#there are more of us than them and they need us to cooperate for any of this to work. if we walk away: they have nothing. they know that

[beeseverywhen]

Not in the US so can't speak for what's happening there, but I've def noticed here that healthcare workers are struggling with dealing with sicker patients than they felt they were getting before covid and lots of them are mentioning a lack of immunity thanks to lockdowns. every time I hear it I can't help but think that the increasing desperation thanks to years of underfunding that's really beginning to have an impact since covid (because the pandemic served as the last straw on the camels back there AND because it showed our government that they could neglect the vulnerable to the degree that they were dying by the thousands and still nobody bothered to blame them.) Is a contributing factor in this and I don't understand why nobody is mentioning it???

We're getting sick because we've spent decades being bled dry and now we're hungry, stressed and being worked to the bone. Meanwhile we aren't getting any kind of return on the money we're pumping in to the healthcare system and our governments aren't doing shit to address health inequalities or any of the factors contributing to everyone's poor health.

If you look at covid death statistics, if you look at which countries are currently suffering from supply problems; a job market bursting with unfilled vacancies, civil unrest and protests, strained healthcare systems, and all the rest; the countries at the top are those that have allowed capitalism to call the shots for the past century, more than the rest. That is why the UK and America have been so badly impacted. Its no accident that we are paying so heavily, this system started with us. We forced it on the rest of the world and now, we're the first to pay the price. There is a direct correlation between the impact being felt post covid and a countries wealth divide and I'm tired of everyone ignoring that.

I look around me and People are going hungry, the food they can afford to buy is lacking in basic nutrients, of course people are sicker! Even if you can afford them, the shops keep running out of vegetables! Our health system was already breaking and then, we were hit by a pandemic it was completely unprepared for (tho it should have been) and now, people are getting way more ill than they need to before they finally reach hospital. When they get there, the hospitals are understaffed (thanks to years of underfunded budgets and the extreme stress so many health care workers were put under), we keep having drug shortages because our country keep straight up refusing to pay how much things cost, and what they are willing to pay, goes to pay about ten profiteering middle men at each stage of the supply chain.

People are massively stressed thanks to the cumulative weight of a completely broken capitalist system and those in charge are more worried about lining their pockets for as long as they can until the whole thing collapses, rather than actually trying to address any problems. Stress IS something that's known to weaken immune systems so why are we blaming something that MAY affect them??? Extreme rises in energy costs have meant everyone's spent a winter without adequate heating (even those that can afford it are revolting at the increase and so are trying to cut costs by using less energy.) Again, insufficiently heated homes are also known to affect immunity. And that's just the people who still have safe homes! Masses of people have been made homeless recently thanks to rising rents and mortgages which were already unaffordable, our housing stock is largely dangerous, with homes falling in to disrepair because landlords are barely regulated and when they do break laws they go unprotected.

Is anyone surprised that so many people are getting so ill and not getting better? Cause I'm not.

It's startlingly obvious when you start looking at the health divide between those who have spent 40 years subject to the whims of poorly restricted capitalism and those able to opt out. Medical technology is improving, but healthy life expectancy is now dropping year on year, because there are more people living here without the capital to turn away from jobs that will break them, than there are those whose inherited wealth opens doors away from employers that'll ask you to pay the price of bodily health, so they might strengthen profit margins. Its just basic averages. 1% of our citizens are standing on the backs of 99% of us and wondering why more and more of that 99% are getting sicker and sicker. The labour market for working class people has been allowed to drain its workers dry for years now. The progress made in the early to mid 20th century has slowly been worn away at, with the labour laws we fought for, only being accessible for an ever decreasing number of people. The laws are still in place but no low wage employer bothers to follow them any more than they have to. Do you know how many people I know who've been working without breaks, going unpaid for extra hours, been forced to follow unsafe working practices that they know are illegal and then being forced to lie to protect the employer that put them in that position? The people being broken by companies raking in billions, as they flaunt labour laws, don't have any means to access justice! If you complain, you lose your job. If you take them to court that costs money and that company is willing to drag out proceedings for years till you run out of the money needed to keep things going.

When i look at how much money is being wasted in government budgets, while the people responsible for making that money, see little return; I can't help but think of various theories for why certain societies in history have collapsed. (If you want to be really worried about the state of things, read the Wikipedia page on societal collapse. Spoiler: most of the potential causes of societal collapse have already begun in America and the UK. That guy who wrote that article saying America was already past the point of collapse might have been right.) One theory behind the bronze age collapse is just that... societies became too complex. A society where the 1% are given too much power over the 99% becomes one great big pyramid scheme. Unnecessary burecracy at every level (designed to squeeze as much wealth possible for the person overseeing that level) results in those at the bottom, working themselves to death and still going hungry. The theory goes that there comes a point, in societies like that, where the workers look at how they are living and just...walk away. They decide that the security once offered by that society isn't worth what it's costing them and fuck off to become farmers, preferring a life of hard work and little security, to what they had been living. Without the workers, the system breaks down. The only people getting fed are the ones growing the food. All this stupid stratification. Allowing every supply chain, business and institution to become unnecessarily complex just so on each level the people in charge can let their mates get a foot in on the profits. All these middlemen. Business consultants. Supply chains allow for a product to be sent back and forth from country to country just so more people get a cut. Its no different to any other pyramid scheme so why the hell are we allowing it.

We need to start telling our politicians to show some goddamn accountability for this shit. Stop accepting them skirting responsibility for being at best: Inept and at worst deliberately negligent. We all need to stop supporting a system that's hurting us all. In the hope that we might be one of the lucky ones. That's not the reality of things. We'll only get out of this hole we've inadvertently dug ourselves in to, if we stop fighting each other and work together to demand change.

You know how sometimes you catch someone in a lie, and so they tell an even bigger lie to try and cover up the first lie they told?

Well, that’s happening right now.

Last winter, a handful of celebrity doctors went on mainstream news networks to assure us that Omicron was “mild.” They carpet-bombed us with articles and tweets, doing their best to brainwash everyone.

They were wrong.

In the end, real science junked that idea. An article in the Journal of the American Medical Association showed that Omicron killed more people than previous variants, even when adjusting for other factors. Another study by doctors at Massachusetts General and Harvard Medical found that Omicron was just as deadly. In fact, “the risks of hospitalization and mortality were nearly identical.” As it turns out, the entire idea of “mild” Omicron was based on an old, flawed idea known as the law of declining virulence, developed by a doctor who was studying tick-borne disease in cows. It was debunked decades ago.

Most epidemiologists know that viruses don’t magically evolve to become milder. Virus evolution is random and chaotic.

In some cases, viruses evolve to become more deadly.

A handful of actual scientists tried to explain all this last winter, including disease experts at Johns Hopkins. A handful of other established experts spoke out against this myth. As a microbiologist at Penn State told Politifact, “You can’t just say it’s going to become nicer.” They were largely ignored, because everyone already sort of believed the misinformation. If they knew it was based on a study about cows, they probably would’ve thought twice.

This year, the makers of “it’s mild” are back.

They’re selling “immunity debt.”

We should be skeptical.

Schools and daycares are sending letters home to parents talking about this “immunity debt.” They’re saying that healthy children are getting sicker, even dying, because they weren’t exposed to enough germs over the last two years. Newspapers and TV stations across the country are running with it, proposing it as a “possible reason” for this year’s explosion in pediatric hospitalizations. Meanwhile, major medical organizations have sent a letter to President Biden urging him to declare an emergency over an “alarming surge of pediatric hospitalizations” due to a range of respiratory viruses, including Covid.

A lot of people are drinking the “immunity debt” kool-aid.

After all, Americans have believed for generations that getting sick is “good for you.” We think our immune system behaves like a muscle. We worry that if we’re not giving it a workout, we’ll get weak.

It’s a myth, just like the law of declining virulence.

Here’s why.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Lox the Fox

Male Yandere Fox Hybrid x Gender Neutral Reader CW: Noncon, somnophilia, implied cum in food, magic, drugging, biting, claiming bites, knotting, manipulation, chasing, kidnapping, general yandere behavior, references to an incident with a sweet potato Word Count: 5.6k (I am so sorry that this comm took so long, though I was dealing with a number of different issues. Hope you all enjoy it!)

You were but a humble trader. Once somewhat prominent in the medium sized town of Ridgespire, humiliating rumors began circulating about being caught in a compromising position with a sweet potato. The totally baseless story spread throughout the entire town. You were a laughing stock. When you could no longer handle it you left for a fresh start and new opportunities.

You decided to set up shop in the town of Westwend. It was a small village now, but you saw some serious potential. It was situated in the center of many newer villages and small towns and would serve as a good hub for you. But the best part about your new home was that it was too far for any pernicious lies about you and a sweet potato to have followed.

The locals were very accepting of you as a new traveling trader, though you hadn't had a chance to get close to any of them. Once you had moved in you immediately began planning your trip through the forest to reach a tiny village on the other side. You'd stop there to rest and see if there were any trade opportunities then head north to a larger town.

You stuffed a huge pack full of food, currency, and trade goods before putting it on and setting off on your journey. The village you were heading for was through several miles of forest and the forest itself was a mile or so away itself. You could be there by evening.

You were warned about an infamous fox-man named Lox that lived in the woods. Supposedly he helped or hindered travelers depending on what mood struck him at the time. The local villagers were always wary about crossing through the forest. That is part of what made this trade route so potentially lucrative. Not many were willing to cut straight through the forest.

The weather was cooperating and making your trip quite pleasant. The morning air was fresh and brought with it the scent of honeysuckle, and other prairie flowers. You took the unused and overgrown path and managed to make it to the woods just before the heat of the day, the dense canopy of leaves providing ample protection from the sun.

Though you didn't know it, you had rapidly crossed into the territory of the fox-man, Lox. And with his magic he knew exactly when any human neared the proximity of what he considered to be his land. He had nothing better to do, and delighted in meddling with humans, so with great grace and dexterity he weaved through the tree tops and quickly came upon you. He used his magic to stay silent and invisible so that he could observe you a while before deciding what to do.

It did not take long for Lox’s careful observation of you to lead him to the conclusion that he was intrigued. He used his magic to peep into some of your thoughts and memories to get just a glimpse of the type of person you were. He saw bits of your travels, vague impressions of your views, and something about a sweet potato. He couldn’t quite make it out to be honest. But it didn’t matter. He could tell from your aura that you were a lonely person with few friends and no current ties to anyone.

He decided that instead of hindering you he was going to help you more than he had ever helped anyone else before you. Not just for your sake, but for his as well. He thought maybe he could be your mate. Though he still needed to get to know you a little better though before he was totally sure. He could only get to know someone so well through his magic, so he really needed a more direct method.

Rather than simply introduce himself, which he was sure would fail, he devised a cunning plan to get you to see him as your hero. First impressions were immensely important, so if your first time seeing him was when he was saving you then that would make it a lot more likely that you would fall for him.

You continued through the forest, laughing to yourself about how easy a trip this was. You couldn’t believe how the small village dwellers had cut themselves off from such an easy trading route just because of some stories about some magic fox guy. You could believe that beast men existed, you had never seen one yourself, but their existence was never refuted, but magic? That was just too much for you.

Belief in the supernatural and heading the warnings of the villagers would have served you well, but instead the trap was laid and you bumbled right into it.

As you continued on the forest path, nearly gone due to disuse, you came across a clearing with a small cabin. It looked wildly out of place in the wilderness. Perhaps this was the home of the fox man all of the villagers had been so wary of. After gawking for a moment you resumed your journey. You had been traveling for hours and were probably halfway through the woods by now.

As you neared an old but sturdy bridge that marked the final leg of your travels through the forest, you heard a bone chilling growl and your path was suddenly blocked by three snarling wolves. You knew you couldn’t fight them, but the cabin that you had passed wasn’t too far. Maybe, just maybe, you could outrun them and take shelter.

Thinking fast you through your pack towards them, hoping the food in it would distract them enough for you to flee to safety. But no such luck. They weren’t distracted by it at all. At least without it you weren’t so weighed down though. But you were tired from all the walking and the wolves were at your heels. You imagined that you could feel their hot sour breath at your back, but you didn’t look back to confirm it.

Just when you were sure that you were going to find your end in the jaws of the ravenous beasts an orange flash came out of the trees from the direction of the house and stood between you and the feral wolves. There was no mistaking it, it was the fox man of local legend.

The hybrid man stood before the wolves with his back towards you, you could see that he was of a lean build and average height with two triangular ears on his head that were the same color as his wavy red hair. And he had a fox-like tail to match the ears.

As confident as he seemed you seriously doubted that he could take on so many enemies at once. And then you saw why he was so confident. A red tinged gust of magic left his hands and blew the wolves several feet away, making them smack into the trees. With a frightened yelp they scattered. You were in awe, magic was real after all!

When Lox turned to face you he could tell right away by the admiration and gratitude in your eyes that he had made the right decision in conjuring the convincing wolf illusions to scare you back towards him.

Normally seeing your first hybrid man may have at least startled you, but when you met his orange eyes and sharp-toothed smile you could only feel relief. You almost wanted to hug the guy.

“Thank you so much! I really thought I was a goner. I have no idea what I would have done had you not shown up when you had…”

Your stomach turned just thinking about it.

“No problem friend, I just happened to be gathering fruit up in the trees when I saw your predicament.”

Now Lox just had to convince you to stay the night with him. Get to know him better. Once you saw how good of a provider he was and how kind he was you would surely fall for him. He just knew it.

“Well uh… I better go and get my things. I dropped them to flee. And then I gotta keep traveling. Thanks again!”

No no no, that wouldn’t do for Lox at all!

“Don’t be silly! Those wolves could be lurking anywhere, you should just stay at my home while I collect your things. You can always set off tomorrow, I will even escort you through the forest!”

Your heart was still beating at an intense pace with adrenaline leaving you shaky. You didn’t really want to just set off alone so soon after such a scare. But you really should set out again, and you had doubts that the wolves would try anything again so soon.

“I really don’t think that I should, if I keep going I can make up for lost time and make the village well before sundown.”

He couldn’t reveal his true intentions yet, but no matter what happened, now that he had taken such a liking to you, he was never going to be far from you.

“Well, those wolves can be pretty persistent, they aren’t really normal. And it would be really nice to have a bit of company. It doesn’t come very often out here. I don’t think that humans like me all that much to tell the truth...”

Lox put on his best pouting face to elicit your sympathy. To be honest he didn’t mind his loner lifestyle one bit. Though he did want just one person in his life. A good partner. And whether or not you wanted it, that partner was going to be you.

His deception worked wonders on you. Instantly you felt immense sympathy for him. He was helping you so much so you should be happy to offer him your company, if just for a day. It wasn’t like it was a great imposition on you. You wouldn’t even be alive right now if not for Lox and all he wanted was a bit of companionship in return. Besides, you really didn’t want to come across as some sort of bigot…

“Well… if you’re sure it won’t be burdensome, I guess I can stay the night. Thanks for the hospitality, but I think I should go with you to get my pack. It would be pretty rude to make you go and get it for me.”

This also wouldn’t do for Lox, he wanted to enchant your belongings to be able to keep tabs on you even if you left his immediate vicinity. He did not want to run the risk of you ever escaping him, he doubted he would be unable to track you, but it was good to be prepared. The spell was rather loud and involved flashes of magic, he couldn’t take the risk that you could wake up and catch him in the act so having you at his house while he went off to do the enchantment on your stuff was his best solution.

“Don’t be silly, I can zip along through the trees much faster than you can walk! It will be much faster if I go alone.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true… Okay, if you really don’t mind getting it for me.” You felt bad that he had done so much for you already and was now doing more, but his logic made sense.

On the way there you introduced yourself and the two of you chatted a bit about how you both got to where you were currently. He explained the tragic tale of how he had been orphaned as a young teen and had to raise himself in the harsh wilds. The two of you were already pretty close to his humble home so it didn’t take long at all for him to lead you there.

The inside was about what you would expect from the home of someone living the lifestyle of a secluded forest hermit. Not messy, but cluttered in a cozy sort of way. Not a lot of open space, every inch utilized in some way. There were some shelves filled with books and various ornaments and objects of unknown purpose, there was a desk in the corner littered with arcane looking scrolls, a small dining area with dried aromatic herbs hanging from the ceiling, and there was a doorless bedroom attached with an equally well stuffed bedroom, you could see a large bed with red covers and more shelves.

Before he went off to get your pack for you he offered you some miniature sandwiches and some tea and set them on a small table for you.

You thanked him as he left and nibbled on the food he had provided you. You were hungrier than you had realized though and before you knew it, there wasn’t a crumb or sip left.

Meanwhile Lox had already located your belongings and busily casting his little spell on your things. He was hoping he could convince you to stay with him, but realistically it could take a few encounters. This would help ensure that those encounters kept happening. He considered it the “dating” phase of your “relationship.”

He also hoped that you would eat as much of that sandwich as possible. He had sprinkled in just a little something to help you be a bit more compliant with the “romance” he had planned for later that night. He could have relied on it to keep you from being too alarmed at him casting a spell on your belongings, but he couldn’t be sure how much you would ingest. Lox didn’t want to be pushy about you consuming the food either, that would be suspicious.

No, it was better if he just enchanted your things now and then he wouldn’t have to worry about if you had eaten enough magic flake powder that he had given you. And if you did happen to consume enough of it then he could have plenty of fun with you.

The fox-man briefly considered whipping up a love potion, but they were often temporary, wearing off at inconvenient times and requiring reapplication. And he really wanted you to actually be in love with him, not just be under the influence of all consuming magic.

When Lox entered the home it had startled you right off the couch and you fell to the floor. Lox quickly helped you up, relishing the chance to make physical contact with you. He was beyond thrilled to see that the plate your food had been on was now empty.

“Thanks! Sorry, you coming in so suddenly just startled me. You weren’t wrong about how fast you were, I hadn’t expected you back so soon.”

“Told ya I was fast.” He beamed proudly as he handed you your belongings.

Over the course of the next couple of hours the two of you chatted while you taught him a card game with a deck that you always traveled with, but you became fatigued much sooner than you usually did. Surely that was just from all the travel followed by the excitement of earlier though.

Lox offered you use of his bed while you used his couch, but you wouldn’t hear of it. He had already shown you such kindness you weren’t going to just kick him out of his own bed. Finally he relented and just let you use the couch.

Sleep came to you with unusual ease, something that Lox was greatly anticipating. Now you’d be at his mercy and even if you woke up, the mind altering effects of what he had fed you would make sure that you didn’t remember it or if you did you'd think it was only a dream.

Lox lubed you up carefully and slid into your sleeping form which he had tenderly stripped bare. He bred you slowly and lovingly, deep strokes into you so that he could edge and enjoy every possible second of making love with his partner for the first time.

It was difficult, but he managed to restrain his instinct to bite your neck all over and make his claim on you visible to the world. He also held his cock at the base to prevent his knot from slipping in and swelling within you. Lox didn’t want to leave you with any suspicious soreness.

But the hardest thing for the fox man was pulling out and not filling you up full of his seed, especially when your eyes fluttered open and you moaned and babbled incoherently while drooling in pleasure even if your mind couldn’t make sense of anything that was happening.

After that, he came in you quickly and meticulously cleaned you up so that no evidence was left behind.

When you woke up your head was a bit fuzzy, light filtered in through a little circular window and by the angle of the sun it seemed that you had slept all morning. You thought you probably had overstayed your welcome.

