#tactile husbands my beloved

[sacredfixation]

How to train your Loki: step one, keep a hand on him at all times uwu

TACTILE HUSBANDS MY BELOVED

Mobius says "buddy" but his hands say "mine"

It has become evident that Mobius M. Mobius operates under the belief that maintaining constant physical contact with Loki Laufeyson is both necessary and expected. Mobius is just as bad as loki, maybe worse, because he does it so casually.

Mobius treats touching Loki like it’s part of his TVA-issued training. Standard protocol. Routine maintenance. mobius is so handsy with Loki. like absurdly so. like “i was assigned this god and now i must handle him at all times” levels of physical contact.

Mobius executes all physical contact with the effortlessness of someone who has done this a thousand times before. He never hesitates, never second-guesses. It’s all instinct

The man does not need to look at Loki to reach for him. Half the time he’s still talking, barely paying attention, but the hand lands. It’s automatic. Muscle memory.

Mobius does not believe in personal space when it comes to Loki. If Loki is within grabbing distance, he is grabbing.

Mobius M. Mobius touches Loki like it’s his job. Like it’s second nature. Like he doesn’t know how not to. like he’s saying you don’t have to go. And Loki, who spent lifetimes being untouchable, unreachable, a trick of the light, lets him.

Mobius never holds him down, he grounds him. every touch is steadying, reassuring, saying Im here, I see you, I know you.

Imagine being loki. you are untouchable. you are elusive. you have spent your entire existence slipping through people’s fingers, refusing to be held. and then you meet this man. This ridiculous little TVA agent who just. grabs you. and doesn’t let go. and for some reason??? you let him. it’s all so quiet, so natural, like neither of them ever learned another way to speak. so they just touch. in small, unconscious ways. like it’s normal. like they’re allowed.

This is husband behavior. this is emotional support norse god-wrangling behaviour. this is “stay close to me” behaviour.

[rin-sa]

What if your feelings have faded? Or is it just your imagination?

Reader × Aventurine NSFW!!!

Warning: Cheating, obsession(?), nsfw.

Attention, I am a Russian-speaking writer and I use Russian in my works. The entire text in English is written with the help of a translator. Guys who don't know Russian, you can read my work with the help of a translator, or this version is in English.

Thanks for your attention!

Love is... it's such shit, right?

Aventurine… Your boyfriend, your lover, and soon to be your husband. But did you want this? Did you love him as much as he did? The short answer is No. Your feelings have long since faded for him. At least that's what you thought.

He loved you and appreciated you, respected you and exalted you as his talisman. You were everything to him and he would do anything for you. However, you, in turn, treated him the other way around. You couldn't calmly accept such a life, and the very thought that you would have to marry him in the future made you sick. Your stomach was twisting so much that you were ready to empty the contents of your stomach right on the spot. The only strange thing is that no matter what, you still stayed by his side. Were you afraid of being alone? Or did his money work that way on you? Who knows you…

One evening Aventurine was going to go to the casino again. He had never taken you with him before. He thought it was too dangerous, that men would stare at you, and a lot of other similar thoughts visited him. Surprisingly, this time you somehow managed to persuade him, teasing his nature and trying to please him, if only you would have this unfortunate opportunity to ... escape? You had no other reason. The casino is not a place you've ever liked at all.

In the end, everything ended wonderfully, at least that's what you thought. It seemed to you that while Aventurine was very passionate about his game with some men, this was an amazing chance to start acting. As if he won't notice your actions. You blindly believed that the guy wouldn't be watching you wherever you were.

He was clearly embarrassed by your sweet conversation with a stranger. The way you smiled at him, the way you slipped him a piece of paper with your number and a short message “SOS”, the way you laughed next to this bastard… You didn't even mind any tactility with him! Have you forgotten that you're already busy? Or rather, you didn't think so. Aventurine was annoyed to watch this, but he did nothing about the situation, but only remained in the role of an observer. He'll keep a close eye on you, on your insolence, and he'll remember everything exactly. And most likely he'll use it against you later, but that's not for sure.

That's right, you take this lightly and assume that your stupid and ridiculous plan to gain the trust of a stranger, and then ask for help, is the right decision. Do you naively think that someone will help you? Why is Aventurine not your love and you are diligently trying to escape.

" - What nonsense..." he whispered softly, returning to the game.

A grin shone on his face again, he is about to win another victory, and then he will come to you.

As time goes on, you will never contact that stranger from the casino again. You will continue to correspond with him calmly and with a slight smile on your innocent face and meet from time to time. No matter how shameful it is, but you are deliberately cheating on Aventurine with that person. Of course, you are not happy with such a tactless act on your own. But what can be done? You just want Aventurine to get behind you and leave you alone.

Aventurine himself did not lock you at home, did not forbid you to communicate on the Internet and so on, you had a minimum number of restrictions! After all, he sincerely loves you and wishes all the best to his beloved! And you've got several times more money, because the blonde spoils you. He didn't even forbid you to go to the casino with him after that incident! Still, he had some kind of obsession with you. Probably all this was done in order to instill in you the confidence that Aventurine is blind and does not see how you are cheating on him with some poor man behind his back.

Another business trip. He won't be home for at least a week, and then he'll be lucky. You've been practically out of the house all this time. You felt fresh and rested, as if you were a baby bird that had been locked up for a long time, and then they decided to open your cage and you flew out. And of course, taking advantage of this, you slept with another person. With someone who allows you to feel at ease. As you thought.

It's lovely. Monday evening. Aventurine is still not at home, which is why you assumed that he would be delayed on a business trip. Still, it's not easy. However, you don't care at all about what and how he is there. The main thing is that he is not there. With joy, you hurried to pick up all the things you need from your shared bedroom. You don't need a suitcase, it will only delay you. Now you are calmly taking all the money from the chest of drawers that Aventurine left for you just in case. Another half a million is on the card. Even if he blocks it, you still have plenty of money for a new life. Only by gaining support in the form of a person whom he “did not notice” Aventurine, you dared to run away from him.

And now, a wonderful moment appears. You took away all the most valuable things, when suddenly someone's hand falls on your waist. You scream and jump back into his arms, clearly not expecting this in any way. He catches you instantly, pressing your back against his chest.

- Well, where are we going at this late hour? – as usual, he grins, wrapping his other arm around your waist.

- Let go. I'm not going anywhere..." you snort irritably, turning your head somewhere to the side.

- Why are you lying to me, sweetheart… There was a man waiting for you under the windows and it would seem that you were in league with him. Isn't that right, honey? – he grabs you by the chin and in a rude manner lifts your head up so that you look at him.

Aventurine ignores your request and does not let go, but only presses your body closer to him. You don't say anything, which makes him amused.

- I won't let you go. - He mutters softly.

Abruptly, the man picks you up in his arms before, with the same surprise, he lets you go to the bed and looms over you. His knee is between your legs, propping you up.

- Is he better than me? And with what? Is there more money? Does she kiss better? By what? - he's worried, but he's trying not to worry about it, because he eliminated someone you could have gone with.

You are silent, which makes Aventurine a little indignant. And sighing heavily, he brings his face closer to yours, so close that only a few centimeters remain between you. You can feel his hot breath on your lips and that frown. He's so close… Before that, without your permission, a man did not allow himself any intimacy, but not now. It's like he's been replaced. And you don't mind.

- Explain it to me. I can't understand why you cheated on me. Worse, you also slept with him... - he kisses you gently on the lips, and then quickly pulls away. – And what's the matter with him… Was it pleasant for you? Ok? Why did you do this to him and not to me!? Do you think I'm not capable of that? I can prove the opposite to you right here and now. – he continues, and his chest is already touching yours and you feel the warmth of his body through your clothes, while his lips build a trail of kisses to your neck, to your collarbones, leaving a wet trail behind. He's waiting for an answer.

- I can't explain... - you answer modestly, biting your lip. His actions cause a storm of emotions in you. – I, I think we need to talk about our relationship.… My feelings have faded for you...

- It seems to you, my love. We'll talk about it, but after I prove that I'm better than your idiot and can meet all your needs. – you can feel his grumpy tone in the words about that stranger.

The man's face falls on your shoulders and a shudder suddenly runs through your body. He leaves faint bites on your delicate skin while his hands deftly crawl under your shirt and roam over the soft flesh, rising from your waist to your chest. His thumbs gently and gracefully traced circles, caressing you. In turn, you do not push it away, but on the contrary accept it as a whole and no longer hold back, your inhales and exhales become louder.

- Aventurine... - a soft moan escapes from your mouth with his name.

He grins, clearly pleased with the reaction. He was afraid that his caresses would not take you at all, but you showed a result that comforts him.

The man gets off you and sits between your legs, pressing his hips against yours, so much so that you can feel the pulsation in his groin. But what can I say, because she is excited to wet underwear. He carefully removes your trousers while you tremblingly undo the buttons of your shirt and lift your top, exposing your torso and chest. Aventurine nods, bringing his face closer to the inside of his thigh, where he leaves a series of kisses, leading his nose to the crotch. You can see the top of his head before he runs his tongue over his labia through his underwear. You feel this roughness, and then his burning breath and involuntarily shudder. You can feel the lubricant being released again. Your hands slide to his head, and your fingers play with the blond's hair, pulling at the roots and tangling his silk curls. From this, Aventurine groans and pushes aside the fabric of his underpants with his teeth. He burrows deeper between your thighs and continues to lick and kiss, tasting you. Delaying your pleasure, he enjoys the taste of your sweetness mixed with bitterness. You stupefy his mind like alcohol, making you sob and throw your head back, arching your back. He enjoys this view, your vulnerability and the pleasure you get.

Aventurine slips through the entrance to the vagina, which makes you pull his hair harder. It makes you hold back your moans, but it doesn't work out so well. There are still heavy breaths and exhalations. The man continues to be blissful of the situation, sucking on your swollen clitoris. In response, you just tighten your hips.

- Aventurine ... - you call him by name in a trembling voice, but he continues his actions, penetrating his tongue inside.

All the moans, sobs, the mention of his name – all this fills your bedroom. He likes that you're so wet and horny, and it's all because of him. He's the one who brought you to such pleasure and he doesn't plan to stop.

You're straining your hips more and more, clasping his head, because you feel the climax coming soon.

- Aventurine, stop… I am at such a pace, no, we are at such a pace... - still your trembling voice, which is interrupted by a man.

- It's too early to finish our process, dear. – when he heard your confession, he chuckled.

The way he calls you brings you to an orgasm, unexpected and pleasant. You didn't come back to reality right away, clearly drowning in pleasure, clutching his head tightly while he licks his lips.

