small window next to your photo.

He’s done this every day since his doubts about you being dead surfaced. He’s never gotten a single hit, but he can’t stop running the program. He can’t stop any of his efforts to find you because just the thought of giving up and accepting that you’re gone makes his chest feel so tight that he can’t breathe. He doesn’t care how long it’s been or how long it’ll take, you’re out there and he will find you.

Even if it has been two years.

Two. Fucking. Years.

It’s been two years since you died. Two years since your (ex)fiance held a private “Celebration of Life” for close friends and family. Two years since the HPSC announced your death to all of Japan. Two years since a public vigil was held so that the country could come together to honor your memory.

Two years since everybody so easily ate up a ridiculous lie without question.. everybody except Katsuki.

“Pretty sure your therapist suggested that you stop doing this, man..” Kaminari’s voice coming from right next to him forces Katsuki back into reality.

“Fuck off, Dunce. You don’t know shit about what my therapist says.” Katsuki growls out, shoving Kaminari away from him and into Kirishima.

“I overhear what you tell Kiri sometimes..” Kaminari admits under his breath before realizing that maybe he shouldn’t have if the death glare on Katsuki’s face is anything to go by.

Once he feels that Kaminari is properly shaken, Katsuki lets the matter go, for now, with a heavy sigh, “What are you extras even doing here? Go home.” He mutters, giving into the urge to rub his face while leaning forward and bracing his elbows against the desk.

“C’mon man, you know why we’re here.. Go get changed, then we can drive over together,” Kirishima says gently, carefully, like Katsuki is an unwilling child. It pisses Katsuki off for a multitude of reasons. The main one is that there’s a difference between acting petulant about going somewhere and refusing to attend some stupid annual dinner to honor someone who isn’t even dead.

Katsuki’s lip curls as he lets out a sigh of frustration, and he leans back in his desk chair, sending a look to Kirishima, “This shit ended in disaster last year. I don’t know why any of you thought it would be a good idea in the first place to bring a group of grieving people out to their “dead” friend’s favorite izakaya. Why try to make a tradition out of ugly crying and public intoxication? How is that ‘honoring Y/N’s memory’-”

“Jesus, dude.. maybe you would understand it if you just accepted that she’s gone already!” Kaminari snaps uncharacteristically, making Katsuki pause his rant to stare at him in shock as the electric blonde rushes out of the room.

Kirishima let out a tired sigh, watching Kaminari’s retreat before looking back to Katsuki with a not-so-subtle hint of disappointment in his eyes, “Come or don’t come, Katsuki, it’s up to you. Just don’t judge how the rest of us decide to heal.” Kirishima says quietly before walking out of the room.

Katsuki lets out a low growl through gritted teeth as he scrubs a hand over his face. He leans back in his desk chair and glares at the computer screen. Guilt bubbles in his stomach from upsetting his friends, much to his frustration. He doesn’t want to go to that stupid izakaya. He wants to stay here in his office like he does every night continuing his search for any signs of you. He watches the database program sift through faces for a moment longer before cursing softly and standing from his chair.

Tags List ~ @emmaiscool22 @rosy-hollow @ch3rryjampi3 @maddie-rose-1

Divider credit ~ @saradika-graphics

[maryymaruu]

I present to you, the Iterator oc number two, the child that refused to be named, now having many, hah! _(:3 」∠)_

While I adore the true name I finally scrambled for him, and couldn't resist disclosing it, for lore reasons it'd be best to address him with his title;

Sentinel Of The Unforgiven, [SOTU] or just The Sentinel.

This one's novel is even longer, so for those who don't have the patience, the trivia board on the ref is a pretty good TLDR! ^^);

This guy needs to have quite a few more clarifications made first, as I'm stepping quite further away from the canon here, and even more into fanfiction/AU territory.

Some background;

[We're talking about one and the same group Three Signals (TS) is included in. They are neighbours of Sliver Of Straw, far away from in-game locations.]

- This group exists in a very mountainous area, and from the very beginning, the Benefactors decided it's more efficient to use their already existing underground tunnels (from drilling for Void Fluid) as a transportation modus; turned into an underground train system for Iterator construction process. That system runs quite far into the group, connecting Iterators like roots, with SOTU at the near center (first one built in the area).

- Due to some harsh weather conditions and poor decisions the city was equipped with "wind-breaking" walls, giving a quite claustrophobic effect. Citizens began feeling discomfort there even before resource problems.

- Once the resource demand problem became eminent, the citizens expressed lack of care or attachment to the city and/or the Iterator. It was agreed upon to simply use the underground trains to relocate to now already standing, various newer cities.

- The justice system is... blurry at best. This post is getting too long already so I'll fully explain it another time; for now it's only important to know SOTU is not the one judging the criminals, he merely holds them up to the verdict.

- The notion of "a stay in SOTU's city feels like a punishment in itself" became wide spread amongst the Benefactors. In face of necessity it evolved into an effort to make it a reality; SOTU was repurposed into a prison facility. Instead of upgrading him to be able to be more habitable, they completed the claustrophobic city with taller sealed walls and gates, and a new set of laws/taboos for the Iterator to obey. Making for a secure, depressing, fully automated trap box.

Now more about the Sentinel himself...

SOTU has always been a rather reserved personality that struggled to express emotion or weakness. There was a specific idea he had to live up to, (be it conditioned into him or self-imposed) of someone competent, serious and strong. Giving off a strict, cold and unapproachable first impression. The Group Senior that believes he has to carry the woes of the world on his shoulders alone and never break, in order to be a good example.

However, despite poorly expressing it, SOTU does deeply care about his people and about his peers. And always tried his best to be someone they can relay on, without directly admitting it though. Like a grumpy old man, would chew one out for making a mistake first, and then help them out of trouble, without sparing any effort.

Would never admit it, but feels quite hurt by how easily his citizens decided to abandon him, and resents them for what he's been turned into. He really tried to take care of everyone. He doesn't enjoy what his city has become, he doesn't enjoy being feared. Secretly wished it was a lot more like something that of TS's city... full of life, bonded and happy, but is unable to let go of the false idea what a Senior should be like, denying himself vulnerability to even express that.

The reformatting into a prison only worsened this problem. The new, additional programming discouraged acts of compassion or affection. (So that he doesn't pity the prisoners)

Despite best efforts, his group did not integrate very well. His ways of handling things left much to be desired, some labeling him a tyrant no one can ever reason with. Some just simply disliked him too much to ever relay on his advice. Communicating within the group was difficult, hence why eventually many stopped bothering and kept to themselves, or to smaller private cliques.

The repressed emotional impulses did catch up to him eventually, allowing for small acts of disobedience against the law.

Didn't stop SOTU from feeling it though. And feeling he sure did....

Those efforts were too little too late, inadequate to prevent the conflicts escalating into hostility. Once an arrest warrant was cast from the Benefactors above, there was nothing he could do. And once the poorly integrated group got a taste of connection against a "common enemy" it was over.

Delays, stalling, omitted reports, "errors", "lost" data, "unreceived" broadcasts... All in efforts to keep the prisoner numbers low, and make the stay of those present shorter and more bearable. Ignoring all reports about what was going on in TS's city in particular- hoping to at least protect something SOTU could never be.

(More to come)

TS got hurt, and the lively community on top was broken up. It is unclear who is responsible for the malware attack idea, nor who exactly deployed it, but SOTU feels fully responsible regardless. He wallows in ever growing guilt and regret since.

[puffins-muffins]

What Lovers Do

Pairing: Jax Teller x Female Plus Size!Reader

Word Count: 4,768 (I can’t stfu 🫣)

Summary: Jax’s possessiveness and your willingness to push him reveal an intensity that neither of you can ignore. What starts as a playful game of teasing and jealousy turns into a realization that maybe your connection runs deeper than either of you have admitted.

Warnings: SMUT! 18+ only please, minors DNI, Possessiveness/Jealousy, Semi-Public, fingering, (unprotected - be responsible!) P in V sex, throat necklace, alcohol consumption, cursing, minor fat-shaming (Jax comes to the rescue), slight feels.

AN: this is my first time posting smut, please be kind 🫶🏻 feedback is always appreciated (likes, comments, reblogs 💕) if I missed anything, let me know. enjoy babes!! 😊

You and Jax have never been exclusive. There’s never been a conversation about rules, boundaries, or expectations. You just are. And it’s always suited you both just fine. The things neither of you say, the choices you don’t question, the arrangement you both keep without defining it.

Commitment has never been something you crave. And Jax? He’s got his own demons. His life in the club is full of chaos, full of choices that leave blood on his hands and a weight on his shoulders.

You’ve always understood that, just like he understands you.

That’s why it works. No pressure, no promises, just an unspoken agreement. Random hookups, a place to escape, a moment of quiet when the world gets too loud. Sometimes, Jax comes to you and doesn’t ask for anything except to lay with you, to let your calm settle over him.

And you let him, because whatever this is between you, it’s more than just physical. It’s trust.

But tonight, something’s different.

The wedding of Opie and Lyla gave you the perfect excuse to step outside of your usual wardrobe. It wasn’t often you got dressed up, but tonight you were making a statement.

The dress you’d picked hugged every curve just right, the fabric skimming over your full, voluptuous figure. The neckline framed the soft swell of your cleavage, accentuating the plushness of your chest. The fabric clinging to the curve of your waist, highlighting the flare of your hips. Thick thighs, a perfectly rounded butt, and a hemline short enough to show off the best of what you had to offer.

Judging by the lingering glances and appreciative smirks from the men scattered around, so did everyone else, but those in the inner circle knew you were off limits.

And while others might have been watching, one pair of eyes never left you.

Jax.