You yawned and began to get off the couch when suddenly Lox appeared as if from nowhere with a hot plate of food. Had he been watching and waiting for you to wake up? You didn’t entertain the thought long, you were just being paranoid. He was a fox-man; he clearly had enhanced senses and was just keeping the meal warm for you when you finally got up.

"Quail egg omelet before you leave?"

Lox seemed refreshed and energized, and though you couldn't quite place why something about him gave you just the slight twinge of anxiety in the back of your mind. It was easy to push away though.

"Thanks, you didn't have to make me breakfast. I have rations in my pack"

"Nonsense, you're my guest. And I was making one for myself anyway."

It did smell rather enticing and he had gone through the trouble of cooking it so you relented and ate it happily. It was among the best dishes you had ever eaten. You wondered if he used his magic to enhance it. He had, actually, added his own "special ingredient" to the food he made for you, but it wasn't something magical and you really didn't want to know what it was.

After you finished the meal Lox, true to his word, happily joined you on your trip out of the forest. You tried to insist that you didn’t need him, that the wolves probably went off in search of easier prey, and that you were prepared now, but the fox wasn’t having it.

The trip out of the forest was largely uneventful, filled only with Lox’s chatter and questions focused on you. You supposed most people would have been annoyed by it all, but you knew he didn’t get much company and you were still so touched by the kindness that he had shown you.

Overall it was going well.

Until it wasn't. As you crossed the old, but up until this point, very sturdy bridge, it suddenly collapsed beneath you. With a scream you flailed desperately, luckily Lox was able to reach you, hold onto you, and jump back up the side that you had come from. After you caught your breath and let your nerves settle in silence you looked at the damage. The bridge was beyond repair. It would add a couple hours to your journey to go around to the shallow part of the river, but you certainly couldn't go across here anymore.

"God damn! That was... scary! Thanks for... saving me. Again..."

You were still shaking a bit.

"It's no problem! I thought the bridge was a bit sturdier than that. Good thing I caught you... I guess we'll just have to go back for now..."

"No it's fine, I saw an old map of the area, there's a place I can cross if I follow the river. Will just take a few extra hours."

You looked up at him.

"Don't worry, you don't need to escort me the extra distance."

That was, of course, the exact opposite of what Lox planned. He would be at your side for eternity. Whether you said you wanted him there or not.

"No, no! It's not a bother. Really. I'm usually so bored I just sleep most of the day!"

"Well if it isn't a bother, I'm glad to have a traveling buddy for a bit longer."

The two of you sat down for a couple minutes before resuming your newly extended route out of the forest. It went about as well as it had been going before the incident with the bridge, though Lox kept shooting you nervous looks, like he was holding back from saying something to you. Poor guy, he was probably just sad that the two of you would be parting ways soon. You made a mental note to reassure him when you got to the end of the forest.

This wasn't the end at all, you'd see him a couple times a month if this trading exchange worked out. Maybe even once a week if things got really busy.

The fox hybrid was a bit more distant in conversation, focused more on his thoughts. He had been sure that after he collapsed the bridge with his magic and then saved you from the disaster that you would be head over heels in love with him. Clearly he had shown you he can keep you safe from any peril... even if he had to make the danger himself. At the very least you should have agreed to stay at his home a bit longer so that he could get you to like him more.

Sadly, Lox could not glean any notions of love emanating from you using his magical abilities. But he absolutely couldn't accept that you weren't at least somewhat attracted to him by this point. He had, as far as you were concerned, saved your life twice. Then he had been very amicable and hospitable towards you. You must have been in such strong denial that your true feelings were unknown even to you. But he wasn't going to give up on his beloved, he just knew the two of you were meant to be together. No matter what.

His first priority had to be making sure you never made it out of the forest. If you left and he wasn't with you then you could get hurt. Or maybe someone else would take you! But he didn't want to scare you or tip you off.

As the two of you continued on your way the amorous man couldn't help but stare at you and think of all the things he wanted to do to you. Seeing a lack of claiming bites on you almost sent his instincts into overdrive, he had to actively stop himself from fucking you into the dirt, biting all over you, and having his knot tie the two of you together.

The two of you crossed the river and with each step Lox grew more fidgety as his desire to claim you grew, as did his worry that you may escape him if he didn't think up another plot soon. Then he had a great idea. Quicksand! He'd save you from it and you'd be so frustrated, messy, and grateful that at the very least you'd want to go back to his house for another night to rest and clean up!

Lox used his magic to create a patch of quicksand on the path ahead and used his power of illusion to make sure it looked just like the surrounding terrain until disturbed, just like natural quicksand.

And sure enough it fooled you. With a loud scream you suddenly plummeted through what you had assumed was perfectly solid ground. You fell forward and struggled to orient yourself in the thick muck. Lox grabbed your pack from behind and plucked you easily from the quicksand. You gasped for breath and wiped the mud from your face.

"Holy fuck, I would have drowned if not for you! You're a real lifesaver, Lox."

This time you didn't waste more than a few seconds trying to catch your breath before getting up.

"I guess we should head back to my place, we can get you all cleaned up and try again tomorrow."

"Oh don't worry! We only just passed the river, we can go back and I can rinse off there!"

You started to head towards the water with Lox at your side.

"Are you sure? You must be tired after all the excitement we just had..."

You stopped and looked at Lox. He seemed almost panicked. The gears in your head finally started turning. The dots were connecting.

"Every time something happens you are very quick to suggest we head back... and it's pretty convenient that you are always right there to save me from these sudden disasters..."

"What are you saying?" The fox asked with a surprising darkness.

The question hung unanswered, heavy in the air, as the two of you stared at one another. Then you bolted into the dense foliage. But this was Lox's forest, he had years of experience tracking and keeping eyes on any humans who wandered through it, and he had never been so motivated.

Every time you made a turn Lox would appear in a puff of smoke in front of you, using his magic to teleport short distances. He grabbed you, but you struggled out of his grip.

"I love you babe, but I am getting tired of this little game. Let's go home now okay?"

He used a wave of magic to animated the vines near you, they snared you easily. You wriggled and writhed like a maniac as he slowly approached you with a creepy smile on his face.

"You must be tired after that little chase. You need a nap."

Then he pulled out a pouch of shimmering blue powder from his pocket and blew it over you. You fell asleep instantly.

When you woke up from your fitful sleep full of nightmares and fear in Lox's bed. You had no pants on and a thick sticky fluid leaking from your entrance. You realized those nightmares may not have been dreams at all, and you felt instantly nauseous.

Luckily, he wasn't in the room with you. The sick freak seemed to be in the kitchen, you could hear him humming faintly as he went about cooking. He probably thought he'd bring you a meal in bed and you'd be grateful and everything would be just peachy between the two of you. But you had other plans.

The window was large enough to leave through, you hoped you could do so quietly. You wiped yourself clean as best you could and put the clothing that Lox has removed back on. You raised the window slowly and it didn't make any noise at first, but you came to a point where it was stuck and more force had to be used. It squeaked like it was shrieking out your desire to escape to the four corners of the world.

Since your cover was clearly blown you gave up being quiet and forced it open with all due expediency. You quickly scrambled out the window, falling forward into the dirt. You wasted no time at all in getting up and darting away as fast as you possibly could. But the eyes of the fox were on you from the window, watching you speed further away. He wasn't worried though.

Lox was delusional and arguably even completely insane over you at this point, but he was no idiot. He knew your denial about how you felt over him may still be too strong and you may try to run away. He had taken extra precautions. Precautions you learned of in a  very direct way when you slammed face first and at full force right into some sort of invisible barrier that Lox had erected a good distance around his dwelling.

You fell rather hard on your ass and cupped your face in pain. Then you heard a voice approach behind you.

"Are you okay darling? I didn't intend to hurt your pretty face." He waved a hand and green sparks from his fingertips healed up your injury.

"What the Hell, Lox!? You can't just keep me prisoner like this!"

"You're not a prisoner! You're my partner, and this is just to keep you close by. You're really fragile judging by how you handled all the dangers recently."

You stared at him for a moment, unable to think of a response to this complete lunatic, as he got closer and stared down at you with that freaky smile of his.

"I realize you are used to being really independent, but you really need to admit it already. I am the perfect mate for you. You have to know that deep down."

You started to object, but he sealed your words with a sudden rough kiss. He was deceptively strong, a fact you learned while trying unsuccessfully to push him off of you. He pinned you down on the ground with ease and smirked down at you.

"If showing off how good of a protector I am isn't enough to get rid of your denial, then I will just have to show you how good our union feels~"

Lox ignored your protests. His nails grew sharp and he sliced off your clothing as easily as if he was cutting through paper.

"I'm gonna make you feel soooo good."

He bit possessively at your neck. It hurt slightly but the unpleasantness was overridden by pleasure. For someone who was rarely around humans except to randomly help or hinder an occasional traveler he sure knew how to pleasure you. Then you remembered how he had violated you in your sleep. He had practiced. You redoubled your efforts to get free but the resistance only seemed to excite him more.

Lox's claws returned to being normal nails as he fingered your entrance, despite his increasingly feral state of mind he was still focused on making this as pleasurable as possible for his beloved little human. He used a small bit of magic to create an oil from his fingers to apply a generous amount of lubrication to you.

Shouts, screams, and the tears rolling down your face were all met with calming shushing noises and promises that you'd be moaning soon enough with fear replaced by delight.

His fingers wiggled within you, causing you to buck unwillingly in the throes of carnal stimulation. You gasped and whined at your body's betrayal. Lox pulled out his fingers and held your hips tight while aligning his cock with you and slamming into you with the perfect amount of force.

Your moan was captured by his lips as he kissed you again, biting your lower lip as he pulled away.

"I have wanted my knot in you for so long, you're gonna fit me like a glove~"

All you could manage was to grunt in defiance as you drooled dumbly. Lox began thrusting into you again and again. Each movement of his could only be described as perfection. He rolled his hips and plunged in deeply with slow strokes that steadily increased in pace.

It really didn't take long at all for Lox to feel your body throb around his large prick as you climaxed. If this had been a willing encounter, and if you also had not been fucked silly, you would have been embarrassed by how quickly Lox had made you orgasm.

The fox looked at you in awe, observing every detail of your face as you came. Your flushed face, the rise and fall of your chest as you panted, your eyes glazed and lost in sexual bliss.

"Wow, you finish even faster and more beautifully than you did while sleeping!"

Lox bit at your chest and up to your neck, delivering a harder bite there to mark you as his. You were so out of it that it didn't register in the way that it should have. What little pain there was Lox quickly dispersed with more magical healing and gentle kisses.

He continued pumping into you for well over an hour, eliciting enough moans, whimpers, shakes, and shudders from you until your voice was hoarse and your body limp.

And then, just when you thought you would die from all the overstimulation, Lox painted your walls white with a hot load of cum before his knot swelled and kept the two of you together.

"See? No one else can make you feel like this! And you take me just so well my beloved~"

When his knot finally went down he had to stop himself from diving back into you, the sight of you glistening with sweat and leaking his seed went straight to his cock. But he settled for just slipping it between your thighs and grinding into you while you sat on his lap in the bathtub.

Your comfort was the priority and you clearly needed special care after that mind shattering sex.

When you were all cleaned up, he carried you bridal style to his bed and bundled you up in soft blankets, he pressed a loving kiss to your cheek before going off to get you some food and water. Maybe something easy to get down. Perhaps some soup? Since you were still pretty dazed he wondered if you would let him feed you.

You were such a sweet fragile thing and would need to recover your energy for all the activities he had planned for the two of you.

[roturo]

⋆.˚⭒⋆.˚ WATCH IT!

Gojo Satoru didn't predicted this move... So he ended up fucking you lol ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ G!Satoru x afab!reader and sex pollen!

tags: smut, sex pollen, unprocteted sex (wrap it and pee after sex), overstimulation (like A LOT), use of nicknames (princess, baby, good boy, love...) multiple rounds, praise kink, angst if you squint your eyes till you cry like gojo, sub(ish)!gojo satoru, god complex, fluff if you take one eye out, crack, belly bulgde, creampie, breeding kink, crempie kink, A LOT of cum, dumbfication, cock warming, npr.

A/N: happy holidays! might be my last writing of the year so i wish you lots of love and happiness <3 i might write pt2 for this one and 'she's back', which one would you like first?

o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

DAY 1: HOW IT STARTED

How the fuck at his grown ass age Gojo Satoru could be this stupid. And that’s big coming from him, because this man considers himself the senior of seniors and god of gods. So, how come he falled into this?

And you know what? Maybe it is his fault! For believing he’s a superior and underestimating such a weak and useless curse he just killed. But, this weak and useless curse has him going crazy. That really was karma paying back to him because motherfucker- Why is he feeling all giddy and hot all of sudden? This has never happened to him before, so that’s why he’s losing his mind right now and almost sprinting into his room because of how bothered he was feeling to just teleport. 

Everything was like hell. Really, like hot as hell. And how does Satoru know that? Uh well, because he’s living it right now.

He couldn’t bear the sensation anymore and dialogue Shoko’s number like it was a habit.

“What do you want, Gojo? I’m in the middle of trying to know how Yuuji’s body is capable of being Sukuna’s vessel. Like- It’s quite important right now, and more than debating about some of your dumb tv shows you-”

Shoko’s voice was interrupted by a whine coming from Gojo’s line, seconds of silence continued the awkward moment between the both of them, while all Gojo could do was breathe and maintain his whines inside of his body before he started literally moaning.

“Are you okay, Gojo?...”

“Fuck, no. Some fucking curse sprayed me all over with some fucking stinky pollen. Didn’t even taste great, by the way. And now I'm just feeling really hot, sometimes dizzy… or kinda giddy? fuck. And my breathing became irregular. I’m fucking sprawled out in my bed trying to find a comfy position but my legs won’t cooperate.”

A loud laugh was heard coming from Shoko’s line. It was clear she’s been holding it all this time just trying to make sure she’s gettin it right.. and well. 

“Gojo.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you hard right now?”

Silence. 

“You know what? I’m sending Y/N over there with some medicine. You’ve been sprayed with sex pollen by the way.”

Sex- what?! 

Before he couldn’t even ask Shoko any question since she quickly hung up. Leaving a needy and confused (and hard) Gojo.

Knock. Knock. 

No answer, but a weird sounding moan? You gave yourself permission to enter Gojo’s room since no life signals were heard. But- holy fuck. Was this a reward or a punishment from the gods?

He was kneeled down on his bed, one of his hands used as a support placed in his bare calf while his other hand was as fast as possible jerking himself off. You stayed still some seconds before rewinding back to what Shoko told you before coming here.

“He might be another type… of… Gojo?... Anyways. He’ll be really needy and like a lost puppy looking for some salvation. I gave you this backpack with all you would need, yeah? Thank me later and good luck.”

So that’s why her flat ass was quickly sending you off with a backpack full of water bottles and snacks. Sex fucking pollen. Great.

It’s not like people don’t know that both of you have been crushing into each other lately, hell- even his newest student asked about this. But you never expected for it to be like this.

“G-Gojo…?”

Your voice was barely a whisper, but it’s like a hawk located his next prey because of how instant his reaction was just for your voice. A drunk smile on his face, while both of his hands fall infront of him trying to hide the act that was going on minutes ago. His sculptured white as snow body covered in a hot layer of sweat. Not being able to catch a breath thanks to this sight, somehow he’s in front of you. 

“Are you here to help me? Y/N?”

His voice sounded so different. But at the same time it was just Gojo.

A small nod was all the reaction he got. You could smell that sweaty smell, looking down you found yourself looking at a large wet spot staining his black briefs. While his cock does nothing to imagination, marking perfectly the shape of it. Moving your gaze to his v-line, a white happy trail proudly adorning it. Eyes moving up, you found yourself looking at his clearly erected nipples, But all this examination was over once he interrupted your thoughts.

“I need a verbal affirmation, princess”

Ah, the nicknames. If you weren’t wet by now, you’re pretty sure you’re leaking right now all because of him.

“Yes Satoru, I’ll help you.”

His knees felt weak. Literally. He kneeled down in front of you, it was like he hypnotized and somehow could smell through your body into emotions. His hands were cold but hot at the same time he roamed your body.

You tried warning him by calling his name while he started kissing the softness of your thighs, telling him to at least move you towards the bed. And his body was doing what you said like if you were controlling him, while his mind was somewhere else. He moved the both of you towards his bed, making you lie down. His head not wasting any second between your thighs until his nose touched where you needed him the most and you whimpered at the feeling. Clearly triggering a new kind of need inside Gojo.

Everything happened really fast. Between some kisses and moaning, Gojo ripped your shorts and pantoes a muffled noise coming out from him of what you suppose was “I’ll buy you new ones later” but right now you couldn’t care less.

Not when his tongue slowly started tracing the way from your entrance until it reached your core. Teasing it with kitten licks, while his hands remained on your hips from preventing moving them.

His tongue quickly found a rhythm between your entrance and your clit, forming infinite signs between them. And the simulation was too much you couldn’t notify Gojo about your orgasm- But he was so lost in the feeling of your thighs suffocating him and the taste of yourself in his lips, he swears he could die as a happy man right now.

And like it wasn’t enough, Gojo kept eating you out even after your intense orgasm. Overstimulation taking over your body, trying to take him off your core, ended up with annoyed groans coming out from him.

“Satoru, love, fuck. I need you to stop, please.”

The nickname had him exploding with happiness, he really looked like a puppy from this angle. His eyes looked ethereal, his mouth covered with your fluids and his face was with a cute smile while he called out your name.

“Will you please let me fuck you?”

A small giggle came out from your mouth, Gojo’s face looked a little sad and embarrassed, but was quickly erased when you pecked his lips. And that was all he needed to clumsily take off his briefs and while he climbed back to the bed, taking off your top while doing so. His eyes were full of adoration looking over your body, before he pressed his lips into yours, locking them for a long moment, clearly enjoying the moment, before the kiss turned more heated and he started kissing every part of your body again.

His tip was now wet thanks to your folds, Easily slipping through it. 

“Ffuck- Ssatoru- Be a good boy and put it in, please?”

Gojo needed no more words before thrusting his cock whole into you with one swift movement, hitting perfectly against that spongy spot that made you see stars. But something didn’t feel right. Not in a bad way. Since you re-opened your eyes to find a glassy eyed Satoru mumbling a lot of ´sorry’s´ while he kept thrusting.

Oh.

He came with just one thrust and was overstimulating himself, still rock hard with no break while he hid his face in the crook of your neck while marking it as his and tearing down from the pleasure. 

You’re pretty sure he came again, when he whimpered your name and moaned against your ear but still continued thrusting into you perfectly. And he was so lost in the pleasure of overstimulating himself he didn’t realize once he confessed to you.

“You’re so pretty- ffuck– I really want to make you mine now. So no one could look at you, not even in a friendly way. Just… have you all for me- sshit. I love you.”

You didn’t want to get your hopes up, thinking it was all because of the moment, so you just had to enjoy it for now. His thrusts were so  fast and hard, but somehow still felt romantic. Like this was a normal routine on a daily basis. And you would be disgusted by the pool of cum forming under the both of you if you weren’t so close to your third orgasm this night. No matter how many times you told Gojo to stop for a moment and take a break, he would cum again, and still be hard so he had to keep thrusting.