You can hear the strap plaque falling to the floor along with your and his other clothes, rustling, cracking, a condom being put on… All this time you're lying and whining, instantly returning back to the real world. Even if it's not for long, you feel an unpleasant emptiness afterwards. But this fleeting emptiness lasted for a couple of seconds, as the head of the man's penis smoothly plunges into the vagina, a loud moan escapes from both of them. You accept it by wrapping your legs around Aventurine's waist and clinging to him. You can feel them pushing into your tight walls and stretching them.

Aventurine is unable to waste time, enters all the way, feeling how your soft and warm walls are strongly compressed around him, how everything is pulsating… Your mind seems to be in a fog, you arch your back again, throw your head back, grab the sheets tightly, digging your nails in. In a daze, you look at a man who, like you, is lost in a wave of pleasure and satisfaction…

Aventurine increases the pace, bringing the two of you closer to orgasm. His penis grows right inside you, the condom irritates the vagina at times, but you don't care. You both really want to get everything, but you don't have the courage to tell him to his face, and he, in turn, is doing it right now with you.

When the last few thrusts are left behind, the man lies down next to you, hugging you tightly around the waist and resting his face against your neck. He takes his breath away, thus drowning out his moans mixed with sobs and whining. You reach out to hug him with one hand, forcing your limp body to somehow get back to normal, because you are still trembling from recent caresses.

- I Was... wrong. – you whisper, making Aventurine suddenly raise his head.

- In what way? – he asks, interested in your words.

- That I don't love you. I figured out my feelings... - to which you get a grin and a kiss on the lips, which you reciprocate and with the same passion and sweetness in succession as he does.

You are lying in an embrace and sleeping, sticky and sweaty, but most importantly loving and accepting of each other. I didn't have enough strength to go to the shower, but in the morning you will definitely go to take a bath together.

You will still have a conversation about your feelings and your betrayal, but that's later. There is a time for everything. Perhaps staying with Aventurine is not so bad? His little obsession with you is not a big hindrance.…

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Heeeeeeyyy. I don't know if your taking requests or not, so if not then just ignore this and I'm sorry. I recently got into your blog and I LOVE the way your write. I was wondering if you could 2003 Raph x mute reader who is the adopted niece of Mrs. Morrison (the blind woman Raph helps). Reader got in a car crash with some friends one night and her vocal cords got permanently damaged. Parents can't afford to house her due to medical bills and sent her to live with her aunt. Reader is really gentle and kind and just the picture of feminine grace and maturity. I imagine Raph would go visit Mrs. Morrison and she would want to introduce reader and reader and Raph would just look at eachother like 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️👁️👄👁️

Mrs. Morrison’s Niece (Angst/Fluff)

2003!Raphael x mute!reader

A/N: Thank you so much! I'm so happy that you like my writing❤️💕 But now about this one; the only way I know of where a blind person and a mute person can communicate is using tactile sign language. I do not know tactile sign language myself, and therefore I hope the communication shown between Mrs. Morrison and the reader can be considered somewhat accurate, given the amount of knowledge I have. Hope you enjoy❤️🐢

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Warnings: Mentioning of a car crash, mentioning of damage to vocal cord, mentioning of poverty, a non tactile sign language user describing tactile sign language.

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Mrs. Morrison was a nice old lady, and though she could be a little naive at times, Raphael quite liked her. She was sweet, soft spoken, and cared about every creature she came across. Even Raphael. That still surprised him from time to time how nice she could be, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

It wasn’t uncommon for Raphael to come and visit Mrs. Morrison for tea or even dinner. White visiting, he would help her clean and get the house in order. A task that sadly had gotten harder for the poor old woman as she grew older, causing her to rely more and more on the kindness of people like Raphael. Her blindness didn’t help much, causing her to stay at home most of the time, only venturing out to get groceries.

One evening during dinner, Mrs. Morrison told him about her family. Her beloved dead husband, who’s picture she kept framed both in her living room and by her bedside, and her extended family that lived out of state. Raphael listened closely, while keeping close attention to Lucy, the white cat that had decided to sleep on his foot. Mrs. Morrison had a little sister she sadly didn’t get to see very often, given the geographical distance between them. This sister had a husband and daughter who she loved dearly. Other than her late husband, they were the closest family she had. And this broke Raphael’s heart. The thought of this poor old lady living alone with her cat. Everytime Raph thought about him, it made him sad. That was one of the many reasons why he had given her his number, so she could call whenever she needed someone to talk to. And call she did.

Mrs. Morrison never called too often, and when she did call, it was mainly to hear how Raphael was doing and if he was eating enough, or invite him over for yet another meal. Sometimes he could hear Lucy meow in the background, causing Raph to jokingly say that the friendly cat was missing him. Mrs. Morrison found that highly amusing.

One day Mrs. Morrison called Raphael and invited him over for dinner that evening, just like she normally would when she invited him over. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that would let Raphael know that this day would be any different than the rest.

Just like Raphael always did, he knocked on Mrs. Morrison’s back alley door and patiently waited for her to open the door. She came to the door and opened it, letting Lucy make her way to Raphael, before rubbing her head against his ankle.

“Good evening, Mrs. Morrison”, Raphael said, smiling as he took Lucy up in his hands. He sometimes wondered if she could smell Klunk on him. Maybe he should bring him one day.

“Raphael!”, Mrs. Morrison smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so glad you could come! Come in! Come in!”

“Of course, Mrs. Morrison”, Raphael smiled, following the old lady into her apartment, letting Lucy run into the living room before he turned to close the door.

“(Y/N)! Sweetheart! Please come and help me get Raphael seated”, Mrs. Morrison said, as she made her way through the living room.

Raph turned from the closed door, staring after Mrs. Morrison in fear. There was someone else in her house? Oh no, that sweet old lady. She had no idea about Raphael’s true nature, so why would she see anything wrong in having other people in the house. Crud! This was surely going to end badly for Raph.

But as you walked out of the kitchen with a small smile on your face, washcloth still in your hand, ready to greet the guest at the door, all of Raphael’s fears washed away. His shoulders slumped as he took in your face, feeling his guts doing funny jumps and his knees going slightly weak.

You however jumped at the sight of the mutant turtle standing at the door. Unsure of what to do, you started fidgeting with the washcloth in your hand.

“(Y/N)”, Mrs. Morrison said, her hand finding your shoulder. “This is Raphael I told you about. Raphael, this is my niece, (Y/N)”.

You did not say a word. All you did was stare at Raphael. Starting was nothing knew for the red clad turtle, yet there was something about your gaze that made Raphael feel things he had never felt before.

“Uhm… Nice to meet ya, (Y/N)”, he managed to get out, stretching out a hand for you to shake. A little unsure you took his hand, giving it a small shake. But still no words. That confused Raphael a bit, yet he kept his mouth shut. He knew better than to start asking people why they wouldn’t talk to him.

You, Raphael and Mrs. Morrison moved into the kitchen, where Raphael and Mrs. Morrison took a seat at the table, while you continued your cooking. Raph couldn’t help but cast glances in your direction as he listened to whatever Mrs. Morrison was telling him about. But the moment your eyes met, Raphael almost jumped out of his shell before quickly avoiding your eyes, his cheeks burning hot. You too turned away, your face pink in a slight blush.

At one point you left the kitchen to go get something in a room on the other side of the living room. He watched you leave, before jumping at the sound of Mrs. Morrison’s voice.

“She’s nice, don’t you think, Raphael?”, Mrs. Morrison said, smiling in his direction as if she knew he had been looking after you.

“Uhm… yeah, she is”, Raph said, fidgeting with his fingers under the table. “If ya don’t mind me asking, Mrs. Morrison, but… is she okay?”

Mrs. Morrison sighed, her shoulders fell as an expression of sadness washed over her face. “Poor (Y/N), God bless her soul. The sweet thing was so unlucky to end up in a car crash with some of her friends, where her vocal cord sadly got permanently damaged”.

“I’m… really sorry to hear that”, Raphael said, his gaze turning towards the living room. He could hear you move around in the room on the opposite side.

“She has not had it easy afterward”, Mrs. Morrison sighed once more. “My sister and her husband sadly aren’t doing too great on the finances. I don’t blame them. These are hard times. But that sadly has to cost my sweet niece. The medical bills have been too much for them, and her parents don’t have the money to house them all, especially not now. Therefore we decided it would be best if she came and lived with me”.

“It must really be heard for her”, Raph said, more to himself than the old lady sitting at the table.

“It is”, Mrs. Morrison sighed. “I may not be able to see it, but even I know she’s sad. Who wouldn’t be after something like that?” Mrs. Morrison paused for a moment. “That’s why I called you, Raphael. You were so nice to help me out when I needed help, so maybe you can help (Y/N) a little? I’m not asking you to do much more than keep her company. I think she could really use someone other than her old aunt around her”.

Raphael jumped in his seat when you returned to the kitchen. He watched as you lightly poked Mrs. Morrison’s shoulder to catch her attention. You held out our hands for her to feel, as you moved them in signs. Mrs. Morrison nodded with a smile.

“In the cupboard on the left, sweetheart”, Mrs. Morrison said, smiling as you clapped on the shoulder as a thank you. Raphael felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of your smile. He couldn’t deny how beautiful your smile was.

During the dinner the chatting was light. At least from Raphael’s side. He sat quietly and listened at Mrs. Morrison’s words, all while throwing glances your way. You were smiling and nodding at your aunt's words, tapping on the table to let her know that you did so.

Raphael couldn’t help but feel fascinated by you. Sure, he had seen pretty women around New York City, but none of them ever struck him the way you did. You seemed so sweet and soft, yet your eyes shone with a maturity rarely seen before. Maybe it was because of the things you had been through. It had hardened you and matured you, yet you still seemed so friendly. Maturity wasn’t the only thing shining in your eyes. A shimmer. A light of sorts. Something Raphael couldn’t quite place, yet it drew him in- oh crud, you were looking at him. You had seen him stare at you. Oh crud! Shell fucking shell!

But before Raphael could let panic take him, you gave him a little smile. A little calm friendly smile. For a moment it felt like time stilled as you smiled at him, your expression telling him more than words ever had.

After dinner, Raphael helped you clean off the table. You gave him an appreciative smile as he started cleaning the plates in the sink. He said no words, finding that the communication with your eyes was enough, and somehow also strangely comforting.

After the two of you had cleaned the kitchen, it was time for Raph to go home. You and your aunt followed him to the door, where he told Mrs. Morrison goodnight as he moved from the apartment and out in the alley.

“Say hey to your brothers from me”, she said, smiling big. “They sound like some nice young men!”

“I will be sure to do so, Mrs. Morrison”, Raphael said, before she turned and went back into her apartment, leaving you and Raph alone in the open door.

Under normal circumstances, Raphael would have found the silence awkward, wrecking his mind to find something to talk about. But with you and your friendly smile, Raph did not feel the need to talk, finding your smile comforting enough.