He was standing across the room from where you were, beer in hand, the easy conversation with his brothers nothing more than background noise as he watched you. His expression was carefully blank, but his gaze was scorching.

You could feel his stare like a brand against your skin, his jaw tight as he tracked your every move. You could feel it following you, growing darker with every laugh or look you exchanged with a man that wasn’t him.

And you weren’t his. Not officially. But you knew that look.

Possessive. Jealous.

So, you decided to have a little fun with him. You knew it was dangerous to tease like this, but you didn’t care. You looked good and felt good and loved the attention.

And he was watching.

And it turned you on.

You’re mid–laugh, the man in front of you saying something that barely registers in your mind when suddenly, Jax is standing close, his body crowding into yours in a way that makes it clear he’s staking his claim.

“Entertaining guests tonight, darlin’?” he mused, his smirk lazy and unmistakably possessive.

The stranger stiffened, his confidence shrinking under the weight of Jax’s casual dominance. “Uhhh,” he stammers, shifting uncomfortably as Jax’s attention never wavers from you. “I didn’t realize –“

He steps in closer, the heat of him curling around you, that damn smirk still playing across his lips.

“You realize now,” Jax cuts him off, staring at you while he speaks, before glaring back in his direction. A silent warning.

The guy mutters some excuse and quickly backs off, disappearing into the crowd.

You arch an eyebrow at Jax, unfazed. “Was that really necessary?”

His hand snakes around your waist, fingers digging into your curvy hip, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “You tell me,” He breathes out, dragging his tongue across his lips as his eyes trace every dip and swell of your body, drinking in the way your dress hugs each soft curve.

“Walkin’ around here lookin’ like that,” he continues, voice dripping with seduction, “smilin’ at guys like you don’t know exactly what you’re doin’.”

You tilt your head, your smile indicating something between amusement and challenge. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” you tease innocently. “I’m just having fun.”

Jax was about to turn away when he stopped abruptly. Without a word, his hand slid down your side, tracing the dip of your waist before he cupped a firm handful of your ass.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your body going rigid for a moment as his fingers flexed against your skin. The warmth of his palm burned through the thin material of your dress – or, more accurately, the lack of anything else underneath it.

The realization hit him immediately.

His grip only tightened, just enough to make your pulse stutter, and then came the lightest, sharpest smack. The sound was soft, but it sent a flutter through you, heat rushing to your cheeks – wetness pooling between your thighs.

He leaned in close, his voice a low rasp as he whispered against your ear. “Well, now… that’s interesting.” It sends a shiver down your spine, goosebumps blooming in its wake.

You fought the grin threatening to spread across your face as you tilted your head just slightly, giving him a sidelong glance.

“Hmm,” you hummed. “Interesting? I’d say efficient.”

You feel his fingers twitch against you, as if fighting the urge to grip, to claim. His jaw ticks, nostrils subtly flaring as he exhales the breath he was holding. And for a second, you see it – a flicker of something wild and primal in his expression.

He wants to drag you away right now, to show you exactly who you belong to. The way he looked at you was unbearable, all-consuming – like he was already stripping you bare, mapping out exactly how he was going to wreck you.

His smolder faltered for just a moment before he let out a low chuckle, his tongue swiping over his lower lip as he devoured you with his stare.

But before he can act, a burst of laughter and excited chatter breaks the moment.

Girls from Diosa descend, a whirlwind of perfume and giggles as they grab your arm. “Come on, girl! Let’s dance!” one of them squeals, tugging you away.

You go willingly, but not before looking back at Jax, catching the way his eyes burn into you. His frustration is barely concealed beneath the cool exterior he’s struggling to maintain.

You pout at him playfully, your teeth grazing your lower lip as a slow, knowing smile tugs at your mouth. With a casual shrug, you throw in a wink for good measure. You know exactly what you’re doing. And so does he.

Teasing Jax like this is a dangerous game, but damn if it isn’t a thrilling one.

That signature smirk of his – cocky and effortless – is planted firmly on his face. He tilts his head slightly, running his tongue over his teeth, tapping two fingers absently against the side of his beer bottle. He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t call you back. No, Jax is patient when he wants to be.

But that look he gives you? That easy, infuriating, I’ve already won look?

That’s the warning.

The whiskey spreads through you like fire, warm and intoxicating. The buzz hums in your body, making your limbs loose, your inhibitions slipping further away with each sway of your hips. Laughter bubbles from your lips freely, the excitement of the night pressing against you in the best way.

But what makes the heat burn even deeper is him.

Jax still hasn’t taken his eyes off you. Even as you lose yourself in the music, your body alive with the rhythm, you can feel it – that heavy stare cutting through the space between you. Every time you glance his way, your eyes meet, and the tension pulls tighter.

A song later, the warmth of the dance floor gives way to the cool air by the bar, and you lean against it, skin still tingling, waiting for another drink to keep your buzz going.

And that’s when it happens.

A careless bump – simply hard enough to knock you off balance. Cool liquid splashes down your arm, the sharp scent of bourbon filling the air as it seeps onto the floor.

“Shit,” the guy mutters, shaking off his hand. He’s drunk, unsteady on his feet, but instead of an apology, all you get is an annoyed scoff as he finally looks at you.

His gaze drags down your body before his lip curls into something close to disgust. “Jesus,” he mutters, shaking his head. “What the hell are you even wearing?”

His meaning is clear. The way his eyes linger – judging and dismissive. It’s not about the dress; it’s about you in it. The implication stings, but not as much as the arrogance dripping from his tone.

You blink, the hazy warmth of whiskey quickly shifting into irritation. “Excuse me?”

He waves a dismissive hand in your face, his words slurred and full of condescension. “I mean, come on. Look at you.”

You let out a sharp breath, your temper flaring, your shoulders lock as fire flashes behind your eyes. But before you can put this asshole in his place, a shadow looms behind you.

You don’t even have to turn to know he’s there. Jax’s presence wrapping around you like a second skin.

The moment he steps beside you, his hand sliding around your waist, the humiliation burns away. His fingers press into your side – firm and possessive.

Your pulse jumps. The air shifts. And suddenly, you’re not exposed – you’re protected. A silent reminder that you are his.

The drunk finally registers Jax’s presence, his bleary eyes flickering up, and whatever drunken bravado he had before? Gone.

Jax tilts his head, his lips curling into something wicked. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t need to – because the calm way he speaks is even more unsettling.

“She botherin’ you, man?”

His glassy eyes dart between the two of you, panic flickering behind them, unfocused, as he finally starts to grasp his mistake.

“Nah, man,” he stammers, lifting his hands slightly as if that might undo the last thirty seconds. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

Jax hums, slow and thoughtful, his fingers twitch against you. He’s still relaxed, still perfectly in control, but there’s a dark edge to him now.

“That right?” he drawls, tilting his head the other way, his grip on you tightening just enough to send a message. “See, that doesn’t really work for me.”

He stiffens, blinking fast like he’s trying to clear the alcohol from his system. “I – I didn’t mean – “

Jax clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Yeah, you keep sayin’ that” he muses, his tone still deceptively casual. “But what I heard? Was you talkin’ shit to her.”

The guy’s mouth opens, but Jax doesn’t give him the chance.

“So, here’s what’s gonna happen,” he continues, his voice calm, like he’s explaining something simple, like he’s giving the guy a choice when you both know he isn’t.

“You’re gonna look her in the eye,” Jax instructs, tilting his head, that easy smirk playing at the edges of his mouth, though there’s nothing amused about the look in his eyes. “And you’re gonna apologize. And you’re gonna mean it.”

Jax’s fingers tap twice against the guy’s sternum before he steps back just enough to let him breathe – but not enough to make him comfortable. His stance stays loose, shoulders relaxed, but there’s an unmistakable charge in the air, the kind that makes it clear he’s still deciding how this is going to go.

The idiot hesitates just a second too long.

Jax’s smirk fades, his jaw shifting as his tongue runs between his lips, slow and calculating. His fingers flex once and the subtle roll of his shoulders speak volumes.

The guy’s eyes widen. “S–sorry,” he blurts, stumbling over the word as he looks at you, his voice uneasy. “I shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have said that.”

Jax doesn’t respond right away. He just watches, his blue eyes sharp as they give the guy a once over, sizing him up like a predator watching their prey. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating.

Then, finally, the corner of Jax’s mouth twitches, his menacing smirk creeping back into place. He tilts his head, exhaling sharply through his nose, his voice taunting.

“There we go,” he says, amusement flickering in his features. “Not so hard, huh?” His hand claps against the stranger’s shoulder, just a little too heavy, before he steps back fully, like he’s already lost interest.

The guy nods frantically, desperate to get out of the situation. “Yeah, yeah, my bad, dude. Won’t happen again.”

Jax doesn’t say anything else, just gives the slightest nod over the man’s right shoulder.

That’s all it takes.

Before he can even process what’s happening, Chibs and Happy are already in motion, leading him away. No fuss, no disruption – a quiet removal, seamless enough that no one at the reception even notices.

Your lips twitch, heat pooling low in your belly as you watch Jax handle it with effortless dominance. The way control rolls off him in waves makes your mouth water with want. Arousal spreads through you like wildfire, licking at your skin, making you hyperaware of every inch of space between you and Jax – space you desperately want to erase.

He doesn’t move for a second. His hand lingers on you – claiming and unmistakable. His fingers tighten at your waist, and then he leans in, his lips brushing just below your ear before nipping at the sensitive skin. “Can’t leave you alone for a second without you gettin’ into trouble, huh?”

His voice is velvet wrapped danger, smooth and lazy. It sends a thrill straight through you.

You turn in his grasp, looking up at him through your lashes, a perfect mix of innocence and desire in your eyes. The whiskey hums through your veins, but it’s not that. It’s him.