Your mind is lost now. All you could ever think about right now was Gojo Satoru and his immense cock. He wouldn’t stop mumbling praises to you, saying this was all for you to feel good and he would stop once you cum at least 3 times more than him. A hard dare to get over with. Or maybe it already happened?

You begged for mercy, not thinking he could get another orgasm out of you. Hell- to even get an orgasm out of him. His hands interweld into yours, and moved it down towards your tummy.

“Do you feel it, baby? I'm right here. Ahh~ I’m pretty sure my cum is there too heh. Your tummy is full of me and my cum.”

He sounded drunk. Like. Really drunk. But his words took off your last orgasm of the night, apparently your reaction making his trigger off and cum… dry?

How many fucking times did Gojo Satoru came inside you?

Will pills even prevent a pregnancy?

“Ah- shit baby.”

You couldn’t pay attention to him anymore, quickly slipping into dreamland. Gojo not once leaves your side. Literally. He was cock-warming, still hard, but no energy (and cum) to continue his misery.

You were here at 7.45 o’clock, one last look at the clock and it was 3.23 in the morning.

And it was like you just blinked, because a whimper came out of your mouth. Looking again into the clock, it was 10 AM, and Gojo was not over.

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane preference] reacting to their s/o wearing mobility aids

When I said I was prioritizing the illnesses I had, I didn’t expect the hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, but here we are. For those who don’t know what it is: it’s a genetic condition that affects the ligaments, making them longer and/or looser, which cause problems over time. In my case, it affects my legs, so I’ll write about those. As always, if you want to read more of my work, you can click on the coloured texts! here the Tumblr masterlist, and here are the first two chapters of Everytime it Rains.

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 |

Jayce:

He’s well-versed in what to do and not do, being around two people with a similar condition (though he’ll never call it a "disease" out loud for fear of making anyone uncomfortable).

His help is as subtle as possible: he’ll grab your backpack, shoulder bag, or anything else you’re carrying to keep you from overexerting yourself.

During walks, he’s the one who’ll suddenly mention it’s getting cold, too hot, or that he just remembered something, as soon as he senses you’re getting tired, assuming your fatigue is worse than his.

The first time you said, “I’ll pass, my knees are about to bend” he didn’t realize they bent backwards, and when he saw what that actually meant, he went pale.

He felt guilty about his reaction for at least a week.

Viktor:

Tell him something he doesn’t know.

He’s the one who’ll comment, “Where’s your brace?” if he sees you with bare legs and no aid, maybe tapping your foot lightly with his cane to emphasize his disapproval.

On the bad days—when fatigue, cold, or any external factor makes both of your legs useless—you end up helping each other out, spending most of the time on the couch with pillows under his knees and your legs draped over his.

If you have to do something alone while he’s busy, he’ll ask Jayce to accompany you, ensuring you don’t overdo it without realizing.

Ekko:

Honestly, he couldn’t care less. I mean, it’s not a big problem for him

The first time he saw your knees bend weirdly and too much, he just said, “Ouch.”

Other than that, there are hoverboards! If your legs stop cooperating at some point in the day, he’ll just have you balance seated on the hoverboard, saying it’s a gentleman’s duty to escort such an attractive lad/lady around.

He doesn’t ask what you want or need; he just does it, whether it’s bringing you food or removing your knee brace to let your skin breathe.

If he’s going to be away from the house for a while, he leaves a few things ready for you, like water bottles, so you don’t have to strain yourself carrying them up the stairs on your own.

When he sees you’re worn out, he’ll ask if you want a massage, using some body butter to improve circulation, relieve stress, and keep your skin elastic.

Vander:

His first instinct would be to carry you, but since that’s sweet yet sometimes awkward, you both agree that at night ‘it’s a man’s right to carry his wife/husband to bed, disability or not’.

He doesn’t know exactly how to help, so aside from asking if you need anything—like grabbing your aids, bringing them to you, or helping you put them on—he won’t push, knowing you’ll ask for help if you need it.

If you need to go upstairs, he’ll always walk behind you so that if your knees give out, he can catch you and avoid disaster.

At least two rectangular pillows appear in every useful room so you can place them under your knees. The problem is that you forget about them most of the time, so they’re not much help—at least until he comes along, lifts your legs, and places them in a more comfortable position.

"My legs hurt."

"Oh no, I’m sorry, I’m afraid we’ll have to cut them off," he jokes with a mock-serious expression, bursting into laughter when you swat at him in response.

Silco (old man):

Some things you could do on your own but feel more intimate when done together. That’s why you often trot into his office with the fabric sleeve and brace in hand, handing them to him, and he gives you his shimmer syringe in return.

There’s no specific reason beyond the mental closeness and vulnerability of the act.

“Too tight?” will always be his question, even though he knows by now how to adjust it perfectly and doesn’t need to ask.

When you’re together, he’s the one to carefully remove it, stroking your leg while lost in thought.

He never sends anyone to assist you; instead, he asks if you think it would be better to have someone accompany you, making sure you reassure him if you insist you can manage alone.

Silco (Young Man):

Zaun isn’t exactly suitable for crutches or unsteady footing, so as soon as you let him know about your condition, he feels even more compelled to improve the city (or at the very least, smooth out the streets).

He’ll ask questions—few but direct—to understand what it is and how he should act.

If you drop something, he’ll be quick but subtle about picking it up and putting it somewhere easier for you to reach.

“Do you want to go home?” is the question he’ll ask you most often, even if it’s just with a look, despite you explaining multiple times that you’ll let him know if you can’t keep going.

But he knows you push yourself beyond your limits, so he worries.

At night, he’s made it a small ritual to massage your legs when you stretch them out in bed, and it actually helps relieve the tension.

Jinx:

“I can make you a mechanical one.”

When you explain what the condition is and that you don’t need a replacement leg but help for the ones you have, she starts carrying around a notebook, taking notes on the “flaws” of your aid to make you a custom version better suited to your daily life and body.

“I’ll do it!” is her go-to response for anything you need to do that she thinks takes too much effort. She doesn’t even ask; she just throws herself into it with so much enthusiasm it becomes amusing after a while.

You don’t have many intact knee braces or aids left, because according to her, they were “boring,” and she’s customized them—though they still work pretty well.

Even if she won’t admit it, she’s become even more protective of you. For example, if someone bumps into you in the street, she’s ready to jump to your defense immediately.

Vi:

She doesn’t really know how to react or respond because of how versatile the condition is. How does she figure out which days your legs won’t work and which ones they will? Or when they’ll start hurting before it’s too late?

You two agree on a small code: you tap her hand or shoulder three times rhythmically when you start to feel fatigued so that if you’re in public or with company, you don’t have to announce it to everyone if you don’t want to. She’ll immediately understand.

She’s a little scared of doing the wrong thing. She doesn’t know how to handle it and, even though she tries not to, she starts to perceive you as more fragile, moving with a fear of accidentally hurting you.

But she learns over time. She’ll simply ask more often if you need anything when she’s going to the kitchen or the store.

And when you’re cuddling, she’ll pull your legs onto hers.

Caitlyn:

She asks you to explain the condition to her—what you can and can’t do and how she can help.

She’s the ultimate advocate for your aid.

If you skip wearing it one morning because you don’t feel like it or the pain hasn’t started yet, you can bet she’ll notice and say something.

Sure, it can be a bit annoying, but considering it’s a degenerative condition, you know she’s right, so you can’t really get mad at her.

If you’re just not in the mood, she’ll put it on for you herself, with such care that you start to wonder if there’s an instruction manual she got that you didn’t.

Beyond that, she’s not overbearing. She trusts that you’ll communicate when you don’t feel like doing something, and she doesn’t presume to know your limits better than you do.

Mel:

It’s not too much of a problem, considering most of your activities together don’t involve much walking or moving due to her work.

That doesn’t stop her from taking an interest, though. At least once a week, she’ll ask you how your legs are

If they hurt, if you need different support or more comfortable shoes, or if you just need a footrest or a cushion—she’s ready and ensures everything you might need is on hand. If she can’t get it herself, she’ll send someone.

During dinners, she privately asks whoever is in charge of arranging things to provide you with a footrest and an extra cushion on your chair. If you tell her it’s unnecessary, her response will be, “Can’t I spoil my partner a little?”

She knows you’ll let her know if you’re having issues, but she takes all the necessary precautions to ensure no problems arise in the first place.

Sevika:

Again, tell her something she doesn’t know.

The difference between your legs and her arm—besides the fact that yours are still intact—is that they require less messy and time-consuming maintenance than hers. So not only does she not mind helping, but she hardly even notices.

She won’t ask if you need anything unless you say so or show explicit signs of struggling. It’s a deliberate choice to avoid making you feel like she thinks you’re not independent or capable.

On the couch or in bed, she’ll have you rest your legs on hers and prop you up with cushions behind your back, making sure you’re fully supported.

[seresinhangmanjake]

His

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: You used to be a Lady, a daughter of a Great House until Feyd took you. Since then, your sole purpose has been to warm his bed, but when Rabban asks about having you for himself, Feyd makes a choice that changes your future.

Words: 2600

Notes: Possessiveness. Grumpy Feyd. I know it's similar to another one of my fics, but I realized that after the fact, so...

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You didn’t sleep. Not a wink. You laid in his bed all night, waiting for the man who never came, and your heart didn’t cease its ferocious beats for a second. Where is he? Why isn’t he here? Is he ok? What happened? The sun rises without answers to those questions. 

You shoot up in bed when the door eases open. Expecting to find him, you’re disappointed to see instead his harpies enter one after the other. They don’t look at you. One goes about riffling through your dresses in the closet, one heads into the bathroom and you suddenly hear a rush of water filling the tub, and the last of them goes to the vanity Feyd brought in for you, lining up makeup and hair pins that she intends to use on you. 

The air about them is poised—an echo of who they used to be before they were turned into pets—as, for the moment, their vile, more carnivorous side lies dormant. 

Feyd only allows them to near you a couple hours after they’ve been fed; the peak time between their hunger sated and their bellies rumbling. At any other time, your uniquely foreign scent wafts to their nostrils and they are incapable of holding themselves back. More than a handful of instances—when they’ve managed to manipulate the guards to open their cages with their seductive smiles—they’ve gone on the hunt for you; one time in particular, sneaking into the bedroom in the middle of the night and yanking you from Feyd’s arms with the intention of sinking their teeth into your flesh. Feyd had been so furious he’d cut a finger from each of their hands. 

Still, they don’t scare you. You see in them women not entirely unlike yourself: owned, and therefore, changed. Soft are the women who have had the luxury of marriage and child-rearing in the comforts of wealth and beautiful homes—and good for them; how lovely to be soft—but it is the women who have not a choice in their existence that develop a steel shell. And you and the harpies have steel shells. In that way, they are your kin, and you try to subtly express that when you can, even though their allegiance to Feyd can make that quite difficult.

“Where is he?” you ask. 

They ignore you, continuing with their tasks, and you huff. Yes, sometimes they refuse to speak with you, and always it seems when you need their words most. In the past, you’ve been tempted to dangle your arm in front of their sharpened fangs in the hope that the offering will encourage their cooperation, but you’ve yet to find the bravery for that. Plus, Feyd would lose his mind. Well, he would lose the rest of it. 

“You’ve spoken to me before,” you continue. “Why not now?”

One of them stops and faces you. She glances at her sister who shakes her head. 

“Tell me,” you plead. 

“We are not permitted to speak with you on the matter,” the other says to your frustration. That is not good enough. Regardless of how he sees you and how you feel, he is the one thing keeping you alive on this lifeless planet and you refuse to go about your days worrying over his safety and what his disappearance means for your fate.

You throw the sheets off your legs and stand. 

“I don’t care,” you spit as your silky nightgown falls at your ankles, but then you reconsider your tone. The harpies do not do well with aggression. Being so animalistic, their instincts are easily drawn out, and they tend to attack when attacked, which is not a fight you would win. 

You take a calming breath, placing a hand over your heart. “We are the same. He owns us, he clothes us, he feeds us,” you remind them. “On this planet, I am as much your sister as you are each other’s. We all care about him in a way and if I knew what happened to him, I would have the decency to tell you.”

The harpy who drew your bath returns to the bedroom. Having overheard your words, she crosses her arms and says, “With respect, my Lady, we are not your sisters,” she says. “We have never had him the way you have, and he does not feel for us the way he does you.” 

Your clenched jaw loosens, lips parting. If you had assumed anything about the relationship between Feyd-Rautha and his harpies, it was that they had once been where you are; that when you came along, they lost their rank and became something alike the handmaids from your home world. You’d assumed that when they warmed his bed, their handmaids were the women who entertained him before them, and so on like a disgusting, perverted pattern. But if that is not the case, then your sense of identity is even more confused. Not to mention, nary a soul has referred to you as ‘Lady’ since you were taken from your family. So why show that respect now when Feyd practically stripped you of the title months ago? 

You look to the only one of the three who seems unsure of the situation. She’s biting her lip, worrying the fabric of your unworn gown between her fingers. 

“What about you?” you ask her and her head lifts to meet your eyes. She’s the smallest of them—pixie-esque, like you read in fairytale stories as a child—and despite the core of their primal nature, the gentlest. “You want to tell me.”

The harpy by your vanity hisses, but the gentle one does not shy away at the warning. “She has been kind to us,” she tells her sister in the most self-assured tone you’ve ever heard leave her mouth. 

The sister snaps back. “He instructed us to do one thing: get her ready for the day and act like nothing is wrong. It was not to tell her what happened.”

You lightly gasp. “So something has happened,” you state, feeling your heartbeat quicken. Your chest begins to rise and fall to match the rapid rate. “Is he ok?”

There are a few seconds of silent pause before Pixie stands a little straighter, setting her shoulders in a strong line. “Our Lord na-Baron was answering for the death of his brother.”

Your head jerks back. “Rabban?” you question, your brow pinching. “Rabban is dead?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“And Feyd is the one who killed him?” That doesn’t make any sense. While Feyd has complained enough for you to know Rabban is a bumbling idiot, he eventually found a way for his brother to serve a purpose. Why would he kill a man when he is no longer the nuisance he once was, you wonder, so you ask, “Why?”

“The Lord Rabban…made suggestions,” Pixie tells you. One of the harpies groans as the other shakes her head.

“What suggestions?”

She bites down and swallows hard, then she says, “He suggested that the na-Baron share you for his own pleasure.”

Instantly, you’re hit with a wave of nausea. Share? Share you? The concept of a foreign woman hopping between men of status is not unusual, but at this point, you assumed if Feyd were going to participate in something like that, he would have sent you off already. Not doing so didn’t even surprise you. He’s too possessive. 

“You said he was answering for Rabban’s death,” you say, but answering for that surely wouldn’t have taken so many hours, not when the Baron saw Rabban as a waste of space. “So where is he now?”

—

He doesn’t notice when you step into the training room and you’re thankful for that. You came on a mission to extract more answers out of him, but you don’t mind having a second to admire him sparing against his trainer. 

He’s sweaty. You like him sweaty—sweaty and bare-chested and perfectly, effortlessly mesmerizing as aggressive grunts leave his lips. You silently watch their violent dance, your form mouse-like by the door until his trainer looks up and halts to stare at you. Feyd whips around to follow his line of sight, then he sighs and turns back to the smaller man. He mutters something as he grabs the rag at his belt and runs it down his face. 

The trainer leaves and Feyd places his knife back on the table among many others. “I told them to keep you away today,” he says dully, monotone, not meeting your eyes as he runs his finger over the blade and fiddles with the hilt. “Incompetent brats.” 

“You didn’t come to bed.”

“I was busy,” he responds without letting a beat pass. He continues to avoid your stare and mess with the knives as if he’s never wielded them before.

You slowly step down the stairs into the pit of the room. “Busy killing your brother?” you ask. The muscles in his back twitch and flex under pale skin as he grips the hilt harder. 

“That is none of your concern.” The distance between you lessens until you’re a foot from his back, but he doesn’t turn around. 

“Even though you killed him because of me?” you ask. His neck ticks and his head tilts and shifts to adjust to the tension. When he still doesn’t respond, you try another angle. “Why are your harpies referring to me as their ‘Lady’?”

That seems to do it. Feyd faces you, crosses his arms, and leans his lower back against the table. “You think spending one night without me gives you permission to be nosy?”

You don’t give in to his method of shutting you up by aiming to make you feel silly and guilty. Instead, your eyes narrow and you mirror the crossing of arms. “Why am I a Lady again?”   

“You just are.”  

“Are you sending me home?”

His eyes flash. Blue irises darken a shade. “Don’t be stupid.”

“So I’m a Lady on Giedi Prime?” you ask, dropping your chin to emphasize how ridiculous that sounds. 

The edge of Feyd’s jaw sharpens as he clenches his back teeth. “Stop asking questions.”

“Then answer one,” you say. 

It’s a shot taken by an untrained hand, as he doesn’t enjoy demands, especially not from you, but you figure you have nothing to lose in the attempt, so you don’t cower under his menacing glare. You wait. And much to your surprise, he surrenders. 

He blinks, and when his eyes open, they have softened ever so slightly. Then he says, “You’re marrying me,” and everything from your lungs to your limbs freezes in shock. 

“W–What?” you stutter. That makes less sense than Rabban’s sudden death. 

Feyd groans and stands straight, his arms falling at his sides. “See what being nosy gets you?” he snaps. “I wasn’t going to tell you immediately, and you had to go and ruin it.”

He grabs a fresh knife and stomps his way over to a dummy, ready to attack something other than you for the insecurity that he can’t completely contain. You’ve never witnessed him insecure, but you know the feeling when you see it—the defense mechanism, the distancing himself, the grumbly attitude. 

“I’m not sure I understand,” you press as he slashes and stabs at the soulless victim. “I’m marrying you because you killed your brother for wanting to fuck me?”

With a grunt, the dummy’s head severs from its torso and flies off in your direction. It rolls and rolls and stops just before hitting your feet. The dead eyes stare up at you in silent amusement. Now you’ve done it, they mock.

“I don’t ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again, do you understand me?” Feyd growls.

Your eyes shoot to his. “The marrying you part or The your brother fucking me part?”

He tosses the knife aside. It clatters against the ground as he closes in on you. His hand wraps around your neck. “Don't test me,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “I will sew your damn lips shut if I have to.”

An empty threat if you’ve ever heard one. He would never harm you, but even if he were going to try, his fingers would need to be squeezing much tighter.

You roll your eyes. “Well then how am I going to suck your cock?”

Something about the tease stuns him. His tense features immediately settle and his whole body eases with his exhale. Glancing at your lips, he licks his own, and you think he might decide to kiss you—after all, it’s been a good twenty-four hours since the last one—but he doesn’t.

You snort. “Didn’t think that one through, did you.”

Long fingers unwrap from around your neck. “You’re not funny,” he mumbles with an odd sense of shame.

“If you don’t find me entertaining, can you maybe take the time to explain all of this better?”   

Feyd considers keeping his mouth shut. You know him well enough to know that. However, it’s ridiculous to contemplate since he’s already spilled the bigger news. Nothing could be more shocking than you, after the bed-warming position you’ve held for months, becoming his wife. 

“My uncle was going to take you away from me for killing Rabban,” he finally says. “So I told him I've had plans to marry you for the alliance and that's why I refused to share you. Rabban wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he had to die.”

Raising a brow, you say, “The Baron accepted that explanation? My House may be one of the Greats, but we do not offer much for Giedi Prime.”