Lucy was the one to break the silence, meowing as she wrapped herself around Raph’s leg. That was when Raph saw your shoulders shake and a bright smile on your lips, eyes closed. You were giggling, finding the interaction between the mutant and the white cat entertaining. Raphael bent down to pick up Lucy, letting her meow in his arms as he scratched her behind the ear.

“Before I leave”, Raph finally said. “I will just like to say, that it was nice meeting ya, (Y/N), and if ya won’t mind, I’ll very much like to see ya again”.

You smiled at him once more, before reaching your arms out to take Lucy from his arms. Raphael watched your movements, wondering what your next would be. As Lucy cuddled up against you, your hand went into your pocket, fishing out a small piece of folded paper you then gave to him with a sweet smile. Raphael unfolded the paper, and was surprised to find your number written down, along with a “text me when you get the chance;) - (Y/N)”.

Raphael smiled from the paper to you. “I will be sure to do so”, he said, watching as your smile got wider. “I’ll see you around, (Y/N)”. Those were his last words before he turned, jumped onto the fire escape and started crawling, all while you stood smiling in the doorway.

[sneasedtomeetyou]

✤ - a memory that involves romance/love

Casi wakes with a start, chest heaving as she clutches her right hand in the inky darkness of her bedroom. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, but it was a particularly bad one. The exact reasoning slips away from her from the instant she wakes, but she remembers pain. Enduring pain. Something bit her. Except… Not really. Were you supposed to feel pain from nightmares? With a few more strangled breaths she hears the soft grumble of her husband’s voice.

“..Casi-love…?”

She makes some sort of inhuman noise in response, more like a croak than actual words. When she meets his gaze his expression is knitted together with concern.

“My hand,” she manages, choking on the air. “It… I…”

That’s when Lissie shoots up and takes Casi’s hand, assessing it for the damage. Damage that simply is not there. Not in actuality. But oh the way his wife’s hand trembles as he holds it. The way the tears spill down her face. To her it very clearly was real.

“Put my hand up… Bit me.” She thinks it might’ve been a Golbat—couldn’t remember the circumstances now. She remembers shielding her face with her arm. Remembers the shredding of her skin and the hot blood spilling down onto her face. Bright bright red. He gasps in pain again.

Lissie holds her steady, gentle. His fingers delicately trace where the cuts had been. She wants to flinch away but instead squeezes her eyes shut.

“Do you want me to bandage them?” There was no judgment in his voice. Nightmares weren’t an uncommon problem with the two of them, some more vivid than others.

“Yes,” Casi whispers.

And Lissie does. Not with real bandages, only because they would require leaving Casi’s side in order to get them. But he does go through all the motions of it, talking to keep her mind focused on the moment itself. To replace the feeling of the bandages he ghosts his knuckles over the top of her hand. The motions are really what Casi wants right now—the tactile sensation of care. Slowly the tears dried and her breathing began to level out.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I don’t think I do…” He shakes his head. There’s a long pause where Casi just stares into the dark at him, unsure. The words weren’t coming to mind even if she did want to talk about them. “Can we... lay back down?”

“Of course, love. Come here.” When they lay back down Lissie makes sure to pull her close to him. Casi sinks into the comforting embrace of her beloved as he idly pets her hair. It takes a while for her to actually fall back asleep, laying in his arms and listening to Lissie’s breathing until her tiredness finally wins out.

[arobinwithoutbatman]

"Ciao stella mia."

Greeted the man of flowy long, blond hair that reached around the middle of his back as he visited his old love, looking down at the features he knew so well, the blue eyes that faded over the years, but that he worked to restore and conserve every time he visited, the lines of time didn't mark his beloved's face so deep that was perceptible, but he knew the small ones between his brows from frowning, the ones at the corners of his lips that showed whenever he smiled and that sort of were softened by how his genes granted him with a more youthful look than his years, the dark hairs that grew longer and was cut short as their years together came and gone. His friend, boyfriend, affair, beau, fobidden romance eventually turned into fiancé and finally, husband.

"How're you doing, my midnight birb? Sorry it took me this long to come by." Dio knelt and sat on the grass to join and talk. "I... had to attend another service. Lio's going to be joining you very soon, so you better take care of him, okay?"

Three hundred years... no one should be allowed to live this long while still nurturing a heart capable of feeling human, but he did. Dio did. He still patrolled every night, kept Gotham safe despite the waves of support and hate that came and went about its vigilantes, kept the legends alive; and during daytime lent his strength to the many causes he knew his beloved and his family would've liked to see grow beyond their years. Three hundred year and he still strived for the betterment of all around him despite his own conditions being, now, undeniable and irreversable, all shown in the lines that covered his face and body and how he didn't age anymore.

"I brought us some coffee and those brownies you like. Yeah, yeah, I know. I shouldn't live out on coffee and brownies, but it's Valentine's. You could give me a break about it." He searched in the bag that was by his side and pulled the lunchbox and travel can out to show it, followed by a small bouquet of forget-me-nots, roses, lilies and lavander flowers, and a book — so antiquate to still use paperbacks at this time and age, but the tactile feeling helped him a lot more than Dio was capable of consciously acknowledge. "Do you mind being my double today? I want to spend some time with you."

Of course the photo on the tombstone couldn't respond his questions, but he knew the answers. He always knew, even when Tim was by his side, alive and well, because they communicated and taught each other their languages, body and verbal. An unlikely couple he knew they were at the time they got together, even when they exchanged vows, but there was no regrets in all the many years they spent together, not for Dio. Even their limited number of fights, he cherished the memories of those too.

The city grew under their eyes, never perfect, but Gotham was... better when they were together. It had a boom of advancement in Medicine, technology, infra-structure, modernized its many public services and gave better living conditions to the people working in it, and even now, it still had the fruits of what they sowed growing in its walls. They did it, working tirelessly day and night to keep a dream alive, together, and now Dio carried all those wishes on his shoulders and offered his help willingly to those who needed it despite the risks and the corruption that still tried to get through the cracks of their defenses.

"You know... I don't know if there's such a thing as reincarnation, but if there is, I want you to know that I'll be here waiting for you, forever." He smiled and stroked the photo on the stone as if it was Tim himself. "And I hope we meet again. I'll be here waiting for you and protecting Gotham until then and even after."

((I am legitimately unable to answer this, both Tim and I have too many feelings that cannot be translated into words. This is beautiful and melancholic and we are both screaming))

[redux-iterum]

i am aware you can't answer this right now, but! as a patron, your Tigerclaw. ough. it's been a good couple months(?) since i read his death scene and i am still reeling from the impact (in a positive way). just. everything. i am lacking in words tonight but just how emotionally charged it is, from every angle, in every way......... man. thats the kind of shit i hope to write one day. "emotional impact that feels like being beaten with a really heavy pillow (in a good way)" my beloved <3

OH same patron anon from like 2 minutes ago with the Spoiler Comment Question, here with a Hopefully-Not-Spoiler Comment Question. Once again; I love how you write Tigerclaw!!! the fact that I was, in the moment, disappointed and a little upset that Lionface was chosen as deputy over him, the fact that, on more than one occasion, I found myself wondering-slash-hoping that he was somehow, in some way, a red herring and not. y'know. responsible for the deaths that have ALWAYS been his fault in every rewrite and retelling. as if I didn't already know. as if it wasn't a fact I've known since I was a small child reading WC for the first time. damn. as i said before: many thoughts no words to express them But I Love, patron anon back for round 3. sorry that im spamming you with messages i just keep having More Thoughts and apparently no filter. I love how you write Tigerclaw as, like..... not a grand cunning mastermind, possibly not even in his own eyes. Prideful, yes, but there's this element of.... i don't quite know how to put it. He's just a guy. He's just a guy who loves his mate and his son, and is excited for the kits his mate is expecting, if a little apprehensive. Just a guy who is dangerous and terrible because he is so, so very certain that he knows what The Right Thing To Do is, and is willing to do whatever it takes to reach that ideal, but his idea of The Right Thing To Do is so horrible and skewed and dangerous. He does what he has to do, or what he thinks he has to. Does he see it as self-sacrifice, in a way? stooping so low for the sake of those he cares about? sorry again for the multiple asks but i'm obsessed with villains like this and have only just now managed to put the words together. cause like.... a lot of truly awful people aren't masterminds. They're people who are so very certain that they're in the right, and are so very wrong about that. i do love flamboyant, Evil-with-a-capital-E cartoon villains a lot (when done right), but there's something about having a villain be so normal, so clearly An Average(ish) Person, someone who may not even see how horrific their actions are. NOT THAT ANY OF THIS IS AN EXCUSE, it's not that they're misdirected or confused. it's like... the dead certainty that they are Correct and other people are Wrong. There's something very..... tactile? about it. "Real" might be the right word but it doesn't feel exactly right. It's like, this is a person you could meet. A person you could know. And they're just quietly (or not-so-quietly) abhorrent in so many ways. sorry for rambling my head is full of thoughts tonight and i apparently cannot shut up </3

Much gratitude and flustering for these asks, man, golly. I've hoped that I've improved in writing over time, and asks like these make me more confident. Thank you for reading along! (And for pledging on Patreon, an absolute of course.) Apologies for not getting to these sooner, I was saving them for today.

Your assessment of Tigerclaw is spot-on. I would say he THINKS he thinks of himself as a normal, good husband and warrior who's doing his best and having a humble life. There's only so real that can be when he also has the constant thought of "I am the only one who sees the truth and I need to Fix Things because no one else can". He thinks he's so much more honest and realistic than he is. You know people like that. I know people like that. The most dangerous person is one that can fool themselves.

[denimbex1986]

'By his own admission, awards season has been bittersweet for Andrew Scott.

Currently basking in a flurry of positive reviews for his starring role in a new Netflix adaptation of Patricia Highsmith's The Talented Mr. Ripley, Scott recently collected the Critics’ Circle Theatre award for his remarkable performance in a contemporary rendering of Chekhov masterpiece Vanya.

But the occasion was tinged with sadness for the Irish star, 47, whose devoted mother Nora passed away with a 'sudden illness' in March - shortly before Mother's Day.

And Scott - who dedicated the award to her memory by telling audience members “she was the source of practically every joyful thing in my life” - admits he felt compelled to immerse himself in work following her recent passing.

'Well, you know, you have to — life goes on, you manage it day by day,' he told the Sunday Times.

'It’s very recent, but I certainly can say that so much of it is surprising and unique, and there is so much that I will be able to speak about at some point.'

A devoted follower of fashion away from screen and stage, Scott admits his love of clothes came from his mother and her passion for the arts.

'My mother was an art teacher, she was obsessed with all sorts of design,' he recalled. 'She loved jewellery and jewellery design.

'Anything that is visual, tactile, painting, drawing, is a big passion of mine, so I have tremendous respect for the creativity of designers.'