The way he stepped in like he owned you, like there was never any doubt.

Your thighs press together in search of relief, pussy fluttering. A deep ache blooming in your belly, needy for him.

Slow and sinuous you lift your arm, winding it around his neck as you rise on your toes. A delicate, teasing kiss lands against his cheek, his beard rough against your lips. Your mouth hovers just over his ear as you whisper, “Call me your damsel in distress.”

Jax exhales sharply through his nose, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest. His fingers flex tighter against you, digging in to keep himself steady.

“You want me to save you, darlin’?” His tone is playful, but you hear it – that slow-burning restraint, the control that’s this close to slipping.

You don’t miss a beat. You want him so bad.

“No. I’d rather you fuck me.”

The shift is instant.

Jax stills, a sharp breath hisses between his teeth. His smirk fades – not gone, just different now. Darker. Hungrier.

And then he’s moving – fast. His grip is firm as he grabs your wrist and starts leading you away. Not rough, but absolute. No hesitation.

Just pure, raw intent.

The reception is still buzzing around you, the music, and the laughter – but it all fades as Jax weaves through the outskirts of the crowd, guiding you toward the dimly lit edge of the property. Past the glow of string lights, past the open spaces where people might see.

Then, suddenly, you’re against a wall.

The wood of the garden shed scratches into your back, but you barely register it because Jax is right there, crowding into you – his knee sliding between your thighs, pressing against you just enough to make you gasp.

His hands roam – one gripping your ass, the other curling around your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. In your peripheral, you catch a glint of his SONS ring, a reminder of who he is and what he’s capable of.

His breath is hot when he leans in, laced with beer and nicotine, dizzying. His chest rises and falls faster than usual, his grip tightening as he takes in the way you tremble beneath him. Like he feels it too – the arousal and the hunger.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he growls. His right hand remains on your jaw, keeping your lust blown eyes fixated on him. His other hand gripped tighter against your plush thigh, pressing into the fabric of your dress like he’s debating whether to rip it or slide it up.

You smile slyly at him, still buzzing, still feeling yourself from the whiskey and the way he claimed you before. “A little bit,” you admit, your voice dripping with daring.

Jax lets out a slow, measured breath through his nose, his fingers sliding lower, skimming the bare skin of your plump thigh.

“You’ve been a tease all night,” he rasps, his lips just barely brushing the shell of your ear. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like? Watching you, knowing what’s not under this dress?” His fingers pressing into you just a little more firmly.

You swallow hard, pulse racing. Your voice is barely a whisper as you tilt your chin up. “And what are you going to do about it?”

His last shred of restraint snapped, and his lips crashed against yours in a kiss that was all heat and desperation. His hands were everywhere – cupping your face, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips as he pressed you firmly against the wall.

“Mine,” he growled against your mouth, the word rough and possessive as his hands slid lower, gripping the curve of your ass, and lifting you slightly so you could feel how hard he was for you.

You gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as he buried his face in your neck – lips, teeth, and tongue setting your skin on fire.

"Jax," you choked out, your head falling back against the wall as his mouth traveled lower – sucking, biting, bruising – until your knees threatened to buckle.

But your body had a mind of its own, pressing into him – desperate, aching – your pussy throbbing against the hard length of him, needing more.

“You like this, don’t you?” he hissed as he trailed kisses back up to your neck. “Knowing I’m losing my goddamn mind over you.”

A wicked smirk tugged at your lips, your nails raking lightly down his kutte. “I think you love it,” you taunted. “Knowing I’m just as fucked up over you.”

Jax lets out a low grunt while his hand slipped between your thighs. His fingers found your clit, grazing it teasingly, making you jolt against him.

“Shiiiit,” he draws out, his forehead pressing to yours as he felt just how wet you were for him. “You’re drippin’ for me, sweetheart.”

Before you could retort, Jax yanked you forward slightly, and in one swift motion, he spun you around, pressing your front against the wall. His hands moved, one splayed against your hip, the other slipping back between your thighs – teasing, torturing.

His lips found the nape of your neck, sucking and biting as he pushed your dress up, the fabric gathering around your waist, exposing you completely to him. You’re utterly intoxicated – by his touch, his scent, the unrestrained intensity radiating off him.

You hear the hurried clink of his belt, the rasp of the zipper – and then his finger slides into you – curling just right, pulling a sharp cry from your lips as your legs spread wider on instinct.

Jax grins against your cheek, clearly pleased with himself. “Good girl,” he praises, voice dripping with approval.

Then he pushes another finger inside, his pace steady – driving you higher and higher while his other hand worked himself free.

Your lips parted, a deep moan escaping as you pressed back against him, rolling your hips to feel more of his fingers in your aching cunt. “I’ve been thinking about your cock fucking me all night.” You managed to stutter out as his fingers continued their assault inside you.

“Fuck,” he groaned out, his thumb gliding against your sensitive clit.

You shuddered, arching into his touch as his fingers teased you, spreading your arousal. A needy whine escaped your lips when he pulled away – and a low, cocky grunt rumbled from his chest at you.

But he didn’t linger. His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you into position as the head of his cock pressed against your entrance, rubbing and teasing, driving you to the edge of desperation.

“Tell me you want it,” he demanded as he held himself there, teasing – poised to take you.

“I want you, Jax. Please.” you breathed, your fingers curling against the wall as you pushed back against him.

With one sharp thrust, he filled you, the stretch of him stealing the air from your lungs. You cried out, your hands bracing against the wall as he buried himself inside you, his grip on you tight enough to leave marks.

“Jesus,” he groaned, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as he paused, letting you adjust to him. “You feel so fucking good.”

You could barely form words, your body quivering as you clenched around him, your breath coming in shallow pants. “Fuck, Jax! Please.” you begged again, your voice pleading.

He didn’t need any more encouragement.

He pulled back slowly, the drag of him torturously slow, before slamming back into you. The force of it sent a shockwave through your body, and you moaned loudly, your head falling forward as he set a punishing rhythm.

“Look at you,” he praised, his hand sliding up your side, cupping your breast, the other keeping you steady as he rutted into you. “Taking me so fucking well.”

The mixture of pleasure and the exhilaration of being semi-public had you spiraling quickly, the sounds of your pleas mingling with the faint noise of the party in the background. You were his – and the way he moved, the way he filled you so completely, left no room for doubt.

“Mine,” he growled into your neck, low and possessive.

And in that moment, you knew it was true.

The force of Jax's movements had you seeing stars, your body trembling against the shed as he plunged into you relentlessly. Each motion sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, building tighter until you were barely clinging to sanity.

“Jax,” you mewled, his name spilling from your lips in gasps, your breath catching with every snap of his hips.

Your nails scraped against the surface of the wall as you fought against your impending climax. “I’m close,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as the pressure inside you reached its peak.

He didn’t slow. If anything, your words only egged him on, his pace quickening as he took you, each movement punctuated by his throaty grunts.

His hand snaked up, wrapping gently but firmly around your throat, tipping your head back so his lips could brush against you. “You’re mine,” he growled. “Say it.”

Your breath hitched, the pressure of his hand on your throat sending a new wave of pleasure crashing over you. His movements becoming more desperate and commanding. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed into the night, mixing with your breathless moans and his rough groans.

When you didn’t respond fast enough, he pulled back slightly, just enough to swat at your exposed bottom with his free hand, the sharp sting sending another rush of heat through you.

“Be a good girl,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Tell me you’re mine.”

The combination of his words, his touch, and the unrelenting pleasure coursing through you was too much. You were helpless against his assault as you cried out, “I’m yours, Jax! I’m yours!”

His growl was pure satisfaction, his grip tightening slightly on your throat as he drove into you harder, chasing his own release.

It sent you hurtling over the edge, your body clenching around him as your climax crashed through you, leaving you gasping and shaking in his arms. The intensity of it stole your breath, your cries muffled as his hand slid to cup your jaw, tilting your head back to capture your lips in a messy kiss.

The way you fell apart around him was enough to push him to his own orgasm. With a few more hard, deep strokes – a low, raw groan tore from his chest as he came. His body tensed against yours, his grip unyielding as he spilled into you, marking you in every way he could.

For just a moment, the world was silent except for the sound of your mingled breaths, the faint hum of the party in the distance, a reminder of just how exposed you were.

Jax pressed his forehead against your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin as he muttered, “Fuck, darlin’. You drive me insane.”

You managed a weak laugh, your body still trembling as you leaned back against him, letting his arms hold you steady. “You love it,” you purred in full confidence.

Jax held you, his hands resting gently on your hips as you both caught your breath. His lips brushed the side of your neck in a way that sent a lingering heat down your spine, the earlier intensity now softened into something more intimate.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough, but laced with genuine care.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his eyes over your shoulder with a small, breathless smile. “More than okay.”

The corner of his mouth tugged up in a grin, and he brushed a light kiss to your shoulder before pulling back just enough to straighten your dress. His fingers lingered on the fabric, smoothing it down over your round hips and curvy ass with a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

He backed up, tucking himself back into his pants, fingers working the button and fastening his belt. When you spun around to face him, your eyes met his lazy smile, the night reflected in the spark of his blue eyes.

He gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, leaning in to steal a kiss that left you breathless all over again. “In case I didn’t mention it earlier, you look fucking sexy tonight, babe,” he husked, finishing his words with a playful nip to your lips.

You giggled softly, pulling away to adjust the sleeve of your dress and run your fingers through your hair in a half-hearted attempt to fix it. “I’m gonna pull myself together before I head back. You should go first.”

Jax’s expression turned wicked, his lips twitching with amusement as he gripped you, pulling you flush against him. He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing playfully as he leaned in, his voice dropping lower. “I can’t wait to taste me in you later,” he rasped, the gravelly edge of his tone igniting another pulse of heat in your core, your breath hitching at the sheer filth of it.