Feyd shrugs. “My uncle enjoys anything that causes upset. Marrying me means we will always own something very valuable to your family.”

It would likely offend another, but you don’t mind being owned. While the Baron may believe the Harkonnens as a whole will own you, you belong to Feyd and Feyd alone. He’ll never allow anyone to hurt you and now he’ll never have to fight or argue with anyone to stake his claim, which works for you just fine, to say the very least. 

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

Your head tilts as you smile. “Caring enough to protect me.”

“Don't flatter yourself,” he says. “I didn't do it for you, I did it for my own benefit.”

Your sweet smile morphs into a smirk. “The benefit being that you get to keep me all to yourself…for the rest of your life.”

With a scoff, Feyd rolls his eyes and crosses his arms again. “Whatever.”

“Feyd…” you sigh, leaning into him.

“What?” he returns in his snarky tone as if he doesn’t want you near, but he doesn’t step out of the bubble of your space.

“I'm happy.”

A pink tinge sneaks onto his pale skin, and he quickly looks away. And before he has a chance to come up with some witty remark to smack you with, you grab his face and press your lips to his. 

You hold on to him until he starts to kiss you back, and then he's reaching for you, pulling you close, wrapping his arms around you, and you know you won't be going anywhere for a good long while.

[vivwritesfics]

Series masterlist

You had never given him your address, so dinner was forgotten about. You never brought it up again, and neither did Oscar.

Until you were sitting at the vanity in your childhood bedroom, amelia watching as you got ready for the day. "Mama," whe began, the bench beneath you moving every time she swung her legs. "When is Oscar coming over for dinner?"

You stopped with your makeup the second the memories of asking him came flooding back. "I don't know, 'melia," you answered honestly, putting your foundation down. "But we'll ask him today."

Your daughter was a wild child. You couldn't control her. The second Oscsr entered your line of sight in the park, wearing his workout gear, Amelia ran towards him. Still holding Coopers pram, you couldn't catch up with her.

But you didn't need to worry. Oscar hugged her and held her hand, walking her back towards you. "My mummy wants to know if you can come to ours for dinner," she said.

No, Amelia was meant to ask, not ask for you. But that was exactly what had happened. Your eyes were wide as you looked at Oscar. He matched your expression.

But then he crouched down, meeting Amelia's height. "I'd love to, 'melia," he said and held out his hand, high fiving her.

***

It hadn't been easy to convince your mother and brother to leave for the night. With embarrassment written on your face, you confessed that you were having someone over for dinner.

A friend, just a friend. Yes, the friend that you, Cooper and Amelia met at the park. No, it's not something romantic. Yes you will kick him out before 10pm so they can come back.

Your brother was laughing at you as he and your mother left the apartment.

Getting all three of you AND the apartment ready was no easy task. You got amelia dressed, sparkly shoes and cute little bow in her hair. You put Cooper down to sleep and left his baby monitor on the kitchen counter, listening for him.

The ingredients for dinner were left out on the side, a bottle of white wine accompanying it.

Just before seven, there was a knock on the door. Amelia held your leg as you pulled the door open, revealing Oscar.

White shirt and jeans. It was a simple outfit, but it worked so damn well on him. You swallowed, holding back to inappropriate whistle you were ready to release and stepped aside to welcome him into your mother's apartment.

It was a little embarrassing. Single, with two kids, living in your mother's apartment. You didn't hide that fact from Oscar. It was the circumstances life had thrown that way, and you weren't going to let it hold you back.

Oscar sat at the table as Amelia showed him the crafts she had done at nursery. "And at Christmas we can make decorations! I wanna make something to put on grandma's tree!"

Oscar grinned as he looked at her paintings. "Would you make something for my tree, 'melia?" He asked and she nodded.

"Yeah!"

You laughed at your place at the stove. Every time Oscar asked if he could help, you shook your head and sat him back down, fingers lingering on his chest for longer than you meant for them to.

You picked up the baby monitor and listened for any noise from Cooper. Nothing. Your baby was fast asleep.

Plating up the foot, you sat opposite Oscar. You talked between bites of food, learning more about each other. It was more details than you'd discussed in the park, more intimate details.

About his childhood. His dreams (although he kept it brief). His family life, living in Australia, going to school in England. It was all so interesting.

After dinner, you put Amelia to bed. She was reluctant, making you use the stern mum voice. Amelia huffed as she got into her pyjamas. But she hugged you and climbed into bed.

Grabbing your glass of wine, you led Oscar over to the couch. He sat beside you and placed his own glass on the coffee table.

Tucking your legs beneath you, you sipped your wine. Oscar swallowed and asked the question that had been playing on his mind. "What happened for you to be living with your mum?" He asked, adding a quiet 'if you don't mind me asking'.

Your mother didn't even know what happened. Your hand shook as you put the glass down, looking back towards the hallway, to the room Amelia was sleeping in (your oldest brothers room had becomes hers for when you stayed over. Perks of giving birth to the first grandchild).

"Amelia's dad was an asshole," you muttered, folding your arms over your chest. "He was sweet all the time I was pregnant with Amelia and Cooper, but things changed the moment I gave birth. The shouting and screaming, spending all of the money I had saved to take care of my kids while I was out of work-" You didn't go into details about the worst bits. "-I knew I had to get out of there. So, I came to stay with my mother."

For a moment, Oscar was quiet. "Yeah," he agreed. "Sounds like an asshole."

You released a weak laugh. "Thank you for agreeing to this," you whispered, moving slightly closer to him. "Amelia really likes you."

"Is she the only one?" He asked it so fast, you almost didn't hear it. But you moved closer, pressing your lips against his cheek. When you pulled away, his cheek was stained with lipstick. You moved to wipe it away, but Oscar caught your hand, stopping you.

***

It was just before ten when Charles Leclerc escorted his mother back to her apartment. "She's fine, mama," Charles said as he pushed his key into the lock and twisted it. "She's a big girl now."

He opened the door and let his mother walk in. The apartment was quiet, but that was to be expected. You had kicked your date out, as you agreed, and Cooper and Amelia were asleep.

The kitchen was a state, not yet cleaned up after dinner. Pascale blew out the candle on the table and walked forward.

A gasp left her lips as she walked into the living room.

There you were, lips pressed against your dates cheek. But she knew your date, as did Charles.

"Oscar?"

[solarpunkwarlock]

Ways to Live in Direct Opposition to Capitalism

I am by no means an expert in any of these things I’m gonna talk about, so keep that in mind! I am just making a compilation of things I know of that we can do to lessen the stranglehold the capitalist lifestyle has on us while enriching our lives, our surroundings, and the lives of others. Please add anything I miss or correct anything I may be getting wrong! Anyway here goes!

Use what you have, fix what’s you can, make what you can, accept from others, thrift what you can, and finally purchase as a last resort.

This is advice I have seen float around here a couple of times that can apply to a lot of things including clothing, furniture, food, and more besides. It’s meant to be done roughly in that order as it applies to what you’re wanting/needing/doing. It’s about preventing waste, promoting self-capability, having a heightened reliance on your community, and consciously rejecting the ingrained habit many of us have to just purchase things or services.

Here’s where you can read about growing an indoor garden!

Here’s where you can read about sewing things yourself!

Here’s an online site for giving and receiving items for free!

Here is where you can find a local Mutual Aid to get things from, learn skills from, give do, volunteer for, etc. (in the U.S.)

Be politically active! (from a U.S. perspective)

Vote for every election. Know your representatives and those who will be competing in the next election. Vote without ignorance and without falling for unfounded claims. While operating within the system that actively oppresses us will not bring about the future we want, it can serve as damage control (preventing worse candidates from taking office) and it can potentially create a national atmosphere more open to change.

Here’s a good article about getting more involved in the U.S. political process.

Here’s a site that will show you how to register to vote, when and where elections are held, and more!

Here’s good advice on finding protests in your city!

Here’s some readings on unionizing! It’s your legal right to unionize!

Here’s a more user friendly site for learning about unions!

Be active within your community!

Developing strong, motivated, capable, knowledgeable, and inclusive communities is the ultimate way to combat the relentless and bleak present and future. When you’ve worked on the things above and have gotten good at it (or even if you haven’t gotten good at it yet), start spreading what you know and what you can do with others!

Give your neighbors, coworkers, and friends some of the vegetables you’ve grown.

Invite your community members to volunteer events.

Talk to folks about how to vote, when you’re doing it, etc.

Take part in Mutual Aids to teach what you’ve learned or whatever you may be an expert in! Invite neighbors, friends, and coworkers when you take part in the Mutual Aid!

Accept your community. Take them for who and what they are. Discrimination is the enemy of cooperation. You have much more in common with everyone in your community than a single billionaire or corporation. We’re all passengers on this spaceship earth.

Do it one step at a time!

Obviously we can’t do all of these things at once. Do what you can when you can, and you’ll start to notice real change in your life!

Our online communities where we talk about our visions and hopes are fantastic, but they have little impact if we don’t actually get up and do the real work that change requires.

Want to be better, and keep hope for the future!

Harbor and nourish that desire to be a better person and to be the change you want to see in the world. You need to be hungry for a better future if you plan to make it through the rough times when everything feels pointless and without hope. Reach out to others when you’re down, and be someone others can lean on when their lives get hard.

That’s it! Please interact with this, spread it to others, and add your own thoughts and ideas! It’s important that we do the real work to get the change we crave!

[hwnglx]

pick a pile - what impression do people have of you?

i'm already back with another pac! let's see what impression people have of you, or what they think of you. breathe slowly, take your time and use your intuition to go with the pile that speaks to you the most. take what resonates, leave what doesn't. 𓆩♡𓆪

pile 1 ❥

hi lovely pile 1 person! you seem to have a harmonious and cooperative impression on people. they might think that you're good at matching yourself to others, good at compromising, just pleasant to be with. they enjoy being around you because you usually don't (at least not intentionally!) overpower people, and prefer not disturbing the peace. and although you don't always feel the need to put yourself above anyone; there still is a quiet sense of confidence within you. you do have quite a strong impression and presence. you're someone who's always seeking to find your very own inner calling, and might be much more self-focused than what meets the eye at first. you just have this nice balance between, not overstepping any lines, understanding the value of harmony between the people you're with (i do think you want to be liked by them!) but also being sure of what you yourself want and need in life, and what you have to do to get it. people might notice that in you. you can have an abundance of energy and passion for the things you feel enthusiastic about.

in addition to that, people seem to acknowledge you being a wise soul, who has gone through their fair share of cycles in life, including difficulties, and therefore has developed a more quiet but powerful inner strength.

they also might think of you as someone who does not shy away from actively speaking their mind once they feel strongly about something. it's giving this usually peaceful and balanced person, who'll transform into a much more direct and straightforward person once a subject is important to them. like you can talkkk, pile 1 person. i just keep hearing you talk haha.. i can see some people being quite surprised over how assertive you can actually be once your opinion is provoked. they might think that you have much more masculine, dominant and assertive energy than one would expect at first glance.

pile 2 ❥

hi lovely pile 2 person! you seem quite youthful in energy. maybe you're someone who always approaches life in a curious manner, always eager to learn and explore different aspects of life; which might be something others notice about you too. they think you're humble, usually more reserved, and very observant. like you have a good eye for things, notice the small details about people, and are always listening and in tune with the people around you. people might also see you as someone who, despite normally being quite grounded, stable and down to earth, does absolutely not shy away from defending themselves if someone manages to come at you. i personally wouldn't want to rub you the wrong way. it's giving “i'm usually nice and chill, laidback.. i just quietly watch everyone, but best believe if you provoke me, you will see a different side of me.” people might think of you as someone with a quick wit and fast-thinking, and a good speaker. like you might talk a lot once you start lmao. a person who's good at asserting their opinion in an impactful and strong manner.

they might also view you as someone who's quite knowledgable, and does have much more inner wisdom than one would expect from your potentially more youthful appearance or aura. it's like you're a young-looking person with a soul much older than what meets the eye. people might be impressed by the good advice you can give to them, and how capable you are of having deep and meaningful conversations about life. you might have a bit of a philosophical vein in you. yet there also is this freedom-loving and free-spirired side to you, where people might think that you usually just don't enjoy being restricted. they might see you as a person who prefers focusing on their own desires and wishes, and enjoys feeling like you aren't tied to anyone or anything in life. you also enjoy having fun, letting lose; not always taking life too seriously. people truly seem to notice this nice balance between youthful and lighthearted, but also mature and grown-up energy within you. i feel like you'd be a great friend to have, actually!

pile 3 ❥

hi lovely pile 3 person! you seem like such a sweetheart, my god. my heart kinda melted right here and there. are you an everybody's darling? i feel like you might have some significant water placements, considering the abundance of cups i got. or maybe you're just very emotional, do you cry easily? i feel like you might get sappy and sentimental about little things, like movies. people around you seem to genuinely enjoy your company, because you're just a joy to be with. you have this nice combination of, knowing how to have fun and enjoy a good time with groups of people, maybe you like going to parties sometimes, but also being excellent at creating special 1:1 connections to others.

they might see you as a person who's able to connect to the people around you in this profound, meaningful and deep manner, where they just feel understood, cared about and listened to when they're with you. when you love someone, you love them with your entire soul. you also might have very non-judgemental, nurturing and caring energy, which people around you appear to be very appreciative of. they also seem to think that you are very beautiful and in tune with your feminine qualities, you might enjoy taking care of the people you love and cherish. people might see you as someone pretty emotional and sensitive too, a kind-natured and loving person who wears their heart of gold on their sleeve. maybe you enjoy cooking, or doing something creatively. in addition, people might just think you're immensely charming (i feel like you might have a charming laugh or smile) and have this dreamy and lovely energy. people think that you're someone who loves the beautiful and aesthetic things in life, maybe you love the idea of love, and are quite a hopeless romantic at heart.

however, they might also notice that you can absolutely be more dominant at times, especially when it comes to your career, work or finances. they likely see you as quite reliable, someone who's stable and dependable when the situation calls for it, and values financial security and safety. someone who can definitely tap into their more “masculine” energy if they feel the need to. they might think that regardless of your usually emotional and soft-hearted nature, you have a strong sense of responsibility and put importance into making sure you stick by the things you say, and keep your promises.

pile 4 ❥

hi lovely pile 4 person! so, as soon as i drew the first card i did hear “pick me”, so maybe people see you as someone who can give off pick me energy. although i have to say, you might be a person who's quite misunderstood and unfairly perceived in some ways. a lot of people might have the impression that you're often overly eager to stand out, maybe a bit of an attention-seeker, though this might just come to you quite naturally. like.. it ain't your fault you're unique, jeez. ㅜ.ㅜ

you seem like an interesting, smart and clever person, who might have a melodic voice, and just speaks in this eloquent and intriguing way. you also might struggle with having a sensitive and emotional heart deep down. do you feel like people often come to you with a false prejudice set in place, and misjudge you for that reason? some people might not see you for the sweet and soft person you actually are. they might not approach you as comfortably, although you absolutely are a genuine sweetheart to the people you are close to and on good terms with. those people might recognise you for your at times youthful, dreamy and lovely energy.

you might give off the energy of a person who appears a little cold, but actually has a vast emotional inner world. some people might also view you as someone who can appear quite guarded and closed off, just because you've been through a lot and don't enjoy putting yourself into a vulnerable place anymore. it truly feels like you've been through a good amount of difficult times in your life, in which people saw you as an easy target and you received some undeserved attacks; which as a result, has made you more wary and careful around people. you might have your walls up a lot of the time, in order to protect that continuously impressionable heart of yours.

i kinda felt for this pile, so i just want to say; don't let anyone tell you you're something you're not! easier said than done but.. try to protect your inner softness, and don't allow people to turn you bitter. you seem to have a genuinely sweet interior, and the people who truly know you, seem very appreciative of it. so don't be swayed by the other people, embrace your true inner nature and try to accept and love yourself for who you are. i feel like you might get impacted by external opinions more than you'd like to admit, but 99% of those opinions are superficial and subjective, and not genuinely representative of your true qualities. stray strong, dear fighter <3

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Contained Monster Family (4)

Part One • Two •Three

“Now as we begin your examination, you cannot cut, snap, outwardly threaten, vocalize aggressively to the guards present. The same actions towards me will result in a 40 hours subject to forceful neutralization. So do you agree to the terms?”

The Werewolf sends a look at the shaking operator holding the gate 

He nods, standing on the authorized mark while the guards pour in before you

“Clear!”

You enter with the scientists trained to maintain the upkeep of the werewolf

Keeping their observations to themselves, you keep the werewolf’s attention

You figure you’d like being distracted while you were being poked and prodded at (not like that would ever happen to you though)

“So how’s your morning been Rod?”

“I’m doing much better than usual.”

“That’s good. Do you have any questions for me?”

“Is your Uncle blood-related to you?”

The question has you tilt your head to the side

Rod and Villar agreed that to release their human child from this evil facility they’d have to make you question everything

That way you’ll be more inclined to help them when they decide to leave

“He is. Are you curious because he’s so different then I?”

Rod fully planned to question you further specifically about your origin but a well almost perfectly+ timed deep extraction of hair had him wincing and the test being concluded

“Thanks for your cooperation Rod? You cool with the same thing next week?”

“In exchange for the time I get to spend with Villar?”

“Yes!”

“Can you…join us next time?”

You’re about to head out of the enclosure when you stop

“What do you need a mediator for you two?”

Rod doesn’t respond to your snark, just waiting intensely for your answer

Which you fully step out of the enclosure walking around to your usual window

“Sorry Rod but I’m no counselor and I’m strictly forbidden from speaking to more than one of our…’guests’ without an immediate threat of termination...on your end.”

Rod refused to show the despair that washed over him 

While he wasn’t known for all the decades he lived to let his mind imagine what could be his husband did

And when they last were able to communicate Villar had gushed about what it’d be like if they could both look down at you together again and somehow spark the memory of your childhood with them

Alas that didn’t seem possible unless either of them wanted to possibly get sniped by the real monster that they suspect was behind them losing you all those years ago

“Don’t look so upset. If it matters that much to you, I’ll look at the video recordings.”

Now that was something they could work with

[impish-baby]

You should totally have a yandere queen caregiver who’s is just obsessed with one of the servants!!!

by the way I love all your writing

Does the swallow dream of flying - platonic yandere queen x servant reader - 👑

(Trigger warnings: reader is hurt offscreen, queen helps them take a bath, threats/mentions of violence not towards reader)

Beatrice has struggled to bear children of her own, it is an unfortunate truth. Perhaps that's why she feels the need to be softer to the younger members of her staff, using them as surrogates for what she can not have. There is one servant in particular that always catches her eye. A bit ditzy, but that is forgivable, the effort and pride they obviously put into their work making up for it. She does not mean to coddle, but they help soothe the growing ache in her chest.

The sight of you sniffling in a pathetic heap on the floor is already enough to anger her, but the fact that you're clutching your reddened cheek only makes matters worse. Combined with the fact that your shirt is stained with hot tea, the queen would like nothing more to hang the perpetrator this instant but she has more immediate matters to tend to.

"You are aware that crying like a child won't help anything, correct?" Beatrice kneels, a firm frown on her face as she pinches your chin between her fingers, turning your head to the side. The handprint is apparent, marring the skin of your face. She'll do better than hang your aggressor, they won't have a hand to strike with at all first.

