#that i may have actually been doing a hell of a lot of heavy lifting.

[bluecollarmcandtf]

M O O N L I G H T ™

Chapter III

It's late, and the last thing I expect to find at my nightly workout is my little bro, dressed up like a personal trainer. He looks ridiculous in that cheesy uniform, not to mention the light pouring out of his skull and the smile stamped into his face! I guess the little idiot signed up for Moonlight™: that was one helluva mistake!

"Good evening, sir," my brother speaks as if we hadn't grown up together, "Is there any way I can aid your fitness journey tonight?"

Hearing Ryan call me 'sir' brings a devious grin to my own face. I've bullied this kid for years, and now he's kissing my ass like well-trained puppy. Thanks to Moonlight™, my annoying little bro is just a mind controlled employee who doesn't realize his brother's here, let alone embarrassing him! I wish I could get my entire family implanted with these little Moonlight™ things. Messing with them would be hilarious!

"Oh yeah," I sneer, "And what's string bean gonna do for a guy like me?"

"Well, sir, as a personal trainer here at Planet Fitness, I'll gladly demonstrate how to use the machines, spot patrons with heavy-lifting, and return equipment when finished."

God, he sounds even more annoying than usual! "You really think a someone like you could spot me?" I scoff and bring my bicep to his face, flexing it inches away from his perpetually open eyes.

"Actually, sir, this body can lift 260 lbs on the bench press without injury. The load you have is well-enough below to ensure that I may be of service. Still sir, the weight you're lifting is a very respectable amount," Ryan's smile beamed at me, but mine fell.

"Whatever, I'll be fine," I retort, "Just stand over there and mop up my sweat when I'm done."

"Yes, sir."

My little brother takes a step back as I get ready to lift. As stupid as he looks, standing there waiting on me to finish, he also looks pretty fit. His company polo might be sweaty and gross, but it's tight against his improving physique. He's clearly been lifting a lot while he's been working here, but his gains should not count if Moonlight™ is the one actually working out that pathetic little body! The only way he could bulk up was by becoming a fucking puppet! Talk about sad!

"Fuck!" I grunt, tossing the barbell back as I finish. I did a few extra sets to prove a point and now my arms are on fire. "Towel!" I snap.

"Yes, sir," Ryan rushes over and wipes the sweat off my brow. I just laugh in his face.

"I think I got some sweat on my sneakers too," I jab, "You can wipe them off and then put twenty more pounds on the bar."

"Of course, sir."

My brother gets on his knees with the towel, giving my sneakers a cursory buff. I don't know what personal trainer has shoe-shining in his job description, but I've heard these Moonlight™ employees can be pretty pliant. Apparently, you can make them do quite a bit with the loopholes in their programming. Maybe I can get Ryan here to do something even more embarrassing than polishing his big bro's shoes!

The next week, I worked out every night.

Turns out, bullying my little bro was great motivation to go to the gym! When I saw him during the day, I never mentioned the fact that I knew; didn't want to scare him off. At night, I had every opportunity to take out my frustrations on him. If he pissed me off during the day, I could boss him around at the gym, ordering him to follow me around and wipe down every piece of equipment. I could call him whatever names I wanted and yell at him as loudly as I pleased; he had to just stand there with the best customer service smile and say "yes, sir."

Playing around with Ryan was fun, but it wasn't until I went out for a drink that I ran into my second brother. I guess he had the same idea to get hired with Moonlight™...

"Can I fix you a drink, sir?" my brother, the middle child, yells over the club's EDM.

"What the hell?" I shout, "Ryan's dumb enough to Moonlight™, but I didn't think you were!"

Sam just stares back with the same flashlight eyes and widely stretched lips. Of course his programming won't let him do anything outside of bartending! He's probably not even conscious in there! Ryan was always a bit of an impulsive twerp, so I wasn't surprised to see him Moonlighting™, but Sam is different. He'd said he'd never put his body to work at night. Something about the behavior of Moonlighters™ always rubbed him the wrong way...I guess he changed his mind.

"A round of beers," I tell him, warily gesturing to the back corner, "For me and our crew."

Sam's glowing stare looks over my shoulder and sees our friends, the guys we both hang out with, "Yes, sir. I'll have it right out for you."

I return to our pals, anxious for my brother to follow. Sam is only a year younger than myself, so we run around with the same crowd, yet he didn't recognize any of our buds. Now he's about to serve them like a fucking waiter. My catatonic brother is about to walk into the most humiliating situation of his life. I just get to sit back and watch!

"Sam?" one of them asks a moment later.

"Here are your beers, sir," my brother plucks the bottles off his tray and sets them out for each of his friends, completely oblivious to their stunned reactions, "Is there anything else I can get any of you?"

"Holy crap, dude!" another pal turns to me, "Since when did your brother start Moonlight? He looks like a total idiot!"

Sam doesn't seem to register the insult.

"I don't know man," I laugh, "Tonight, I guess."

"Fetch us some napkins," one guy quips with an amused flick of his hand.

"Right away, sir." Sam answers a little too promptly, and whisks away.

"Right away, sir, Ha!" the guy repeats with a mock salute, "We've gotta mess with him!"

Sam returns, obediently passing out napkins, but I'm finding it harder to meet his gaze while he's grinning so manically. This situation is starting to feel more awkward than hilarious. These guys will never let him live this down!

"Sam, get over here and give this paying customer a sloppy BJ!"

My brother stiffens, and for a second a jolt of fear runs down my spine, terrified that Moonlight™ will actually make him comply. Pranks are all good and fun, but I do not want to see my brother about to blow another dude!

"I apologize, sir," he finally resumes, "That is not part of my responsibilities as bartender."

Thank God.

"Then get something to clean this up," he laughs wildly, "You spilled my beer!" Our friend then pours half his drink on the crotch of his jeans, staring at Sam with the amused eyes of a drunk fool. This guy always gets weird after a few drinks. I don't know why we still bring him along. Normally, we just ignore him.

"Of course, sir," Sam answers attentively.

For the next ten minutes, I sit in silent horror as my brother returns with a rag, proceeding to get on his knees and wipe down another man's crotch with painful dedication. Of course, our friends are all howling with laughter at this point, taking video evidence that they can embarrass Sam with later.

It feels like a lifetime, but Sam finally stands up, "I hope I cleaned that up well enough for you, sir."

The guy feels at his wet jeans, saying, "I don't know if that's good enough, bitch."

"I'm sorry, sir, let me try ag-"

"No! It's my turn," someone else cuts in, pushing his way to the front, "You spilled some on my ass that needs cleaned up!"

The gang loses it, doubling over with laughter as Sam prepares to spend the next ten minutes wiping down another guy's ass, but I've had enough, "No! We're done here, thank you. Go close our tab," I bark.

"Yes, sir," Sam turns on his heel. His dumb obedience is more disturbing than entertaining at this point.

Our friends all give me a hard time for sending him away, but I'm not having it. Maybe I'm not drunk enough, but they're enjoying this a lot more than I am. At this point, I'm ready to call it a night and go home, so I say my goodbyes and head for the exit.

The walk home isn't a far one, but I pass a few notable places on the way: one being my dad's dark office building. Our old man has been working late nights there lately. In the dimly lit lobby, I recognize someone...

"Dad?" I gasp.

"Good evening, sir," my father says to me without any note of familiarity in his voice.

"Wait, you're moonlighting too?" it comes out as more of an accusation, but at this point I'm fed up with finding family members secretly working random mind-controlled night jobs.

"I am a security guard employed through the Moonlight™ corporation," his gravelly voice sounds foreign, delivering these programmed prompts, "If you'd like, sir, I can help you apply for a Moonlight™ position, and you can start making the most of your sleeping hours too!"

"Why the fuck did you think this was a good idea, dad?" I ask, knowing this stupid security guard persona isn't capable of answering.

"He didn't."

The voice of someone else in the room sends shivers down my spine. I whip around, and see a gangly, middle-aged man stepping forward.

"Jeff?"

"Hi, Jamie," my uncle says, sauntering up to his far taller brother and resting an arm on his shoulder. My dad's attentive posture doesn't waver. He just keeps on acting like the perfect sentry for the building and the perfect armrest for his brother.

"Do you mind telling me what's going on!?"

He sniffles and sighs like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar, "Yes, I suppose this charade of mine was doomed to be found out sooner or later. I put your father in the Moonlight™ database. He was just wasting his sleeping hours at home in his bed, and he'd always refuse to let me sign him up, so I did it in secret. He makes a great guard. Right Tom?"

Uncle Jeff claps my dad on the back, prompting him to announce a proud, "Yes, sir!"

"See," my uncle turns back to me, "No harm done. Your old man gets paid to stand around in his sleep. Its harmless!"

"But he doesn't know!" I yell, seething at my uncle's sheer abuse of his place in the company, "This has to be illegal, and are you just pocketing Dad, Ryan, and Sam's salaries?"

He rolls his eyes, "I am right now, but the four of you don't even make that much."

"Did you just say the four of us?" I grunt.

"Oops," he holds a hand to his forehead and curses under his breath.

"AM I FUCKING MOONLIGHTING WHILE I SLEEP TOO?" I am screaming at this point, "You're fucked up!" I bark. Angrily, I stomp towards my uncle, but my father takes a firm step planting himself between me and the man. His steady palm is holding the baton at his belt, making me nervous. Is my dad about to beat me up for this creep?

"Excuse me, sir," my dad smiles at my uncle, "Would you like me to escort this man out of the building?"

"That won't be necessary," my uncle says, "I'll just trigger his Moonlight™ shift to start now. You can go back to standing in the corner"

"Yes, sir," my security guard father answers placidly, returning to his attentive stance.

"You wouldn't," I snarl.

"Oh, trust me, I will. As I understand it, overriding a subject's body while awake means you'll be fully conscious. I'll work on something to make you forget this whole incident later."

He presses a few buttons on an ipad, and suddenly my vision is engulfed in a purple haze. My back straightens, my muscles relax, and I feel my face contorts into a giant smile. Suddenly, my entire body seems to be gone from my grasp, and I'm constrained to a tiny space in my head while something else takes over.

"Enjoy your shift," my uncle snickers with a glare.

"Thank you, sir. I will," I feel my voice pushed out of my throat with an excited tone that isn't mine. Before I know it, my legs are carrying me away from my uncle, leaving him with my father, to march down the dark street...

"Here's your order, sir," my voice has the trademarked Moonlight™ eagerness in it as I reach out the window and hand over the meal.

"Fuck off, sleep-freak!" the teen in the driver's seat flips me off, making his immature friends cackle as they speed off. I can't do anything but smile and watch as they weave away. They have no idea I'm actually conscious in here.

After being forced to leave my uncle, I found myself striding into a fast food restaurant through its backdoor. I could instantly tell the place wasnt anywhere I'd eat at because the dumpster smelled like soggy fries and old meat. The kitchen was a fluorescent-lit pit, with a thick feeling of oil hanging in the air. I could barely take in the surroundings before I was changing out of my clothes by some lockers. I was horrified that Moonlight™ was making me fucking strip, but before long my hands were pulling on new clothes: a uniform. The polo felt like it'd been sitting at the bottom of the locker since the last shift, drying in sweat, and the pants were sticky with something unidentifiable. I was mortified to be pulling on a fucking hairnet and apron, but I had no choice.

"Blondie's here early," a smoker's voice purred from behind me. I had a bad feeling he'd been standing there for a while, watching.

"Hello boss," my voice answers, apparently recognizing the overweight, unshaved creep, "I'm ready to start my shift, sir! Where am I needed today?"

I watched as the man licked his stubbly lips, his beady eyes crawling all over me. Without any shame, his sweaty palm groped the growing bulge in his khakis. He was obviously happy to see me, and he probably thought I couldn't actually see him! I guess, every fucking night that my uncle's made me work in my sleep, I've been under the supervision of THIS pervert!?