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze with a wide-eyed look before your own lips curled into a teasing grin. You bit your lip, trying to regain your composure as you smoothed down your dress one last time. “I think I’ve had enough of that party for one night. Meet me at my place in thirty minutes?”

His gaze softened, a hint of warmth dancing in his eyes as he lifted a hand to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. “I’ll be there,” he promised, his tone intimate.

He stepped back, running a hand through his hair before adjusting the collar of his kutte, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the tension. There was a confident swagger in his movements, casual and unhurried as he prepared to head back to the party, but the hunger in his eyes lingered on you for just a second longer, before giving you a wink.

You slipped away toward the bathrooms, your pulse still racing and your body buzzing from everything that had just happened. The anticipation of what was still to come was almost too much to handle, but you managed to keep your cool as you disappeared around the corner.

You knew Jax was watching until you were out of sight, a faint hint of mischief still resting on his lips as he adjusted his kutte one last time before heading back to say his goodbyes.

Thirty minutes couldn’t come fast enough.

[urrmomzfavorite]

PAC: Your Next Relationship (who, where, when)

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile One🐲:

Who: A bombshell—someone sexy. You’ll see this person as eye candy. They’ll catch your eye the second you’re in the same room as them. They have a magnetic aura, they command authority simply with their presence. They could be taller than average. I’m hearing tall,dark and handsome. Where: I’m getting the image of someone’s hands holding your waist, saying, “Excuse me?” Ooooh, this is dangerous. The second they touch you? Electrified. The eye contact lingers, and the sudden rise in temperature sets your body on fire. You’ll fall for each other at first sight. I can feel the sexual tension, the people around too.lol. This is this type of thing when everyone at work can clearly see you guys like each other but you still play it slow. This feels like having a crush when you’re younger. Getting excited to go to work because you know they will be there. This is really cute, you guys make each other blush. When: This could happen when you’re starting something new—maybe a new workplace, a vacation, or even a cruise for some. It could happen after a move, I see movement. You won’t see it coming, but trust me, it’s coming. 18+ Thoughts: “You need a spanking” “Let me worship you” “Moan my name”

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile Two🧚🏾:

Who: You know them. Yes, it’s them. I know you’re tired of hearing about them, but listen—you need to talk to this person. They don’t want to let go. They can’t let you go. It’s you; it has to be you. Wow, someone’s spiraling.This person is losing their mind over you. You might be ignoring them, a little taste of the silent treatment huh? They can’t handle it. Now it’s clear they have no power, and by the way they are reacting, they know time is up? You’ve given a lot of time/chances to this person. It’s funny how karma works, all that time wasted on them is now being repaid by constant obsession and insecurity when it comes to their place in your life. Their position is rocky? Do they even still have one?

Where: I don’t know if this person is blocked, but they’ve spent an insane amount of time in their Notes app, trying to come up with the best way to start a conversation. Adding you on social media with fake accounts? This is actually wild. I don’t feel like they’re dangerous—they just seem desperate for your attention and approval. They seem determinated? Needing to know what you are doing, with whom? This person is unwell. Pile two this is your next relationship reading, but you don’t have to make space for someone in your life when they are in this state. Also you don’t even have to date them, but they have a huge pull on your energy, frantikly trying to hold onto you. They regret not telling you how they felt, how much you mattered. They don’t know why they tried so hard to make you feel like you didn’t. Omgggg this is actually hurting my head.

When: I think you haven’t talked to this person in a while, and that’s the problem. Paranoia has had time to grow, and now it’s like a virus. They’re losing sleep over this. It’s like all those times they tried desperately not to think about you—and succeeded—are coming back to haunt them. And they’re not letting go 18+ Thoughts: “ I want to make it up to you in bed” “Answer my calls” “I miss you caressing me”

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile Three🍀:

Who: You don’t know this person yet. They’re really tall and love earthy colors—green looks amazing on them. This person is crafty and loves spending time in nature. They have this quiet confidence. Where does it come from? From knowing exactly who they are. They are secure in themselves and it shows in the way they walk, talk, breath.lol. This person has a strange effect on you, they feel like a warm blanket, and this feeling is constant. No roller coaster. As if you were spending the early mornings on a beach watching the sun rise. This is finally a love that doesn’t take anything from you, it just adds to your life.

Where: This will happen outside on a summer day—maybe in a garden or a park. This person sees you reading? LOL, they quickly Google the book on their phone before approaching. Smart one! This person knows what they want and doesn’t play games. They’re also excellent cooks! You could meet them at a class someone invites you to—you’re trying it out for free. This person feels so refreshing, they are exactly what you need when you meet them. They see you and already start plotting, They don’t look like it tho. With their dazzling smiles. I’m getting surfer boy energy lol. They seem so zen, so at peace, and this energy will rub off on you.

When: They’re slow-moving, and your paths haven’t aligned yet. I’m hearing that both of you need to make some lifestyle changes before being united. This one is really up to divine timing but it is worth it.

18+ Thoughts: “Let’s break the bed.” “Let me tie you up.” “I want to make you c*m”

✨Psst check my masterlist if you want more readings from me !✨

[delicateperspective]

I really appreciate this post because it touches on something I’ve experienced firsthand. I’ll admit, I was hesitant to engage with the fandom for a long time. I didn’t get involved with the online discourse until I finally broke down and made this Tumblr, and even now, I actively avoid Twitter and Reddit because it’s just… a lot.

When I first started digging into things, I had so many questions and doubts. At first, I’d see clips and “proof” that were taken way out of context, and once I tracked down the full interviews or videos, I realized some of those moments weren’t as strong as they were made out to be. But in doing that, I’d stumble across other things that didn’t make sense in the official narrative. And that’s how it started for me—a little doubt here, a little curiosity there.

For a while, my brain was doing mental gymnastics, trying to make sense of everything. I thought, “Okay, so Harry was obviously really into Louis, but maybe it wasn’t reciprocated.” Then I’d see videos of Louis being so overly fond of Harry that it completely blew that out of the water. Next, I thought, “Well, maybe they were just best friends who looked at each other like that,” but then came the overtly sexual moments that made that impossible to believe. Finally, I thought, “Okay, maybe it was just a band thing and it’s over now.” But then the solo lyrics started matching up so much that I couldn’t ignore it.

At every step of that journey, I could have stopped. I could have stayed at any one of those stages and convinced myself that was the answer. And honestly? Without some weird hyperfocus and a natural tendency to question everything, I probably would have stopped.

But here’s the thing: interacting with the Larrie fandom was initially terrifying. There wasn’t anyone to guide me through the journey or help me connect the dots I was missing. Instead, I came across people saying things like, “If you don’t believe they’re together now, then you’re not a Larrie,” or, “If you believe Louis is a father, you don’t belong here.” That kind of attitude doesn’t help anyone—it just makes curious people back off entirely. It discourages people from learning, from asking questions, or from engaging in a way that lets them discover more.

And that’s where we, as a fandom, need to do better. We have to be open to letting people question things, to debunking our own “proofs,” and to occasionally being wrong. Otherwise, we’re not a fandom built on open discourse and communication—we’re a cult with “requirements.” And that’s exactly what the mainstream narrative needs us to be. They rely on us miscommunicating, taking things out of context, and looking like fools so they can have their big “gotcha” moment where they say, “See? They were crazy all along.”

Between that, the small percentage of overly invasive fans, the hate we all get from the press or solos, and Louis’ denials, it’s no wonder people are overwhelmed. It’s easier to just walk away and let your theories simmer quietly in your brain. You gaslight yourself into believing whatever explanation makes the most sense because that’s what we’re fed.

Honestly? If I’d been just a little less questioning of the media or a little less willing to dig deeper, I wouldn’t be here now. I would’ve stayed on the sidelines, convinced myself it wasn’t worth it, and never gotten to see the full picture.

So yeah, I agree with you—this fandom needs more support and curiosity, more room for respectful questioning, and less division. We need to be able to talk and share without tearing each other down. At the end of the day, no one (except the two of them) has all the answers, but we can at least respect each other’s journeys and help each other along the way. 💙

I feel like one of the shittiest things as of late is how many little corners of the larrie fandom there is, and how we all aren’t together because “they broke up” or “I believe in Larry but he’s got a kid” or “I believe larry was a thing but ___ cheated on ___ because of this song lyric that I interpret” or whatever other “hot take” that is constantly posted loudly on Twitter. don’t get me wrong, im always up for a healthy and respectful debate, but everyone’s trying to create new theories and it’s exhausting. like cmon team… we’re just an easy target if we divide our already small (but strong) community into even smaller parts.

back in the day you were either an anti or a larrie, or in the far smaller world of neutrals or another pairing (back then there defs wasn’t as many folks in those categories as now). and sure, people still had some wild takes, but we’d usually talk about it no matter how ridiculous it was. we were curious. we wanted to learn and hear from each other. the support was there and it just doesn’t exist on twitter, and that’s where the vast majority of newer fans set up shop, because it’s a bigger platform than tumblr these days.

if you’re curious about more to do with larry or know people who are, bring them over. we have a million masterposts, blogs who’ve been here for years, a wealth of industry and legal knowledge. but for the love of god, make sure to be respectful of each other. this Twitter bullshit I’ve been seeing recently is disgusting

[sidemari]

Aftercare Headcanons

Characters included: Hwei, Jinx, Kayn, Viktor, Yone x GN!Reader

Author's notes: I hope you enjoy this and forgive me any mistakes! Let me know if you have any requests about this fandom.

Picture: https://br.pinterest.com/pin/8585055533861864/

Hwei

He can get clingy after sex, mainly because he feels extremely safe by your side.