Despite the tragedy, Scott has attempted to maintain a positive attitude towards both his personal and professional life.

'I feel like, as a person, I am quite near my emotions,' he said. 'I cry easily and I laugh easily, and there is nothing more pleasurable to me than laughing.'

Nora's death was confirmed in a statement on March 9, with family members adding that she passed away on Thursday March 7 surrounded by her family at St Vincent's Hospital in Dublin.

An obituary read: 'It is with our deepest sorrow that we inform you of the passing of Nora Scott (née Boyle), beloved wife of Jim, mother of Sarah, Andrew and Hannah.

'Scott, Sandymount, Dublin, formerly Omagh Co. Tyrone, March 7th 2024 peacefully surrounded by her loving family and best friend Anne, in St Vincent's Hospital following a sudden illness.

'Nora will be deeply missed by her beloved husband Jim, her loving children Sarah, Andrew and Hannah.'

In 2018, Nora revealed Anthony Hopkins sent her 'more than three dozen red roses,' after finding out she was ill when speaking to Scott on the set of King Lear.

Hopkins, 86, starred in the BBC's Shakespeare adaptation as an ‘English Stalin’ with Scott playing Edgar - who becomes Lear’s secret protector.

She told RTE’s Ryan Tubridy at the time: 'There was probably more than three dozen red roses and attached to them was a little card from Anthony saying "Be well, sending hugs", and all sorts of things.'

'I was thrilled to get such a gift and for the kind thought that promoted it.

'Now I have recovered, I can enjoy these exquisite roses that grace our hall. It was such a beautiful gift.'

In January, Scott and his co-star Paul Mescal admitted they weren't too keen on their family members watching their new film, gay drama All Of Us Strangers.

The movie stars Scott as a screenwriter drawn back to his childhood home who enters into a relationship with a mysterious neighbour, played by Mescal, 27.

The film features several intimate scenes between the actors which the pair discussed during an appearance on The Graham Norton Show.

Asked if their families had seen the flick yet, Mescal said: 'With the Irish premiere, trying to allocate tickets to all the aunties and uncles is a tricky business.

'They have seen my bum before but there is a little more going on in this movie I would say!'

Scott added: 'I don't want to be there when my parents watch it!''

[randomingoftherandomness]

Let's be real, Ziyu and Yuanzhi are a bit petty so think about if they had children and there it was a contest at school for the best halloween costume... Meanwhile Yun Weishan and Shangjue just stay quiet and enjoy the two idiots at work

The pettiness would be EPIC

Ziyu will go all out with a custom design by Virginia Viard herself that he flies her out for

Yuanzhi on the other hand pshaw-sh at getting other people to do his kid’s costume because he can do it so much better

Oh? Your kid is an Angel, well you should see my kid as the Heavenly Emperor

Oh, is that glitter I see? Well, I guess you can’t go wrong with tactile LEDs sewn into the fabric of the costume itself

Guess who is looking to rent a horse drawn carriage?

All the while, Shangjue and Yun Weishan are meeting up at the tea room with their kids to swap stories and tips to wrangling their beloved idjits over cucumber sandwiches and jam biscuits

While there, they’ll be plotting the costumes the kids will be wearing, with input from the kids themselves, when their husbands’ wild ideas eventually implode in their faces

More tea vicar? Don’t mind if I do.

[supernovafeather]

omg hi 🤭 the thought of jealous!leto has been plaguing my mind for a while and i’d love to see it in action!! perhaps he notices some soldiers flirting or talking abt reader & he gets all bothered so he makes sure they’re stationed right outside his bedroom so they hear how good only he can make reader feel eheheheheh

for f!reader please :)) wife, concubine, totally up to you!! ur writing heals me i swear, thank you so much lovely 🫶🏻

Thank you for your request and your support, here is your fic! :D

Minors don't interact.

Only His (18+)

Leto Atreides x wife!Reader

Content: smut, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex, age gap, jealousy, lingerie, very slight angst, lots of fluff 2000 words

Leto had no idea on how to act on this relationship with you. Love has been mutual and reciprocated on many levels from the innocent looks to the nights all too short for his liking. A slightly playful side of his personality started to show up once your presence got official because of the wedding celebrated in private. Instead of feeling older like such an event would do to anyone, the duke felt relieved and even lighter. No one needed to know that this union got consumed several times before getting recognized, nevertheless many commented on you.

The ruler tended to eavesdrop easily whenever some idiot would mention your name or title. It could come from soldiers patrolling on the hallways of his domain, some ambassador, a maid. You unleashed passions without doing much more than appearing by his side no matter if it was jealousy, desire or curiosity. At first he felt content with this confidential mess feeding everyone's conversations like some log would in a fireplace during winter. Freshly arrived and his people had no major difficulty to accept you as their – and most importantly his – Duchess.

Recently, the duke experienced the first sparks of jealousy, the kind of jealousy ignited flames devouring him from the inside whenever you would accompany him. He could deal with the soldiers' fantasies well, it only asserted your mutual dominant position up those men, but the nasty and needy looks sent to your back from another side of the room from some unknown older men were too much. They felt too much at ease around you and it only took a few polite words with you for them to start thinking that maybe the Duchess of Caladan was a mere hot woman that would spread her legs for whomever had the power to charm her.

However, the duke never lowered his guard around them, mainly because of those bloody insecurities resurfacing when one of those porks revealed themselves to be quite charming and handsome. Younger as well, coming from great families and well-educated. The didn't have that graying hair – some didn't even have a beard but still tried their chance with you – and were playing the innocent souls mesmerized by your own beauty and intelligence. Nonsense. As your husband he could see through those vipers' desguises pretty well. How many wished him to die so they could marry you and impregnate you like a docile bitch they would own?

“I had no idea you could be so... tactile,” you whispered as Leto secured his arm tighlty around your waist.

“I thought we had been tactile many times before.”

Tonight got especially eerie for him. The gala gathered young heirs from every corner of the galaxy and even without their presence now that this ceremony was over, he felt uncomfortable and stressed out. He was too old for that kind of thing. A teenager would have more ressources than him to defend his beloved.

“Not this kind of tactile,” you claimed, “this doesn't sound like you.”

“I reassure you my dear, I am me, myself, and no one dressed up as I,” he chuckled.

Soon enough your couple joined the shared chambers, their familiarity sufficient to remove most of the weight that parasited his shoulders all night long. The sunlights wouldn't be long before showing at the horizon. You would be sleeping comfortably in your warm bed and he would already be elsewhere to work with his subordinates.

“Are you sure you don't want to stay here a little, at least to get some rest before starting your day,” you inquired.

Leto wanted to make love to you right now but didn't have much energy remaining to do as desired. He stared at you taking your dress off to go take a shower, his exhausted eyes wandering on these curves he had caressed, nibbled, licked, soiled so many times. Those ridiculously arrogant heirs would never get their head between your thighs as he sworn to himself in the past.

“Maybe I should.” He admitted as he sat down – or rather let himself fall – onto the bed. “But it's not like I had any choice remaining.

He let a small smile find his lips as you caressed his bearded cheek with your palm, your soft smirk followed by a kiss on his forehead. How could he blame those idiots trying to get you? Maybe he would act the same around you if you got married to someone else.

“I have to go take a shower but I also have something to show you before you join the others.” You explained before kneeling before him in your white underwear. “I just need you to stay awake and in our chambers. It's extremely important.”

“Alright. Extremely important but not enough to preceed a shower?”

“Exactly.”

Confused and not in the mood to try to understand the whole predicament, the duke looked as your buttocks disappeared behind the bathroom door. What a shame. A few years ago he would have caught you up and brought back to to your bed without worrying about the incoming meetings. He still had the duty to conceive an heir with his Duchess, they would have excused him for skipping the two hours of rest he should have enjoyed in your company. If only it wasn't so difficult to get a child... you would have at least four of them running everywhere with all the times you tried. But nature or the Gods decided against it apparently. He hoped he wasn't running out of time.

Leto lied down on his side with his boots solidly planted on the floor, fully clothed and thinking that he should have taken a shower with you. It might have led to some “duty” afterwards that would have felt more rewarding and pleasing than just brooding about his lack of efficiency in some domains.

As he started to doze off softly on the silky blankets too welcoming for his good, he heard the door as you walked out.

“Leto, I told you not to fall asleep,” you half-scolded him.

“You told me to rest the time you come back so I rest my eyes.”

Still surrounded by darkness, he raised an eyebrow as you mounted him, a pair of thighs holding him firmly against the bed.

“Open your eyes Leto.”

“I'm too far gone for that,” he argued with a defeated voice.

This was what he thought before feeling some pressure on his crotch.

“I want my husband to show me what it feels like to be loved,” you pouted.

“I...”

As he opened his eyes his consciousness finally slapped him in the face and the view of your bright red lingerie motivated him enough to rise on his elbows.

“Oh, that kind of important matter? Of course I will study this with attention. Maybe twice just to make sure I got it right.”

“Never change my love.”

“Since when have you been thinking about this?” he taunted you with a grin.

“I saw you getting grumpier around all those peacocks complimenting me. It was pretty hot to see you silencing them with only a glare. And as I'll be missing you all day long again... I want my duke to show me how much he loves me, and me to show him how much I love him.”

“Oh. Was it that visible?”

Your turn to raise an eyebrow.

“I see,” he mumbled.

“Do you want to make them hear how much you love me?”

“Did I turn you on so much just by being in a bad mood?”

That kind of demand from you was... unusual. He could call it whorish, but as he really liked this he took the decision to call it sensual. Having his beloved wife mounting him in the lingerie pieces he preferred just to brighten his mood up and to potentially carry his heir and make him assert his union with you even more...

“Not by being in a bad mood. Rather by actively making yourself respected. Now, don't move. I have to reward you in some way.”

Leto watched as he remained laid on his bed, a smug grim appearing as you slowly disappeared between his legs. Once the back of his head back onto the blanket he sighed, satisfied by the outcome in sight.

“Don't fall asleep,” you warned him.

“I won't.”

He must have given the right answer as he felt your warm mouth wrapping a precise spot on his pants, your tongue darting out to pressure his crotch a little as your skilled hands sloxly took off his belt.

“Should I make you scream louder than usual?” he asked as your lips started some slight massage.

Your chuckle barely interrupting your ministrations offered him the response he was looking for, and it was not long before he helped you to take his pants off, his black boxer and the bulge hidden by it now at your mercy.

“I had no idea you loved seeing me like that,” he breathed out, “I thought I was being childish.”

“As long as you remain professional and moderated, I find it incredibly hot.”

“Stop encouraging me down this path, I shouldn't listen to you.” He said before hissing at the warmth of your mouth engulfing his shaft almost entirely. “But don't stop that, you're too talented.”