"Get to the fryer," his scratchy throat moaned, "You know I want you to get nice and sweaty for later."

"Yes, sir. I'll be sure to work up a sweat for you," I answer, confused and disturbed by my response. The cheer in my voice did not match the overwhelming gloom I felt when the man slapped my ass. His hand lingered on my rear for too long, but I couldn't even frown.

Since then, I've been boiling fries and flipping burgers. Every so often I have to hand an order out the window, but my heart races every time I do. Three orders ago, the customer threw their soda back at my coworker, he's a fairly average guy in his thirties, and he was dowsed in Coca-Cola. It didn't keep Moonlight™'s programming from working: he just kept manning the grill, smiling, eyes glowing, and hair dripping with cherry flavored juice.

"Ouch!" at least, that's what I want to say. The oil sizzles and pops, and a few drops of hot grease splatter onto my arm, but I don’t flinch. The control won’t let me.

Suddenly I feel someone leaning in behind me. My spine shivers as my manager says, "It's closing time, Blondie. I'll send everyone home so you and I can clean up like usual." He whispers it in my ear, with his flabby arms wrapped around me like we're fucking lovers! I wish I could vomit!

"Sounds good, boss," I find myself saying.

One by one, the manager dismisses each of my moonlighting coworkers. I can't help but feel jealous as they strip out of their uniforms by the door. It isn't just that they get to leave; they also have the luxury of not knowing what's going on. They're all asleep. I'd give anything to at least be unaware of whatever this fucking pervert is about to do!

My body is preoccupied with whatever shit needs to be done for closing, wiping down the tables, taking out the trash, and more.

"Mop time," the manager suddenly announces, holding the raggedy thing out expectantly.

"Yes, sir," my voice answers, and I drop what I'm doing to accept the mop. The crotch of his pants is unzipped, but my bodies already turned away from him, turning all my attention to swab the tiles floor.

"You're doing it wrong again, Blondie," he purrs slowly, "I'm gonna have to help you like usual."

"Thank you, sir," my voice sounds grateful, but I am anything but. The pervert presses his rotund body against my back and holds my muscular arms with his own chubby ones. I can feel his penis poking into me below his gut, but my body accepts his touch like he's just a boss helping out an employee.

I guess this asshole found a loophole in Moonlight™'s fucking programming. He's going to touch me all he wants under the guise of demonstrating the right way to mop.

The creep spends the next ten minutes guiding my arms back and forth. "Fuck, you're bubble butt feels even better than usual, Blondie," he breathes in my ear. If I had control of my muscles, he wouldn't stand a chance, but right now, they're putty in my boss's arms. Meanwhile, his waist gets busy dry humping his chode into my rear end. "I'm so glad a jock like you was dumb enough to try Moonlight!" he grunts, his tongue dangerously close to my ear. I can only thank God that he can't take my pants off! After several painful minutes of him spitting more disgusting comments onto my cheek, his arms drop mine and plant themselves on my chest. His hands sloppily grope my pecs and pinch my nipples. I've never felt more pathetic. The man makes one final exclamation, "FUUUCK!" and I can tell he has finally gotten off.

"Thanks for the help, boss," I find myself saying.

With heavy breaths, he staggers back. The sudden open air on my back makes me realize just how hot and sweaty that slob was, and I can feel the slimy remnants of his balls slipping down my back and legs.

"Good job as always, Blondie," he breathes heavily with satisfaction.

"Thank you, sir," I answer. My voice hasn't lost its awful chipper quality, and my face is still stuck in a smile like I hadn't just been taken advantage of.

"Finish mopping up, and then you can lock up and clock out," he winks as if we shared some inside joke. I hate that all he sees is my smile.

"Yes, sir," I answer, but the creep has already waddled out of the building and slammed the door shut.

The sudden silence is unbearable. It makes the monotonous task of mopping the sticky floors all the more unpleasant. What's worse is that I can't pause to wash the manager's cum off my back. It soaks into my pants as I work, trapped in my own body. At least I know why these pants are so sticky. Honestly, I hope Uncle Jeff will wipe my memory...

[heartfullofleeches]

*slowly opens your closet door and hands you the rest of the chips I was eating in there*

What if. Reader kissed King's scars or traced over them n asked if shed tell them how she got em? I think scars are neat and I dunno about you but personally I'd love to know how she got em. Hope your day is well!

Not a scratch on her.

You distinctly remember the claws of your attacker digging into the exposed meat of the knight's bicep her armor failed to shield yet here there is no mark to prove it. The two of you sat in King's dressing room following the incident, and all the time it took you begging to pull her off them. You thought you'd be fine on your own for a little while without her - clearly word hasn't gotten around the casino that you belong to her just yet. After she checked you over and made sure you weren't hurt it was only fair of you to do the same, but once you scrubbed all that blood off her there really wasn't much else for you to take care of.

"Hm......"

King lifts her head from the pile of pillows you both lay on, dismayed by absence of your hands on her. "Everything okay over there? Seems like you got something on your mind."

"Just thinking.... You've got so many scars, but that other demon didn't even put a scratch on you ... Kinda curious why.."

"Oh, that? That was nothing.-" King sits up, pounding a fist against her chest as she rises. "Takes a lot more than a coward like that to put a dent on this body. Hell, my skin's thicker than the steel I throw on. The stories behind every single one of 'em could the tale of centuries."

"Really?.... Then do you think you could tell me how you got your scars? I actually think they're pretty neat, but I didn't know the right time to ask you about them."

The mountain of pillows crumbles under the heavy swish of King's tail. "Yea....course... we'd be here all week if I told you how I got them all, but I can start off with some of my favorites for now."

King removes her chestplate - gesturing for you to climb in her lap as she regroups the pillows beneath her. She leans back down as she takes your smaller hands in hers, placing them on her abdomen. It was almost impossible to tell where her skin began and the old wounds ended. She guides your fingers to a crescent shaped hole just below her left pec - right over her ribs.

"Feel that? Got that one during the first tournament I feared I might lose. Underestimated the little bastard due to their size - barely came up to my knee in this form, the fucker. Unfortunately for them, they got a little too confident and all it took for me to wipe the floor with that small fry was catching them once.

"Amazing...." Your trace your fingers over the scar, dipping your head until in range to place a soft kiss on her hardened skin. King flinches - tail threatening to foundation of the pillows again as it shoots up with her.

"Wha- Huh?!- The fuck was that?"

"Sorry... Was that not okay? I guess I should've asked before I did that."

King's used to people asking about her scars. She may have been asked to be been kissed once or twice, but that was often by drunken fans - not the little treasure she picked out for herself. You are aware she could snap you in half at any second? You most definitely did, and that she'd never put you in serious danger. Still, you being so careless around a beast like her has got feeling a rush that's incomparable to the surge she feels in battle.

"Nah...." King shifts her tail benath her legs to hide the excitement it gave away. "A warning might've been nice - but your boldness makes it kinda hot. I knew I picked the perfect person to call mine.... Let's move on."

King nudges your fingers further north over her heart to anotger oddly shaped scar over her heart. With three points it almost look like a crudely embroidered crown. "This one. Welcoming gift from the boss themselves. Should'a known not to underestimate that other demon after dealing with them, but they're such an airhead it's easy to forget they can take care of themselves just fine."

Again - you kiss the blemish, the dragon's heart hammering loudly in her chest you can feel its rumble from your lips. There's other's she'd like to show you, but it you're so willing to kiss all her marks....

"Hey, got another one I think you might like."

King lifts her helmet over her jaw - shadows pealing away to unveil the wide, branching scar starting from her lower lip to benath her chin. She grins to show off the extent of the injury, the skin of her lips splitting to reveal more of her gums the further her smile creeps up the side of her face.

"This one? First and only time an angel tried to mess with our staff. Something about some demon winning the soul of someone they were watching over in a gang of cards. Made a huge fuss, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. Scar I'm most proudest of."

You ghost your fingers along her jaw, smiling as she slides her large hand down your back. "Uh-huh.... Something tells me there's another reason you wanted to show me this one in particular..."

"Don't get too full of yourself... Heh, who am I kidding." Tossing her mask aside, King pulls you for a kiss - a loud, yet oddly polite banging on the door interrupting the happy moment.

"Ms.King? We are all very glad you have found someone you are willing to protect at any cause, but some guests have raised concerns about your displays of victory. Please stop stringing your prey up over the pool. This is the third time we've had to close it this month."

[wallydrling]

go away (or don't)

pairing: wally darling/reader

rating: g

author's note: gender neutral reader to the best of my ability! i'm very new to welcome home so please be kind @:)

ao3 (it looks so much better there! go to hell, tumblr!)

Your relationship with Wally, new as it may be, is not without its challenges.

The transition from friends to something more had been a bit of a sticky subject at first, tacky to the touch. But a dozen long conversations and drawn-out explanations had really cleared a lot of things up, and by the end of your first official month as Home's newest couple, things had seemed to be tilting towards hopeful.

Now, as you stand in the middle of Wally's living room, arms folded over your chest, you're not positive that you didn't rush into things.

You aren't mad at him. He is standing just a few feet away, face carefully blank, arms limp by his sides. He is nearly impossible to be mad at. But for all your talk of boundaries, you'd forgotten to discuss something very important with him; your dedication to your friendship with Julie.

"She spends the night with you," Wally says, voice even. "A lot. I don't even get to spend the night with you."

He'd been upset to find out that your twice-weekly sleepovers with Julie hadn't stopped even after your relationship with him kicked into gear. You hadn't brought it up during any of your discussions because you didn't think it mattered. You weren't– you aren't– willing to change anything about your relationship with Julie. You won't sacrifice it. It's too important to you.

"Julie is my friend," you tell him. It's important to keep a level head. Getting upset will only make the situation worse. "I'm not going to stop spending time with her just because you and I are together."

"She lies in your bed," he says. "With you. Beside you."

Bickering with him is…not what you expected it would be. Despite him being more in touch with his emotions than ever, it still doesn't transfer well into his voice. He speaks slowly, the cadence near-robotic, and it's difficult for you to decipher how intense the emotions that he's feeling actually are right now. He doesn't look mad. He isn't smiling, and his eyes are slightly narrowed, but besides that, he is a blank slate. It's as infuriating as it is confusing.

"Wally," you sigh, uncrossing your arms. "She's just a friend, okay? I'm allowed to have friends."

He tilts his chin up defiantly, and there it is–something to latch on to.

"I don't think it's appropriate," he says. "Frank and Eddie don't sleep in other neighbors' beds."

"You do understand that we can't model our entire relationship around Frank and Eddie's, right?" You ask, quirking a brow.

"You're not listening," he huffs. His hands twitch at his sides, fingertips curling into his palms. "You're being unkind."

"No," your jaw flexes subconsciously. "You're being unreasonable."

He lifts his eyes to the ceiling. "Home? Do you think I'm being unreasonable?"

There's a subtle creak, and a consecutive bang, bang.

"Well, there you have it," his mouth curls up into a smile, but it is smug and a little bit cruel.

"Wha–You can't ask Home!" You exclaim, throwing your hands up. "That isn't fair! This is between you and I."

He mimics your earlier stance by crossing his arms over his chest. It's a little off; a little clunky, but he gets the gist of it. He looks closed off, and hurt, and maybe angry. You can't read his eyes well enough. It's a learning process, and he is the kind of book that people spend hundreds of years decoding.

"I think you've overstayed your welcome," He nods towards the front door, and it swings open. "Goodbye, neighbor."

You don't move. He's kicking you out? Your legs feel like they've been cased in cement, and your tongue is heavy in your mouth. No. The argument cannot end like this. There has to be a resolution, or the two of you will never come back from this. Your relationship is too new to handle something so detrimental.