He will usually make sure that everything is okay with you, if you felt respected and satisfied with the way he made you feel and especially if you are in need of something specific.

After sex, he will always treat you as if you were the most fragile and most lovable person in the world.

Compliments and declarations of love are his strong point. Hwei will murmur words of reassurance and express what he feels for you almost as if he were reciting poetry.

"Whenever I'm alone with you… You make me feel like I'm whole again." He kissed your lips slowly before climbing back on top of you, straddling your lap, and looking at you with eyes full of love and desire. "I can't get enough of you… Let me keep loving you."

"Touch me, yeah." You guided his hand to your chest. "Make me feel like I'm alive again."

Jinx

Usually Jinx will openly proclaim how essential you are for her to feel grounded in such a chaotic and cruel world.

Regardless of how hectic, overwhelming and overstimulating your sex was, she makes sure you know that just being by your side after such an intimate moment is just as good, if not infinitely better than loving you all night.

She will reassure you as she worships your body, compliments how beautiful you are and talks about how your expressions and bodily reactions are extremely precious to her.

"Remember when we first met as kids?" Her voice was a mere whisper.

"Yeah, I do. I'll always remember that day." You pulled her for a delicate kiss yet still trying to get as much as you could of her before parting for air.

"That night… You ran into my heart so carelessly, so abruptly… And…" You encouraged her to continue by caressing her cheek with affection. "And fuck… I'm glad I was wondering those streets at dawn for I met you and now I can't imagine a future where we don't belong together."

Kayn

It's not uncommon for you to feel overstimulated after having sex with Kayn. He's a passionate lover, his touches are almost desperate, his kisses are needy and fervent and he's not at all ashamed to admit that he loves to break you whenever the mood allows.

That said, the aftercare he usually provides you is to try to meet your needs as best he can.

He always cleans you with soft towels while you regain enough energy to get up and take a shower. He'll usually bring you water or some other drink of your choice or even something for you to eat, if that's what you want.

Some of the comments about the marks he's capable of leaving on your body are made to tease you, because he knows you get embarrassed. And if there's anything as good as having you under him, completely under his control, it's seeing the way you behave when you're embarrassed.

"You're mine." He whispered against your neck before returning to suck it, finishing the last mark of the night.

"Kayn… This is going to be hard to hide."

"That's the point." He fell beside you, pulling your body against his. "Do you want me to make you a hot chocolate in a little while?"

"You're trying to distract me from the fact that you marked me in every way possible today."

"Maybe, but… A hot chocolate would be nice right now, wouldn't it?" He kissed your shoulder before chuckling softly.

Viktor

Already posted this as an alone work, but wanted to add here as well.

He's the kind of guy who cares about your well-being before, during, and after you have sex.

It's not uncommon for him to stay with your body cuddled against his while your heavy breathing and overstimulation slowly fade away.

Cuddles, words of reassurance, slow and affectionate kisses, massages wherever you may be sore and a relaxing bath together after sex are essential for him to show you how absurdly perfect and important you are to him.

One of the greatest proofs of love that Viktor can show you is to sleep next to you (always after you, due to his protective instinct) and stay by your side all night, making sure to still be with you when you wake up, even if he has countless responsibilities and unfinished projects.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

"Good morning, Vitya." His fingers stroked your hair as you wiped the sleep from your eyes.

"Thank you for yesterday. You were absolutely perfect." A certain embarrassment took over you at the compliment, making you hide your face against his neck, inhaling that welcoming scent.

"Maybe I'll have to drag you out of your lab more often." You murmured.

Yone

He cares about you a lot, that's the essence of him as your partner. You always come first and even though you insist that he deserves to let himself be vulnerable and be taken care of by you, Yone prefers to provide you with everything you need before thinking about himself.

He carefully checks to see if he left any marks on you that might be sore later, apologizing as he gently kisses the marked spots.

Usually you stay silent after sex, just enjoying each other's company and warmth.

Every single time Yone caresses your hair until you relax enough to sleep and occasionally murmurs an "I love you" when he thinks you've already fallen asleep.

"I love you so much." He murmured against your hair.

"I love you so much too, Yone." You whispered back, snuggling even closer against his chest.

"I thought you were asleep."

"I want to enjoy this moment with you a little longer. It's been so long since…" Your voice voice went quiet.

"Yes, I know." His hand rested on your thigh, caressing it. "But I'm here now and I'll never leave your side again."

Other works of mine:

https://www.tumblr.com/sidemari/770889163155357696/love-hurts?source=share (Viktor x Fem!Reader)

https://www.tumblr.com/sidemari/770262867164512256/reunited?source=share (Viktor x Fem!Reader)

https://www.tumblr.com/sidemari/770344104203862016/hii-ur-smut-is-scrumptious-can-you-do-size?source=share (Jinx x Fem!Reader)

Songs I've been inspired by to write this work:

The Cure - Lovesong

Pearl Jam - Black

Dream, Ivory - Welcome and goodbye

The Neighborhood - A little death

[little-miss-alone-n-in-love]

Here's Stiles finding his best friend's Tumblr! I did not reread this or edit it, so I apologize for any mistakes. @inlovewithdob

Stiles Stilinski who opens Tumblr on his laptop, glancing over at his bedroom door to double-check that it's locked. Oftentimes, his scrolling leads him to discover a menagerie of explicit pictures and videos, thanks to the correlating tags he just so happens to follow. He may or may not have an addiction...

Stiles Stilinski who shoves his hand into his unzipped jeans, keeping his other hand on the touchpad so he can continue browsing with ease. Meanwhile, he grips his dick as it begins to get more firm and the tip of his tongue pokes out between his cherry lips, indicating his focus.

Stiles Stilinski who lets out soft grunts while he jerks himself off at the sight of such beautiful women and the spicy messages written below some of them. He loves how they feed his imagination with quotes like, "I'll be good for you, I promise," and, "Wet and ready, just the way you like me, huh?" because, in a way, he almost feels like those beautiful women are really there, really saying those things to him.

Stiles Stilinski who's getting close, who can't contain his whimpers, who feels so hard that he might explode.

Stiles Stilinski who freezes at the sight of his best friend - the girl who's completely naked and smiling innocently as she kneels on the ground for the camera. He knows exactly where in her room she is in the picture, but that's not what he's focused on. No, his eyes are glued to two soft tits, her delicate, intimate skin. His face is burning red because he knows that it's wrong, he knows he shouldn't be looking. He should have scrolled away as soon as he saw it. But his hand begins to slowly slide up and down his dick again...

Stiles Stilinski who clicks on her account and drops his jaw at the sight of many more photos. His dick throbs in his hand. He didn't know she could look this good in so many positions. He also didn't know that he'd be lucky enough to click on a video of his best friend riding her own fingers and sensually moaning. She's sitting on her bed this time, a place he has sat and laid on countless times. His dick throbs again.

Stiles Stilinski who is too invested now. He could cum at any second, but he chooses not to. His hand releases its grip, bringing himself back from the edge as he keeps scrolling. His finds are some of the best porn he's ever seen; he doesn't want to cut this moment short. He wants to take it all in, take her all in. And he does. Over and over again, teetering on the edge of his bliss, he pleasures himself with the discovery of his best friend's nudes.

Stiles Stilinski who loves the guilt because it just makes it all that much hotter. He knows he shouldn't be doing this, he knows she'd freak out if he confessed, and that's part of what's turning him on so much right now. It's a dangerous game, but that adrenaline only feeds him more ecstasy when he finally lets himself cum, making an utter atrocity in his jeans.

Stiles Stilinski who can't believe he just did what he did when he comes down from his high, shutting his laptop and staring at the uncomfortable wet spot on his crotch. It was like he was hypnotized. He found out that his best friend posts porn on Tumblr and he had the best orgasm of his life.

His addiction may or may not have just escalated.

[contessaxchaos]

How Veilguard Handled Themes and Lost its Audience

This is tagged Veilguard-critical. I didn't set out to be critical (ie disparaging) of Veilguard, I set out to be critical (ie analytical) of one crucial aspect of its writing.

I reblogged a post by @meat-louse where I supported their premise ("this warped sense of history veilguard has") by pointing out how Veilguard can actually work to feel more integrated into the Thedas that we know from DAO, DA2, and DAI. Their conclusion is that:

"dragon age’s depictions of social issues were never spot-on, but at their best they encouraged the player to engage with those issues and ultimately seek to change society for the better. veilguard has no interest in changing society."

Here's my observations:

The issue is they want a game that’s simple and streamlined in its messaging. They want it focused on themes like regret and acceptance and teamwork and friendship. They hammered hard those themes, which, while it’s good practice to have strong themes, they overdid it to the point that we’re shouting “I GET IT!!!” They worked on those themes to the exclusion of nuance. To the exclusion of complexity.

Three games have trained us to look at the world and its problems, and look CLOSER because you’re not being told the whole truth. In fact there is no single truth. For every Anders, there’s a Cullen. You have the fearsome Arishok but you also have Sten, and for every hundred Sten who uphold their culture and beliefs unwavering, there’s an Iron Bull who knowingly subjects himself to reeducation in order to continue functioning in his society. And not far from him is an Adaar who is free from the Qun but faces the consequences of banishment and ostracization from their own culture and people. The game doesn’t say which side is right or wrong, you have to experience it for yourself to be able to have an opinion on the matter. My opinions on the Chantry were different when I played a Trevelyan versus as a Lavellan. Cousland has a different experience from a Tabris. That’s the point: your roleplaying changes depending on who you choose to be at the start of the game. The experience changes. The game is not interested in selling you a “correct” moral standpoint; it instead presents you a moral dilemma that unfolds through your questing, but it doesn’t give you an answer. It values a jerk Inquisitor, a stupid Warden, and a bloodthirsty Hawke as much as it values all the sarcastic, diplomatic, and traditionally heroic versions of our player characters.