"Come," she commands, standing up to her full height after releasing you. "Let's get you cleaned up." Once you're back onto your feet, Beatrice is already leading you through the halls, your head bowed in shame. You must think you're in trouble, far from it, but she'll allow you to think so if it keeps you cooperative.

The maids know better than to speak up once they see the look on the queen's face, silently opening the door to her chambers as she marches through while you follow behind like a lost ducking. Her room is massive much larger than your measly quarters, and a stinging fear courses through you at the thought of it also being the king's room.

Beatrice pays no mind to the troubled look on your face however, ordering a maid to fetch you a change of clothes before ushering you into the bathroom. Once inside, she's already rolling up the sleeves of her dress and kneeling beside the tub, starting to run a steaming bath. Bubbles couldn't hurt either, she muses, you deserve to be pampered a little.

The sight of you awkwardly fidgeting in the corner makes her scoff, but she can not deny the fondness in her heart at the image. "Do you expect to bathe in your clothes?" That simple comment is enough to stir you into action, Beatrice having the decency to turn away as you get undressed and slip into the water. When she turns back around, she can't help but smile at the sight of you gingerly playing with the bubbles.

"We'll wash your hair first, alright?" The queen's voice is much softer than usual as she kneels down again, "Back towards me, darling." You comply easily enough, even with how tense you're sitting in the water. Poor thing, you act so much like a scared mouse afraid of a cat, if only you knew how much she adored you. Beatrice hums as she starts to shampoo your hair, scratching your scalp in an attempt for you to relax.

You didn't think her majesty could be so gentle, sure she's never been cruel to you, but that does not make her any less intimidating. She seems...perfectly relaxed at the moment. It's odd. You do not deserve such care, especially not from the queen herself, but you're not brave enough to ask for an explanation.

Your hair is soon rinsed, Beatrice placing her hand over your forehead so no soap runs into your eyes. Her gentle care, along with the warm water makes your already weary form long for rest, almost nodding off in the tub. 'How cute..' The queen coos to herself, resigning to quickly finish up the bath so you can sleep.

You're barely awake by the time she's grabbed a towel for you, clumsily stepping into it before she's wrapping the fluffy fabric around your body. She takes it upon herself to dry your hair as well, but at least let's you dress yourself, only helping button your shirt when it proves too difficult.

Her bed is softer than clouds, you're sure. It only takes seconds for you to drift off with your head in Beatrice's lap, not hearing the bedroom door creek open or the hushed conversation that follows soon after.

[oizysian]

26 // Spoils of war // The Queen’s Prize

Summary: The war is ended and the prize must be claimed.

Pairing: Princess!Wanda Maximoff x Queen!Fem!Reader

Warnings: semi dirty talk, talks of murder, sex

Word count: 940

Kinktober masterlist

“My Lady, the princess has been captured and the king is dead.”

“Good,” I said, sitting straight up on my throne. “Bring her to me.”

The long war was finally over. King Maximoff was dead and his daughter and his kingdom were my prize. I smirked to myself triumphantly, proud of my most recent, and most important victory.

My guards entered the throne room, practically dragging the bound princess along as they made their way to me. She didn’t struggle, but she wasn’t being cooperative either. They tossed her down at my feet in a heap, her soft sobs the only sound in the room.

“Lady Maximoff. It looks as if you and your fathers kingdom belong to me.” She raised her emerald eyes to look at me and I smiled. “Take her to my chambers. I want to claim my prize officially.”

“You monster!” She cried, making an attempt to stand but failing. “I’ll never belong to you.”

My smile never faltered, it just grew wider as they grabbed her again and dragged her out the double doors towards my private room.

I stood from the throne, watching her still form practically being carried down the hallway, her angry eyes burning holes into me until she was far out of view.

I knew I’d better not waste any time in following them up, as it would be rude to have my future wife waiting on me. I followed slowly, bracing myself and walking out regally as I made my way down the hall and up the long, spiral staircase. It gave me time to think.

I finally had the one thing I wanted more than anything else in the world; Lady Wanda Maximoff. Her father had denied my request to marry her and join our kingdoms together, so I took matters into my own hands.

I could hear her yelling as I reached the top of the stairs, guards waiting in front of the double doors that led to my room.

“You may go.” I told them and they nodded, taking their leave.

I took a moment before opening the door, walking in and looking around for my soon-to-be wife. There she sat, in front of the fireplace, her hands still tied behind her back but her legs free.

I approached her quietly and she gasped once she saw me, flames of rage burning in her eyes once our gazes met.

“Don’t come near me!”

I smiled, reaching around her and untying her hands. I leaned in close and whispered in her ear.

“They’re gone. I’ve sent them away.”

There was a beat before she wrapped her arms around my neck, hugging me tightly.

“Oh, I’m so happy!” I responded To her hug in full, wrapping my arms around her waist and holding against myself.

“Me too, my love. It’s a shame your father had to die though.”

“He forbade me from being with you. He had to die.”

I nodded, definitely agreeing with her. If only he hadn’t been so against his daughter marrying a woman, we would have joined forces.

She pressed her lips to my own, reaching up under my dress to remove my underwear.

“Eager?” I teased and she nodded.

“Very. It’s been months since I’ve seen you last. I need to touch you.”

I kissed her, moving us towards the bed. Her hands still moved and explored under my skirts, caressing all the contours of my body as I guided her. The backs of her knees hit the bed and she fell backward and I fell on top of her, both of us breaking out into soft giggles.

“I love you.” I stroked her face, smiling down at her happily.

“I love you too.”

I slid my hand underneath her, doing my best and struggling to undo the buttons on her dress. It needed to come off.

When I finally got the dress undone, she wriggled out of it and I threw it off to the side, leaving her bare before me.

“A princess with no undergarments? Obscene.”

“I knew what was going to happen today. I wanted to be ready for you.”

I kissed her again and again until we were both breathless, my hands trailing down her body to caress every inch of her, trying to memorize every contour, every freckle on her skin.

When I reached the apex of her thighs, she spread them eagerly and I buried my fingers in her tight wetness, moaning as she clenched around me.

“I missed feeling you like this.” I whispered softly against her neck, her hot breath hitting my ear as she panted with every thrust.

“I missed having you inside me.” She reached around and grabbed me by my shoulders, holding me close. “I feel so empty without you.”

She grunted as I fucked her, her walls fluttering around my fingers. She kissed and nibbled at my neck, causing my own wetness to seep through my panties.

“Cum for me, my love.” I cooed softly, wanting nothing more than for her to cum around my fingers again and again for the rest of our lives.

“Harder.” She whimpered and I moved my fingers faster, harder against her, her moans of pleasure becoming louder.

If any of the guards still lingered at the door, despite my order to leave, they would hear that I was claiming the princess as my own, fucking her until all she knew was my name.

She writhed beneath me as waves of pleasure overwhelmed her. I purposely allowed her to scream and moan as she came, wanting everyone to hear and to know that Princess Wanda Maximoff was mine.

[starfinss]

ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ — ʀᴏʀᴏɴᴏᴀ ᴢᴏʀᴏ

𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮: One Piece

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Roronoa Zoro + Reader

𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: NSFW 

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 7,375

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: He’d gotten jealous when some random idiot hit on you, and you realized you didn’t mind that jealousy. The frenzied make out session in that tiny closet was just the result of that realization.

You hadn’t spoken a word about the situation since that day. That was two weeks ago.

And then it happened again.

Storms were the worst.

You used to love them, before you became a pirate. You found contentment in listening to them; the musical sound of rain against the window, thunder growling overhead, lulling you to sleep. Peaceful. That’s what you thought of them. There was a certain kind of incomparable coziness that came with laying tucked into bed while a storm raged outside. You were inside, warm and dry, in your own little bubble of warmth.

But that was then, and this was now. 

You knew you were in trouble when the sky had been blood red that morning, indicating the coming storm. It was just like the old mariner’s rhyme said, though thanks to Nami, you now knew the science behind it. Something about how the red color came from high water content in the atmosphere. You couldn’t remember the exact words she’d said.

Science or no, storms spelled trouble for sailors of any kind, even the kind that engaged in certain illegal activities such as piracy. Life was easy when the water was calm and the weather cooperated. Storms were a complication, and this one was no exception.

The low visibility, torrential rain, and rough water forced the Merry to dock at a tiny island town you didn’t even catch the name of, with you and the other Straw Hats left to find a motel or some other form of lodgings, since the rocking of the ship was making it hard to even stand up straight, let alone fall asleep. 

And that led you to now. Drenched and miserable, and standing in the shabby lobby of the town’s motel. 

“A room for six, please.”

The clerk looked at your captain for a moment before speaking.

“For six, sir?”

Luffy whirled around, counting the group out on his fingers before facing the clerk again. 

“Yep,” he said, and even unable to see his face, you knew he was grinning. “Six. One bed should do.”

Nami looked at Luffy in askance, clearing her throat. 

“Sorry about him, he’s an idiot,” she said, “how about six individual rooms?”

“A waste of Berry,” Luffy countered, waving off the navigator, “just give us the biggest bed you have.”

Nami sighed, running her hand through her hair, which was plastered to her forehead with rainwater. Your own was no different.

“Luffy, there’s absolutely no way we can all fit in one bed,” Nami said, then turned to the clerk, “we’ll take six rooms, if you have them available.”

The clerk nodded, clearly pleased with Nami’s much more reasonable request, turning his back to the group to check a clipboard. 

“We have five available, miss,” he said, “four with singles, one with a double.”

A hush fell over the crew as you took in the information. You chewed your lip. This was fine. You could just share with Nami. You were both women, so it made sense that way. Plus, you knew she didn’t snore, so you’d get a comfortable night’s sleep. You were just about to say something about this when Luffy beat you to it. 

“Who wants to share with me?”

Nami didn’t even look at him. “Not happening.”

Luffy wilted. “Why not?”

“What do you mean ‘why not?’”

Luffy looked offended. “I’m great at sharing beds!”

You figured this was as good a time as any to bring your idea up. “Nami—”

“I’m not having this conversation,” Nami said, more to Luffy than you, “you guys figure it out. I need a shower.”

“Wait, Nami,” you tried again, but she was already turning away, disappearing down the hall after collecting a key from the clerk, leaving you dumbstruck. 

Usopp gave you a look of sympathy. You appreciated that, even if it didn’t fix anything.

“Let her go,” he said, “she’s the one who navigated us through the storm to this island. She deserves her own bed.”

He was right, but that didn’t remove you from the awkward spot you were in. Your wet clothing was starting to get cold, and you were beginning to shiver, so it was suddenly less important who you may end up sharing with. 

“I’m still okay with sharing,” Luffy said, oblivious to any awkwardness, “anyone?”

You chewed your lip. You didn’t want to share with Luffy, and no offense to Usopp, but you weren’t all that keen about sharing with him either. He was your friend and you cared for him, but being that close in proximity with him would just be awkward. Sanji was similar in that regard. 

And that left Zoro. 

Zoro was different. 

You weren’t entirely sure how to define your relationship with the swordsman. It didn’t start off as smooth sailing, for lack of better terms. From the moment you met, you were constantly bickering. He was just as hard headed as you were, resulting in anything from petty spats to full blown arguments. The unstoppable force meets the immovable object, though it was hard to tell just who was what in that regard. 

Then the ‘incident’ happened, and things got even more complicated.

You shook yourself from your thoughts. You were too tired to deal with stupid feelings and the way Zoro’s eyes were boring into the back of your head. He had to be thinking exactly the same thing as you, and the thought of that simultaneously pissed you off and made your stomach twist in confusing knots. 

“I’ll take one for the team,” you said, breaking yourself from your thoughts, “one of you shares with me. It’s up to you which one it is. I’m going to take a shower.”

Without another word, you grabbed the key to the room with the double from the clerk, stalking off down the hall.

You jammed the key into the keyhole, stepping inside the room after you reached the door. It was a small room, a little shabby, but clean enough. The bed was on the left wall, centered beneath a painting of either a whale or some kind of indistinct mythical creature, you were unable to tell. The wooden floor was covered with a well worn striped carpet. The far wall was mostly taken up by a lumpy-looking red sofa, as well as two windows, both rather small and covered by threadbare curtains the color of watered down mud. Everything in the room had a sort of well-used air to it. As you entered, you got rid of your boots, leaving them by the door to dry out. 

All you’d brought along was yourself and a small rucksack with a nightdress you’d grabbed from your things, as well as a fresh change of clothing for the morning. You were starting to smell like fish and brine, so you made your way to the incredibly cramped bathroom connected to the room, quickly peeling off your clothes. 

Your skin was cold as you turned on the water in the standing shower, and you shuddered as you stepped under it. Thank God for the hot water. You half-expected it to be cold, which wasn’t uncommon in backwater motels like this one.

There was a half-full bottle of shampoo, seemingly left over from the last guest, and you hesitated to use it, but you also didn’t want to go to bed smelling like the worst parts of the ocean, so you squeezed some into your palm, lathering it into your hair. 

You knew what you were doing. You knew exactly who would follow you into this room. You groaned inwardly, your forehead thudding against the tile wall of the shower. You blamed that stupid jammed door for all of this. You blamed the idiot at the bar who hit on you, and the alcohol, and everything that led up to you being trapped in a closet with Zoro while bounty hunters trashed the building looking for your crew. 

Because that stupid series of events were what made you realize you had feelings for Zoro. And now things were weird. 

Silence filled by bickering was left empty and awkward, and the way Zoro kept looking at you when he thought you couldn't see didn’t help at all. Neither did the way his hands would linger on your waist if he passed you, just a brush of his fingers, sending electric shocks up your spine. And neither did the way he’d rest a palm on your thigh when you sat beside him at the dinner table. Nami was the first to notice the shift, though it was Sanji who deduced that something had happened between the two of you when you were shut in that closet, not that you’d ever tell him what it was, despite all his prying.

And something had. 

You remembered the buzz of alcohol fading as you bickered aimlessly, pressed closer than comfortable as Zoro struggled with the door. You remembered the way you snapped, something about how confusing he was being, and then he was gathering you into his arms, crushing his lips against yours, and how he’d crowded you against the wall behind you soon after. You remembered how his hands felt, drifting down your body to grab at your hips, how his tongue tasted like the whiskey he’d been drinking before, and how just his touch alone made you feel like you were losing your mind.

He’d gotten jealous when some random idiot hit on you, and you realized you didn’t mind that jealousy. The frenzied make out session in that tiny closet was just the result of that realization.

You hadn’t spoken a word about the situation since that day. That was two weeks ago.

And then it happened again. 

That was one week ago. You’d been in the kitchen, fixing yourself a sandwich late at night when Zoro appeared with the same idea. It started with you trying to bring up the closet incident, and ended with you caged against the countertop by Zoro’s arms, his mouth hot against yours, your fingers in his hair. 

And that wasn’t spoken of, either. 

You wanted to talk to him about it. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. You’d tried to approach Zoro about it, only to either chicken out, or end up with even more questions. It was incredibly strange, not only because it was out of character for Zoro to beat around the bush, but also because he seemed just as awkward as you were about it all. 

Maybe this would force his hand, you supposed. Or maybe he’d ignore you, though that was unlikely for obvious reasons, and you’d end up spending the night in the same bed as Luffy or something.

Through the thrum of the running water, you heard the door to the main room open, then close again. You couldn’t hear anything else, however, and whoever had just entered didn’t bother to announce their presence, but you were already pretty sure you knew who it was. You took a breath before turning off the shower, wringing out your hair before stepping out.

You toweled yourself dry before finger combing your hair, making sure to get rid of any knots before putting on your underwear and pulling your nightgown on over your head. 

You opened the bathroom door, pausing briefly when you saw Zoro sitting on the bed, busy unlacing his boots. He turned to look at you when you entered, clearly intending to only spare a glance, but his gaze lingered, doing a full sweep of your body. You suddenly felt self-conscious, tugging the bottom of your nightgown down further.

You shook it off. This was fine. You had him alone now. He had no way of escaping the discussion that needed to happen. 

With a breath, you circled the bed, sitting down with your back to him.

“We need to talk,” you said, “no more avoiding it.”

Zoro said nothing. You heard a soft thud as he tossed his boots away, followed by the rustle of fabric. 

“Zoro,” you said, “I’m serious.”

“Can we do this another time?” He said, finally, and you sighed, annoyed.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t feel like it right now.”

You turned around to face him finally. He was standing now, and wearing less clothing than when he’d first entered the room. His shirt was gone, as was the haramaki he usually wore. The latter was laid out on the nightstand alongside his swords, the former clutched in one of his hands. You didn’t blame him for taking it off, it was surely soaked with rainwater, but him being shirtless really wasn’t helpful at the moment. Infuriatingly, you felt heat rising to your cheeks. 

“I don’t care,” you said, “you haven't ‘felt like it’ in two fucking weeks. We made out, Zoro. Twice. Plus… everything else. That happened. We can’t pretend it didn’t.”

“We did,” Zoro said, crossing to the bathroom. He left the door open as he wrung his shirt out into the sink, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

“There,” he said, “we talked about it. Are we done?”

You rose to your feet, arms crossed. “No. I need to know why. I need to know what that meant.”

Zoro turned to face you, leaning back against the sink basin. “What do you think it means?”

You tossed your hands up in frustration. “I don’t know. You kissed me. Both times.”

He shrugged, infuriatingly nonchalant, his face as impassive as always, though something about him was unmistakably smug. “I did.”

Zoro folded the shirt over the edge of the sink, moving to lean in the doorway. You cleared your throat, taking a step forward as well.

“Is that a problem?” He continued, eyes lifting at the corners in taunting mirth, “it didn’t seem like it at the time.”

“If it’s this easy to acknowledge it, why didn’t you talk about it at all? You got jealous, Zoro.”

Another shrug. Then a scoff, a near laugh, as he pushed off the doorframe to cross over to you. 

“I did,” he said, “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Don’t tell me you’d rather have been in that closet with that stupid drunk rather than me. Or that you’d rather be with someone else in that kitchen. Or, y’know. Everything else.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Of course not. Why would you even think that?”

A flash of mischief appeared in his dark eyes. “So you liked kissing me?”

You avoided his gaze, displeased with the way he’d taken control of the situation. “That isn’t the point. The point is—”

But you didn’t get to finish. Because before you could even finish being annoyed with him, Zoro was grabbing you by the shoulders, pressing his mouth to yours. It was a chaste, quick kiss, but it still left you speechless and reeling.

“And what about that one?”

You blinked, your thoughts a jumble of nonsense.  “Still not the point,” you managed, “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you, Zoro, this isn’t—”

Another kiss, deeper this time. You gasped in surprise, fighting back the urge to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Stupid, infuriating man, doing stupid, confusing things to you. You pressed your hand against his chest, pushing him gently, just to get a word in before he pulled you back in.

“Zoro,” you said, “what do you want?”

“You,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Fuck it. Fuck this, fuck him. This stupid moss-headed moron was messing with you, he had to be, and you could tell from the way he was smiling at you, crooked and devious, like the cat that got the cream. He liked seeing your confusion and uncertainty. He’d just been waiting for this, for you to snap. You stared at him furiously and wild-eyed before it was your turn to pull him in, your mouth colliding with his. 

Zoro’s hands rose to cup your cheeks, then shifted down to land on your waist, and you were moving, back colliding with the wall beside the bed. He tasted like whiskey again, which was puzzling since he hadn’t had any to drink that you knew of, though, knowing him, he probably had a flask stowed somewhere. 