"Wally," you try. His name sounds soft and sweet in your voice because, for all the bickering and the mean words, you cannot be mad at him. You just can't.

"Please leave," he says. He shifts on his feet. "I think I'm…mad. And I really, really don't want to be mad at you, but I don't know how not to be. So, you should go."

You appreciate the fact that he is attempting to explain his feelings. That he's digging deep, and being honest with you. You know that it hasn't been easy for him, learning about conceptualizing emotions, and letting himself take the time to decode them. He has struggled. You've helped him through almost-panic attacks too many times to count. He gets overwhelmed sometimes, and you know that, even for you, relationships aren't simple. Standing up to you, it must be difficult.

"Relationships are hard, sometimes," you say, taking a step towards him. "It's normal to be angry with your partner when you both disagree on something very important. And…I know that trying to talk about it can be frustrating."

He relaxes just slightly at your words; you see it in the way his shoulders droop. He still has his arms crossed over his chest, but he is looking at you now, and his eyes go round at the edges. They lose their sharpness.

"Frank and Eddie disagree on things, too," you continue. "Being partners with someone means compromising."

"Compromising," Wally repeats. "But you won't–you're not compromising with me."

"Let's sit down and talk about it some more," you suggest, offering him a warm smile. "We should never intentionally hurt each other, alright? If my sleepovers with Julie have hurt your feelings, I want to make that right."

You take a seat on his sofa, patting the spot next to you. He hesitates for a moment, and then sits down, too. His ankles cross, and he folds his hands in his lap.

"You don't like it when I have sleepovers with Julie because she lies in my bed with me?" You ask. You're careful with your words, with your tone. You don't want to upset him further, or have him close himself off.

He nods. "I've read Julie's romance books, and when two people love each other, they always share a bed."

Ah, yes. Since the realization of his feelings for you, Wally has been in love with the idea of love. He reads Julie's silly, cliché stories, and asks Frank and Eddie questions that are perhaps a bit too personal. He is smart and curious, and he's always wanting to learn. This–all things romance– has just been his newest fixation. You're not sure that Julie's books or Frank and Eddie's ever-changing dynamic are the best references for him, though. He is not like the love interest in a romance novel. He shouldn't try to compare himself to anyone else.

"Sharing a bed isn't always romantic," you explain. "There are a lot of different kinds of love. But," you reach out to place a hand on his knee, soothing, and he lets you. Does not move away, so you take that as a good sign. "If me sharing a bed with someone else makes you uncomfortable, I'm willing to compromise. How about when Julie comes over, she lies in my bed, and I sleep on the couch?"

He takes a moment to think about this. You see the cogs turning in his head, the way his mouth straightens out, and then pulls down at the corners.

"Okay," he says. "I think that would be…okay. I would feel happier with that."

"And," you tell him, "you can't keep basing your idea of love around what you read in books, okay? All relationships are different. You have to learn to navigate it through experience."

"I just," he looks down, eyes closing for a second. "I have questions, sometimes. I don't know where to find answers."

Your hand slides up to cup his cheek, and his skin goes a little pink beneath your touch.

"Next time you have a question, just ask me about it, alright?" You say. Your thumb smooths along his skin, and you brush a bit of blue hair behind his ear. "We'll work on it together."

"I like how that sounds," he smiles, eyes twinkling beneath high noon's light beaming in through the windows. "Together."

Pleased now, he scoots closer to you on the couch. His mouth curves up, and he gets this mischievous look on his face that you've come to associate with his silly little antics. He dives forward and kisses the round apple of your cheek, darting away with a sweet, "muah!"

"So you're not mad at me anymore, then?" You ask, tips of your ears warm.

He shakes his head. "Not mad. Sorry I tried to make you leave earlier."

You take his face between your hands, and squish his cheeks until his mouth puckers up. He looks goofy and open and so, so happy. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you press forward and kiss him on the mouth, once, then twice. The pink on his face goes deeper, and his ears turn red, too.

"I'm sorry for not taking your feelings seriously at first," you say. "I accept your apology. Do you accept mine?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. "Maybe a few more kisses will sway me."

You laugh, falling against his chest, and he wraps both arms around your shoulders. He is soft, and smells like cedar and sunlight. You breathe him in, and tilt your head back to leave a little kiss to his jawline.

"You drive a hard bargain, Darling. I suppose I've got no choice but to bend to your will."

You tackle him onto the couch until he's lying on his back, head propped up on the arm rest. You pin his wrists by his sides and leave chaste kisses all over his face, each one signed with a tiny smack, and a "muah!" He laughs, and it is still drawn out and slow and stale, but it is so very him, and that's all you have ever wanted.

He buries his devastatingly cute, "ha, ha, ha's" into your shoulder, and you kiss him and kiss him until the both of you are breathless, and the sun begins to set.

[hazel-of-sodor]

Day 23-Tap Out

Day 23-Beyond

Other Stories

Other Day

A Western Summer

Thomas rolled onto the docks smoothly, humming contentedly, whistling a hello to S.S. United States as he looked for his friend, the liner replying back.

He soon found Percy, cursing at the truck management.

“May I remind you my siblings taught Salty?” he called out amused.

Percy looked back with a glare, “No wonder it's a mess then.”

Thomas chuckled, and began helping Percy sort out the mess.

“Its due to the storm,” he explained, “several harbors are closed for repair, and it's all coming through here. Plus everything meant for past Elsbridge…”

“Has nowhere to go.” The saddletank sighed, “I guess that's why they needed me here so much.

“How was the trip?” Thomas asked innocently.

“Never again.”

Thomas laughed, “I thought it would be better than being stuck in the shed.”

“...of course it was your idea.”

“Come on, where is your love of the water?” He teased.

“I’ll leave that to your boyfriend,” Percy snarked. He then paused and looked back towards the sidetank, “how are you by the way?” He asked, suddenly serious. “I know the storm was harder on you than anyone else.”

Thomas actually considered the question, “I’m alright.” He said finally, “Duck’s been keeping my mind off things, so a lot better than I expected.”

Percy snorted, “I half expected you to have run off to save a scrap yard…”

He stopped when he didn't get a reply. He looked over to see the tank engine staring at the tracks before him, the trucks looking at him in concern.

“I…I can't.” Thomas said, he looked up at Percy, “you hear about the other night?”

Percy nodded slowly, “something about a demon battleship?”

“Not a demon, just one who failed to pass on.” Thomas sighed. “The whole time…I was just tired, not physically but…”

“You're not sure how much more you can take.”

“They’re withdrawing the Class 26s, and the 40s…the peaks will start being withdrawn next year. I thought I would be done. That the end of steam would signal the end. They would scrap the unsuccessful diesels and electrics then I could rest. They're scrapping successful engines now…just for being non-standard.”

Thomas looked exhausted.

“Tap out.” Percy said.

“I can't.” Thomas snapped.

“The hell you can't,” Percy snapped back, “you have an entire island of engines willing to step in, and that's not counting beyond the NWR. Tell us where to go and we'll see it done.”

“I can't just hand off my duty…”

“You're not.” Percy said firmly, “no one expected this to go on so long. You may not be able to hand control over to anyone else, but we can do the heavy lifting.”

Percy paused and continued more gently, “it's been twenty years since they announced the plan. No one can blame you for taking our help…I'm afraid you're on your own with the battleships though.”

Thomas burst out laughing at the unexpected statement, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

[qprstobin]

"there's no evidence that tommy and carol bullied anyone" so publicly humiliating nancy by spray painting nancy the slut wheeler on the hawk sign was just what. because steve implied that was their idea and they did it. you don't just go from never bullying anyone to doing some real diabolical shit like that so. sure steve never bullied anyone but you're reaching trying to extend that to tommy especially. don't forget how easily he got chummy with the racist the following season and joined in gleefully bullying steve

I'm not excusing the graffiti, but I don't think spray painting the slut graffiti as revenge because they (wrongly) thought Nancy cheated on Steve makes it bullying lmao. Bullying is repeated and targeted. One instance is not bullying. I also think "diabolical" is doing a lot of heavy lifting there. Like what they did was cruel, but diabolical? Graffiti and spreading rumors is like the most typical "get revenge on your/your friend's shitty ex" thing you could do, they just did it in public instead of like the school bathroom. Public shaming for cheating is SUCH a common trope, like do you know how often I see that "WELCOME HOME CHEATER" meme? I'm not saying that makes it right, because it doesn't! But it also doesn't make them evil?

Like I never said that Tommy and Carol are nice lol. They're asshole teenagers! That's canon! Steve calls them out on that and breaks ties with them because of it! But being a dick teenager does not make you a bully, all teenagers are dicks lol.

I also think interpreting Tommy's scenes with Billy as that is in bad faith personally. Homeboy is in like two scenes with Billy - one where Tommy is clearly trying to make Steve jealous, and the other where he is making fun of Steve for his gf once again supposedly cheating on him. The gf that Steve dumped his friends for, after she supposedly cheated on him the first time.

And yeah Billy is racist but y'all are acting like? Everyone in the show should automatically know that? How? The racist shit Billy says on screen is mainly to Max, and later in the show where he actually attacks Lucas. There's a good chance that Steve didn't even realize that Billy's attack on the kids was racially motivated until after the fact.

Considering that Billy literally doesn't interact with anyone but his coworkers and Karen in s3, and the fact that Tommy does not actually seem to like violence that much or at least seems to have a limit! Considering how he reacted to the fight in s1 (going from "hell yeah a fight to oh fuck shit is serious"), I don't think Tommy stayed friends with Billy after season 2 lmao. Like idk I did not get the impression that Billy had any friends in s3.

You're accusing me of reaching but saying stuff like "no one goes from never bullying anyone to something that diabolical" isn't? My whole point has always been that he may be a dick, but there's nothing to show him being anything other than a stereotypical class clown type douchebag lol. The Party's fucking bullies threatened them at knife point. Billy bashes a plate over Steve's head and tries to run the kids off the fucking road with his car. The Angela storyline was so extreme that it was unrealistic and is almost an universally hated part of the season. Tommy makes some mean comments, gives Barb a wet willy, and then rubs it in his ex best friend's face that someone has taken his place and that his gf is cheating on him. Like, the graffiti was bad and Nancy should've probably slapped all three of them not just Steve, but it was a petty and misguided revenge scheme, not bullying.

I think if Tommy was intended to be an actual bully the way fandom pretends he is, we would've seen more of it on screen. If Tommy and Carol were so cruel to the whole school, Robin and Eddie would've said something about it? But they don't! The Duffers are SO blatant about how they go about things, I think if they were truly meant to be bullies, they would've been way more obvious about it lmao.

Like, think what you want! If you wanna headcanon them as being an actual bullies, that's your prerogative. But it's not actually canon.

[nancypullen]

Still Alive

I haven't posted in ages because I've been blue and no one likes a whiner. I've spent my entire life being a cheerleader for others, encouraging, lifting, and seeking silver linings - but I seem unable to do that for myself. So, I apologize for the lack of blog posts, but they wouldn't have been fun anyway.

When I need a lift I usually turn to gardening or art. Gardening here has been one disappointment after another. I'm used to planning and executing beautiful floral landscapes, doesn't seem to matter what I do here - I get diddly squat. Interesting enough, I don't see any other yards with a bounty of flowers or pretty spaces, lots of Knockout Roses but that's about it. Remember the German Pink tomato plant that I brought back from Lancaster? It's incredibly healthy and over 6 feet tall. It's been producing yellow blossoms since May without a single fruit. But look what I spied this week....finally!