But in Veilguard…

But in VG, all moral questions have already been resolved for you, either by signposting it, by not allowing you to interrogate these questions as Rook, or by completely ignoring it (no slaves, no tranquils, no alienages, no Circles, no cursed werewolves, no cults). They hyperfocused on their themes that they sacrificed nuance and complexity.

That’s why your companions and Rook only have low-impact conflict. Nothing will drive away your companions because they hold no strong convictions that clash with others. They serve the Themes. We can easily contrast this with companions from the other games: Vivienne gives you a closer look at the value of having Circles and the Chantry. Morrigan counsels expediency over do-gooding. Cassandra is has served all her life on the side of the "oppressors", but she questions the Seekers without letting it break her faith in the Maker. They have convictions. They were built from the ground up to be characters with their own agenda. They weren't built from the ground up to be your support system.

Which is what Veilguard appears to have done with their companions for the most part. I say the most part because there are three people with very clear themes, and Rook doesn't clash with them because their themes were designed to be very personal. The three are Emmrich (im/mortality and legacy); Bellara (something something preservation of the past, although I'm not sure what the point is because preserving the past at the cost of the present is not really very...cogent? Cultural/historical preservation is not exclusive to having a present and a future); and Taash (cultural and gender identity).

Talking to Taash made me reflect on my understanding of what it means to have a body you don’t agree with, perhaps even more than Krem did because with Taash, you can ask her. She will tell you. And that’s because Taash serves the Theme of Identity, both cultural and gender. BUT it’s also overdone to the point where those who don’t understand how it is to be trans feel like they’re being talked down to for not understanding.

What would have worked better is if they spark the players’ curiosity and genuine interest in trans identity, and then allow the players to engage with it as deeply or as shallow as they like. Instead everyone gets The Lecture as if we’re all uneducated on the matter. As if there are no allies among us. As if there are no shallow allies among us who are swayed by virtue-signalling. The Theme has swallowed what should be an invitation to talk and be curious and be enlightened.

Regret and sunk cost and redemption are also strong themes in the game. And you know they spent a long time and a lot of effort on that because the Team does a Talk Session after every piece of regret they uncover. Again: they’re made to serve the Theme to the exclusion of nuance and complexity. Yes, they raise good points, asked good questions, engaged with what we all saw. But I will argue that it’s US—the players—who should be having THAT conversation with ourselves or amongst ourselves. The companions should be there to give their point of view as a Mourn Watch, as a Grey Warden, as HARDING. But no—we don’t get that opportunity to absorb the regrets, to interrogate it ourselves based on what we know about Solas in DAI, or just to scratch our heads and say “okay but but but the game is always saying that history is not equal to the Truth and there’s always more to the story, so who can I ask / what other codices can I possibly find to shed more light about this?” Like…nada. You don’t make insights; the game already feeds you all the CORRECT insights so that you don’t ever have to be wrong about the Theme, because the Theme is Redemption or the Cost of Regret.

You don't need to engage your brain anymore because the game has already curated that for you. It has solved for you an equation that the past games would normally leave for you to solve through another playthrough. In DAO, if you only ever play Cousland, you will not grow your understanding of the plight of elves in alienages, or the injustice of the Dwarven caste system. You understand them intellectually because you are a person existing in a society that has poverty and injustice, but it doesn't hit the same until you play in the shoes of a Tabris or a Brosca.

Many of the writers who built Veilguard have been there in the construction of the other Dragon Age games. They were there when Veilguard was still Joplin. What we all wanted, they also clearly wanted to include in the game. They know it's not their role to dictate what players should believe by the end of the game, or to make the team generally harmonious and supportive of Rook. But their views and their skills were not valued.

Anyone who can write can write complexity.

Not everyone who writes can write nuance. That shit takes experience and skill. Writing is not just putting words on paper. This is especially true for massive collaborative writing projects such as videogames.

The writers failed because they were failed by the studio, first.

[synsacra]

catharsis

pairing: best friends dad!shanks x fem reader

warnings: smut, oral sex (f receiving), pet names (darlin', sweetheart), unprotected sex, vaginal sex, creampie, kitchen sex, age gap

words: 4.1k

a/n: i posted this fic before on a different blog but then deleted it cuz i got self conscious so if you've read it before no u haven't :P enjoy

You're sitting on Uta's bed, the soft hum of the air conditioner a comforting backdrop to your thoughts, and the scent of that sickly sweet vanilla candle that Uta loves fills her bedroom. You’ve been here countless times before, but today feels different. Your heart races as you glance at the door, half-expecting it to creak open. You can almost hear Shanks' deep voice echoing in your mind, sending shivers down your spine.

Uta is downstairs, chatting away with her dad while he makes lunch. You should be there too, joining in on the conversation, laughing at their jokes, but you can't bring yourself to move. Your fingers trace the outline of a photo on the bedside table–a candid shot of Shanks and Uta from last summer. He’s grinning, his only arm slung casually around her shoulders, his red hair glowing under the sun. His eyes, though, are what draw you in. They seem to hold a depth of experience and warmth that makes you squirm.

You feel a flush creep up your neck as you imagine those eyes meeting yours, boring into your soul. You shake your head, trying to get rid of the thought, but it lingers, growing stronger with each passing moment. You close your eyes, picturing him standing before you, towering over you with that easy confidence that always seems to dominate any room he enters.

"You okay?" Uta's voice snaps you out of your daydreams.

You jump, startled, and turn to see her standing in the doorway with a concerned look on her face.

"You looked like you were miles away," she says, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you reply, forcing a smile. "Just... thinking."

She plops down beside you. "About what?"

You hesitate, not sure how to answer. The truth is too embarrassing. Instead, you shrug and say, "Nothing important. Just school stuff."

Uta raises an eyebrow but doesn't press further. She leans back against the pillows, propping her feet up on the bed. "Dad made sandwiches if you're hungry," she chirps.

Your stomach flutters at the mention of him. "Sounds good," you murmur, still unable to shake the image of Shanks from your mind.

As if on cue, the door opens again, and there he is. Shanks stands framed in the doorway, holding a tray laden with sandwiches, chips, and drinks. His presence is magnetic, commanding your attention without even trying. He strides in and sets the tray on the bed between you and Uta.

"Thought you girls might be hungry," he says with a smile, his eyes briefly meeting yours before darting away. Something in his gaze, something unreadable, sends a jolt through you. You nod shyly, picking up a sandwich and taking a bite.

Uta chatters on about her plans for the weekend, but all you can think about is Shanks. What would it feel like to have those strong hands on you, to feel the heat of his body so close? The thoughts make your breath quicken and your skin tingle.

Shanks excuses himself after a few minutes, heading back downstairs to give you some privacy. As soon as the door closes behind him, you exhale sharply, feeling both relieved and disappointed.

"He really is the best, isn't he?" Uta says, her eyes bright as she eats.

"Yeah," you agree softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "He really is."

The afternoon drags on, each minute feeling like an hour as your thoughts circle back to Shanks. You try to focus on Uta and engage in the conversation, but it’s useless. Your mind keeps drifting, imagining scenarios that leave you breathless.

After a while, Uta yawns and decides to take a nap, leaving you to your own devices. You lie back on the bed next to her, staring up at the ceiling, but your thoughts are far from restful. Images of Shanks flood your mind–his smile, his laugh, the way his body looks beneath his shirt–until you can’t stand it anymore.

You slip out of the bedroom, moving silently down the hall towards the stairs. Your heart pounds with every step, but you don’t stop. You need to see him, if only for a moment.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, you pause, listening for any sign of movement. The house is quiet, save for the sound of water coming from the kitchen. You take a deep breath and step forward, your pulse racing as you approach.

And there he is, standing at the counter, his back to you as he rinses a dish under the running water. The sight of him fills you with a mix of fear and excitement.

“Shanks?” The word slips out before you can stop it, your voice trembling slightly.

He turns, wiping his hand on a towel, his eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, slowly, he smiles, a warm, knowing smile that makes your knees weak.

“Hey,” he says, his voice smooth and low. “What can I do for you?”

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. “I… I was just wondering if you needed any help. With anything.”

He chuckles softly, setting the towel down and leaning against the counter. “You don’t need to help me, sweetheart. But I appreciate the offer.”

His casual tone only heightens your nervousness, your resolve wavering. You take a tentative step closer, your eyes dropping to his chest, where his shirt is open.

“Are you sure?” you manage to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He tilts his head, studying you for a long moment before he speaks. “Is everything okay, darlin’?”

His words are soft, but they carry a weight that makes your chest tighten. His gaze pierces through your composure, and you find yourself frozen, unsure of what to say or do next.

“I…” Your voice falters, the excuse you had in mind dissolving under the intensity of his attention. You glance at the floor, desperately trying to collect yourself.

Shanks pushes off the counter and takes a slow step toward you. His movements are deliberate but unthreatening, his head tilting slightly as if trying to read your thoughts. “You seem a little off,” he says, his tone gentle but probing. “If there’s something on your mind, you can tell me.”

You look up at him, meeting his eyes for just a moment before the rush of emotions becomes too much, and you glance away again. “It’s nothing,” you mumble, shaking your head. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me,” he replies, his voice steady. “But you’re not a very good liar.” There’s a flicker of amusement in his tone, but it’s tempered with genuine concern.

Your cheeks burn. The words are on the tip of your tongue—an apology, an excuse, anything to break the tension—but they never come. Instead, you hear yourself say, “I just… wanted to talk.”

It’s not a lie, exactly, but it feels like one. Shanks leans back against the counter again. “Alright,” he says, his expression softening. “I’m all ears.”