With all the loving debauchery in display in your chambers since before your wedding he should replace talented by experienced, but now was nt the moment to try to make his brain work out any better. He couldn't as he stared at the ceiling above his head. Then some bubble popped in some corner of his mind as he grabbed your hair and sat up brutally, his energy almost fully back as you glared up at him in pure surprise, your mouth ready to resume its ministrations.

“Come here you.”

You laughed as he almost threw you on the bed, your hands busy with his salt and pepper locks as he peppered kisses all over your throat, your bra soon abandonned somewhere.

“Leto what are you doing,” you giggled.

“Take your panties off, get on your hands and knees and I'll make that clearer for you.”

“Shall I be loud sire?” you cooed.

“Any other dumb question?”

You giggled again approvingly before obeying. Yet, something was off and Leto thought about it for a few seconds before making you turn around for you to face the door. Only then he positionned himself behind you, staring down at your entrance as he rubbed it with his shaft.

“I want them to get turned on and frustrated because they can't have anything of my wife. Get it?”

“Get it,” you said excitedly.

A few seconds in and Leto was already smiling like this was the best day of his life as he thrusted in and out of you. He knew perfectly well that your pleasure wasn't high enough to be the reason of your delightful screams, but feeling you so willing to play along with him sent an adrenaline shot that motivated him to no end.

“Good girl, that's it”

“Oh please more, more more,” your moaned loudly.

The duke almost came as he noticed something moving under the door, but knew better than that. A shadow, maybe two behind. Little perverts.

“They're listening,” he whispered as his hips clapped yours harder.

You laughed again and winked at him behind your shoulder, and after a quick spank on your right asscheek you resumed your show. Sometimes Leto wondered what he had done to deserve you, especially as he felt your begging getting more sincere. No one could know but him.

“I'm close, I'm close already,” you breathed out.

That was what made him go even harder on you. Confusion mixed with genuine pleasure, that was the winning combination for him. If he was the one spying on your words, he would be hard in no time. His guards would certainly touch themselves for days thinking of you but it was worth it. They knew their place and would never dare to do anything to get closer to you. No whore or Lady would equal the fantasies they would have created in their heads. They were not him, and you were not theirs.

He grabbed your hips firmly as you came undone louder than anytime before, your hands desperate for a support as your fingers tried to dig into the covers to keep some balance.

“I'm not done with you,” he mumbled with clenched teeth as he stared at a third shadow joining the other ones.

Having you wrapped so tightly around him was one thing, but knowig he was the only one capable of making you feel that way was even better. You would carry his child or his children one day, he was sure of it. What was the most important right now was that you already worn his colors, his House's. You were his wife that loved it when he decided to make love to you. The wife that loved him dearly no matter what could happen.

Leto repressed a loud moan by pure masculine ego as he emptied himself in you, only allowing himself to breathe out suddenly as he looked down at the trembling mess you were now under his watchBoth fully satisfied with your mischief, you took a shower together briefly, and merely dressed in his new clean outfit Leto left the room like nothing happened with confident steps as three soldiers saluted him.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _

Thank you for reading, please comment and reblog if you liked it ! :D Reblogs are the only thing that counts for the tumblr algorithm so don't hesitate if you want to support fic writers and artists on this platform !

@queen-of-elves @laura-naruto-fan1998 @thepowerthismanhasoverme @justmasblack

[sabineelectricheart]

To Adore a Controlling Lover

Summary: Ominis feels the need to control and order his sexual activities. His wife just wants him to feel adored.

Rating: M - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Words: 1000

Notes: Now, this is one cute psycopath’s child if I ever saw one.

It is not often that Ominis Gaunt allows his beloved wife the opportunity to be on top of him in bed.

Yes, Mrs. Rosalie Gaunt does not make the effort to ask too often, either, but that is neither here nor there. She knows her husband and his mannerisms well, she knows what he is comfortable with, and just laying there is not much his modus operandi.

Rather, he is often the one on top, dictating the progression and speed of their nightly activities as he pleases, and she is usually content in just letting him do it his way. It is not as if she is displeased with their private, marital business in any case. She wants him to be happy and comfortable in the quaint French village life that they built together, and if all that took is to just lay down in bed while her husband performs rhythmic, albeit proficient, movements on her, then it is all too well for her.

In a level, she understands and empathises with her husband. His rigid and ordered way of living naturally extends to the bedroom, and he prefers a strict sense of control. Physical contact is hard for him sometimes, between his disability and the abuse he suffered as a child, and the way he describes his feelings of touch made her wonder if he does not perceive tactile stimuli in a different manner.

Her parents, while not too affectionate, never treated Rosalie harshly or unkindly, they have never raised their hands, their wands or their voices to her, and she has always come and gone as she pleased. She knows that she is the exception amongst her peers in that regard, so she tends to defer to those with further first-hand experience on how to best deal with the scars.

Well, she mostly defers decisions. She understands that part of loving someone is to challenge them to be better, and to allow them to experience perspectives that they did not consider or expect initially. So, tonight, as the last candles go out on their shared bedroom, she straddled her husband’s hips before Ominis could protest or turn things around on her.

The woman kisses him sweetly over and over while her hands undo the buttons down the front of his nightshirt while he still tries to get his bearings and realise what is going on. As he feels the warmth of her skin against his, as he smells the flower perfume she makes herself, and that is so like her that he could find her amongst a million other women by scent alone, his member grows to attention and he is more than ready to correspond to her ministrations.

He struggles lightly against her hold, not enough to signal that he was displeased, which he certainly was not, nor to overturn her body with any violence, but to communicate his desires wordlessly. While she would usually wield and let him pine her against their mattress, this time she petulantly resisted, pretending that he was not doing anything.

"My love…" He whispers in to the space between them. "If you feel, ahem… If that is what you would like, please, allow me to tend to you tonight."

"Not just yet." She says with a playful lilt.

Pulling his nightshirt over his head with a single tug, Rosalie runs her hands down the smooth landscape of his torso. His body is tight and elegant, his skin pale and smooth to the touch, something that never really pleased him to hear, as he felt diminished by the fact that he was not athletic enough for her.

Ah, but she liked what she saw very much. She was never shy in saying it, but she is eager to show it, too.

Ominis anticipates the feelings of her ministrations with cautious curiosity, and she indulges him. She makes a spectacle of her moans and the path of her hands in his chest as she watch him fall apart with open lust in his eyes.

When she feels his breathing go increasingly erratic, she softly says, "I adore your body, Ominis. I do not think I say it enough."

His face immediately turns a deep red, and she feels his hands flex around her hips. He likes it, and she knows he does, or else he would have placed his hands on her face, trying to conceal the warm blush that always blooms against his pale skin, and that she loves to tease him about.

"That is, well..." He tries to cover up his embarrassment, to no avail.

The man trails off as his wife leans over him and begins to kiss a trail down his chest. His breath catches, and she feels his entire frame tense.

She laughs. "Do relax, my love. This is the point on this exercise."

Rosalie continues her path downward, her lips adoring him as her kisses travel down the centre of his abdomen, then lower stomach, inching ever closer to the soft blond overgrowth leading to the main course. He lets go of her waist and begins to twist the sheets on the bed.

"I want to spoil you tonight, Ominis. I want every inch of you to feel how much I adore you. Will you let me be good to you? Please?" The wife asks.

While puppy eyes do not work on a blind man, she has devised ways to appeal to her husband that are equally effective and manipulative. Ominis is weak to certain tones of voice, and she knows how to do an impression of painful longing just right, not to sound too strident nor too overdramatic.

Naturally, he caves immediately. "Anything you desire, my love."

She smiles, wicked. "Good."

As she speaks, Rosalie is already lowering his undergarments to free his stiffened manhood. Slowly, lovingly, she presses a deep kiss to the crown of his cock.

"You always make me feel so good with this gorgeous cock. It is only right that I return the favour."

*_*_*_*_*

Hogwarts Legacy Masterlist

[goodboylupin]

So happy to finally share my fill for the Challenges & Chill: Chills and Thrills prompt, Old Doll. You may have caught this fic when it was first published on AO3 a couple weeks ago, but now I get to claim it, to crosspost it, to have it attached to my name 🙌🏽 Have some funny, family fluff that's sweet as birthday cake.

1.5k | Rated G | Humour | Sirius Black/Remus Lupin; Regulus Black | Fluff, Canon Divergent AU, No Voldemort AU, Reconciliation, Babies, Married Wolfstar, Uncle Regulus, Regulus Lives, Dads Wolfstar

Summary: Regulus always gave the best gifts to his niece. Sure they were too expensive and arrived far too frequently, but he certainly never failed to impress! Until…

Blacks showed their affection by buying things for the people they loved.

Remus knew this. Remus befriended a Black at eleven, then married said Black at twenty-two.

Remus thought he knew this. But see, Sirius Black had always been the black sheep of his family — a trauma that was the source of many puns — and been all but adopted by the Potters when he was still quite young. Sirius had picked up other ways of expressing love from living with the most tactile family of all time. Sirius, while he did like purchasing trinkets and doodads, still preferred the more immediate of an arm around a shoulder or a hand ruffling hair (or in Remus’s case, kissing his boyfriend/fiancé/husband silly).

Then there was Regulus.

Regulus, to fill the gap Sirius left behind when he walked out of Grimmauld Place, had become the perfect Black, even more than he already had been. He always kept the stiffest of upper lips, the evilest of smirks, the shiniest of hair, the bespoke-est of robes, and a general air of superiority and indifference. A perfect Black, surrounded by perfect Selwyns and Rosiers and Crouches in Slytherin House, who spoke only in Received Pronunciation and Galleons.

For all that Sirius was reticent to discuss his home life, and especially the happy aspects of it, for all that Sirius spoke of Regulus as a hapless fool doomed to darkness like all the children who put blood supremacists on a pedestal, it was clear to anyone who really knew how to listen to Sirius that his baby brother had once been an incredibly sweet and loving little boy. Regulus had once adored his big brother, clinging to his hand like a limpet every hour of the day.

When Orion and Walburga Black had finally croaked, Regulus, as the patriarch of the oldest and richest family in wizarding Britain, was free to contact his estranged and disowned brother once more without fear of retribution. It soon became apparent that he still adored his big brother, but the little boy who could hold a hand or say a mispronounced I love you was gone.

So Regulus liked to buy Sirius a lot of stuff.

And then Sirius and Remus became parents to a baby girl. And if Regulus adored his brother, he absolutely doted on his niece, in the only way he knew how.

There was a frankly obscene amount of stuff an unimaginably wealthy man could — and did — buy his beloved niece.

(Remus had joked once that they were running out of space in their house, a bit of a gentle hint that Regulus ought to ease back on the gift-giving. To which Regulus offered to move them into one of the larger Black family properties.)