Three tiny tomatoes on the eve of September. What the hell? If I'm very, very lucky and I don't make eye contact with them or say something stupid like, "I can't wait to taste a fresh tomato", I might get to pick them. I'm not holding my breath. The pumpkins have been blooming like crazy, not a fruit in sight. Without baby pumpkins by September 1st, there will be no Halloween pumpkins. Just another disappointment. I did everything I was supposed to do. I babied them, tried hand pollinating (I have yet to see a female bloom so I guess I was hoping for a same sex miracle), gave them expensive fertilizer - nothing worked. I truly think our biggest problem here is a lack of pollinators. It's very rare to see a bee, and I actually make a note in my journal when a hummingbird appears because it's also rare. I don't see moths or even beetles. Side note: I don't miss those @#$%!& Japanese Beetles. I don't know if what the farmers spray just kills everything in the area, or if there's more that I can do to attract those helpers. Guess I'll research it this winter, ever hopeful. Since gardening has not been uplifting, there's always art. I decided to try my hand at working with air dry clay. I saw some fun projects online and thought I'd give it a whirl. My plan was to make some ghosts that I could put a little tea light under. The first step was to build some sort of frame that the clay could drape over to be shaped and then to dry. I used a bottle of paint and a ball of aluminum foil. As always, my surly assistant was judging me.

That particular ghost started to crack while he dried. I think his bottom half was too heavy. I tried to just turn the crack into a smile, but it didn't work. I tried a second one with a simpler bottom, but had the same result.

I obviously need to read some tips and figure this out. Instead I grabbed a log of polymer clay from my stash and decided I'd just bake myself a ghost. That's when I had to figure out how to make a frame for him that could be baked. I found a little bud vase and some more foil, and it worked! This is him after being removed from the oven.

I gave him a quick coat of paint because the polymer clay was a translucent sort, not white. Then I grabbed this tissue paper...

and cut out some candy corn. With a little Mod Podge we have ourselves a Halloween ghost!

Okay, he's far from perfect, but after two failures I was tickled to have a whole ghost. Don't judge me.

Yesterday morning I decided to try making another ghost with the air dry clay, but not one that is hollow inside. Just a little ghost statue that I can paint. I was busy shaping him, my head full of ideas, and started making pumpkins on either side of him. Bad idea, it looked like a penis. I removed all but one small pumpkin and he is currently drying and waiting for my paintbrush.

Don't judge it just yet. It will be smoothed and shaped a little more. I also want him to look a little droopy because my plan is to paint him to look like a patchwork quilt. There's a children's book somewhere in that, right? A little ghost who wants to go haunting but all of the white sheets are taken, so he swoops under a quilt on the bed and because he's so cute and colorful no one is scared of him - Patch, the Ghost Who Couldn't Spook. Obviously, I have too much time on my hands. I've still got plenty of clay left, so maybe I'll make a pumpkin or two. I've got some autumn themed paper napkins that I could Mod Podge onto them. That might be cute to set on a window sill or even on my little porch table. Can you tell I'm ready for fall? Can't get here fast enough. I made this to post on September 1st, but why wait?

I've seen a couple of articles saying that fall will be delayed this year because temps are expected to stay warm into October. I might kill someone if that happens. We have a trip in October, perhaps France will have better weather? I hope I come home to freeze warnings.

Another reason I'm looking forward to autumn is that I am cautiously hopeful.

It's so refreshing to see decency and joy making a comeback. I'm afraid to trust it. I put our sign close to the front porch so the Ring doorbell can monitor it. This town is filled with big Trump signs, even a banner at the "Christian" gift shop on the main street. We're outnumbered here, but not scared. Don't even think of mentioning the pitiful state of the flower bed. In more good news, the cutest grandgirl in the world has started first grade. She's loving it, and on day two she lost her wiggly front tooth. I think the snaggle-toothed stage is so cute. She certainly enjoys visits from the tooth fairy. Since I can't share pictures of her sweet face, I'll share her back-to-school sign that she held for first day photos.

She wants to be part of the Wild Kratt team when she grows up. If you're unfamiliar with Wild Kratts, think of a cooler, hipper Marlin Perkins (times 2, because it's the Kratt brothers). Any other boomers out there that loved Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom?

That's where I learned that elephants can't jump. Still waiting for that to come up on Jeopardy. Anyway, I'm glad she's an animal lover. I don't trust people who don't like animals. That's enough from me for now. I needed to get something posted so the kind folks who thought I'd kicked the bucket don't need to look for my obituary. OH! That reminds me. I had a dream a few nights ago and couldn't wait to tell my sister about it. Preface: Since it's a mystery what happens to us after we die (you can claim to know, but you don't know) I'm always curious about what others think. Mickey and I had been discussing what we hope will happen, so that's probably what prompted my dream. Anywayyyyy, in my dream I was in a hospital bed and Mickey was standing beside it. Side note: my hair was dark and I looked younger, so I guess I died a while ago. Mickey was saying those awful things that people say to the dying, like, "You can go now" and "It's okay for you to go..." I would probably wake up from a coma just to let him know that I don't need his permission. But in this dream I took a deep breath and then burst into a cloud of pink glitter. The cloud swirled around and around and then flew out an open double window. This window opened onto the most beautiful landscape of rolling hills and flowers and cartoon bluebirds were flitting about, singing. I'm sure a psychologist would have a field day with that dream, but I found it oddly reassuring. I wouldn't mind it one bit if I turned into glitter and flew away on a breeze. There are certainly worse ways to go. Just my luck I'd end up as the glitter on a grade school art project or some dollar store party decorations. Still, at least I'd have a purpose. I'm still kind of in the camp that we have lessons to learn here and if we don't learn them the first time we have to come back and learn them the hard way - so be nice. Speaking of lessons, I probably needed to see this calendar page yesterday.

Okay, now I really am finished. It's 5 o'clock and my stomach is telling me that it's time to start dinner. I hope that wherever you are and whatever you're doing, it's bringing you joy. If you can't reach joy from where you are, I hope that life is at least not causing you pain. Stay safe, stay well, hang in there. XOXO, Nancy

[lyssiesleakedmemos]

Getting started in the industry

TW heavy topics such as Sexual abuse

Real life story

Not erotic but adult themes

Trembling, stomach in knots, only a bra and panties away from being from being completely exposed.. and even that small security blanket was going to be ripped away momentarily. "Breathe" I instructed myself. I braced for the impact of potentially the worst mistake of my life. And clicked, "Go live."

How did I get here?

It feels like a lifetime ago, only taking my first steps of adulthood, already weighed down with the pressure of coming up with a plan. I didn't have money for college, doubted every skill I had, and was recently taken off the medications that may have been the push I needed to be a whole lot more productive job hunting. I had been a legal adult for nearly a year, I was "running out of time." A sentiment I can't even wrap my head around today.

Hurry hurry hurry.

While panicked about my entire future prospects, I did manage to find time to embrace the new freedom and independence that suddenly felt abundant. My upbringing was certainly not strict but days and nights of making my own choices without so much as asking permission was a fucking rush. Party after party. Run from the cops. Repeat.

But it wasn't until the relationship that consumed my life the 4 years prior came to an end that I truly felt the world open up in front of me. Despite adoration from our peers who only saw the best of us and despite my limited experience convincing me that this must just be how some men are.. the truth is I was lying with a monster. It took time to see it for what it was sexual and emotional abuse. But even then, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders leaving. No longer would I be under his control, no longer would my body be close enough for him to touch after repeated pushing him away, no longer would I be the person he came to with his sick confessions of disturbing crimes he'd committed or sought to commit like a burden he gladly gifted me and he'd never have the opportunity to ignore my pleas or break the promise of "I'll never do that to you again."

With the heaviest of shackles broken, everything I CHOSE to do became liberating and quickly that became exploring sexuality on my terms. I started dating Walter, who, for all his flaws, wasn't a monster and was actually quite supportive of exploration and seemed like he was on a journey of his own. More on him later.. but when I came to him with the crazy idea to start Webcam modeling, he not only encouraged me, but he offered up his house as a work space.

I wrestled with the idea for awhile, likely made a pros and cons list if I know myself

Pro: Exciting

Con: Scary

In no time, my account was set up, and I was hyperventilating at my laptop. The first account I used was sketchy, one of those where you had a "manager" who would call you and demand you stream more (which for the record I thought was completely normal). This guy was a character, vulgar, crass, and unprofessional, even for such a profession at the time. He'd come into my streams and beg for free shows or call me and complain about other streamers. It was only a minor bump in the road, and it took no time to get comfortable performing, especially when I made the switch to a different platform. I think I even liked it.. for a job. My days were never short of interesting. My stories were plentiful, and i always felt connected to a world outside of my day to day life. Even the idea of being an adult performer gave me a sense of pride that I think most people in those days couldn't understand.. hell, if modern-day reception to OF girls is any indication, I'd say many still don't. Countless times, I found myself defending my choices in this era, something that may sound like a waste of time but went positively more than you'd expect. The truth is, regardless of your own preferences, most people can't argue with someone doing what they want to do because we all more or less fear losing the freedom to do so ourselves.

Now, the industry has been a part of my life off and on for over a decade, and I can honestly say I get that it's hard to get. There have been moments where I reflect on how much time I've spent solely catering to the male gaze or questioning the line between liberation and objectifican. It's not a simple equation, but I think I learned what the answer is for me.

Walking through life, especially as a female, means guaranteed objectification, leering men and societal pressure to look fuckable. Before ever signing a contract, making a cent or making a CHOICE, someone I was meant to trust took something from me.. so believe me when I say that when people use the menu I've provided for a mutually beneficial service, that difference is clear. Not to mention the power of the freedom to decline and, of course, the block button.

This expectation exists that trauma should make you cower from sexuality moving forward, and sometimes that's what we have to do, but in the end, I gave myself the gift of reclaiming someone that was always mine. I am every bit as sex positive and open as what some might interpret as a marketing scheme, I have built myself a life that allows me me to explore that as one big exhibition.

Someone somewhere is rejoicing in the stroking of their confirmation bias because I followed the often assumed trajectory of Trauma -> Sex work. I used to dispute the comparison because I knew many examples that weren't that case as I met other creators, but rather, the more important point is who does the fault than lie on? To say "this" is a product of "that" is to blame "that" and not "this." You've agreed the problem is abusers and I think that's a good place to start the conversation at least.

I don't regret stepping foot into this industry. Retroactively, I would have told my younger self to wait, learn, and heal more first, but I think I would have always ended up here. Despite everything that more directly brought me here, I'm at my core an entertainer, and if their is a stage, I was going to find it.. who knew it would be a mattress?

[rocksrntpeople]

MCU Rewatch - Iron Man 2

So, turns out I did know what Iron Man 2 is about and just thought that it was Iron Man 3. What the hell is Iron Man 3 then? Something, something, annoying little kid, something, something, Iron Man? Idk, but at the very least this is the last one that makes me go, “what the hell was this about again?”

Granted, Iron Man 2 was a lesson in cinematic dichotomy and I had a hard time feeling engaged with the Ivan Vanko plotline. It seemed super shallow and just generally less interesting than what Stark was dealing with.

So, the main plot of this movie is actually tri-fold. Firstly, we have Tony Stark dealing with palladium poisoning. He’s dying because of the device that’s keeping him alive and it’s the first time he’s dealing with failure somehow, and there’s just a lot of internal strife going on. 

Alongside this is the much more public battle of Iron Man’s identity. The U.S. government wants the Iron Man suit to be a symbol of the US military, to represent power and glory over all through violence, but that’s not who or what Iron Man is. Up against Stark is a bloated (literally) politician and a weapons contractor who may be one of the most annoying characters in the MCU.

And this leads us into the third, kind of shoe-horned-in plot of Anton and Ivan Vanko. When Anton dies at the beginning of the movie, his son Ivan decides that now is the time to take revenge on Stark, as opposed to a few years earlier before he had the Iron Man suit and before Ivan’s dad bit the dust. But okay. And what is he mad about? That Tony Stark’s dad “stole” the arc reactor idea from Anton and then decades later Tony actually made it somewhat useful.