The weight of his attention presses down on you, making it hard to breathe. You shift nervously, your fingers twisting together as you search for the courage to speak. The room feels too quiet, the hum of the refrigerator barely masking the thundering of your heart.

“I…” You trail off, biting your lip. Just say it. Get it out. But how? How do you confess something that feels so big, so impossible?

Shanks doesn’t rush you. He stands there, patient and calm, his steady gaze encouraging but not overbearing. Somehow, that makes it even harder.

You glance at him, taking in the way the light catches his red hair, the ease in his posture, the warmth in his eyes. “I’ve been… feeling something,” you begin, your voice trembling. “And it’s been hard to ignore.”

His brow furrows slightly, though his expression remains kind. “What kind of feeling?” he asks gently.

Your mouth is dry, and your hands won’t stop trembling. You force yourself to meet his eyes, your resolve strengthening just enough to push the words out.

“About you,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

The air between you seems to shift. Shanks straightens slightly, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you think he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. He waits, letting you continue at your own pace.

“I know it’s wrong,” you say quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush. “You’re Uta’s dad, and you probably think I’m just some kid who doesn’t know what they’re feeling, but… I can’t help it. Every time I see you, I feel like- like I can’t breathe, like nothing else matters.”

You pause, your chest heaving with the effort of saying it all out loud. The silence stretches on, heavy and suffocating, as you wait for his reaction. Shanks runs a hand through his hair; his expression is complicated–a mix of surprise, understanding, and something you can’t quite place.

Shanks stares at you for a long moment, his expression softening as a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly as if amused. “Well,” he says, his voice gentle, “that’s not what I expected to hear today.”

You feel your cheeks flush with heat, embarrassment threatening to swallow you whole. You lower your gaze, fidgeting with your hands again as the weight of his presence grows heavier. “I’m sorry,” you blurt, your voice thick with emotion. “I know it’s crazy. I just… needed to say it.”

Shanks steps closer, closing the gap between you. His expression isn’t one of pity or condescension but of genuine care. “Hey,” he says softly, his deep voice washing over you like a balm. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Feelings are tricky, darlin’, and they don’t always make sense.”

You blink up at him, your heart pounding in your ears. His words are kind, but the tenderness in his tone sends a fresh wave of longing through you. You bite your lip, unsure whether to say anything more or just let the moment hang in the air.

“Shanks…” you begin hesitantly, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to make things awkward. I just… I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

His expression softens further, and his lips quirk into a small smile. “It’s not awkward,” he murmurs, his hand lifting slightly as though he’s about to reach for you but stops short.

You can’t hold his gaze any longer. You glance down at the floor, wishing the ground would swallow you up. But then you feel the warm, gentle touch of his fingers under your chin, tilting your face back up to meet his eyes.

“Look at me,” he says softly. You obey, your breath hitching as you take in the intensity of his gaze. “You’re not crazy for feeling what you feel. And… you’re not alone in it.”

Your heart stops. Everything around you seems to fall away, leaving only the two of you in the quiet, intimate space of the kitchen. “What do you mean?” you whisper, not believing what you just heard.

Shanks exhales slowly, his thumb brushing lightly against your chin before his hand falls back to his side. “I’ve been feeling things too,” he admits, his voice low. “I’ve been fighting it, telling myself it’s wrong, but… you’re hard to ignore.”

“You… you really mean that?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

He nods, his eyes never leaving yours. “I do. But it’s complicated, darlin’. So complicated.”

For a moment, Shanks seems torn, his internal conflict written all over his face. Then, with a sigh, he gives in to his desires. His hand lifts to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin as he leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to.

You don’t.

When his lips meet yours, it’s like the world stops spinning. The kiss is gentle at first, almost hesitant, as though he’s testing the waters. But it deepens when you press closer, your hands gripping his shirt to anchor yourself. His lips move against yours with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.

The kiss is everything you imagined and more–warm, consuming, and full of unspoken emotion. When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless, his forehead resting against yours as you try to steady your racing heart.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you stand there, clutching Shanks' shirt as you try to catch your breath. His hand still cups your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your skin. You can feel the warmth radiating off his body, his scent filling your senses.

"Shanks," you whisper, your voice shaky but filled with longing.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze soft yet intense. "I know," he murmurs.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leans in to kiss you again. This time, the kiss is deeper and more passionate. You can feel the hunger in it, the pent-up desire he’s been trying to deny. His tongue slides against yours, teasing and exploring, and you melt into him, your body responding with a need that surprises you with its intensity.

His hand travels down your back, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you. You can feel the firmness of his body pressed against yours. The sensation sends a shiver of anticipation through you, and you find yourself grinding against him, eliciting a low growl from deep within his chest.

Shanks pulls away slightly, breathing heavily as he asks, “Can you hop up on the counter for me, sweetheart?”

You do as he asks, climbing onto the counter with a soft smile, your heart pounding in your chest. The cool surface beneath you contrasts with the warmth of his presence as he steps closer, his hand gently resting on your thigh. He steps between your legs, and his hand slides under your shirt, exploring the softness of your skin. You arch into his touch, yearning for more, as his fingers trace the curve of your waist before moving higher, brushing the underside of your breasts.

You let out a soft moan, your head falling back as you give yourself over to the sensation. Shanks takes advantage of your exposed neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline and down to your collarbone. His teeth graze your skin, nipping lightly before soothing the sting with his tongue.

Your hands tug at his shirt, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin beneath your palms. Shanks breaks the kiss just long enough to pull the garment over his head, revealing his muscular chest. 

The sight of him takes your breath away, and you can't help but reach out to touch him, your fingers tracing the contours of his muscles, the scars that tell the story of his life. He watches you with heavy-lidded eyes, his breath hitching as you explore his body.

With a swift motion, Shanks removes your shirt as well, his gaze roaming over your figure with an appreciation that leaves you feeling both vulnerable and empowered. He leans in to kiss you again, his hand cupping your right breast through the fabric of your bra, his thumb teasing your nipple into a stiff peak.

You fumble with the clasp of your bra, eager to feel his skin against yours. Shanks moves to assist you, his fingers deftly unhooking the garment and sliding it down your arms. His gaze locks onto your exposed breasts, and he groans with desire before leaning in to capture one of your nipples in his mouth.

The sensation of his tongue against your sensitive flesh sends jolts of pleasure coursing through your body, and you clutch at his hair, holding him close as he lavishes attention on one breast and then the other.

As the intensity between you builds, Shanks' hand slips between your legs, pressing against the aching core of you. The thin fabric of your pants provides little barrier to the heat of his touch, and you buck your hips forward, seeking more.

"Please," you gasp, your body trembling with need.

Shanks meets your gaze, his eyes dark with desire. "Tell me what you want," he commands, his voice rough with his own need.

“Want you," you breathe, your voice shaking. "So bad… need you so bad."

Shanks hums in acknowledgment, and he moves his hand away from your clothed cunt, his fingers hooking under the waistband of your pants. His touch sends a shiver of anticipation through you, and you can't help but gasp as he starts to peel the fabric down your legs slowly.

The cool air of the kitchen brushes against your bare skin, making you hyper-aware of your own vulnerability. But the hunger in Shanks' eyes as he takes in the sight of you, clad only in your underwear, makes any sense of unease vanish.

He steps closer, his body pressing against yours as he kisses you again. His hand roams across your skin, exploring every curve with a gentleness that takes your breath away. You can feel his clothed cock pressing against you, and the knowledge that you have this effect on him fills you with a sense of power.

"You're so beautiful," Shanks murmurs.

His fingers find the edge of your underwear, and he hooks them under the soft material. You lift your hips, helping him to slide the garment down your legs. He takes a moment to step back and drink in the sight of you, completely bared to him, and the raw lust in his gaze makes you feel like the most desirable person in the world.

He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips before trailing a path of fiery kisses down your neck. His fingers trace the curve of your hip, his touch light and teasing.

You gasp as he suddenly grips your thigh, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. Shanks drops to his knees before you, his warm breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, your body tense with need.

His fingers gently part your folds, exposing you to his hungry gaze. You feel a flush of embarrassment at being so thoroughly on display for him, but the desire in his eyes quickly chases it away. "So perfect," he murmurs, his voice filled with awe.

The first touch of his tongue against your sopping cunt makes you cry out, your back arching in pleasure. His hand moves to grip your hip, holding you in place as he explores you with a thoroughness that leaves you trembling. His tongue circles your clit, each flick sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

You can't help but grind against his face, your fingers tangling in his red hair as you lose yourself in the sensation. He groans against you, the vibrations sending a surge of heat straight to your core.

Shanks' fingers join his tongue once you’ve stopped squirming, first one, then another, sliding into you with ease. He curls them upward, finding that sensitive spot inside you that has you seeing stars. His movements are slow and deliberate, designed to drive you mad.

Your breath comes in short, desperate pants, your body coiling tighter and tighter with each passing moment. The pressure builds within you, an unstoppable force that threatens to shatter you into a thousand pieces.

Just when you think you can't take any more, Shanks sucks your clit into his mouth, and you grind down against his mouth. The combination sends you spiraling over the edge, your vision whiting out as the orgasm crashes over you.

You cry out his name, your body convulsing around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. Shanks continues to lick and suck, drawing out your orgasm until you're left a boneless, panting mess on the counter.

He stands, his lips glistening with a mixture of your slick and his spit. His eyes meet yours, dark with desire and satisfaction.

Shanks doesn't give you a chance to recover, quickly pushing his pants and underwear down his hips and kicking them away. His cock springs free, hard, and ready, and your heart races at the sight. 