So on the day of Mimosa’s first birthday party, Remus did wonder what Regulus would get the toddler who had everything, because Regulus had bought said toddler everything.

(That wasn’t fair, Remus chastised himself. James also spoiled the baby rotten, asserting it was his right as godfather and that Sirius had been even worse with Harry. But Remus felt no compunctions rebuking James for it, so…)

Regulus arrived exactly 20 minutes after the start time on the invitations, fashionably late as was his wont. He greeted Remus with a firm handshake, then held out two fingers for Mimosa to do the same.

Mimosa instead stuck her uncle’s fingers in her mouth to start chewing.

“That’s not very polite, Mimsy,” Regulus said with a furrowed brow, though he made no move to pull his hand away.

Remus instead shifted her weight over so Regulus had no choice but to cradle her in his arms. “Her molars are starting to come in, I’m afraid. She’s been trying to chew on her tiara all day.”

“Well, don’t do that,” he told the baby very seriously. “Those are real diamonds, you know.”

“She knows,” Remus agreed. “It’s all right, she prefers the fingers of the people she most loves anyway.”

For a moment, just one shining fraction of a second, Regulus grinned wide and beaming, before he schooled his expression back to pleasant neutrality. 

Remus withheld a sigh. Would it really be so terrible for him to show his emotions to a baby?

He glanced around to see what Regulus brought for a birthday present, fully expecting another miniature flying car, or perhaps a unicorn.

Regulus popped his fingers out just long enough to hand Remus a gift bag that had been hanging in the crook of his elbow, the gesture somehow imperious despite the baby slobber.

“Ah, thank you, Regulus, I’ll put it on the gift table. Sirius is in the bouncy castle outside if you’d like to go over to say hello.”

“What in Merlin’s name is a bouncy castle?”

“Guess you’ll find out!” Remus tipped his head at the patio doors with a smile.

Curiosity catching the better of him, Remus checked to make sure nobody caught him peeking before carefully parting the crinkly, sparkly layers of tissue and seeing what hid beneath.

Remus yelped and dropped the bag.

Steeling himself, he picked the bag back up and took another look inside.

Yep, still the ugliest doll in the world nestled inside.

It was truly hideous: one single, beady void of a solid black eye; dingy, greyish strings of what may have once been blond hair; a stained, frayed dress that looked like it had been clawed by an animal; and most unnerving of all was the painted-on smile.

Remus placed the bag gingerly on the table, in case the demon doll was cursed. (He wasn’t being dramatic. Sirius told him half the items in his childhood home were at least lightly cursed, so the children could build natural immunity and caution. Clearly the caution-building was not successful for Sirius. For most Blacks, it allegedly developed into full-blown paranoia.) He backed away slowly, then turned and speed-walked away. 

That thing wasn’t his problem until present time.

—

“Present time!” Lily called out, lilting and melodic.

Remus huffed a sigh as all the children were corralled to sit in the living room. He took a seat beside Sirius, hoping he could very subtly hide himself behind his husband’s larger frame when the time came to present that wretched little thing in the gleaming silver bag.

It just didn’t make sense, he thought as he smiled and clapped while Sirius helped their baby girl absolutely destroy sparkly wrapping paper, oohing and aahing and keeping track in his notebook for thank you cards. Regulus had impeccable taste. Mimsy’s playroom was appointed with all manner of beautiful, elegant, usually age-appropriate and sturdy toys and figurines. Had he hit his head while shopping and turned into Knockturn Alley? Had he been attacked by a pack of feral Kneazles that chewed up the contents of his gift bag while leaving him unscathed, then been too embarrassed to tell anyone of his harrowing journey? Had the Black family abruptly fallen into bankruptcy from buying one baby frock too many, and Regulus, penniless and proud, taken a job as a fishmonger in secret, then pulled the bedraggled doll from the mouth of a sturgeon?

No, Remus shook his head. That was ridiculous. Regulus would land a job at a snooty Muggle fashion boutique before he went for something as smelly as fish mongering. Or he’d become a kept man.

“And finally!” Sirius boomed. “Last but certainly not least, from my dearest little brother and Mimsy’s favourite uncle, Regulus!”

“Her only uncle,” Regulus drawled.

“And all the more loved for it,” Sirius quipped back, then kissed the top of Mimosa’s head and refocused his attention. She pulled the tissue paper out herself and took great delight in flinging it at the ground, then let out a happy string of babbles as she pulled out the doll.

Sirius let out a little gasp, but to Remus’s shock, it wasn’t a gasp of horror or disgust or fear. No, he knew his husband, that was a gasp of great sentiment and good feeing.

“Reggie,” Sirius murmured, glassy eyed and lips quivering. “Is this Lady Friendly?”

“It is,” Regulus answered. “I found her hidden away in the attic. Cleaned her up as much as any charm could.”

“She was my absolute favourite doll,” Sirius explained, leaning his shoulder against Remus’s. “I brought her everywhere. My mother hated her because… I don’t even remember why. The day she lost her eye, mother told me she would have her sent away for repairs. I never saw her again.”

“Until today,” Remus said.

“Until today,” Sirius echoed. “And now it’s yours, Mim. Do you like it?”

Mimosa stuck the arm of the doll in her mouth.

A collective aww sounded through the room.

“Thank you so much, Regulus,” Sirius said, staring at his brother solemnly. “We love it.”

Remus agreed, even if Lady Friendly followed him with a dead-eyed gaze. He could just hide it in the cupboard when Mimosa wasn’t playing with it.

“I’m glad,” Regulus replied. He gulped hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I love you.”

Sirius, baby still in hand, leapt over the arm of the couch to envelop Regulus in a hug.

Remus smiled and turned the doll to face the couch.

A little commentary I wanted to share about Sirius and Remus's name choice: Mimosa is both a large genus of flower (a nod to Lupin being a genus of flower) and a star in the Crux constellation (keeping with the Black family theme naming). The wizarding world doesn't really seem to favour cocktails, so they don't find out about the drink until she's like seven.

Many thanks to my beta and to you, dear reader, for giving my fic a go! Likes but especially reblog are always appreciated 💞

[bailey-reaper]

I am DEEPLY! GRATEFUL! For this beautiful blog. Despite his flaws, I really do love leggy reaper a lot. May I request s/o bashfully admitting to a (somewhat perplexed) Barok that the reason they do tasks for him usually regulated to servants is because they want to be a proper spouse and take care of their beloved husband?

Etiquette

Notes: 😭💜 Aaaa I'm so touched that you think the blog is beautiful, thank you! I'm also glad that I'm not the only one who loves Mr. Leggy! He absolutely is flawed, but I don't think that means he's beyond redemption. I'd like to think that people can change and grow, if they're given the chance and have the will to do so.

By the end of the game, I believe Barok wanted to be a better person.

S/O is gender neutral (they/them pronouns). Barok refers to them using petnames.

Content Warnings: fluff; vague domestic roles (master of the house / servants)

"What are you doing, love?" of course, he could see what they were doing -- they were ironing his laundry. What he really meant was why are you doing that. It didn't particularly bother him, but it was a source of some confusion.

"Oh.." they smiled, setting the iron down so they could look at him, "I'm just... doing the ironing," it was probably something that would normally done by servants in a house like this, but it was part of married life for their parents.

"I see," he nodded, "Um... do you want to do the ironing?"

"Y-yes... is that okay?"

Barok tilted his head, "Well, yes, of course..."

And so, they continued to do the ironing.

──────≪⊰✥⊱≫───────

A few days later, when he returned home from the Old Bailey after a long day of tolerating fool jurors and moronic defence counsel, the first thing that he noted was the scent of cooking food.

Upon checking the kitchen, he found his beloved at the stove, "Love?" he drew up behind them, circling their waist with his arms as he kissed the back of their neck in a tactile greeting, "What're you cooking?"

"Ah... welcome home, darling," they answered, kissing his cheek, "Oh.. this?" they looked down at the pan, their cheeks growing warm, "I... thought I'd make dinner for you, so I was cooking some steak to go with the potatoes I'm roasting..."

"That sounds wonderful," he continued to cuddle them close, though he did quietly wonder to himself why they would be cooking in lieu of the staff -- but, he had often prepared his own meals in the past as a means of eliminating the risk of being poisoned so it didn't strike him as that odd.

──────≪⊰✥⊱≫───────

One day, while he was in his study reading, there was a knock at the door. He looked up to see a member of the staff, Agnes, looking furtive and uncomfortable at his door, "Yes, Agnes?" he said, setting the book he was reading down, "Is something the matter?"

"B...Beggin' your pardon, m'lord," she said softly, "I... um... I just wanted to ask you somethin' directly."

Barok tilted his head, "Yes? What is it?"

"Um... I hope I'm not speakin' out of turn, but, is ... there a reason why your spouse has taken to doin' most of the household chores?"

"... Hm? Oh..." he folded his arms and pondered, now that he thought about it, they had been increasingly industrious on the domestic front, "... I'm afraid I don't know, but I'll ask to see what the reason is."

"I'd be much obliged, m'lord... if there's somethin' we're doin' wrong I'd rather know so that I can do better..."

"I'm sure it's nothing like that, Agnes, but I will check..."

As promised, he sought out his beloved and found them running a bath, "Here you are," he said, as he cuddled them from behind, "What are you up to now, love?"

"Oh, just running you a bath," they answered as they twisted around in his arms so they could wrap theirs around his neck and tiptoe to catch his chin with a kiss.

"... Is... um is there a reason why you've taken to doing all this domestic work, my beloved? We... do have staff around the home who would be more than happy to help, you know?" he titled his head and looked at them with a gently inquisitive gaze.

Their cheeks grew rosy from a strong blush, "O..Oh... well, I um..." it seemed they were beginning to realise their faux pas, "... I just... wanted to do the sorts of things a happily married spouse would do, the kinds of things my mother did for my father..."

"Ah...." Barok said, "I see...." it made perfect sense, and was incredibly sweet. He kissed their forehead fondly, "Aren't you just the most adorable creature in the whole world?" they giggled, "But, love, do you know the thing I'd like most from my beloved spouse?"

"What?" they asked, with a look of genuine curiosity.

"For my spouse to spend their time with me... perhaps we could cuddle on the sofa while Agnes prepares dinner for us, hm?" his lips curved up in a rakish smile as he nuzzled his nose against their jawline, "Doesn't that sound good?"

"W-well... I certainly wouldn't say no," they said, yelping as he scooped them up.

"Wonderful, it's settled then. This evening your attention is mine and mine alone."

"But what about the bath?!"

[brightlotusmoon]

In working on my Bayverse Turtles fic and the fics with @remmushound I am thinking about how the boys have near perfect immune systems and strong healing factors with naturally long telomeres, ie slowed aging. So they can still get sick, injured, and disabled in ways they can't fully heal from.