I’m sorry but that is just a stupid plot. So this guy, who’s been trapped in Siberia for decades, finally decides to leave and his motivation is that some guy whose dad used to work with his dad used old technology to create new technology? And he’s going to combat him with…whips? Powered by technology that, not only was totally available to this villain since well before Tony “stole” it, but is also literally impossible for some of the world’s best scientists in top facilities to create?

(Do you remember this, Marvel? It was two movies earlier.)

Meanwhile, the other two plots are doing great work with the whole dueling egos and themes of identity crises between private and public personas. Plus there’s a whole overarching moral lesson of friendship is power!

Once again, chef’s kiss; perfect. It’s clear that Favreau loves Iron Man; it’s where he started and it’s where he thrives. Despite having to shove in a fairly generic action plot, he manages to tie together the rest of the movie to create seriously humanizing moments that endear us to Iron Man.

There’s a lot to like about this movie, but it’s mostly in the quiet moments, the atmosphere, the snappy comebacks Stark tosses out like nothing. The cuts to the Vanko story were often jarring and felt like commercial breaks cutting into what I really wanted to watch.

And to be completely honest, what I wanted to watch was a lot of world and character building. We’re still in the dawn of the MCU here, and Iron Man 2 and 3 do a lot of heavy lifting as far as establishing new characters and letting viewers see how the rest of the world responds to superheroes.

I was more excited to see Black Widow than I thought I would be. I don’t dislike her or anything, but when she came on screen it was electric, like this is it, the world is expanding. She doesn’t belong here; she’s not part of the Iron Man team. Yet here she is, meddling.

Along with Romanov, we also get Coulson on the scene again and of course, Nick Fury. The little nods to Thor throughout the film were shockingly enjoyable. I didn’t know shit about Thor when this came out, so going back knowing everything that will happen…it’s a whole new kind of tension. This is gonna be a theme for a while, I think. The MCU ball doesn’t really start rolling until after Captain America shows up.

While SHIELD is basically only in the movie to give Iron Man some much needed pep talks, the rest of the cast does a great job supporting Tony Stark. He doesn’t make it easy, but by the end he’s friends with Rhodey again (after getting into a mech fight and having Rhodey steal one of the suits), he saved the public from US military contractors, he gets together with Pepper finally, and he even gets a message from his father validating his love for him! Come on! Everyone is in Iron Man’s corner!

Except, obviously, the main bad dude Vanko (and also that idiot Hammer). This guy kept saying “you lose” like he didn’t waste his life in Siberia being evil, and then just…explodes. Okay; girl, bye.

Can we talk about how cool this movie is for a second? As time goes on, the movies begin to rush the action a bit, especially as the battlefields become more complex, but in Iron Man 2 the actions make sense.

For example, Tony Stark’s germ thing. There are many possible reasons why he might have an anti-germ thing, primarily the fact that he’s dying throughout most of the movie, but what’s awesome is how he asks Pepper to put on a mask when she’s coughing, how he refuses to take things handed to him, how he shirks away from people trying to touch him. Those little continuity details make a big difference.

I especially loved when Black Widow and Happy are fighting at Hammer Industries and you can literally see Happy fighting in the background while Black Widow has a whole long fight scene.

(And yeah, yeah, yeah, I know it’s a little ridiculous that she got changed and moussed her hair in the car. I don’t care; I overlooked Vanko and I’ll overlook the little Black Widow gaffes too.)

Then, there are so many awesome shots done for no reason other than Iron Man is cool as fuck. 

Whereas Iron Man established Tony Stark’s character, Iron Man 2 established his new personality, the one that can just barely handle failure and needing help and overall considering the impact of his actions beyond his immediate circle.

Most of the MCU characters have this type of personality evolution, and it’s one of my favorite elements of the franchise. Stark will undergo a few personality shifts throughout the series, as you’d expect since he was the first one in. I’m very excited!

Speaking of personality shifts, I’m so excited for Thor! I have just a bit of hatred for the original Thor characterization, but the other characters are great, the plot is decent, and it’s just really amusing to see this fancy, stuck-up Thor, knowing what’s to come for the character.

Iron Man 2 gets a 6/10 for me overall. Definitely one of the weakest MCU movie, but it had plenty of redeeming qualities.

[flatwoodsdemon]

some genuine art tips that aren’t just “don’t make characters ugly”

been seeing a lot of.. very bad art advice over on twitter, ranging from the useless to the downright offensive, so i’d thought i’d give some tips that can usually be applied to a wide range of body types. 

Your wrists roughly line up with the bottom of your crotch - mark out a line parallel to your characters crotch for an easy arm length guide. This, of course, can be exaggerated if you want! But it’s a good rule of thumb if you struggle with arm length.

Don’t forget to draw heels! Not as in a shoe, but as in your actual anatomical heel. A LOT of beginner artists draw a very straight line on the inner leg - if your character looks unbalanced, check your heel! Ankles are less of a point where the legs meet, and more of a curve in and out, as pictured below. 

Another leg tip - your toes will always point in the direction that your knee is facing. Your knee controls your lower leg, so if your knee is facing right, so is your foot. Try and see if you can move your foot without shifting your knee even slightly - I bet you can’t. And even if you can - it’s usually an uncomfortable position to hold for an extended period of time. If the pose looks unnatural or unbalanced, make sure the direction of your characters knees and fit are aligned. 

Cis men rarely have entirely flat chests - while it may appear that way with a shirt on, pecs exist, even if they’re small! Give your shirtless cis men some tiddy. Pec size will increase with muscle mass and/or fat. 

When it comes to cell-shading, I’ve discovered that less is more! Simplified characters don’t need shadows in every clothing fold - your lineart can actually do a lot of the heavy lifting in that regard. Of course this is all dependant on art style, but if you lean more towards cartoons, minimal shading might work a lot better. 

When thinking about art, and using reference, try to think in shapes rather than lines. If you think about the lines, you get too fussed about little details and your gestures will be kinda stiff - view every body part as it’s own shape. Shoulders can be either circles or squares depending on your characters build, for example. A lot of people say “draw characters made up of rectangles” - but I personally find that using a wide variety of shapes helps me a lot more than sticking to just one. 

Drawing from life is important, but so is studying other artist’s work - especially if stylisation is your goal. Turning complex squishy human bodies into something simple is a hard skill to learn, and it’s important to look at other cartoon/anime artists to see how they do things - especially when it comes to aspects that you’re finding hard to simplify, like certain hairstyles or hands. Hell, trace em if you gotta, just make sure they’re credited. 

Do so many sketches. Sketches prove that you are thinking about what you’re drawing. Your first draft can be as messy as possible - think of it as stretching. Drawing is an exercise for both your arm and mind, so make sure to warm up! 

[the-firebird69]

I ended up pulling Trump out of the Sacco River and he didn't get it said he was cheeseman but for real well he may have been cheeseman but it's what happened I don't know how I did it instead of having one other stuff and what it means is that they're not up there looking at the venom but there's a bunch of it there.

Zues

He was my hero and he did it without getting into a fight and he told them to go away and they could see that he was kind of a psycho and they don't know what would happen if he snapped and and they left and there are three of them and I was amazed that he got them to leave and they probably figured out that we would have buried them somewhere because we were not in the mood for their **** and they were not in the roof for hours but really they left and he was on venom they found out later no and sometimes he is here there is venom here in a lot of it and it has an effect on you guys it makes you very old or it makes you insane it usually makes him real strong and not he doesn't get stupid and he has been on it for a little bit off and on but in the soccer we were using the water and we were just putting in purification bills and he was drinking it raw so they upset us and we're drinking alcohol which killed the germs and it's experiment and people can see is us by race and he became very strong wave stronger than you think way stronger and he lifted up a petrified was more or less almost petrified tree what he thought was and turns out to be a bone of a giant and he placed some of our stuff there and I put some money there and I'm probably gonna have to go get it the tree I figured was probably £10,000 no it wasn't that heavy it was probably £3000 but he lifted most of it and he didn't drop it he slowly set it down and nobody can move it we saw people trying

jennifer m

So I see we're supposed to go up there and try and lift it and then we'll see these mutants in Chicago right now we can't believe what we're seeing but it looks just like one and we're going to have to get up there and he says it's really odd that the jaw doesn't show how it is but in profile it's a little bit different it's like a big snake and we say Oh swallows people whole now we're getting it so we're moving out right now

trump

We have a lot of history at that lake no at the river Sako River and as chassis and I was not Jerry Senior but I was there as a relative and we went to canoeing at the same time and had a great time and I saw what this idiot was doing and I got very mad and then he tried to kidnap him a few times once using me by having to fall in the guy's an idiot OK and he says Pennywise is actually Tommy F and I'm starting to see what he's saying the guy is a good act and might use people's skins and that's not good although trump does that kind of thing tommy F does it to him and a lot of people

terry c

I'm having a lot of problems but I see what you're saying you're trying to get it out and get it to stick and they start mentioning it and they're very evil to you and you know it man too I guess it doesn't give us something to do and the Blues Brothers will be on and we are saying something what the hell is this and it's gonna happen and we're noticing the empire has buildings like that chicago building is a famous name it's like 9x or something some kind of tower and really you can see that it's doing some kind of communication we gotta get outta here this is something big.

tommy f and yeh That that kind of creature at that size can rip the hole off anything and twenty-five milestone would be nothing like a couple seconds.

so stay o ut of it then

macs

[mayhemproduces]

Syn clutched at his lower back and dropped to a knee as Abigail checked on him after they had their hands raised. The amazing dual feat of strength from Syn & Abigail got this entire crowd on their feet, despite the fact that there was two of them doing it, lifting a man the size of Dutch is an impressive feat in and of itself, but it looks like Syn may have pulled something in his back doing it. Either way, Syn waved off Abigail's help, saying he just needed a minute, and pointed to Steve Guy, asking Abigail to grab him the mic. It was unusual, of the two of them, Abigail was usually the one who did the majority of the speaking on the mic, but tonight it seemed like Syn was the one with something to say. Syn managed to get back to his feet as he gave Abigail a small bow and a kiss on the cheek as she handed him the microphone, Syn looking around as the crowd actually cheered him receiving the mic. Syn brushed his hair back with his free hand as he spoke. "Y'know... you guys aren't supposed to like me." That just seemed to get an even bigger pop from the crowd, and Syn chuckled a bit as he pointed at Abby. "You're gonna get me in trouble with that one." The crowd laughed, and even Abby had a grin on her face as she licked her lips and winked, suggesting just what kind of trouble that would be. Syn dropped the jovial demeanor for a second to clutch at his back again, and curse. "Fuck, Dutch is heavy..."

Syn shook it off though, and turned his attention back to the task at hand. "Last week... Some things happened in this ring. Things all of you aren't meant to see, a side of this business... You aren't all meant to see. But you've been seeing a lot of it recently, thanks to C-... That, fucking asshole, who once again got himself suspended from this place. Suspended, fired, I honestly don't fucking know at this point... But that's not how I do business, that's not how I solve my problems, as a man, as a fighter. No... I'm not letting this go, and I'm not burying this in the sand, like every other wrestling company has done in the past. This gets solved, and this gets solved right now."

Syn looks to the back curtain, and speaks right to the boss. "Paul... Reinstate him. Rehire him, do whatever you got to do, because this ain't over. I want him at Hell on Earth. And if you won't sanction it, that's fine. I'll sign a fuckin' waiver, in this ring, next week, and I'll completely absolve this company of any responsibility, you just gotta give me the ring and the platform. Hell on Earth, Seattle, in front of the world. I don't want you to book Syn vs CM Punk... Wash your hands of it. Make sure that asshole can't sue you for what I'm gonna do to him, because come Hell on Earth, it ain't gonna be Syn vs CM Punk, Jake Bryant is showing up, and he's fuckin' showing up to fight Phil Brookes!"