It was almost a relief to kiss him, like a salve being applied to a burn, and you had to stop yourself from crying out as his hands drifted down to your hips, squeezing, his knee pressing at the close of your thighs. Zoro had been like a cat before, playing with his prey. Now he was going in for the kill. 

But two could play at that game. 

You slid your hands down from where they’d been folded behind his neck, flattening against his strong chest. Your fingers trailed down the defined muscle, pressing into the dips and curves of his abdominals, finally catching on the waistband of his trousers. Your thumb dipped into the ridge of muscle at his waist, nail scraping gently against the warm skin, and you felt him shudder, breath catching. 

His hand caught your wrist, with no particular strength, but enough to warn you of what you were getting yourself into. You responded by taking his lower lip between your teeth, tugging gently before linking your mouths together again. You knew what your were doing, and you knew what would happen if you riled him up more.

That did it. Zoro sighed against your mouth, a slow release of breath that seemed to display his rapidly fraying restraint, especially as you twisted your wrist free of his grip, fingers trailing up his sides, making him shiver. His grip on your hips tightened, the fabric of your nightgown bunching between his fingers, causing the garment to ride up, but you hardly cared, not when his knee was slotting itself between your thighs, pressing flush against your clothed cunt. 

The slow, easy grind made you gasp into Zoro’s mouth, hips twitching, but he was holding you down, firm against the wall, still an utterly infuriating tease, even now. You retaliated by palming him through his trousers, slow and deliberate, and he broke the kiss to look at you, breath heavy, gaze heated.

“You sure you wanna do that?” He warned, “you’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe I like getting burned,” you shot back, defiant.

Amusement danced in his dark eyes, his lip catching between his teeth as he fought a smile, and it was then that you noticed his face was flecked with countless freckles, a constellation across his cheeks. Absently, you wanted to kiss each and every one of them.

But the thought was ejected from your mind as he was kissing you again, tongue pressing into your mouth, and your fingers found his hair as he pulled your leg up to rest against his hip. Then his hand was between your thighs, broad palm against your clothed center, fingers pressing against the rapidly dampening fabric, dragging so slowly that it made you crazy, but his opposite hand was still holding you in place, unwavering, even as you squirmed in his hold.

Zoro’s fingers slid to your clit, pressing through the fabric of your panties, making you gasp into his mouth, the sound devolving into a low moan as he pressed again, rubbing in slow, lazy circles. He kissed you deeper, slower still, making you arch into him as his hand tightened its grip on your hip, pushing the fabric of your nightgown up higher, then sliding beneath to touch your bare skin. 

Fuck, the feel of his palm, rough and worn and calloused, against your flesh, it felt like perfection, and your body twisted as his fingers pressed against the bend of your waist, his touch like a simmering heat. 

“Touch me,” you blurted, muffled by his mouth, and he pulled back to look at you, amused.

“Aren’t I already doing that, doll?”

Your defiance was draining away more and more as the seconds ticked by, especially at the sound of his voice. It was a low, rough sound, husky and heated, and it made suffocating arousal shoot down your spine. It was almost embarrassing just how quickly he’d gotten you like this, only with his hands and stupid, smart mouth. 

“You know what I mean, jerk,” you shot back, but he simply chuckled, fingers sliding away from your clit to press at your entrance, pushing the fabric of your panties against your heated skin. 

You squirmed, but he held you still, his grip like iron on your body. You felt his breath against your skin, making you shudder, one hand gripping at his wrist, the one between your legs. His mouth brushed against the curve of your shoulder, dragging up the column of your throat, teeth grazing the spot just beneath your jaw, and you almost felt lightheaded. 

His fingers pressed against your panties again, aided well by the wetness that was soaking through the fabric, causing your body to jolt in his hold, back arching against the wall when his index finger circled your clit again. 

“Zoro,” you gasped, fighting for control, “please.”

“Please?” He rumbled, “‘please’ what?”

Your head fell back against the wall, eyes squeezing closed as he pressed down against your clit. Fuck, how were you already so wet? His mouth skated down your throat to your collarbone, teeth grazing your skin before you felt his tongue dart out, dipping lower, towards the top of your already low-cut nightgown.

“Just take them off,” you blurted, head swimming, “do it properly.”

Instead of doing what you said, he simply pushed the fabric aside, but before you could counter, his fingers were dragging along your cunt, teasing, and you let out a low whine. His mouth attached itself to your throat, teeth sinking into the tender flesh and making you cry out. His tongue smoothed over the spot he’d bitten before repeating the action. 

Slowly, his fingers sank inside of you, and your hands were grasping at his hair, making him groan against your skin, a sound that only riled you up further. He moved away from your throat to rest his forehead against yours, and when your eyes fluttered closed, he crooked his fingers inside of you, forcing a cry from your throat.

“Eyes on me,” he whispered, “don’t look away.”

A flush of arousal flooded your system at the request, and you realized how much of a struggle fulfilling it was as he began to move. His fingers were able to reach much deeper than your own were, not to mention that they were thicker. The slow, almost tortuous pace he’d adopted made the friction of his rough palm against your clit even sweeter. 

Gasping, breathless, your hands curled around his forearms as you clambered for any kind of purchase, anything to keep you anchored. Your eyes were still locked with his, leaving you unable to hide the flush on your cheeks, the desperation in your gaze. 

His eyes were growing wild. Famished and dark as midnight, his gaze slid down your body to what he was doing between your legs, and you watched in rapture as his lips parted, drawing a shuddering, stricken breath at the sight. You squeezed his arm, forcing him to look up at you.

“Don’t break your own rule,” you said, voice heated, and amusement flashed on his face.

“Minx,” he countered, palm grinding against your clit, and you let out a startled moan.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he rasped, “that’s what I wanna hear.”

You groaned, both in pleasure and in frustration. “Then go faster.”

He chuckled, full lips pulling into a roguish half smile. 

“Oh no,” he said, fingers curling inside of you, making your back arch, “I intend on taking my time with you. You have no idea what you do to me, do you? What you make me feel? I wanna savor this.”

His thumb moved to your clit, rubbing in slow circles, and you bit your lip to muffle your gasp of pleasure. This was embarrassing. You were so defiant before, but some pretty words and his stupid, pretty hands were enough to make all of that crumble.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t bite back. 

One of your hands slid down his chest again, fumbling with his belt before tugging it off. He was already hard, something evident through the fabric of his slacks, and when you pressed your palm against him, you got the pleasure of hearing him gasp.

You tugged at his button for a moment before it came unsnapped, then pulled down his zipper before reaching down past the fabric, palming him through his underwear. He shuddered under your touch, a muscle in his jaw tensing as you explored, breath coming out in a sharp burst when your thumb ran over his clothed tip. His eyes briefly flicked away from yours as you focused on that spot, rubbing in circles, making him grunt, and when you pressed down, ever so gently, he groaned.

“You’re making it hard to focus,” he said, and the way he was looking at you was almost predatory.

You looked at him through your lashes, causing his breath to hitch. “Good.”

Finally, you pushed his underwear down, tugging him free and catching him in your hand.

Fuck.

He was thick. Your fingers only barely met as you wrapped your hand around him, and his length was worth mentioning as well. Six and a half inches, you’d guess, maybe even seven. It was oddly pretty, too, with a pink flush. He was a good deal bigger than anything you’d been expecting, not that you thought about Zoro’s dick with any kind of frequency. 

You took him into your hand, rubbing at his leaking tip, smearing precum with your thumb, an action that made him groan. You stroked him slowly, just as slow as he was touching you, and you watched as he fought to keep his eyes on you, lashes fluttering. His jaw clenched, hips shifting towards your hand as you thumbed his tip, sliding your fingers down to rub the underside of him. 

Zoro’s breath left him in a burst, hips twitching forward, the hand on your waist tightening its grip to nearly bruising. His fingers curled inside of you, making your back arch, free hand flying to grab at the back of his head, tangling into his hair. Your eyes were still locked, and you wanted to kiss him so badly, but you wouldn’t be the one to break, not when he was still going so slowly it was driving you crazy.

So you sped up. You knew you’d catch hell for this, but you decided that whether or not you’d be able to walk tomorrow was a problem for then, when your thoughts weren’t blurry with arousal. 

You touched him in quick, even strokes, squeezing at the tip each time, and you got to listen to him growl, his hand slipping from your waist to press against the wall beside your head, fingers fanning out. You could tell from the quickness of his breaths that he was trying to keep control, and then he was speeding up, making you falter.

The curl of his long fingers as he pumped them in and out of you, creating a sound that should’ve embarrassed you, but really only aroused you more. Your brows pitched up, pressing together, because fuck, it almost burned after how slow he’d been going before, making you squirm, and his hand was grabbing at your wrist, pinning the hand that had been touching him to the wall. 

“Eyes on me, darling,” he hissed, voice heated, “you wanted faster? I’ll give you faster.”

You couldn’t help but moan as he pushed his fingers deeper, hitting all the right spots, mouth just grazing yours as you squirmed against the wall, bucking your hips against his hand. He was playing you like a damn instrument, thumb firm against your clit, and he rewarded you with deep thrusts of his fingers every time you cried out. You could feel your orgasm rapidly approaching, and your fingers knotted in Zoro’s hair, eyes half lidded, pleading. He groaned, low and rough, just at the sight of your stricken expression.

His hand left your wrist to run up your body, stopping on your clothed chest, and he pushed the fabric down below your breasts, causing the straps to slip down your shoulders. His palm pressed against a breast, and your breath shuddered. Your hips jumped when he gently squeezed, rubbing a thumb over one of your nipples. He caught the nipple between his fingers, pulling, rolling it between them, and the sensation shot straight down between your legs. 

You were close. It was almost maddening, how good it all felt, and you could hardly focus on anything but Zoro’s hand between your legs, and how you were grinding down into his touch, chasing your high. He let you do as you pleased, gaze downright famished as he watched your face twist in ecstasy. You let out a loud, desperate whine, a near sob as he pushed his fingers deeper, thumb on your clit, driving you into that desperate build that comes just before you tip over the edge.

“Zoro,” you managed, voice strained, “Zoro, please.”

He said nothing, only replying with a growl as he crushed his lips against yours, frenzied and hungry, and your nails dug into his scalp as he brought you to your end, sending you toppling over that edge and into oblivion. 

You saw spots as you came, and he broke the kiss to watch your face, gaze dark as your head knocked back against the wall, hips bucking wildly against his hand, because it was all you could do not to scream, one of your hands slamming over your mouth, teeth sinking into your palm. You were squeezing around his fingers, spasms wracking your body, his name on your tongue like a broken prayer. Zoro pulled your hand away from your mouth, diving in to kiss you, deep and passionate, his tongue tangling with yours, and you moaned into his mouth as he worked you through your climax and into the realm of overstimulation. 

You were halfway towards a second orgasm when he finally pulled away, and you slumped against the wall, boneless, breath uneven and heavy. Zoro’s mouth pressed against the side of your throat, trailing up to your ear.

“Think you can handle more?”

You smiled, still breathless, looking at him through your lashes. “Let me catch my breath.”

“Tired already?” He taunted.

You responded by pushing off the wall to drop your nightgown off your body, followed by your panties. Zoro’s eyes raked down your figure, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and then he was pulling you to him, mouth hot against yours. You could feel his bare cock pressed against your stomach, and his hands slid down your hips to your thighs, boosting you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

His mouth trailed down your throat, sucking hard enough to surely leave marks, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. You pressed your hips forward, grinding against him, and he moaned into your skin, his grip on your body growing tighter. He was growing impatient, you could tell. But so were you.

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” he husked, and you whined, pressing your hips against him once again.

“Then do it,” you said.

That was all it took. You were suddenly moving, tossed onto the bed, and you watched as Zoro slid his trousers down his legs before he was taking his place above you. His mouth was hot against you, and you wrapped your legs around his hips, growing more impatient by the second, something that didn’t go unnoticed.

“So needy,” he chuckled, lips brushing against your jaw, and you arched your back, shifting your body against him, making him hiss between his teeth.

“So cocky for someone who was telling me how bad he wanted to fuck me,” you countered, “are you all talk, then, demon?”

His eyes flashed, thrilled and amused, and you knew you were in for it, but not one part of you cared. In fact, you welcomed it. Obviously just as impatient as you were, he was prying your thighs farther apart, his body slotting between them.

You felt his tip at your entrance, pressing forward, and you propped yourself up on your elbows to watch as he pushed inside, and fuck, even just that was a stretch. Your head fell back, breath uneven. You felt Zoro’s mouth against your neck, and he was pushing forwards just a bit more, making you whine.

“Fuck,” you gasped, “fuck, you’re too big.”

“Relax,” he urged, voice rough, “it’s too fuckin’ tight, you gotta relax.”

You took a breath through your nose, fingers knotting into the duvet beneath your body. You took another breath as he sunk deeper, the stretch bordering on painful, but you could take it, even if it felt new and strange. 

Zoro’s face was flushed pleasantly pink, a sight that would be endearing in any other context, and you watched his teeth grit as he pushed forward again.

“You can take it,” he whispered, encouraging, “shit, relax, relax.”

You lifted your hips, allowing him to take hold of them, using them as leverage to push the rest of the way in, finally bottoming out.

“Fuck,” Zoro gasped, voice breathless and stricken, “fuck, that’s it, I knew you could take it— shit—”

His sentence was cut off by a loud groan, and you yanked him down into a kiss, appreciating how still he was being, despite his rapidly unraveling restraint, but you could hardly wait, even as your body protested at the unfamiliar feeling of being stuffed so full. You shifted your hips forward, your breath leaving your lungs in a sudden burst, and you heard Zoro groan in response.

“Move,” you gasped, “please.”

He gave a shallow little thrust, then another one, slightly deeper, and you felt his hands grip your waist as he pulled his hips back, only to thrust forward, filling you once more. 

You gave a choked, helpless moan as he thrust again, and fuck, you didn’t think you’d ever felt so full in your life. The stretch was rapidly making your thoughts turn to nonsense, head emptied out, and not one part of you cared at all.

Zoro adopted a pace that had you rocking back against the bed, head falling into the pillows, and he was dipping his head down to meet your mouth in a heavy kiss. His hands found your legs, pushing them up to wind around his waist, shifting his hips back to an angle that made your head spin. 

“Right there,” you slurred, “Zoro, Zoro, right there— so good.”

He gave a low, indulgent groan, his hands smoothing over your body, grabbing at your waist, tugging you flush against him before he was thrusting again, stuffing you full, forcing a sudden moan to fall from your lips. 

The room was filled with the sounds of skin on skin, mixed with your breathy, bitten-off moans and his soft grunts, and fuck, you didn’t know it would feel this good. It definitely wouldn’t be the last time this happened, not when it was more than evident that what you felt for Zoro was far from one-sided, and certainly not when it made you feel like this. 

Your nails dug into Zoro’s back as he fucked into you, and he gave a stronger thrust, breath shuddering. You watched a muscle in his jaw tense, twitching, eyes squeezing shut as you tightened around him. His head dipped to connect his mouth with the curve of your shoulder, dragging down to your chest, and his lips pressed against your nipple. His tongue passed over the sensitive flesh, making you arch into him, squirming, and his grip grew tighter.

“You don’t know how much I thought about this,” he breathed, hips rocking forward, “how many times I imagined fucking you in that closet. You’re so fucking gorgeous, with that smart-ass mouth. And you love this, don’t you? You’ve wanted this, too.”

You let out a shrill wine as he ground his hips against you, the base of his cock rubbing against your clit. Your hips lifted to meet his thrusts, making him groan, and he was holding you down, one hand on your lower stomach as he shifted back onto his knees, tugging your thighs around his hips. 

“I wanted this,” you slurred, back arching as he ground his hips against yours just right, “thought about it, too.”

Zoro’s hands tightened on your thighs, and you sobbed in bliss as he ground himself against you, the friction combined with the way he made sure to hit your clit with the base of his cock with every roll of his hips making it hard to even see straight. 

You tossed your head back, whimpering, and you weren’t going to last, not when he was doing everything he could to make you writhe. Each thrust left your head empty, breath heavy and rough.

“Harder,” you gasped, “c’mon, Zoro, give it to me.”

You felt his hands find the backs of your knees, lifting them to your sides to use as leverage as he pushed deeper with a heavy groan. His mouth met your throat, and then he was biting down, but the pain was nothing compared to the overwhelming pleasure, the two mixing into an intoxicating feeling. Deep, hard thrusts sent you into incoherency, and when one of his hands left your leg to press a thumb to your clit, you let out a whine of his name.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Zoro groaned, “you’re gettin’ close, yeah?”

You could do no more than nod as he took your body with abandon, your climax so close it was driving you insane. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers in his hair, and he groaned in your ear as you bucked up against him. You were totally drunk on pleasure, overwhelmed. He was the center of your world at that moment as he thrust deep into you, the rough pad of his thumb working you into madness.

You bit down on Zoro’s shoulder, sobbing in bliss as your orgasm hit you, washing over you like a tidal wave. His name was the only word on your tongue as he worked you through it, repeating it like unholy scripture until you could do no more than whimper in ecstasy, nails digging into his back. 

“Fuck— fuck!” You heard him cry, hips stuttering, “one more, do that again, I need to feel that again.”

And he was hiking one of your legs over his shoulder as his pace turned borderline punishing, leaving you helpless, unable to do anything other than lay there and take it, but you hardly had the wherewithal to even protest, not as he worked your over-sensitive body to its very limits. 

His nails dug into your thigh, a growl tearing from his throat as his thrusts grew erratic. Your head was empty, completely fucked out, thoughts filled only with jumbled thoughts of the man above you as he fucked you, deep and hard. You felt tears beading at your lash line as Zoro worked you towards yet another climax, and you yanked him down into a sloppy kiss in crazed desperation for as much contact as possible.

“Gonna cum,” you choked, “Zoro, fuck—”

“Do it,” he snarled, “fuck, do it, cum on my cock— yeah!”

You felt yourself gush on his dick, muffling your scream in the crook of his neck, vision spotty, and you knew you’d get addicted to this, addicted to him, but you knew neither of you cared at all about that fact, not when he was chanting your name, chasing his release as you squeezed around him in a vice grip. His pace was relentless, entirely indulgent, and you could feel him twitching inside of you.

“Wanna fill you,” he gasped, desperate, completely undone, “let me, will you let me?”

Unable to form words, you only nodded, yanking him down into another kiss as he thrust all the way in, stuffing you completely full, moaning into your mouth as he pulsed inside of you, his hands bruising in their grip on your body. Heat bloomed inside of you, making you whimper against his mouth, and you slowly rocked your hips to help him through the euphoria of it all, something that made blunt nails dig into your flesh.

Together, you lay panting, breathless and undone, tangled together. Zoro broke the kiss to bury his face in the crook of your neck, breathing erratically, and it was a few tense moments before he was slowly pulling out, rolling off of you to lay beside you.

“That can’t be a one time thing,” you said, after you found your voice, and Zoro huffed what may have been a laugh.

“Fuck no.”

A few beats of silence passed before the bed creaked, and another few passed before you felt a towel between your thighs, wiping you clean. Then, the blankets were being pulled back, and you were being tucked under them. Zoro climbed in shortly after, tugging you to lay against his body.

Silence passed some more, and you almost thought Zoro had fallen asleep before he spoke.

“You make me feel things I’m not used to,” he said.