His hand grips your hips, lifting you slightly as he positions himself at your entrance. You look into his eyes, seeking reassurance, and he gives you a reassuring smile. "I've got you, sweetheart," he says, his voice filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

He holds your gaze, his expression intense as he slowly starts to push inside you. You feel your pussy stretch to accommodate him, your body welcoming him with a warmth that leaves you both gasping for air.

The feeling of fullness is almost overwhelming, but Shanks gives you a moment to adjust before he starts to move. His strokes are long and deep, each one hitting just the right spot to have you crying out his name and your back arching.

“Shhh… quiet, sweetheart. Wouldn’t wanna wake Uta up, would we?”

Shanks’ words have your walls clenching around his cock; the thought of your best friend walking in on you fucking her dad strangely arousing. 

You cling to his shoulders, your legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusts into you with increasing urgency. The sound of skin slapping fills the kitchen, accompanied by the occasional growl from Shanks as he struggles to maintain control.

"You feel so good," he groans, his forehead resting against yours. "So tight... so perfect."

You can feel another orgasm building, the pleasure coiling low in your belly. You cling to Shanks, your fingers digging into his skin as you move together. 

With each thrust, Shanks fucks you closer to the edge, until finally, with a cry that echoes off the kitchen walls, you reach your peak. He follows soon after with one last thrust, his cock pressing against your cervix as his cum floods your cunt.

Slowly, he lifts his head to meet your gaze, and there's a tenderness there that you've never seen from him before, mingling with the remnants of desire. His lips part as though he's about to say something, but instead, he just presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

You watch through half-lidded eyes as he pulls out from you, your body still buzzing with the aftershocks of pleasure. He catches you looking and offers a lopsided grin that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

Shanks steps back between your legs, his hand coming up to cradle your face. He studies you for a long moment, his thumb stroking your cheekbones in a tender gesture that brings a lump to your throat. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice a bit rough.

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. "More than okay," you assure him, your voice still shaky from the force of your orgasm.

His smile widens, and he leans in to kiss you again, slower this time. You melt into him, your hands sliding up his chest to wrap around his neck. It's a sweet, lingering kiss that speaks volumes.

When he finally pulls away, it's only to press a series of soft kisses along your jawline and down the side of your neck. You sigh happily, your fingers threading through his hair as you tilt your head to give him better access.

After a moment, Shanks steps back, his hand moving to take your right hand in his. He helps you off the counter, and you can't help but wobble a little on your still shaky legs. Shanks wraps his arm around you to steady you. 

"Easy there," he murmurs, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Wouldn't want you falling over."

You laugh, the sound light and airy, and you lean into him, comforted by his warmth and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. For a long moment, you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, neither of you in any hurry to move.

Eventually, though, reality starts to creep back in. You become acutely aware of your nakedness, and with a flush, you begin to gather your clothes from the floor. Shanks watches you with a heated gaze, his appreciation evident in the way his eyes roam over your body.

As you're pulling your pants on, there's a soft creak from the hallway. You both freeze, your eyes darting to the doorway of the kitchen. Shanks puts a finger to his lips, signaling for you to be quiet. The last thing either of you wants is for Uta to catch you like this.

The sound doesn't repeat itself, and after a tense minute, you both let out a sigh of relief. Shanks moves towards you, a playful smile on his face. "Almost got caught," he chuckles, and you can't help but giggle with him.

[girlietips]

Can you give us ideas of healthy recipes for breakfast, lunch and dinner for a calorie deficit and tips on not to snack between meals. BTW I love your blog, I found it today and love what you’re post on it 🥰

Omggg yess! I can’t say I am the best cook especially with college I don’t cook much but I have a couple recipes that are easy.

Recipes

I love love yogurt bowls. You can put anything in them and most yogurts are lower in calories and have good protein. I prefer the oikos protein yogurt. Also if you add a scoop of protein powder you bump up the protein and it creates this delicious thick texture that satisfies a lot of my milkshake cravings and doesn’t feel like a low cal meal.

I also love soups because they are easy to make relatively low calorie and you get a whole meal. Also canned soup is pretty good in terms of calories and I like to bump up the protein with hard boiled eggs on the side.

Oatmeal is also amazing for if you like a hot meal at breakfast. Or you could do overnight oats and play around with different flavors.

When I do cook I like to stick to the formula of lean protein + vegetables + starch/carb. While these meals can get boring if you don’t mix them up enough they are a good fall back. Also makes shopping easier for those like me who get stressed at the grocery store.

Sandwiches are also really good for protein as most deli meats have amazing macros. You can also find relatively low calorie bread (or do a tortilla and make a wrap). Also be aware of how much condiments you are putting on because some are way higher in calories than you would believe.

While I love and recommend smoothies I have found that they don’t satisfy my hunger that much and often times have the same calories as a whole meal. So I recommend eating something solid with your smoothie so you can feel satisfied.

Snacking help.

So first off snacking is not inherently unhealthy it’s what you are snacking on and if it’s mindless.

First make sure you have a lot of macro friendly snacks. I love hard boiled eggs, protein bars/shakes, cut fruit,and vegetables, and rice cakes.

Next it’s important that you aren’t mindlessly eating. I find it is always good to put your snacks in a bowl rather than just grabbing the whole bag. I also recommend not watching things while eating and really savoring your food this is so you can listen to when you are full.

I also think it’s important to understand that if you just ate a full meal with proper amount of protein and fiber. You should not be hunger 30 minutes after. If you are I recommend giving yourself an hour. During this hour you are gonna drink water and do something productive. Once the hour is over if you are still hungry you can grab a snack (especially if you are in a female body there are going to be times of the month you need more food) but most times you probably won’t be hungry.

Mainly just keeping busy and making sure you are not depriving yourself of your favorite foods will stop snacking. I eat chocolate everyday and the fact that I know I allow myself that makes it easier to put the chocolate down.

Hope this helps I am not the best for recipes when I do cook I cook the same things over and over. I highly recommend searching up on Pinterest or TikTok/instagram “high protein low calorie meals” there are so many people who are much better cooks than me putting out amazing recipes daily.

Thank you for the support Xoxo 💋💋

[authoratmidnight]

So I was looking through the OptiRatch tag, as you do, when I saw @energon-depo's post about 'Smokescreen is an OptiRatch kid'

And unfortunately it takes very little to get my brain worms going and that one did and I kinda wanna write this. Or at least, a re-imagining of episode 18 where that's the case.

Like. Sometime waaaaaay before canon, before the war, Orion and Ratchet had a little sparkling (Smokescreen). But then (perhaps near the beginning of the war? just after he became a Prime?) he went missing/was kidnapped. He was just gone (I'm sort of thinking maybe Ratchet and Smokescreen were caught in an attack and separated and when the smoke and dust settled he looked everywhere for the little one to no avail).

Eventually they had to conclude he'd died in the attack, because what else can they do? So they grieve and mourn (esp grieving the fact that, now with everything going on, they'll probably never have another one-not only is it far to dangerous to bring a life like that into the world, but if anyone were to find out that Optimus had family like that, it would be painting a target on their backs. he already has to keep his relationship w/ Ratchet on the down low now, a child would be far to risky).

Then we fast forward ahead however many tens of thousands-millions of years have passed and it's the present day on Earth. Team Prime is investigating that escape pod, gets jumped by the 'Cons and then BAM. Smokescreen appears.

And to Ratchet and Optimus, the moment they see his face, it's like they've just seen a ghost. Because he may be grown up now, but that face, those colours/markings, those features, it's the same, it's their sparkling. Of course they mask this well enough under a guise of just. Surprise at seeing another young Autobot. Meanwhile they're looking at each other like 'you're seeing this right??'

So they bring him back to base and ofc ask him about himself, how her got there, his name (b/c it can't possibly be him. it just can't). He gives the spiel we know. But also further prodding on Ratchet's part (while giving him a physical to make sure he's in good condition, don't need another wounded warrior on their hands) reveals that (as far as he knows) any family he had died in the war. His memories as a sparkling are hazy at best, he doesn't remember his parents.

He grew up alone and basically went from alone to the Elite Guard, to his station w/ Alpha Trion and then on Earth.

Meanwhile, Ratchet and Optimus are just 'oh sweet Solus Prime it IS him' esp when a test that Ratchet ran while doing his physical confirms relations.

So on one hand, they're ecstatic that their missing sparkling is alive and well. On the other, do they tell him??? They want to, Primus knows they want to, but at the same time it would be so dangerous, cause it would and could get back to the Cons and that would be painting the biggest ever 'take me hostage' sign on him. So maybe not yet but, perhaps one day.

Smokescreen is woefully oblivious to any favouritism going his way (getting to call Ratchet 'doc' w/o issue, being allowed to just. use the Phase Shifter whenever. god they try not to show favouritism but they slip up sometimes)

And then the s2 ending/s3 staring events happen and Ratchet is just gripped with grief at the thought he's lost not just his partner, but his child for the second time in his life. He is beyond relieved when they turn up alive.

Smokescreen isn't quite sure why Ratchet hugs him so tightly once they're reunited. Like, he's glad to see him too but uh, Ratchet you ok? He's also a bit surprised that Optimus isn't mad at him for disobeying orders (going back to save him when the base blew up, using the forge on him to save him), but he's not gonna complain cause it did work out.

Now Ratchet really wants to tell Smokescreen. After all that he deserves to know. Optimus still isn't sure (even though he does want to as well).

Maybe one day, when the war is over, when it's safer.

Also. Alpha Trion 100% knew who Smokescreen was (b/c he knows like everything) and orchestrated getting him guard duty there, with him, to keep an eye on Smokescreen/keep him safe. He also told him stories about Optimus Prime as a way for him to know about his dad (Smokescreen always had a fascination about him that Alpha Trion was happy to feed). He also orchestrated getting Smokescreen to Earth so he'd one day meet Optimus again.