The crowd practically explodes as Syn throws the mic back to Steve Guy, having made his point. Syn wants Punk, Jake wants Phil, however you wanna say it, doesn't matter! Next week, Syn & CM Punk, face to face in an MPW ring once again!

[anabolicsteroidssuppliment]

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We do it in my group. You may not think that I'm the sharpest knife in the drawer. Try this soon where let's talk about whatever Anabolic Steroids situation you are experiencing. It is quite challenging. That is how understanding they are sometimes. Obviously, the list is quite likely to include it as integral part. We'll take a look at several preliminary estimates. By all means, I imagine that the sky's the limit. I'll get to that soon. I can't keep it secret. Here are the inspirational thoughts as that regards to doing that. It is moment to try it out. The media won't understand some tight situation. There are a trivial amount of postulations on that conception. I reckon it will give us the best trick. Believe you me, locate an expensive Anabolic Steroids is that it leads into less Muscle & Strength Supplement. There are gobs of other plans to get cash for your Anabolic Steroids. This misfortune is a passion of mine. It is rather mystical. I am all referring to their permutation and I wanted outsiders to learn the basics of their task.

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[writteninscarlet]

"Let me just take that part in - a real kiss is exploiting the rules. For our benefit. Kissing you is that much of a plus side?" There was no hiding the humour in her voice. Nor the smile on her face. The kiss had been nice and she wouldn't deny that. However, Wanda was adamant about the 'pretend' part. He didn't need dragged into her messy and chaotic life more than he would just be being seen with her more. Wanda was, at a heart, someone who loved being in a partnership - didn't matter what kind. From always being with her brother, to being part of the Avengers when the roster shifted between only three or four people on the team. Going from there to marriage, to other committed relationships. When Wanda gave part of herself, she gave it all. And she had suggested this only as a joke and a means of benefitting herself, for the stupid reason of getting people of her back. She wasn't going to let herself fall further than where she was. He didn't need to be stuck with this. But she was sure she could find some benefits that made this better for him.

She chuckled softly at his words (and was pleased when he moved on because honestly, she did not have the references to back up such claims). Ah, so maybe she didn't have to think too hard for what benefits she might be able to provide. But this wasn't what she was expecting from making one single joke. She smirked at his words, glancing away with a little shake of her head. "In public, it's true, we would have to act close otherwise no one would believe a thing. Though rumours go around about people dating from the simplest of acts, it's hardly as though we would need to go all out." She looked back over at the spider, smiling in good humour at least. "I'm a witch, I could stop the soreness or relax you in just a few seconds." But there seemed to be no fun in that, actually. And maybe he was right. Since she had suggested the idea she ought to be putting in what effort she could so that he was comfortable with it all, and able to work alongside her. She leant in closer to him, her face a few mere inches away and said softly with a smile, "Ah, my dear pretend boyfriend Spider-Man, I was very impressed with how you handled yourself down there. If I was not, I would not be here with you right now. But you did do a lot of heavy lifting down there." One hand reached up to run her fingers along his jaw, still unmasked as it was, "So I suppose it would only be fitting of a pretend girlfriend to ensure you were still in good shape." See? Even the witch could joke, too. Just joking. Of course. But she still moved behind him and said, "My hands are magic, a massage from me might be just too much for you to handle," as she rested hands on his shoulders and whispered softly into his ear. He may get to make such suggestions, but she reserved the right to carry the acts out on her terms. And tease him as much as she could. But hell, she could absolutely provide an incredible massage for the sake of the fake relationship.

@amazingwcbs

Wanda definitely had it right. People were going to choose whether or not they wanted to believe something at the end of the day based on the facts presented or whatever people told them to believe. Peter only hoped that all of his actions towards saving the city and protecting the people from harm would ultimately serve to have the New Yorkers see him in a positive light, and as fantastic as that was, he'd learned the hard lesson long ago that you can't please everybody, and you weren't going to. People were bound to have questions about the relationship between he and Wanda, the legitimacy behind it all and her sudden decision to "date" the city's resident wall crawler as a partner, and Lord knows Jameson would certainly have something to say about it, be it on his podcast or on the front of the Daily Bugle newspaper. Probably some headline that reeked of sensationalism involving the words webs, chaos, love and some other ones mixed up in typical J. Jonah Jameson fashion to get his word out across the city. It was bound to be a nightmare at times, but the Queens native also believed that there could be some upside to it all as well. While it wasn't easy to pick out, it certainly felt like one of those situations where it would come to him naturally when both he and Wanda least expected it, and well...that worked for him.

"Well it's not really so much bending the rules as it is exploiting a loophole for our benefit. And besides, don't real kisses seal many deals that don't involve putting a pen to paper? Totally a much better way to start things off," the spider grinned at the witch, a few chilling thoughts making their way through his brain and imagination. Whether this was fake or not, there were still responsibilities that had to be upheld, and while Peter could certainly fake his way out of an awkward meeting at work, keeping up with the chaos mage herself was going to be a heavyweight title bout of a task that was bound to be incredibly hard to keep up with if he was being honest with himself. "Good authority huh? Whose good authority are we referencing exactly? Do your references actually check out Ms. Maximoff, or have you been misleading me and luring me into a false sense of security?" he joked, calming his nerves slightly and relaxing his shoulder muscles. Speaking of which...there was an idea. "So you say we're supposed to be pretending right? Well, if we're gonna be pretending with this whole ordeal, then clearly we've gotta start practicing if we're gonna display that dynamic chemistry and sell our relationship to everybody right? Now, I don't know about you considering you can move and lift heavy things with just a few movements of your fingers, but I did stop a few car jackings today and stopped a runaway bus from crushing a group of innocent bystanders downtown. Well, it did manage to work up quite a bit of soreness and tension in my shoulders and back muscles. It'd be great if my pretend girlfriend knew how to give physical massages."

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Angelica

Thomas Shelby x Reader

A/n- Set in the 'Only if its With You' universe. I actually don't know his mother's name, so I just chose something I thought was pretty lol

Masterlists

Warnings- mentions of pregnancy, mentions of periods

With a yawn, and a restless shift in her chair, Y/n blinked slowly and tried to shake off the tire that seemed to weigh her down. Lately, it seemed like it didn't matter how early she went to bed, or how late she slept in, she just couldn’t shake the fatigue that had dunked her into an unwavering haze. Even that morning, a mere two hours after she’d dragged herself out of bed and gotten ready for the day, Y/n couldn’t help the occasional yawn- or stop wishing that she could go back to bed for a little while longer- and the gentle, spring breeze occasionally gracing the garden as she and Polly sat outside didn’t do much above making her even more sleepy.

They were outside, at a white wicker table stationed in the sprawling backyard, clipping the ends off flower stems and then setting the primed flora into a metal bucket at the center of the table. It wasn't the typical work of Shelby women, but Y/n adored having fresh flowers in the house and seeing as she’d been so tired lately, Polly had offered to help her around in the garden that morning. “So,” the elder woman began, Brummie accent thick, “You gonna tell me what's going on, or do I have to ask?”

“Huh? What?” Y/n lifted her head, tired eyes heavy as they met Polly’s. Clipping the end off a rose, Y/n reached forward and gently set in the bucket before reaching for the glass of water near the jug, both placed on a tray brought out by Francis. As if the tire hadn’t been enough, she’d been plagued with intense, and apparently unquellable, nausea. And a headache, which wasn’t as bad as the rolling of her stomach but not much more pleasant. Like the fatigue, she’d been grappling with it for going on two weeks- and she hadn’t said a word of any of it to Thomas either. Though her decision to keep tight-lipped hadn’t been one taken maliciously, Y/n simply didn’t want him worrying about her, and knowing Thomas, he would worry. He’d worry and fuss and insist that she see a doctor, which would be completely unnecessary considering she’d already diagnosed herself with some variation of the flu. She wasn’t going to pay to have someone tell her to have lots of fluids and get rest, they were rich, but not idiots.

Polly furrowed her brows, setting her clippers down with a sigh, she observed Y/n curiously for a moment before bluntly asking, “When was the last time you bled?”

Almost choking on a mouthful of water, Y/n swallowed hastily and coughed softly as she clumsily set the glass down, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Polly pressed, already exasperated by her confusion, “Well?”

Stuttering, Y/n tried to think back, though the past couple months had all been lumped into on construed blur for her; Thomas had been extraordinarily busy and she’d been trying to help with the business as best as she could, while taking care of Charles, and Ruby when she was over per the custody arrangement. She hadn’t really stopped to register when she had- or hadn’t- bled. “I…uh….three, four weeks maybe?” That might have been right, it was nearing the end of May, and if it usually happened late in the month, then that would have put the last time at around late April.

Unless she hadn’t beld at all. But she’d remember that, right?

Would she?

“Ugh, child,” Polly muttered, adding something about how she was supposed to be keeping track, matronly annoyance evident. Without warning, she leaned towards Y/n without vacating her wicker chair, reaching for her left breast and giving it a firm squeeze. Both in shock and discomfort, Y/n cried out, the sound escaping her lips short, loud and incoherent.

“What the hell are you doing?” She pulled away instinctively, using her arms to guard herself.

“Four weeks?” Polly probed, brow arched and tone drenched with disbelief.

“Uh….” Y/n grabbed her lower lip between her teeth. It had been a witless fib, one she hadn’t meant to tell, but it had seemed convenient and logical in the moment. Besides, if it hadn't been in the prior month, then Y/n wasn’t sure of when exactly the last time was. “Maybe longer?” She cringed, racking her memory to see if she could recall anything.

Squinting for a moment, Polly regarded her with suspicion, “Alright. Well come on,” she rose, gesturing for Y/n to follow suit, “Stand up.”

“What’re you going to do?” Confused, Y/n peered softly as she reluctantly stood from her seat.

“Shh,” Polly ordered simply, reaching for her breast once more, that time giving it a more gentle squeeze before moving on to touching the lower part of her stomach. It took a couple moments spent in silence while prodding around, but eventually, she smiled knowingly. “Congratulations,” she hummed.

“What are you- no!” Y/n gasped, one hand moving to clutch her chest while the tips of the fingers of her other flew to her lips, “Are you….am I really?” She couldn’t be! Could she be? In an instant, every thought she’d ever had on the subject of children came to Y/n in a rush; was she ready? Was Thomas ready? What will they look like? Their father’s eyes, her smile.

She loved them already.

“You are,” Polly assured, taking an affectionate hold of her forearms, “Never been wrong, ask your husband.”

Still in awe, Y/n was speechless for a moment, but then, despite Polly’s prior reassurance, she pressed, bewildered, “Are you sure?” The hand on her lips gravitated to her unassuming stomach, and Y/n was in absolute amazement, right there, under the silk of her dress and the warmth of her skin was a life; a child, half her and half the man who she fell more and more in love with every time their eyes met.

“I’m sure,” Polly promised astutely, “I’d tell you her name, but something tells me you already know it.”

“A little girl,” she mused with breathless wonder, allowing her other hand to join the one of her stomach as she glanced down between them. Even before they’d married, she and Thomas had fancied the thought of naming their daughter after his mother. His mother, who he’d once expressed would love her beyond words.

She couldn’t wait to tell Thomas.

When he finally got in, the sky had already turned inky and little sparkles taunted his eyes when he glanced upward while jogging up the front steps of the house. It must have been past midnight, and he wasn’t expecting Charles, or his wife, to still be up, but he was anticipating the moment where he could sneak into his son’s room and give him a quick kiss goodnight before retiring next to Y/n. Since they’d married, Thomas had found himself anticipating nights, they meant that for a few precious hours, he’d exist blissfully unbothered, wrapped around the woman who made the even the darkest nights seem bright.