Like migraines, chronic nerve pain, tendonitis, back pain, but it's like a slow healing cycle.

I'm basing it off my husband's healing factor, times eleven. Our favorite inside joke is him saying "The difference between you and me is that I heal" and me replying "Yes, fuck you" with a grin and a kiss and me butting my head heavily against his 58-inch chest like it's a wall because his abs are rocks and he has like no waist or butt so his thirteenth rib and his hipbone are an inch apart and it's easy to treat him like a wall. He was also splashed with boiling water as a teenager so most of his torso is scar tissue that he doesn't really feel. When he's teaching me the IP Man style martial arts he was trained in, it's fascinating to watch a six foot barrel chested guy do roundhouse kicks in silence, with an arthritic spine, a hip that he'll dislocate for fun, and a near impossible flexibility for his age that flows like water over stone. I think the qigong meditation plus cannabis has worked for his ADHD and spine pain better than anything because he's managed to spiritually manipulate his own neuroplasticity over thirty years. He's bizarrely chill and like a socialist anarchist. He also meets the seven signs of the antichrist because he was born in a city called Bethlehem in a hospital called Sinai, no labor pains, stillborn for four minutes, Jewish, light eyes, his name referring to first beloved son of his father, Tribe of David, supposed supernatural powers, talks a lot about people helping people and keeps being put in Facebook jail for poking at conversatives and liberals about concentrating taxes and power on communities and welfare and healthcare but saying it in a way that "sounds libertarian" and being ignored or mocked. Oh shit that's a huge tangent, whoops.

Plus there's a reason I say husband's like the embodiment of all four turtles. We have katanas and accidental bo and he's still teaching me Cane Fu.

2) So for my portrayals of Psionic Mikey with painful side effects, I'm imagining how muscles and nerves are constantly damaging and repairing and growing scar tissue because I've seen it with husband.

Mikey being so completely physical and athletic would influence the kinetic psionics like biokinesis, the way his chi would flex and expand.

His internal telekinesis would probably wind up creating new pathways, dendrite growth, neurochemical receptors similar to opioid and endocannabinoid.

Hell, I plan on honoring Winnychan's unfinished fic where Mikey goes to the Ninja Tribunal to complete his tests and becomes Usagi Yojimbo's student, who guides him. In a scene I've never forgotten, Mikey physically manifested his chi as green plant matter, which he ground into a healing paste, because he remembered Splinter grinding herbs for healing. There was the idea that Mikey's chi manifestation was green, Life Energy, and it was as physical and tactile and touched starved as Mikey himself.

I'm glad I complimented Winny on that before she passed.

When I was writing the 2012 Psionics I made him essentially Jean Grey but I probably could still refine how the powers actually work.

Since the late 2000s, I've imagined Psionic Mikey being able to heal himself and others but at a cost.

In every iteration, he is friendly, boisterous, and cheerful, but a lot of fan writers starting in the late 2000s started thinking that Mikey doesn't like to contemplate life, that he's completely airheaded, that his head is always empty. But he's got so many thoughts that it's like static, like a radio or television changing channels, and it bursts out of him with physical force. So why not manifest as telekinetic force...

In this essay I

[sonxflight-a2]

Would you kill me if I asked you to do all the emoji thing for hanryou lol 😝

☯ Send Me An Emoji ║ @kathexismania ☯

😤 - Something about your muse that makes mine angry

“His recklessness and obstinacy have always been the cause for my frustration, but... Nowadays, I doubt I can actually get angry at him in particular - no matter how stupidly stubborn he may occasionally act, my discontent grows out of worry and care rather than annoyance or ire itself. Even in the time of parting or disagreements, our bond doesn’t cease - if anything, the only reason I ever confront Hanzo is the desire for him to heed to my voice a bit more often. To remember that I wish him good and to know that he deserves the share of peace and love, no matter of his opposing beliefs. And this is the matter about which I will stay uncompromisingly persisting...”

😰 - Something about your muse that worries mine

“The very same matters I just mentioned, plus I can add here his morbid willingness. This whole nonsensical concept of ‘life isn’t meant for everybody’... He says it’s no one’s mindset but his own, yet knowing his past and trusting the experience of mine... I nonetheless believe it was long-ingrained within him by outer forces and most likely without his inital realization. I wouldn’t be surprised if once he believed oneself to be some kind of instrument, a tool of certain authority rather than actual human being. I am more than sure his late wife brought him a certain enlightenment about it, and I can only thank her for that... ”

🤥 - Whether my muse thinks yours is an honest person

“He is. At times, even brutally so, which I believe causes people think he’s crude and unthoughtful, while in reality it’s quite otherwise... At least, when it comes to the ones my husband is close with. Let this be something I got used to, it's not the best quality once you need to reach a certain goal with cautious mean, especially when the right person is already wary towards the men of our profession. Guess in this case professional partnership adds to the pros of shared workfield...”

😈 - If my muse has dirty thoughts about yours

“We are highly active, willingly married couple... Why won’t you try and guess?”

💩- A mean thought my muse has about your muse

“Hasashi, I love you, but damn I swear I'll kick your ass myself if you will do that again... Something like this, the train of such thoughts is usually pretty similar when it comes to me.”

👌 - Something my muse finds amazing/impressive about your muse

“The fact he embarked on the path of atonement and is determined to follow it with no askew is already more than worthy of admiration. Let his motives being somewhat selfish and price he paid terrifying, not many would be willing to go through such drastic change. For good or bad, his willpower in general never stops to amaze me. Even though we both think we met our match when it comes to each other’s volition...”

👍 - Something that my muse approves about your muse or thought they have done very well

“I can’t thank him enough for helping me to finally deal with the downside of my restrainment. The treatment of wounds, any wounds, can be quite hurtful and requiring of the certain anesthetic... My emotional stagnancy wasn’t exclusion. Despite me being absolutely pissed at the whole damn world the morning after our ‘cooperative therapy’, I’ve never felt so relieved in ten years as I did feel later, like it was some kind of abscess upon my very heart getting opened at last. For this and many other things that was brought by our relationship, I will always be grateful...”

😘 - How my muse shows affection to yours and if it’s different from how they show affection to everyone else

“I guess I'm way more... physical when it comes to Hanzo, in the mean I barely mind and even tend to initiate the occasional tactile contact in spite of the risk to catch a prying eye. While the most of our affections will always happen behind the close doors, at times I cannot help but yearn for something as allegedly simple as the hold of his hand. Makes me feel like some shy adolescent boy, yet all the same there’s something lovely and beauteous in the moment his palm or fingers take a returning hold of mine.”

📺 - What show my muse thinks yours will enjoy watching (together, or just in general)

“Our work schedule doesn’t allow to us pay that much attention to movie industry these days, but I don’t remember us ever watching the movies of Akira Kurosawa. Then again, it can be easily fixed during our joint days off...”

💀 - Whether my muse thinks yours is dangerous and how dangerous

“We are both dangerous, in various meaning of this word and when we need to be... Neither of us has a peaceful past nor serene field of work, so becoming a reciprocal menace in reaction to the threat can be vital for the sake of survival, either of our loved ones or our own. Men like us... They will do anything possible in order to protect the people they love. Regardless if this will require them to sacrifice their own live or take the one of their enemy...”

👑 - Whether mine thinks your muse is of high social status and/or whether they respect them in such a way

“It’s no need to mention I’ve fallen in love with my husband for who he is as a person... Honestly, I’ve never paid that much attention to the status issue. Furthermore, growing up in highly esteemed family and being surrounded by peers like mine, I know well such matter can serve as the force of deception - I cannot tell how often I had to encounter the spoiled brat who believed they allowed to do whatever they want because of their parents’ money, and how the look of their faces changed once they realized the boy who dared to resist them is no less rich. Respect is to be earned, regardless if you’re some kind of modern prince or the child of simple worker. Unfortunately, the crowd tends to believe otherwise...”

🥃 - How many shots of strong liquor my muse thinks yours can take before passing out

“I think the better question will be how many bottles... Then again, it can depend on his current condition, because it’s either just a few shots or a whole damn gallon not being enough to put him to rest.”

🎁 - What my muse will get yours for a present

“Well, it’s for him to know at his Birthday... Or any other day I will decide to make him a certain gift. After all, does the present really stays an actual present if you know what you’ll be given beforehand?”

🍿 - What my muse thinks is entertaining about yours

“We challenge each other. Motorbike race, the contest of dry humor and sassiness or... other matters of our life together, it’s nice to have a worthy opponent for a friendly brawl. Though my husband may be a sore loser at times, in my view it’s a win-win situation either way, for I enjoy the process as much as the possible victory.”

📚 - What my muse thinks your muse’s usual reading material consists of (a specific genre, smutty literature, etc.)

“Does operation reports count? It’s been a while since I saw Hanzo reading an actual book rather than work’s material, but I can't and will not make a complaint in relation to this - our job requires such a responsibility. All the same, his workaholism causes the stir my concern, no matter how hypocritical this may sound...”

🍽 - What kind of table manner my muse assumes yours to have on first meeting them

“Not the best question to ask when it comes to our couple. Recalling how tense and cranky our relations were at the very start, I doubt either of us tried to think much about each other - it was only about getting my work done as soon as possible and be over with it until the next visit. Now, I think we both were too hurting and too headstrong to see anything else aside of established images. In a way, this makes feel thankful for that hostage incident...”

🏆 - What my muse thinks of your muse regarding a specific achievement yours have

“Specific? Oh well, I believe you should name an exact one then. There’s actually a lot I can be proud of in relation to my husband and people may have a different opinion towards what to count as some sort of achievement. High career rank and well-build physical form is usually the first to be noticed...”

⚔️ - If my muse wants to have a fight with yours

“Sigh... No. Actually, I question if I ever truly wanted to fight or harm him in any way... No matter how much I treaten to kick his ass, due to his recklessness or during another of our sparring sessions. If anything, I’m still sorry for how prejustly I could treat Hanzo back in the days. Pretty sure he feels the same...”

⚰️ - What my muse will say at your muse’s funeral

“I... don’t want to think about that, all the more answer on this question. The death of beloved one is something you cannot and should not plan or even imagine - it brings no use and only gives a rise to unnecessary ache. Regardless of how morbidly curious one’s mind can be, it reality you won’t ever be ready for this kind of things. The thought itself is devastating enough...”

💎 - The most valuable object my muse can willingly give your muse

“Whatever he’d need from me... We can act grumpy about us stealing each other’s clothes, but in reality it’s really that simple.”