You stole closer, curling into him, resting your head on his chest.

“How long have I done that?”

He pressed his nose into your hair. “Since I met you.”

You snorted. “Bullshit. You didn’t like me when we met.”

“I did,” he said, “I’m being serious. You’re gorgeous and strong, and you know it. You don’t back down. You made me feel things I’ve never felt before for anyone. I didn’t know how to handle that, so I acted like an idiot.”

You smirked. “Hell of a time to tell me that, after you fucked my brains out. You had a crush, so you acted like a little kid on the playground, is that it?”

A snort. “Yeah, pretty much. Never said I was proud of it.”

You laughed, enjoying the warmth of his body against yours.

“I feel the same,” you said, “when you kissed me in that closet, I realized it. You could’ve just asked me to get a drink, though.”

Zoro smiled. “Sure, I could’ve. But this was way more fun.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Teasing me relentlessly?”

“Yep. Do you have a problem with that?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, several. But I’ll pay you back for that in due time.”

“Give it your best shot. I look forward to it.”

Idle chatter continued for a little while before you began to doze off. You felt Zoro tug you closer as you fell asleep, and for once since you started sailing with the Straw Hats, you were actually thankful for storms.

And, as you felt Zoro’s lips press against the crown of your head, you were excited for the future.

“You had fun last night.”

You turned to look at Nami from your spot at the front railings of the Merry, eyes slowly growing wide.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure,” she said, “play that game. But maybe try a little harder to cover up the hickies next time you and Zoro… spend the night together.”

Shit.

“Nami, I’m sorry,” you relented, “it sort of just happened.”

She snickered. “Usopp told me he basically forbade anyone from taking the room with you after you left the lobby.”

You put your face in your hands, thoroughly embarrassed. “Usopp knows?”

“He isn’t stupid, anyone could’ve figured out what might happen. The hickies are just confirmation.”

“Confirmation for what?”

You bristled at the sound of Zoro’s voice, stiffening when he crossed the deck to reach you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. 

“You know what I’m talking about,” Nami said, and Zoro smirked, smugness radiating off of him in waves.

“Do I?”

She rolled her eyes. “Why else would she be walking funny?”

Zoro shrugged, nonchalant, still smug as ever. “I guess we’ll never know.”

And as he tugged you closer, nose pressing into your hair as Nami turned to walk away, you couldn't help but smile.

[jesncin]

The Portrayal of Noah Ikumelo's Disability in Spurrier's Hellblazer and Dead in America run

Noah Ikumelo is a divisive new character introduced in Si Spurrier's 2019-2020 Hellblazer 12 issue solo (illustrated by Aaron Campbell and Matias Bergara, colors by Jordie Bellaire), he continues appearing as a recurring character in Hellblazer Dead In America (2024, 11 issues) Spurrier's long awaited continuation of his original run. Introduced in the very first issue as a Black, mute (hearing, but unable to orally speak) teenager who predominantly uses BSL to communicate.

We'll be discussing how Noah's disability was portrayed, how effective it was narratively, and thoroughly analyze the limits and ableist biases comics have as a visual language. Spoilers for Spurrier's Hellblazer and Dead In America run below. CW for ableism, racism, SA, police brutality, and general violence.

Disclaimer!! I am an able-bodied person with only occasional interactions with the Deaf community and am still studying ASL in my own time. All of these observations are made from an outsider perspective. I feel that starting a critical discussion from any source of knowledge for other more informed perspectives to follow up on is better than having no discussion at all.

However! I can offer some valuable perspective as a ~classically/formally trained~ comic artist- because we'll be discussing some inherit biases with how comic artists are trained to illustrate communication in this visual medium. I'll also be talking about lettering, which I'm nitpicky about so if I'm an expert on anything, it's those things.

I won't be going through each issue in as much detail as these first few issues for the sake of set up, but I will stop every now and then to discuss the portrayal of some scenes.

Let's start with Noah's very first appearance in Hellblazer 2019 #1. Noah is introduced as one of the very young members of a gang called the Ri-Boys. He's tasked with kidnapping a magic specialist to help get rid of murderous angelic spirits in their local park that are getting in the way of their prime location for selling drugs. He kidnaps John Constantine, who is quickly informed that Noah is mute.

Noah doesn't sign at all in this first issue, opting instead to communicate with a little notebook tied around his neck.

Despite K-Mag's (the gang leader) justification for recruiting teenagers as a "refuge" from a world that hates them, he's not afraid to treat Noah as disposable. He opts to send Noah's able-bodied friend (named Isa) on an errand instead of Noah because they "don't need no tongueless splesh backin' on ops-" and threatening Noah's life in order to get John to cooperate. So narratively the set up is clear: even though this gang is meant to provide jobs for the marginalized, it's still a bigoted organization that doesn't treat Noah well.

After accompanying John to the park where the angelic spirits murder another junkie, Noah is so traumatized by what he witnesses that he throws up on his notebook- rendering it unusable. Issue #2 starts with Noah raving in BSL (the image at the very top of this essay) to his gang mates that ignore him. When John asks if anyone knows sign language, he gets no response. It's clear that Noah is an outsider even among the Ri-Boys. Regardless, by the end of the issue in the following day, Noah is back to using his notebook (I guess he got a new one).

So. The notebook. I'll be honest I hate the notebook. It's such a clunky thing for Noah to carry around his neck, and it's clearly a set up so that Noah throws up on it and can't communicate to people who don't know sign.

On personal experience alone, I've been able to communicate with deaf people through texts on a shared phone. We'd just pull up notepad and write to each other to bridge the language barrier. And (as I've been informed by @scoliwings!) if phones running out of batteries is the worry, there's also pocket-sized boogie boards as a handy means of communication. At the very least Noah canonically has a phone (he is texting John in the panel above), and the Ri-boys can afford an ipad that K-Mag uses. These boogie board devices are much more affordable than either of those items and far better than a notebook.

Throughout Spurrier's treatment of Noah's disability, there will continue to be a sense of "we haven't even exhausted basic options to bridge a language barrier yet-" and this one is the first instance of that.

[this is not how the panels look in the comic, I chopped and arranged the last panel to save up on tumblr blog image space]

To keep this essay focused on Noah's disability, by issue #3 after some plot stuff progresses, John reveals to Noah that he actually can understand BSL. It turns out he knows "a bit" of BSL from a relationship he had with a deaf man in the 90s. Regardless, throughout Spurrier's whole run, John is shown to understand Noah's signing fluently. You might be wondering why John kept this a secret. Was he withholding his understanding of BSL so he could "eavesdrop" on something Noah signs to his friends without knowing? Nope. This reveal had no narrative purpose; John gained nothing from hiding this from everyone and it retroactively makes earlier scenes weirder. John just decides to reveal this to Noah for no other reason than to be a jerk I guess?

Once John fixes the "murderous angels in the park" problem, he also convinces K-Mag to let go of Noah from the Ri-Boys gang so that Noah can live a more honest life going to school (we will never see this) and uh. Being John's new personal driver. John used to have a friend, Chas, who drove him around everywhere but with Chas gone now- Noah is narratively set up to take his place.

Eagle-eyed readers might notice something odd about the way the scene where John reveals to Noah that he understands BSL is staged: if John supposedly understands what Noah is signing, why is he walking away, yet responding to what Noah is signing behind him? Yeah. This is one of the most annoying artistic blunders throughout all of Spurrier's Hellblazer runs with Noah. Despite Noah being mute, other characters still act like they can "hear" him.

Sign language isn't a language you can passively listen to. When someone is signing, that means you have to be looking at their hands and facial expression in order to understand what they're communicating to you. A casual irl example- in art school us hearing students could draw in our sketchbooks as the teacher lectured. A deaf student we had that year had to clarify that was not something they were able to do. As whenever the lecturer spoke- that meant that student would have to look up to their interpreter translating the lecture. So they weren't able to catch up with the classwork the way us hearing students could.

You'll notice in the panels above, John is preoccupied and talking to someone on his phone. Yet he's "hearing" what Noah is signing to him. John self identifies as someone who knows "a bit" of BSL- meaning he's not fluent. But this doesn't go anywhere since John's functionally fluent throughout both runs. It's like having a character say they know "a bit" of French only to show them being fluent through the whole story. Why bother mentioning a language barrier if it wasn't going to matter?

In these panels, Noah is signing while facing to the side- as in he's not facing John directly as he's signing, which obscures his signs from being clearly read. This wouldn't be a problem for folks who are way more fluent with any sign language (they can recognize signs at many angles), but for newbies you'll usually have people signing with their torso directly facing the other person to be as clear as possible. And they'll sign a lot slower. Little nuances like that make it clear that no one on the Hellblazer creative team have conversed with deaf people before- but why would something so obvious not be considered in the artistic direction of this run?

Let's quickly go over comics visual storytelling and how comic artists are trained to tackle staging a "talking heads" scene. Scenes like this are when characters are having a long conversation, visually giving the scene a "samey" vibe. Our job as comic artists is to keep the visuals interesting, so there are a ton of tricks we're taught to vary up how a conversation looks. We'll have a character hold a prop, walk around, look away to something else, have characters multi-task as they talk (bonus if it's thematic to the conversation), basically outside of zooming in and out it's good to keep a character busy to give the scene visual variety. Anything to break out of that silhouette of two characters directly facing each other.

[these are not how the panels are presented in the comic, I spliced these panels from 2 different issues to save up space]

Therein lies the problem: these tricks rely on an able-bodied standard of communication in order to function. Having a character like Noah communicate in sign, relies on the character he's signing towards to be paying full attention. Tackling "talking heads" as a comic artist explains but doesn't excuse these horrendous instances where poor staging of the characters ends up accidentally implying Noah "has a voice" because the able-bodied characters sure seem to be able to "hear" him even though they're facing all sorts of directions. Again, this just means the artist and writer have to rise to the challenge of keeping the scenes visually interesting while being inclusive to the disabled character the writer introduced into this world.

While we're talking about comics, I'm just going to go ahead and say I'm not a fan of the letterer's choices to visualize Noah's dialogue. To differentiate from the other characters, Noah's speechbubble is more like a caption box- it's square and light green. Instead of a tail pointing out of it to indicate who is talking like a traditional speechbubble would, instead Noah's dialogue box has a long arrow coming out of it. The arrow pointing out is just so corny. It says: "look! here's where the words are coming from! His hands!! Whoaaa".

Moreover, the arrows ruin the visual flow of the comic pages. We humans are hard wired to look at where an arrow is pointing. It's what that symbol is designed for. It's why all those clickbait youtube thumbnails have arrows pointing on them, it steals your attention. The best kind of speechbubbles are unobtrusive to the art, complementing it. Having it so that whenever Noah has dialogue we get these annoying arrows that stick out of the page composition just ruins it. Here's what it looks like edited on other characters' speechbubbles. It's a lettering eyesore.

I see no reason why Noah can't have a speechbubble tail like everyone else. I personally like making the speecbubble tail a lil-squiggly when I'm drawing a speechbubble for a character signing. Differentiating the speechbubble enough but not to the point it's obtrusive to the page flow.

Additionally, Noah has "translation brackets" around his dialogue- it's a block of dialogue that starts with the "less than" symbol and ends with the "greater than" symbol to indicate a sentence being translated from another language.

<So you'll have a character's dialogue look like this in the speech bubble.> *

accompanied by a translation box clarifying that the dialogue is; [*translated from French, for example] in the first instance we see the language featured in the comic. Of course this isn't the only way to portray language in comics, sometimes letterers will go for using colored text to differentiate languages. There's no standard look! Noah's dialogue never featured an initial caption box that discloses what language he's signing in. I'm going to charitably presume that it's a stylistic move away from that practice so that the reader is put in the same confused position as John is upon first meeting Noah.

I don't personally have an issue with the application of translation brackets to Noah's dialogue. Because even though Noah is communicating in a type of English language (British Sign Language), what we're seeing written in the dialogue of the comic isn't a direct translation of what he's signing. Unless it's Sign Exact English, sign language has different sentence structure, grammar and syntax from spoken English. So if Noah signs something like "#BUS RED YOU SEE WILL", then that translates to him saying "You will see a red bus." in written dialogue. It's a translation of his signing, even if it's still English.

I don't think there's an indisputably correct way to portray sign language in comics. Something like this will go down to personal stylistic choice of the artist. Maybe one artist decides they don't want to put brackets on ASL dialogue because they'd rather use that to differentiate English language from non-English language. There's an argument to be made either way! So long as you commit to your set of rules, I can at least try to engage with where an artistic choice is coming from even if I disagree with how it's done.

Unfortunately, that's not the case for Dead in America:

It's in the very last issue of the run, but well. You forgot the translation brackets there, guys. Sloppy work.

To wrap up Noah's arc in Hellblazer 2019, Noah is revealed to be John Constantine's son. John had a graveyard fling with Liza Ikumelo, a police woman (barf), thereby insulting a demonic spirit (and by extension, me, the reader). Many years later the spirit hunts down the woman, cursing her to an eternal sleep. Her child, Noah, was nearby and by proxy lost his voice from the incident. So it's John Constantine's fault that Noah's mute, and that Noah's mom is in a coma. Hellblazer 2019 ends with John feeling an immense guilt for forcing Noah to kill a friend, meaning they now have to flee the country. John doesn't tell Noah that Noah is his son.

So despite the poor portrayal of Noah's disability in this run, his character overall at this point was a really interesting addition to Hellblazer lore. He has a unique background of hardship; cursed by John's shenanigans at birth without even knowing it, and despite all of that he still has it in him to want to help and be kind. The reveal that he's John's son adds a layer of tragedy to everything- what does it mean to be another continuation of the Constantine family? Without even knowing it? There's plenty of angst on John's end of things, having unknowingly been an absent father for years. We get to see echoes between father and son in their actions. They're both from harsh backgrounds but humanitarians at heart, in different ways. It's very compelling stuff.

Years later, Dead In America is released as the long awaited continuation of this story. John, his friend Nat, and Noah are in America now, going on a long cross country road trip in a double decker London bus. Why? Just because. Noah and Nat take turns driving because John can't drive. In my opinion Dead In America is a bigger, more convoluted plot so I will stick to summarizing things that are relevant to Noah's disability.

This run has all the same problems as the 2019 Hellblazer run does with characters not being staged properly when Noah is signing to them, but it's the very first issue that reveals something particularly damning about how Spurrier views sign as a language.

As Noah is driving the bus he is instructed not to stop for anyone. But later that night he suddenly does. John berates Noah, only to be surprised that Noah is speaking (and sounding uncharacteristically posh)! John suddenly can't speak, instead he signs. This is how he realizes he's in a dream and regains his ability to speak. It's clear what's intended by the storytelling here. Seeing an able bodied person sign is part of the surrealism that makes this scene out of the ordinary. It's supposed to be odd that John is signing, because it's weird that Noah is the one speaking. Signing is a thing only disabled people do, not anyone else. This dream sequence is the only time a character other than Noah signs.

This single narrative choice has a drastic ripple effect on the rest of the run; it means that through both runs, no one ever signs back to Noah. According to the National Association of the Deaf, 72% of hearing parents with deaf kids don't learn sign language. This leads to deaf kids struggling culturally within their own families. Sign language expresses things that written or spoken languages can't. So having their own family not bother to learn sign is deeply isolating for deaf kids. By not having anyone but especially John sign to Noah, any narrative attempt to portray familial care and consideration between the two is undercut by this barrier. Sure John cares for his son in his own way, but not enough to converse with him in his own language.

This is when it became clear to me that Noah's use of BSL functions more as "a voice but #diverse" instead of portraying sign language as a culture and community of its own. It's like characters of color being written as white, where their identities are just a palette change. Only here, it's more of "this character is speaking, but with his hands this time" never mind how that drastically changes how a character navigates the world and how people interact with him. Attempts at writing Noah's disability in this run continue to be lackluster at best and insulting at worst.

Don't get me wrong, Noah is not a "whitewashed" character- his Blackness is integrated into the narrative of both Hellblazer 2019 and Dead In America... for better or for worse. By this I mean especially in Dead In America, Spurrier really likes to use Noah as a prop to show how racist America is. I don't think there's anything wrong with showing some uncomfortable scenes of Noah facing off American cops. In fact I like how this scene in the first issue shows the specific struggles a Black disabled person goes through, being double profiled as someone dangerous when Noah's attempts to communicate are misinterpreted as a threat- it sets the tone for how dangerous the country is for someone like him.

The original Hellblazer showed plenty of scenes where John is brutalized by the cops in both the UK and US, so gritty commentary is right at home with the character's stories. The difference here is there is almost a giddiness to inventing scenarios for Noah to experience profoundly racist situations at the expense of Noah's own characterization in this run. It becomes more obvious as we progress.

This is another nitpick but when John, Nat, and Noah meet up with Clarice Sackville (an elderly magician lady) in issue #2, Noah discreetly signs to John, calling Clarice a "wrinkled old hag" only for John to whisper back "Be grateful she can't sign, Noah." meaning "be glad she can't understand what you're saying". If there was any opportunity to use sign language as a means of discreetly communicating around someone who doesn't understand it, this would've been the moment. But alas, only disabled people use sign language, right guys. John can only sign in a weird dream sequence.

The punchline here is that Clarice actually understood what Noah was signing, making a jab at him for calling her a "wrinkled old hag". I don't know how she understood what Noah was signing when she was clearly facing away from him the whole time but well. That's basically a tradition for Spurrier's runs at this point. Technically John's dialogue isn't wrong here. Clarice "can't sign". She understands it, but doesn't sign. Because that's a thing only disabled people do.

Let's put a pin on issue #4 and skip ahead to Dead In America issue #5. This is essentially an anthology issue containing short stories of little incidents John, Nat, and Noah encounter on the American road. I will be discussing the second story, "One-Way Ticket" written by Aaron Campbell (ordinarily the main artist of Spurrier's runs) with art by guest artist John Pearson.

It's a story about a ghost guy who wants to go home but everyone ignores him (because they can't see him), John helps out by discovering his dead body and bringing the spirit comfort. It's a cute and cozy story if it weren't for the abysmal way Noah is treated in it, completely contradicting its themes. Noah is horrified at the prospect of John leaving him alone in the red bus, fearing the cops will show up. John responds "You're mute, just pretend you're dumb too." Even for asshole-John standards this is unnecessarily cruel. Dead In America started with Noah being profiled by the police, so Noah's fears are as founded as it gets. This short story may not be written by Spurrier, but it is written by the artist who DREW THAT SCENE.

I didn't splice the panels above, that is exactly how they are presented in the comic. Not only do we have characters facing away from Noah as he's signing again (a tradition even guest artists continue to perpetuate it seems), but it's followed up immediately with a ghost being grateful that John recognizes him. The irony that John gets told that after ditching his son. Why not make the story about Noah relating to the ghost? Remember that scene where Noah is signing to the Ri-Boys and they all ignore him? He and the ghost could connect over how they're ignored and treated as disposable, how accommodation for people like them is considered an inconvenience, how no one cares when their life is threatened.

When John returns from discovering the ghost's dead body, just like clockwork Noah is being searched by a cop. Only now it's treated like a joke instead- with Nat taking a smoke on the side and John just slapping a spell on the cop to make him stop.