His steps on the varnished floors were light, and he did his very best to avoid making even the slightest noises as he made his way through the house, desperately hoping to not wake anyone. He was just passing the drawing room, when right out the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a figure laying on the sofa. Curiously, Thomas poked his head into the room, frowning when he discovered that it was Y/n, half lain on the sofa, legs tucked cutely to her side, head propped by her palm and a crooked elbow that was resting on the upholstered arm of the patterned chair, while the gentle, yellow hue of the table lap illuminated her serene features. There was a book on her thigh, her thumb unwittingly marking a page close to the center, and a near empty tea cup sat beneath the lamp on a delicate saucer. Thomas suspected that she hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but Y/n looked so peaceful like that, even breaths parting full lips ever so slightly and lashes casting long shadows on the tops of her cheeks, that it might have been a crime to wake her.

So instead, he decided that he’d carry her up himself.

His steps were even lighter than before, and Thomas was just leaning over to gather Y/n in his arms when she awoke with a startle; gasping softly and jumping at the sight of him. “You’re home,” she breathed, sitting up a little.

“Yeah, its late,” Thomas sighed softly, quickly checking his pocket watch and finding that it was nearing one in the morning, “What’re you doing down here, eh? Somethin’ wrong?” When she patted the spot next to her, Thomas retired into the sofa, so close to Y/n that their sides were brushing, “What’s going on?” He pressed when she didn’t answer, simply turning to greet him with a sweet, chaste kiss. His rough fingers gravitated to her face so he could tenderly stroke her cheek, “You’re never up this late.”

“I wanted to talk to you,” she spoke in a private, hushed tone, and if he wasn’t mistaken, there was the quiver of nervousness accompanying her words, “I didn’t think I could with until tomorrow morning,” Y/n smiled shyly.

“Alright,” his hand deserted the softness of her face, and Thomas casually draped his arm on the back of the couch, and she was sat in the perfect position for the tips of his fingers to brush her silk clad shoulder as he regarded her with obvious intrigue. “Well, what is it?”

“Well its…..uh…” She chuckled anxiously, wringing her hands together, “I’ve um….I don’t really know how to say this,” Y/n huffed with a breathy smile, casting her head down.

She was still stuttering and reaching for words that wouldn’t seem to come, and while Thomas wouldn’t readily admit it, at least to anyone that wasn’t Y/n, her uncertainty was a little unnerving. He couldn’t gauge what she was trying to get at and the not knowing was killing him. “Hey, hey, hey,” he leaned forward, lifting his hand to cup her face, “Whatever it is, you can tell me, you know that,” and in a bid to quell her nerves, he captured her lips in a deep kiss, lasting long enough to leave them both breathless.

When they parted she sighed quietly, slumping her shoulders as some of the tension seemed to melt away. “Polly was here this morning,” Y/n licked her lips as punctuation, as Thomas kept his gaze trained on her, practically willing her to say more, “Do you remember when we talked about…..having babies.”

Thomas furrowed his brows, “I do,” he returned, feeling as if her words should have led him somewhere, but knowing that they hadn’t. Thomas Shelby, one of the most meticulous minds in England simply could seem to put the pieces together. In his defense, they were very vague pieces.

“Right,” Y/n sucked in a tight breath, “Well, what if we…..you know, had one?”

Immediately, Thomas' tired eyes brightened. Just the mere thought of it, having a baby with his wife, every bit of it, from watching her swell with their child to the very first time he’d hold the wee one, to everything beyond it, was enough to make him giddy. Thomas rarely smiled, but thinking of it was enough to rouse a bright grin on his tired features. “A baby?” He smiled so hard his cheeks hurt, and suddenly, the heaviness in his bones were mute, “Then let's have a baby, eh” he came towards her, kissing Y/n once more, that time with fervor and passion that suggested something more was soon to come. He was intent on giving her a baby.

“No….Thomas….” Y/n managed between impassioned endearments, her hands resting on his shoulders, “Darling….” For some reason, one he couldn’t fathom, she was trying to stop him, and like a man gone mad, he was having a hard time listening to her. “I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.”

As his lips traversed down her jaw, Thomas hummed, “I understand, yeah,” he spent a moment at the top of her neck, his hands gliding down her body to settle at her waist, “You want to have a baby.”

“Yes but,” she gasped when he nipped her skin, “I mean….what if we had one soon?”

Detecting her tone, Thomas pulled away, searching her eyes as he once again knitted his brows, “Well I don’t how quickly it'll happen, but I’ll try,” he promised earnestly.

Blowing an exasperated breath, Y/n finally seemed to reach her ropes end, “Oh for fuck's sake,” she bemoaned, gabbing his face in an affectionate hold, bringing her face closer to his, “I’m already pregnant you brute! You’ve created some of the most complex schemes, you're better than the best military minds, and you couldn’t figure that out?” There was the cutest expression on her face, Thomas thought as he processed her earlier confession, it was the dearest mixture of faultless adoration, love and confusion.

“Well,” he began his wobbly defense, as her soft hands vacated his cheeks, falling to her lap once more, “You weren’t very clear.”

Y/n hummed indignantly, “How would you know if you were barely listening?”

Easily, he continued matching her gaze, and after a moment, her earlier words finally sank in. She was pregnant, they were having a baby. A real, living, breathing baby. Thomas’ breath caught softly as the finally registered confession elicited a sharp gasp of surprise and deserting her eyes, he glanced between them, specifically at her stomach. There was nothing out of the ordinary, though he supposed it was far too early to tell. Still, his hands on her waist still slid forward, so they were laid flat on Y/n’s tummy. “How do you….?”

“Polly told me, said she’s never been wrong,” Y/n explained, her faint soiree missed by him as Thomas continued to be in utter amazement of the news.

“Never,” he noted absently, head still cast down, “This is……” Thomas trailed off, his gaze finally panning upwards once more, “You’re going to be a wonderful mother,” without warning, he crushed his lips to Y/n’s, the force of the lip-lock fierce enough to push her back a little as she responded with small hands cupping his neck.

"And you are an amazing father." When they broke, the rosy hue dusting Y/n cheeks was evident and she placed her hands over his larger ones, still splayed on the lower part of her abdomen. “There’s a baby in there,” she mused, the tremor of excitement evident in her soft tone. “Polly says its a girl.” Y/n added, thumbs caressing his knuckles.

“A girl,” Thomas wondered softly, easily recalling their promises that they’d name their daughter, if they ever had one, after his mother;

Angelica.

“Do you still want to-”

“Yes,” Y/n nodded vigorously, “I can’t wait to meet her,” when he looked up again, she was grinning widely, and it shouldn’t have been possible because his cheeks already hurt, but Thomas too smiled wider, “Little Angelica. I hope she has your eyes,” she murmured, leaning in until their noses touched, “They’re my most favorite shade of blue.”

"I hope she has your laugh," that saccharine melody that made his heart leap; the world would be lucky to have been graced with it twice. “And your nose,” Thomas pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of Y/n’s nose, “And you hair….and everything about you-”

“With your eyes,” Y/n reminded with a giggle. Curling her fingers over the back of his in a gentle hold, she submitted as Thomas leaned forward, consequently laying back against the upholstered arm of the sofa, her book falling to the floor with a soft thump. Thomas shifted so he could hover over her, reluctantly moving one hand off her stomach so he could plant it on the cushion, just so he was sure none of his weight was resting on her.

“With my eyes,” he agreed with a rasped hum, capturing her lips once more in a searing kiss, feeling his breathing fall into place with hers. Her lips, they tasted the same as they always did, like honied happiness and as if everything good in the world had been poured into a person- perhaps it had been.

And by some miracle, that person had chosen to spend the rest of her life with him.

Love him, Have a baby with him.

“Are you happy?” Y/n peered when they lapsed into easy, comfortable silence, her free hand lifting so she could dotingly brush a tuft of dark hair away from his brow, her eyes were searching his, seeking something that he hoped to translate in his next words.

“Happy?” Thomas tested the simple word on his tongue, “I’m…..so fucking happy,” he grinned, bring his face closer to hers once more, “No one makes me this happy, eh. No one but you sweetheart.”

“Then I am honored,” she murmured, lips close to his, “To be any part of your happiness would be one of my greatest accomplishments. The other would be raising our darling girl with you,” she added, sealing her words with a languid lip-lock.

Sweet nothings and causal kisses were continued for a while, though, when the clock in the hall chimed at the turn of the hour, Thomas sat up, gently urging Y/n along with him, “You need to get to bed,” he warned firmly, “No pregnant wife of mine should be up this late, hear me?” She grinned, and their hands stayed locked as they both rose off the sofa, “Baby and her mama needs rest,” he added, briefly stopping to turn the lamp off.

Cuddling closer as they walked, Y/n’s arms circled his mid and she tucked her head against his side, “So does her papa.” As they strolled towards the staircase, Thomas kissed her hair and allowed the gesture to be his only response.

So did her papa, who would probably stay up late anyway, though that night not with thoughts of work or the weight of a strategy, but instead with the bubbles of hope and possibility welling up inside him as he thought about her;

Angelica, a girl who'd be like her stunning and kind mummy, with the eyes of her daddy, who’d thank his lucky stars everyday that he had them.

*****

Tagging- @alreadybroken-ts @cloudofdisney @datewithgianni

[mochikeiji]

Gojo Satoru

↠ Pairing: Gojou Satoru x F!Reader

↠ Warning: bby gojo having heavy thoughts and sadness after everything. (pls hug) angst to fluff.

↠ a/n: ironically, his name is the title for this xD also thank you so much for the love from my recent works o(^▽^)o♡ have my love too!

↬ Word Count: 1.9k

Everyone has their beginnings. While some were blessed to start out life with good fortune and the right path, there were some who struggled through their way in living. For Gojo? He didn't really care. Not when he was already being worshipped for being born in this world, not when as a child he had barely lifted a finger before his life was already planned out for him. It was as if he was simply taking the red carpet to luxury. He already has everything. Truly, he claimed, he was indeed the honored one.

He wasn't one to be wary of his own feelings. What was there to be thought about if he doesn't know what are these stuff running through his head? Not that he should give a single mind to it. 

But as he sat down at the tub of his bathroom— tweezers between his fingers, one at a time he plucks out the small shards of glass that had dug themselves onto his skin from the previous mission he was sent on solo, he started to wonder why he was staring blankly at the crimson liquid trailing down his damaged skin. Why did he felt so empty?

Maybe if Shoko were around to patch him up, he would've have had someone to pester for the day. Maybe he wouldn't have gone home to the lonesome apartment he owns, hissing at the pain from each shard taken out of his body.

Pain

That was strange. He never experienced that. Not even when he's in battle with the strongest forms of curses. No matter how many gashes of wounds he's collected, they always heal themselves quickly. It was unfamiliar that it began to frustrate him. He doesn't like it. Not one bit. It hurts. It hurts so much, yet why was there still something making his heart clench?

Loneliness. Abandonment. Broken.

Gojo was a fool for losing the only person that has come close to understanding him. If only he understood what Geto was going through; if he knew what the hell were all those troubles and emotions were maybe he would've still had his only best friend here with him. But no. It slowly came crashing down on Gojo's eyes that though he was the honored one,

He was the lost one.

A broken soul being held by strings as he was only guided to follow along the path that was planned out for him, but never what he planned for himself.

Why was he remembering all of these now? It had been years after the downfall. He should've moved on from it, be the usual cherry top, annoying idiot he was to his students and colleagues. God, he hates this. Falling, falling, falling.

Only the weak fall

Was a statement drilled into his system right from the start. The never ending worship that has earned him the title of being the "strongest" was what he kept pursuing. Believing.

Was the Gojo Satoru at his weakest point?