📣 - Something my muse will say in defense of your muse being unfairly accused

“A few would dare to make any of such accusations about my husband right in front of him, yet there were some attempts behind his back I was drastic to prevent. As a rule, people doing that lack certain intelligence along with caution and know nothing of Hanzo and what he had to come through, while I on the contrary manage to possess a sufficient data about my opponents in order for them to be quick to hold their tongues once they’re clever enough. One shall think twice before opening their mouth...”

💃🏿 - Whether my muse would want to dance with yours

“We already did, and it was quite a pleasant suprise for me to learn he’s capable of waltzing around without any actual preparation. I wouldn’t mind if he’ll express the wish to do it again once we will have a spare time or will pay a visit to Sakai’s familial residence - there’s very specific beatitude can be found in the instants you’re circling around the dance hall within the hold of your beloved.”

👗 - Whether mine thinks your muse looks good in their usual clothing/their chosen clothing style

“He does... Albeit, as long as he’s safe and sound, he looks good for my vision either way. In the eyes of beholder and all that, you know?”

🎻- If my muse thinks yours can play an instrument, or what it is

“I’m aware Hanzo doesn’t play any. Althought, as much as I don’t mind being the only musically inclined person in our pair, it would be interesting to see him learning... Knowing his tastes, a guitar would probably suit him well.”

🎲 - If mine thinks your muse’s luck is good or bad

“I don’t know... I’ve never believed much in luck anyway, however, I believe its concept is far from being so simple... Much as one’s morals, the fortune can be incredibly relative and versatile.”

💰 - If my muse will pay the ransom for your muse if they’re kidnapped

“I think Hanzo would rather want me to find the bastards who kidnapped him and bring the frigidity of justice upon their rotten heads. Not to mention, it’s unlikely someone would be foolish enough to attempt doing this to the commander of Special Team, at least not for the money...”

✉️ - Whether my muse would want to keep in contact with yours if they are apart

“We’re husbands... The answer is kind of obvious, don’t you think?”

👀 - The most interesting/memorable rumor my muse has heard about yours

“When we just started dating and yet had to reveal our relationships... Some of my former colleagues and the members of his squadron asked if we finally found a lady friends, which was especially amusing to hear when we appeared to be in the same room. Yeah, one gruff six-something-feet tall brawny girlfriend I was happy to become a spouse for, heh...”

[batmansymbol]

@montpahrnah tagged me in a meme to say goodbye to the 2010s!! thank you eve <3

the decade is ending, what’s changed for you in these past ten years?

have you moved?

i have, a few times. i left North Carolina for college in Ohio, then moved back south to Raleigh, then to NYC, then to Chicago. i’ve always felt pretty rootless, first because of having no family in the US and now because my job can go anywhere. in the upcoming decade i’d like to find somewhere that properly feels like a home, where i can feel restful, with no drive to pick up and go. or maybe i should commit to a nomadic lifestyle, give away all my possessions, and move every two months, before the panic that i’m wasting myself in some way sets in

have you graduated?

yes, from high school and then from undergrad. i doubt i’ll ever go back to formal education, although i’d love to take classes here and there! i’d especially love to learn more tactile and useful skills.

has your marital status changed?

hahaha absolutely not

has your parental status changed?

it has not

has your hair color changed?

i did a red ombre after graduation and then blue tips when i was working for the democrats. now i think i’m done experimenting in terms of hair. i like it long and natural, and i like when the only thing that happens to it is my mom trimming my split ends onto the kitchen floor.

has your job changed?

yes, sure has. i was a restaurant hostess in high school, and now i am an author. i also wrote for the Onion this decade, another former dream. i love what i do and always will, but i’ll probably also always wonder what else could be on the horizon, and if/how i could make a bigger positive change in the world.

has your otp changed?

yes - i have basically left behind my tomione days, and the johnlock phase between i guess... 2011-14? lol. these days i read more ginny/luna and remus/sirius and jaime/brienne, but i don’t really hunt down pairings the way i used to. i mean, one of my favorite pieces of writing from this decade is this charlie weasley/pansy parkinson fic. if an amazing writer writes it, i’m on board.

has your pet status changed?

(this isn’t a happy answer so skip it if you hate to read about pet death) in 2010, my family had 3 cats and 2 dogs: a calico (Zanzibar), two tabbies (Suki and Finn), a german shepherd (Juno), and a lhasa apso (Buddy). only one of them is still alive. Finn got PTSD after part of our house blew up in a gas explosion and he wound up running away. Suki died from diabetic complications, and Juno got cancer at the same time that most of Buddy’s systems failed from old age.

Zanzibar, though, is still living with my sister. she’s nineteen years old, deaf, and loves to yowl/scream at the top of her lungs. my sister and her boyfriend lavish her with stupid amounts of affection and never stop talking about her. whenever i think about pets, i remember this from zadie smith’s essay “joy”:

A final thought: sometimes joy multiplies itself dangerously. Children are the infamous example. Isn’t it bad enough that the beloved, with whom you have experienced genuine joy, will eventually be lost to you? Why add to this nightmare the child, whose loss, if it ever happened, would mean nothing less than your total annihilation? It should be noted that an equally dangerous joy, for many people, is the dog or the cat, relationships with animals being in some sense intensified by guaranteed finitude. You hope to leave this world before your child. You are quite certain your dog will leave before you do. Joy is such a human madness.

what new places did you visit?

too many to list, tbh. hong kong, where we visited my mom’s cousin and i nearly passed out from hiking up a mountain in 100-degree heat. columbus, ohio, where i saw the vvitch in theaters with a group of five people who will never spend time together again, after which we went to Raising Cane’s Chicken Fingers and talked in a particleboard booth for a couple hours before driving back to college. rocky mount, NC, where on election day in 2016 i frantically drove two voters to the polls and really really thought everything was going to turn out differently

what is an accomplishment you are proud of?

this is hard. i think i’ve become more self-aware and less self-centered over the last decade, but i don’t want to call that an accomplishment because i think the catalysts for those changes weren’t increased efforts at wisdom or nobility but rather just various forms of emotional or interpersonal damage.

my career is probably the best part of my life, but to be honest, i have a tough time saying i’m proud of any of my writing because i always want to forget i was involved with any of it. in retrospect it always feels alternately immature or pretentious, or in some other way critically flawed.

it makes me sad that i could list about fifty things that i’m ashamed of from this decade, but am grasping for one thing that brings me unqualified pride. i guess in many ways i feel that i’ve never meaningfully struggled, and in fact have fucked up over and over again, and so the idea of feeling pride rather than gratitude (or even like... you know, repentance) would basically be an act of narcissism. i know that’s not how this works, but wow, i’m feeling a lot at the end of this decade, and this is a lot of it.

ok. have sat on it for a couple hours. there’s a song i wrote in 2014 called Ohio, and that’s what i’m proud of. after five years i still think it’s a good song.

sending love to everyone for your new years and your goodbyes to the old years. :) <3

tagging @pkmndaisuki @uchihabat @mechanical-orange @tomriddlejr @thymoss @cocoartistwrites @captocie @goldentulips @ibuzoo @letter2hermione @muggleriddle​ and YOU if you would like to!

[maletfs]

How about a buff featureless mannequin?

My husband had many vices, but none was more annoying than his obsession with antiques. What started as a few ancient coins and an Edwardian chair had over the years become a constant hunt for vases, figurines, and old furniture. And the last thing you want to do during your midlife crisis is to be dragged around derelict country houses and posh estates to rummage through their dead owners’ possessions. Trust me, it’s fucking boring.

This time around I just left him salivating over a dusty chaise lounge and went to find a quiet corner to nap for a while. I sneaked into one of the storage rooms and dropped dead on some fancy chair. A cloud of dust erupted from the cushions and got into my eyes and nose. As I instinctively brought my hands to my face, I accidentally knocked down a little porcelain doll that was resting on a cabinet beside me. I was scared the rattle it made as it broke would alert someone of my presence, but it seemed no one was around so I just ignored it, cleared my eyes of the dust, and prepared myself for a quick nap.

That’s when I heard it. What is it you want? I assumed I was in that awkward middle point between sleep and wakefulness, so I didn’t give it much thought. But it kept asking, gently. What is it you want? I started thinking about it. What did I want? My body. My forties had done some terrible stuff to my body shape and I really missed my defined abs and sculpted pecs. What else? Just a little peace and quiet. Life had become so chaotic lately, with my beloved sinking deeper into his obsession. He barely paid me any attention anymore... What else? I guess I just wish he wanted me as much as he wanted all these antiques.

So be it.

I felt a tickle running down my spine, like goosebumps. But the feeling didn’t fade like you would expect. In fact, it was intensifying. It concentrated on my bum, travelling slowly between my things towards my crotch. I pulled down my zip to see what was going on but my cock looked just like it always did. Perhaps a little paler than usual? Hmm, it did look like it was quiet pale, and it had a really weird sheen. I went to inspect it but, as soon as I touched it, the weird feeling intensified tenfold. And it was so good! It was like the tickle I get when my husband played with my nipples (spoiler alert: I have very sensitive nipples) but stronger and over a wider area.

I started massaging my cock and fondling my balls. I had not experienced such sexual bliss since... well, I don’t think I had ever experienced anything this good. But it was strange that, despite how amazing it felt, I wasn’t hard at all. I tried to grab hold of my cock to jerk off but I couldn’t seem to get my fingers around it. In fact, I couldn’t really tell where my cock ended and my crotch began. I kneed it with my hand but the surface was stiff and unyielding, though it still gave me indescribable pleasure to touch it. It was only when I noticed my pubes falling off that I actually realised something was very wrong.

I tried to stand up but my legs wouldn’t budge. They were rigid, locked into a casual position. I rapped one of them with my fist and they sounded hollow and solid. I would’ve panicked but the vibrations that my rapping made were so delightful! I tried to do it again but my arm wouldn’t respond anymore. Nor would my fist, which slowly opened up on its own accord. Without any tactile pleasuring, the horror of my predicament finally hit me. I struggled to turn my head towards the door, and when I cried for help, no sound came out. My eyes got drier and drier, yet I couldn’t blink anymore. I was frozen in place.

I waited for something else to happen. Maybe I would wake up. Maybe it would wear off, just a freakish allergic reaction to dust. But nothing happened. Hours went by, the afternoon sun slowly creeping into the room. At least the feeling of sunlight on my surface was warm and pleasing. When I had already given up hope and resigned myself to life as a forgotten antique, I saw my boyfriend walking into the room. He didn’t look alarmed by my looks. In fact, he seemed quite cool about the whole situation. He picked me up (sending me into a blissful frenzy in the process) and took me back home. He cat out my clothes and set me on a Chesterfield armchair by the fireplace.

I tried to hold on to my memories, my sense of self, but the more time that passed, the more I acclimatised to my life as a mannequin. It’s not so bad, to be honest: it is nice and quiet, I get to show off my beautiful body, and my husband has never given me so much of his time. He even polishes me twice a day.