This nonchalant carelessness for the portrayal of cops is a big departure from how ACAB John was in his original Hellblazer run. John was a man who could outsmart and kill the Vampire King only to be immediately beat up by cops afterwards. He's called homophobic slurs for defending the dead body of his sex worker guy friend. It paints this image of a guy who can overcome the supernatural but doesn't stand a chance against mundane human cruelty. Because that kind of thing takes more than a magic trick to defeat. But in Dead In America, cops are a mild inconvenience to John. He can just cast spells on them and move on. It's disappointing how even in a run that's supposed to be a return to form for Hellblazer, John isn't as radical as he was written in the 80s and 90s. The cops don't have the kind of threatening authority they had in the older comics. Don't worry, it gets worse.

Let's hop and skip ahead to Dead In America issue #9. For plot reasons, John went missing. He disappeared to Hell and back for four weeks, separated from Noah and Nat. When he reunites with his friends, they want nothing to do with him. They're now running their own little film studio, shooting a film that metatextually reflects their road trip adventure. Again, for plot reasons. They're teaming up with a metamancer to speed filmmaking along. Nat's the director and Noah's the producer. He's practicing magic, and even found himself a girlfriend, Liz! She's an Asian girl though and that worries me. Because Asian love interests are usually seen as narratively disposable. A racist character assumes Noah is using "mind magic on her" because there's no way Noah would end up with someone so "hot", right? Right.

[spliced panels from issue 9 and 10]

Issue #10 is when we get very much needed perspective from Noah and Nat's point of view. Nat always wanted to be a writer, while Noah longs for a life of normalcy. The two narrate their backstories, building their life up to meeting John, to where they are now with their film studio.

We learn how Noah got into using magic, and. Urgh. Sick of dealing with a language barrier as a disabled person, Noah uses magic to communicate with people. It's another case of "we haven't even exhausted basic options to bridge a language barrier yet-" I get it, throughout this run Noah doesn't have his notebook, and he doesn't appear to have his phone either (perhaps to hide from the authorities tracking them down) but to that I say pocket-sized boogie boards are still an affordable option that won't get you tracked down by the cops. I'd even prefer him buying another notebook over this. In this issue he's even seen with a phone, so what do I know.

"huh! I just remembered that I, an American, actually do know British Sign Language! Hah how could I forget something like that ho ho" it's just so trite. Like we're not even going to try and grab a paper and pen to communicate? We're skipping to using dark magic instead? Okay. Worst of all, so you're telling me the racist loser was right about Noah?? That Noah wouldn't have a chance with Liz if it weren't for magic? What are we doing...

I'm not including the panel here but after Noah narrates "I won't use this shit to coerce people-- I'm not him. But... making things easier? Simpler? Why not?" the following panel is of him and Liz getting funky style in bed. Even with Noah saying he won't "coerce people" he still says that magic can make things easier. Simpler. There is this uncomfortable implication that Noah "made it easier" for Liz to sleep with him. Sure it can be read that he got close to her through them communicating on the same page. But when their relationship isn't developed, narratively she just kind of exists as a prop for his desires. To quote Noah himself in Dead In America issue #4: "It was rape."

Time to revisit that pin. So issue #4 is about John and Noah masquerading as an exorcist and...an enslaved person to trick a small town into revealing a coverup: a girl was assaulted by six boys in their local football team, ending her own life from her story being pushed aside for the bright future of the football boys. Noah is so infuriated by how she was mistreated that he beats up one of the boys. It's a heavy story about how far a town will go to protect the future of boys while discarding the life of the girl, who to this day is anonymous. If you're wondering whether Noah pretending to be an enslaved person was necessary to the con, I can assure you it really wasn't.

What's frustrating here is that are we really supposed to believe that Noah, a character who was willing to risk his safety by beating up a rapist, would then go ahead and "make it easier" to sleep with a girl later? Remember. The reason he did that was because his disability was apparently holding him back. Are we really having it so the only person of color in John's cast for this story did this? That if he wasn't disabled, he wouldn't do this? It's frankly disgusting.

Through John's silver tongue trickery, he pulls shenanigans that cause Nat and Noah to get arrested. Despite Nat being known to be violent, Noah is the one who is brutalized by the cops and put into solitary confinement. Because racism. Spurrier really wants you to know that American cops are so racist, guys.

I wonder where all this energy was for his Hellblazer 2019 run taking place in the UK. Where the only cop characters were noble people of color who are looking out for each other. Noah's own mom was a cop, even. He'll show Noah looking tense in a car as cops walk by in Hellblazer 2019, but for Dead In America? Noah is profiled by police three times, made to play an enslaved person for John's ends, and is in the receiving end of so many bigoted characters' racism. Spurrier is selective about his portrayal of cops when it suits him.

At this point it's transparent looking back at the treatment of Noah's character throughout Dead In America, that there's a giddiness Spurrier (and technically Campbell) have in crafting racist scenarios for Noah to go through. But it's okay because they have John say a lamp-shading comment to assure readers that the writers recognize "This Is A Racist Thing Happening".

Reading Dead in America reminded me of the discourse surrounding "Strange Fruit" a comic by Mark Waid and J. G. Jones. I won't belabor explaining the plot, but what they have in common is this self congratulatory "giddiness to put Black characters in compromising situations" I keep describing. Like, they didn't have to create a naked Black Superhero named "Johnson" who doesn't speak and wears a confederate flag while dealing with racists in the Jim Crow era South but...these white writers just didn't have a choice! It's the rules of story! John has to pretend Noah is his property!

"Strange Fruit's desire to make big, albeit familiar statements about America's sinful past and do justice to both the subject matter and history often comes at the expense of considerate or even dimensional characterization."

-Vox writer Tre Johnson, 2017.

This is the kind of giddiness to indulge in fictional cruelty that isn't written with Black readers in mind. It's to entertain white readers with an exaggerated depiction of racism to make themselves feel better about being British. And if anyone's excuse is "well it's Hellblazer! Vertigo comics are supposed to talk about uncomfortable topics, John gets beat up by cops too back in the day", then need I remind you that unlike John, the sheer frequency Noah is put into these compromising scenarios is at the expense of his characterization.

Don't think that Spurrier's done playing with his "America Sure Is Racist" prop yet though.

As Noah (still bruised and battered) escapes prison, John pulls a couple more tricks on him: he "accidentally" reveals that Noah is his son, tricks Liz into faking her death to freak Noah out (we'll never see her again after this), and gets Clarice to pretend to die in front of him. All this angers Noah into attempting to kill John- but he stops. Because Noah still isn't that kind of person.

This is all part of John's plan, supposedly he made a deal with demons in Hell that if John himself is killed in the allocated time, he won't actually die. But his plan failed. Unfortunately for John, Nat is still filming their road trip movie, and whatever the actors do, the real characters do as well. A script change happens, and John ends up killing Noah.

But aha, this is yet another trick. By issue #11, Noah wakes up bruise-free and alive (he even gets to smash in John's stand in actor for good measure). Turns out, John's deal with the demons of Hell was for his son to live, instead- a selfless act that none of the Gods and demons saw coming. After John does some more silver-tongue talking to a Dream Entity, he's able to grant people some rushed happy endings.

Noah's mom wakes up from her eight year magical coma, the policeman hunting down Nat and Noah deletes his files, and Nat becomes the boss of a major studio- her writer dreams come to fruition. I don't know how Noah's getting back home to his mom, but shh shhh it's a happy ending, Spurrier promises.

So we have a twist to the usual Hellblazer story. Instead of John surviving at the expense of his friends and family, now John sacrifices his life to Noah and Nat so they can live freely. Last but certainly not least, as Clarice dies she gifts Noah the ability to speak. And when Noah does speak, he sounds so out of character I thought I was misreading things. Is this another lettering mistake? No? Then what is this random poetry.

I recognize what the narrative is doing here. It's John's fault that Noah's mom is in a coma and that Noah is mute, so the resolution to that conflict is for him to undo the wrongs he did to the Ikumelo family- which includes Noah being "cured" of his disability. The problem here is not only is this an exhausting continuation of the "disabilities getting cured" trope- so Noah can join the "easier, simpler" life of able bodied people- but also that a large facet of Noah's identity is tied to John's character development.

Noah might not be the main character, but he's the deuteragonist of Dead In America- the beating family heart that ties John to someone who would otherwise be a stranger. Instead of narratively endearing us to Noah's character, Spurrier seems content to just have Noah drive the bus only to make occasional stops to demonstrate how Racist America Is. It's such a fall from grace to the intriguing character we met in Hellblazer 2019. All that characterization of someone willing to help despite a life of hardship is just out the window.

[spliced panels]

My overall feelings about the treatment of Noah Ikumelo is that whatever representation he embodies feels like being thrown a really shitty party. Noah Ikumelo is an original creation for these two runs. Si Spurrier didn't have to make Noah a Black disabled teenager, but he did. Spurrier takes up that responsibility of representation by half-assing it. The kind of thing a guy who gloats about a bi-colored comic cover would do before accidentally calling the character in it "pansexual" in said comic. And then backpedal on twidder when called out for it. Half ass behavior.

Noah went from being this interesting exploration of unintended legacy to being a prop to make shallow commentary on American racism. Noah is never drawn consistently between artists but he sure is adultified a bunch to the point that I even see readers describing him as "basically an adult" when he's only 16-17 years old. I get that it's supposed to be tragic that he's forced to grow up too soon, but part of that tragedy is that he still is a kid. The portrayal of his disability shows how no research was put into being inclusive in either the writing or the art to the point it's downright nonsensical. The research amounts to looking up a sign language dictionary for words and that's it. This isn't even touching on how there was no recognition of the intersection between Black culture and sign language.

The problems with Noah Ikumelo are not unique to Hellblazer, or Si Spurrier or the Hellblazer creative team. They're a reflection of a predominantly able-bodied and white industry that is comics and media as a whole. The very way comics as a medium is taught carries with it an ableist standard for portraying communication. All this to say that tackling a character like Noah would mean doing the extra work to be critical of what we're used to seeing as the norm. But if you were just going to half-ass setting up a party for Black disabled readers, then why even bother y'know? It's not like Spurrier was held at gun point to create a disabled character. Frankly he was too busy crafting scenarios for guns to be pointing at Noah instead.

[dailymanners]

A lot of people don't seem to understand what professional codes of behavior are, and the *very* important reasons they exist. I will not blame this on any age group or any level of professional experience, considering I have a few middle aged co-workers who don't understand why it's inappropriate and unprofessional to randomly disclose details about your sex life to a new co-worker you barely know, or why you shouldn't snap at your co-workers and use them as your verbal punching bag when you're upset.

If you want to get to the core of what professional codes of behavior are and why they exist, you need to consider this: with personal relationships, like your friends, if they do something to upset you or offend you or you have a falling out with them, you can just decide to stop hanging out with them. With a partner you can (ideally, but I know, trust me I know it's not *always* the case but ideally you should be able to) just stop dating them. With co-workers, however, regardless of your personal relationship with them you still need to come into work every work day, and be around this person for several hours, and cooperate and collaborate with this person for several hours if you want to be able to pay for food and housing.

The whole entire purpose of professional conduct is making sure that being at work and being around your co-workers is at least tolerable, but preferably comfortable for everyone.

This is why we avoid "sensitive" topics at work. This is why we avoid saying and doing things that make our co-workers upset and uncomfortable, like trauma dumping to them or telling them explicit details about your sex life or verbally lashing out at them. This is also why if one of your co-workers does any of the above mentioned things to you and it makes you uncomfortable, you have every right to report it, because you have every right to be comfortable at the place that you *have* to go to in order to be able to afford food and housing.

And of course if you've had the same co-workers for a while it's only natural to bond with them and maybe start to hang out outside of work. But my advice is to tread carefully, if your relationship with this person outside of work goes sour then it could make it miserable to go to the place you have to go to in order to afford food and housing.

This is also why I've noticed that the further you get into the professional world, the more you find people insisting on keeping their personal and professional lives separate. They've learned the hard way how miserable it can be when your personal relationships with co-workers go sour and end up making your job extra miserable to be at.

And yes, I know, trust me I understand the mentality of how awful it is that capitalism keeps us from ideally being able to form deeper and more "real" connections with the people we work with. But in any economic system there will likely be people you need to cooperate with to do your role within the community, and depending on the situation these may be people you need to keep a different kind of relationship with than your friends / family / partners. People you need to keep your private thoughts / feelings / etc to yourself to keep up the collaboration that you need to do whatever it is you need to do.

I'm not saying you can't have work friends, that you can't joke around with them, or even hang out with them outside of work. I'm not saying you can't form really special bonds with the people you work with.

What I am saying is that when considering your behavior and how you treat the people you work with, consider the fact that these are people you do have to go be around and cooperate with to do your job. You want a comfortable atmosphere at work. If you have never had an environment with your co-workers where you have a stomachache on the way to work every single day over the idea of having to spend the next several hours or even the rest of the day with them, I am really genuinely happy for you and hope you never have to experience that. If you don't want to experience that, I cannot emphasize enough the importance of everyone following professional codes of conduct. Preventing an atmosphere like that is *exactly" why they exist.

And note, this doesn't just apply to co-workers, it can be any type of professional relationship, like a supplier you frequently work with and/or repeat / long term clients.

[revelboo]

Will you be writing for Earthspark Bee at all 🥹 I just started the series and he’s ✨everything✨

Sure. I’m going to have to make something of an update schedule at some point, because I’m well over 30 independent story lines at this point. I’m used to working on multiple projects at the same time, but I don’t think I’ve ever been outlining/writing any more than 6 projects at a time. Need to update the Masterlist, too

The Future Freaks Me Out

TF Earthspark x Reader

• Peds and servos scrabbling to stop his tumble down the hillside, he feels every strike when he hits trees and rocks on the way down. Processor still ringing from Soundwave’s attacks as the world blurs into greens and occasional flashes of blue sky before he slams into something hard. And then the darkness creeps in at the edges leaving him to hope Soundwave doesn’t come looking for him to finish the job while he’s helpless.

• Breath fogging in the chilly morning air, you adjust your backpack. Jogging along the leaf strewn trail, you stumble to a stop seeing a flash of yellow through the underbrush. Cautiously approaching, your breath catches in surprise. It’s one thing to see them on the news, but this is the first time you’ve ever seen a real Cybertronian before. And you recognize this one. Bumblebee. An autobot, but he looks like he’s seen better days. Optics shuttered as you crouch to study him, startling when he vents raggedly. Alive, but hurt.

• Soft, warm fingers brush the curve of one of the horns on his helm, then ghost over the back of his hand. Everything hurting, he lifts his head and the human stumbles back, tensed to bolt. He’d hoped for one of the Malto’s, but you’re a stranger. “You’re Bumblebee,” you say, shifting slightly on your feet. Knows not all humans like them, Autobot or Decepticon. You might help him or you might try to hurt him. And he can’t radio for help thanks to the damage Soundwave meted out.

• “I won’t hurt you,” he says, voice strained with pain. Trying to reassure you even though he’s the one hurt and your unease fades. Remember hearing about him as a kid, the stories that painted him a hero, though he’d gone missing years ago. And watching him shift, a door wing hanging awkwardly and seeing the energon seeping from his wounds, you want to help him.

• “I can get you help, tell me what to do.” Your words surprise him, because you owe him nothing. Makes him try to get to his peds, but his body won’t cooperate. Hurt worse than he’d realized from the fight before Soundwave had even thrown him over the side of the cliff. But he doesn’t know you. Can’t risk sending a stranger to the Malto’s. Wheeljack had been in the area testing drones, though. He’d not had a chance to radio him before Soundwave ambushed him, but it’s a chance. Because he’s not going anywhere on his own. A little trust. Trying to get his bearings, he weakly points in a direction and asks you to find Wheeljack. Hoping he’s not making a mistake, but you offer him a timid smile and cautiously touch the back of his hand again.

Next

[akixxsstuff]

Dating L would be like...

Death Note L Lawliet x gender neutral reader

(I'm aware that the picture says girlfriend but the gender of the reader is not specified in the fic. The pictures were also edited by me).

Fluff // One shot

Summary: L was more like a machine than a human, he was cold, calculated and a "no fun and games" type of person aside from the occasional sarcastic or dry humored comment. L never lost his composure and would repress any emotion he had as a intimidation tactic. He was blunt and wouldn't allow anything or anyone to dethrone him.

However around you, L wasn't quite that...

The task force had suspected you and L were a couple, but whenever anyone asked about it, L would quickly shut down the conversation and went back to his work, saying that it wasn't any of their business. You and L were a couple but he just wanted to keep things secretive and professional since doing otherwise made him feel vulnerable.

He couldn't let his suspect Light know how much you meant to him just in case he used it against him, plus it was just in L's nature to be serective.

However as soon the doors were closed and the task force was gone, he would be nuzzling into your shoulder, whining for attention. He would never stop clinging onto you until he got he's way because in his own words, "I'm also childish and don't like to lose".

Like today for instance:

"Not now Lolly, I've got an appointment to book", you said sighing while L continued kissing your neck and nibbling your ear from behind. "I love you but I do not appreciate your lack of cooperation" L then grumbled.

Lolly was your main pet name for L since it sounded like it was short for lollipop, (and we all know how much L loves those) and sounded similar to his real name, Lawliet. Panda was also another common one since he reminded you of one with his dark eyes and pale skin.

He then kneeled in between your legs with his head resting on your thigh, looking up at you in annoyance in an attempt to guilt trip you, (however he couldn't mask he's pleading eyes). "Lolly I already told you I'm busy, just 10 more minutes okay my love?" you cooed while stroking his cheek. But L didn't care, he picked you up bridal style from your chair and tossed you onto the bed. "Lawliet, you should know of all people how important it is to not have any distractions from your work" you said rasing an eyebrow. "You make a fair point" L says with his thumb on his lip, "But I'm not feeling very empathetic tonight" then he proceeded to smother you with kisses.

Your dates were either cafe hopping, picnics in the park, or L trying to teach you tennis. You would always try to get him to wear shoes but he would refuse, saying "I don't like how they feel". "I know but I don't want you to step on a piece of glass and hurt yourself" you would say while kissing his forehead. "I will live" L would reply while blushing from your kiss. You would then sigh and take off your shoes, "Fine, if that's how you want to play" and you both would walk around barefoot.

Another thing L wouldn't budge on is removing all the cameras and wiring taps from your room, if someone broke in and tired to hurt you he needed to know immediately who was responsible so he could toss them in jail forever. He valued your life way more than his, afterall, he did challenge Kira to kill him live on broadcast.

L absolutely loved when you taunted his number one suspect Light, in fact it was his love language.

"I'm not Kira!" Light would yell.

"You're not a very convincing actor Light, but hey! Maybe they'll give you an academy award in prison just for trying. Light Yagami! Mass murderer tries playing innocent victim!".

As a detective, L would always be analysising people's behaviour and you were no expectation.

"How was your day darling?" L cooed.

"Fine. I'm going to my room".

You say that you're fine Y/N yet you're tone and lack of physical affection would indicate otherwise. Could you be trying to deprive me of your attention as an indirect punishment? What could have I done?

However, you did mention how your work load has increased because of the lack of empyoees, were you stressed from that and simply avoided me to avoid talking about it? I should confront you instead of making any assumptions, it could make matters worse because you might believe that I am deliberately ignoring you.

"Love, I believe I have done something to upset you, please tell me what it is was so I can correct my behaviour. Will you accept this piece of cake as a initial peace offering? If I'm not to blame then please tell me who's bothering you so I can potentially sue them".