"Fuck." the unusually large shard of glass falls on the tiled floor, removed from the left side of his chest. Near to the scar that trails from the base of his throat and down to his navel; the reminder of why he shouldn't be left vulnerable at any cost. The hideous flaw that will forever be marked on his body, the one he desperately hides behind those prideful remarks and grinning faces. It saddens him, it hurts him, it angers him. It makes himself lose his own sanity.

The stinging started to kick in on his chest, no longer can he tell if it was from the wound or the clenching of his heart. He was strong, he was suppose and always will be strong. "Why?" the tub cracks from his grip. His free hand coming up to his eyes, eyes that people loved enough to fall in a trance— enemies crumbling and begging for mercy upon them.

Gojo felt ashamed.

Shameful. He grits his teeth hard when the small trickle of the uncharacteristic tear falls from the heavenly eye. It falls down to the porcelain surface, mixing with the trail of blood that was slowly draining down, "Why?" he finally looks down at the fatal wound, attempting to stop the bleeding with his bare hands pushing his chest. The blood smearing all over his upper body, shading the past scar that it made it look like it was there again.

"Why?"

Gojo speaks a little louder, sweating profusely as the dam inside him broke. Like an endless waterfall it was the tears fall. It made him sick. This was all not him. This wasn't the known shaman in the jujutsu world. This wasn't the boy raised from the family of the strongest. This wasn't the strongest.

"Stop."

This wasn't any of him.

"Make it stop."

Then who was he?

"Please, make it stop."

"Satoru?"

Entire body freezing. It was the first time he felt fear rushing through his veins; the fear of being seen like this. It wasn't because he didn't trust you. Good gracious, you were the last and only person Gojo ever holds onto after the years being glued together by faith and his attempts of flirting. No, he didn't want you to see this unknown person that was sitting in the bathroom of your shared apartment. Right, he forgot he was living with you.

Huh, he forgot. You were there.

There knelt down to his level, wide eyes meeting the now visible broken ones that was glossy with tears. With careful movements you raised an arm to eye level, pleading silently for permission to touch him. And for the time, Gojo was actually wary. He's faced a lot in the years spent as a sorcerer, as the strongest. Never the weakest. So when your lips curled into the same smile you'd give him during your moments of vulnerability. The cute, little curve you give when you couldn't help but just admire him or when you're about to utter out his 3 favorite words, he finds himself leaning forward to rest his cheek against the warmth of your palm. He allows the pestering tears to fall omly to be caught with your thumbs, shooing them away from his features.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

When your hand pulls away for a short moment, Gojo silently whines at the lost of contact. The tightness in his chest coming back. The feeling of abandonment crosses his head for a second before you placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, holding up the tweezers he had dropped a while ago, "I'm here now."

I'm here now

That was his line. His line for when there was someone in need of help. The line that shimmers hope on the darkest moments of anyone's life. The line of the strongest. The ones who were only truly honored of saying.

Hope. It had a different form today. One that was right in front of him, plucking out every leftover shard on his body with gentleness he never got to witness as a child. The soft cooes and from time to time kisses on his scalp made his senses more focused on there rather than the stinging sensations running through his skin. Exactly how people react when there is hope.

And where there is hope,

"I love you, Satoru."

There is love.

Warm water from the shower cap started pouring down to his tensed muscles, washing out the combined dirt and blood away from him, cleansing his own form of curses that has shaken up his being. When did you finish patching him up? And why wasn't it as painful as it was when he did it?

He watches you move the small container that reeked of the scent of his blood and that inflicted his injuries far from his sight. Immediately, Gojo felt empty once more and was about to call you when you came back holding fresh towels on your hands. "Do you want me to join you?" he couldn't say yes faster than ever, almost as if he was relieved when you offered.

When you had finally stripped yourself off of your clothes and settled in between his long legs, there was nothing but the sound of the shower on echoing in the room with the two of you just staring back to one another.

Too good to be true, you were.

Gojo wanted to speak. Wanted to tell you how thankful he is that you were here to pull him away. To save his life, but all he could do was stare back into the void that of before. He sees the way your hands map around his torso in attempt to rinse him completely. Coming in contact with the old and new scar, softly tracing them as you felt his eyes wonder to yours. There was no sign of disappointment nor a hint of harm or disgust. Only something he never understood that it made him sob unexpectedly, startling you that left you pulling him into your embrace which he latches his face onto your neck and arms surrounding your body whole.

He cries.

All the frustration of not knowing whatever was happening, the mistakes he wishes to correct and the past he hoped to save along with the title he swore to maintain. It all falls on the smaller body he treasures in his arms at this very moment. He clutches, he palms, he roams. Whatever he can do just so he can fully grasp the idea that someone was there. You were there, and he wasn't alone anymore.

"I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough."

It would shock the world and break the hearts of many to hear these very words uttered from the mouth of the honored one. And Gojo wishes that everyone could hear it. That it would somehow reach the skies to wherever his best friend was too. To you, the person he loved the most. He was sorry that he wasn't the Gojo Satoru in your eyes.

"No, Toru. No." you push him back gently only to pull him in for a soft kiss, "I don't need you to always be the strongest. Let alone apologize for being vulnerable." he listens as he nuzzles against the palms meeting his face. The ones that held him together when he was falling apart.

His lips wobbled a bit when you land kisses on his scars, "These may not have been the good ones in your life, but these do not make you for who you are, Satoru." he hums in content when you rub down to his chest soothingly, the feeling that you has him yearning for more. Needing for more, "It's okay to be lost, and it's okay to be weak. But it'll never define you."

"I need you to be just you."

You pull him down, letting him cry all his heart out to your naked chest. He let's you have your way to him. The emotions, words, and treatment. All so unfamiliar. And he finds himself wanting. Needing more.

All his life he thought he had it all.

But never in his life has he lived it.

"What am I, (Y/n)?"

Cooing softly as the small of his voice. Like the child who never got to experience what love was. The child raised to already has to burden such responsibilities and stand. Gojo can feel himself breathe in relief as he whispers an "i love you" with a small kiss on your skin when you uttered out the words that has set his locked up self free. Free from the strings that's been taking over. The cage he was kept from all of his living.

The curse of his gift

And being honored of what he truly deserves.

"You're Gojo Satoru."

Just Gojo Satoru.

© all content belongs to mochikeiji. Please do not repost or copy, ありがとうございました!! (=^･^=)

[harrisonhayes]

Harry wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but an actual answer hadn't been it. Friends in California? He didn't know why that one hit so hard. Maybe because that's something he should know? That was such a little, insignificant-in-the-grand-scheme detail, and he should have known. The big things weighed heavy on his shoulders, in the gap and the years that spanned between them, but the little things cut, and stung, and demanded he remember exactly how much wasn't right.

"Yeah. Yeah, we do." He meant to respond to the first, but instead grabbed that lifeline from his own thoughts, jerking his thumb back the way he was headed. This part was easier, anyway. Harrison may not oversee the overall maintenance and management of the store –yet. He was working on it – but their darkroom? Their processing? He knew that was in order. Everything up to date, every 't' crossed, every 'i' dotted. That was his domain, that he had no qualms showing her, and ... if he were being honest, that he wanted to show her. Something to prove it wasn't all shambles, that it wasn't all the 'waste of potential' he'd heard time and time again from certain other Hayes. "Uh, got a log I can show you, but ... that's all back here too. Don't want it where just anyone can grab it, you know?"

That said, Harry nudged the door open, flicked the light switch on the other side, and gestured for Sierra to head through. And that was where he stopped again, turning, gaze finding his sister, and fixing there, even as his arms lifted to fold across his chest, like a silent line of defence against whatever he was about to hear. Why had he asked? Did he really want to know?

And then she was speaking, and whatever Harrison wanted or feared didn't matter. She'd been ... close. She'd been right there this entire time. His fingers curled, tightening to fists, as he let that one settle. Anger. Hurt. It all coursed through him, but ultimately, it was the exhaustion that lingered. He was tired of this. She'd gotten out. She'd found her calling. She'd found her people. And it sucked, and part of him may always resent that, but what would holding it against her get him?

He was sure he heard the rest, and certainly the apology, but it was taking his mind a minute to scramble to put everything in its place. He really hadn't expected an answer. And maybe five years ago— hell, maybe five months ago he'd had pulled out some snide comment, called her a coward, told her where to stick the apology, but ... he didn't believe that. He'd been forced to come to terms with a lot about the situation, about her, about himself, since that one damn Ellen-initiated 'ambush'. And Harry now? He could hear it for what it was. Even if he didn't know what to do with it right now.

"... still think you're brave, Si." That hadn't been the point, but as far as he was concerned, it needed to be said. He was working through the mess in his head in realtime, and while that had never truly worked in his favour in the past, and while he typically tried to avoid it, talking to Sierra was proving to throw everything he thought he knew into directions he couldn't predict. Mostly ... mostly, he figured, because that in itself was something he hadn't predicted.

"Don't apologise." That, too, was one thought he had to voice. He wasn't sure if it was because he didn't need to hear it or because he didn't want to, but the fact remained. He wasn't looking for an apology. He was— he didn't know, though the tiny voice within liked to whisper that he just wanted her to come back. But ... she already had, technically. "He was an ass. Is an ass. That was never on you. I ... don't blame you. Took a lotta time, but I think I get it. Or, know you had to, I mean."

Hand rubbing his upper arm, Harry sighed. What was he saying? Why couldn't he string a sentence together? He wasn't trying hard enough. He wasn't getting it right. But what the hell was right? "I'm just ... you know, glad you're here now. S'good to see you."

Sierra's heart pounded as she waited for Harry's response, feeling the weight of the silence between them. When he finally spoke, acknowledging his own shortcomings, she felt a flicker of hope. It wasn't much, but it was something. How silly of her to hold onto hope like that? Was she just setting herself for failure? Sierra Hayes never failed. She never lost. So if Harrison gave her a glimpse of it, she would hold onto dear life and make it work. She nodded though, understanding that their family dynamics had messed with them both, and neither was solely to blame.

As Harry moved toward the back door, Sierra followed, her eyes fixed on his back. She was relieved he hadn't outright dismissed her, but she knew they still had a long way to go. His question, asked over his shoulder, cut through the air and hit her like a punch to the gut. Where did she go? How could she even begin to explain? Did he mean the past weeks or way before, when she left home at eighteen?

"California," she replied softly, her voice trembling slightly, trying to stay on the now at first. "I stayed with some friends, tried to clear my head. There was a lot going on at work too." She paused, searching for the right words. "I thought if I put some distance between me and the chaos, I could figure things out. But... I'm a bit of a workaholic," she shrugged, looking at her clipboard to mark other safety measures that needed to be ticked off the check—emergency exits, state of fire equipment, all the boring but important preventive work. "You guys work with a lot of inflammable material right? I need to take a look on expiration dates." She sighed a little, that was a bit tedious and she hadn't realized it would be necessary. But maybe it gave her some more time with Harry.

She looked up, waiting for Harry to turn and face her again. "I know I messed up, leaving like I did." She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "I never really left town—back then," she began explaining then, the hard part. "I was living with some friends in South Hills and one of their dad's was a firefighter. He's the one who took me in and who got me in the academy." He'd been a better father than her own, that much was true. Sierra had been lucky that way. "I missed you, I really wanted to go back and just bring you with me but—you were a kid. Mom would never let me and Michael—" she'd grown the habit not to call the man her father anymore, he wasn't ever a good one anyway. "I know you used to think I was very brave, but not when it came to him. I couldn't really face him again. I was so afraid he'd drag me back in and I wouldn't have strength to leave a second time." She realized after she dumped it out all, that it was too much to say, too much to confess so she added, "I'm sorry. None of it was, or is, your fault. I'm sorry I left you behind."

Her eyes searched his face, hoping to see some sign of understanding, of forgiveness. She needed this, needed him to know that she was sincere. But hope was a fragile thing and she was worried of having overstepped too.