#whatever the fuck jimmy has going on

[pinkflames]

My nerdass can't handle this

[capitateoftheherald]

everyone has way too strong of opinions on chappell roan. why do we all feel the need to declare how we hate or don't care for her? like i feel like i'm losing my mind a little. did saying chappell roan is mid give you the social cred you needed to get through your day? does this not feel familiar? do you not feel the echoes of 2010s twilight/1D/bieber/tswift misogyny-flecked hatred bouncing through these halls? are you not like other girls, other queers? zoomers and millenials are rapidly becoming new age boomers i fear, and after all of that time spent claiming we wouldn't follow in their footsteps. if chappell roan isn't for you, you can actually just completely ignore her. like i have heard 2 of her songs ever, a total of less than 10 times. you don't need to post about her. i have seen more complaining about her than i have seen Her. what are we all doing here. can we all take a moment to join hands and take a deep breath

[sharpilu]

looked in the nature wives tag for inspo and all i got was annoyed at the lack of muscular esmp2!Katherine. it's literally canon c'mon guys sobs

[suzukiblu]

Excerpt from the one where Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it.

(The read-more is definitely necessary, length-wise. I . . . got very into this idea and frankly this is barely a third of it so far, lol.)

"So, uh . . ." Kon says, skeptically eyeing the softly glowing rock in his hand. Metallo, like, threw it at his head. He has no idea why. "Is this supposed to do something or . . . ?"

"It's pink," Kara says leerily, staying very firmly back. Like, unexpectedly far back, in fact.

"Yeah, I'm not actually blind, thanks," Kon says, turning the rock over and squinting at it. It continues not to do anything, aside from the glowing thing.

"No, it's pink kryptonite," she stresses.

". . . it literally doesn't hurt at all, though?" Kon says. Though he probably should've figured it was some kind of kryptonite, given that Metallo had it and had apparently thought he could hurt him with it.

Seriously, though, his gloves are fingerless and he's got it right in his hand. It should be hurting him, if it's actually kryptonite.

"Pink kryptonite doesn't work like that," Kara says, edging a little farther back. They're floating a few hundred feet in the air right now, but from the way she's acting Kon's vaguely concerned that he might be about to explode or something. "It just affects our sexual . . . urges."

"Oh," Kon says, frowning in confusion. Weird, but . . . "Is that all?"

"I don't mean like it makes you horny, Kon, I mean like it makes you homosexual," Kara hisses, looking mortified. "And don't ask how I know, alright?!"

Kon . . . blinks.

"What the literal fuck?" he asks incredulously, just staring at her. "How does that even–are you telling me Metallo went and chucked gay kryptonite at me in the middle of a fight?"

"Yes!" Kara says, still clearly mortified. "So just–just stay over there with it until somebody shows up with a lead box, okay?! The effects will stop after we get it contained."

"Alright, alright. So then do you think the dude was flirting with me or is he just a fucking idiot?" Kon jokes, balancing the kryptonite on his index finger with his TTK. "Although I really don't think he'd be my type either way. Like, nothing against cyborgs in general, obviously, just the whole thing with him being a murderous supervillain who literally runs on kryptonite seems like it'd make us totally star-crossed. I want somebody I can actually commit to, you know?"

"Sure," Kara says, still eyeing the kryptonite with serious trepidation. It's really not helping Kon feel less like a time bomb, to be honest. Is there like some other side effect that he should be worrying about right now or something? Like, is he missing something here?

"You seem kinda high-strung about this," he observes, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Look, you'd have avoided it too if you'd dealt with it before!" she says protestingly. "So stay over there and definitely keep it away from Kal, I don't know if Jimmy ever really recovered from the last time."

"Oh, well, congrats to Jimmy, I guess," Kon says, since he can't really see a downside to scoring a one-night stand with Superman. Like, a downside for somebody who isn't literally his clone, he means. The clone thing would definitely make it weird.

Just it's also Clark, though, so he'd probably be the generous type in bed. Like, the sort to really take care of somebody. Be as gentle as happened to be appropriate but also be down if his partner maybe wanted it a little rough for whatever reason. And he'd definitely be able to go all night. Again, Kon isn't gonna go there himself, it really would be too weird, but he can make a logical conclusion. Extrapolate one. Whatever.

Then again he'd be down with Power Girl absolutely destroying him whenever the fuck she wanted to and she's genetically his . . . some form of cousin or something, he guesses. His half-cousin from another reality. So really, Clark's not even that weird an option. And like, all appearances aside Kon's a binary clone anyway, not even a one-for-one match, sooooo . . .

Actually it's probably weirder that he thinks Power Girl is so unspeakably hot but comparatively Kara is just . . . fine? Like, that's a little odd, isn't it?

Maybe it's an attitude thing. Or the costume.

Might be safe to blame the costume, yeah.

It's just such a good costume. Like, Kon aspires to reach that level of costume.

But really, all that aside he still doesn't even know what the big deal about temporarily going gay is, although to be fair he's also currently talking to Supergirl and not, like . . . literally any dude whatsoever. So like, who knows how weird this stuff might actually make him under those circumstances. Maybe it like fucks with inhibitions and stuff too?

Yeah, hell if he knows. He's really only dealt with green kryptonite before. He was vaguely aware that other colors existed and apparently did different stuff, but . . . this just seems very different, put it that way.

Maybe best to avoid Jimmy Olsen for a little while, Kon decides privately. The guy probably doesn't need that.

Besides, Clark apparently got there first anyway and Kon just really doesn't want to be worrying about measuring up. Miss him with that, thanks.

. . . although maybe he'll go visit Tim later.

Eh, no, Kara made it sound like the pink K's gonna stop affecting him pretty quick once they box it up, so not much point in bothering. Though maybe he'll visit just to hang, come to think of it; they haven't seen each other in almost a whole week. Well, he hasn't seen Tim, at least–who knows how much Bat-surveillance Tim's seen him through.

Kon should maybe sweep his room for bugs again. Note to self.

Although would it be weird to just like . . . keep the pink kryptonite, maybe? Since it apparently doesn't actually hurt anyone or anything? Because that could be, well . . . just interesting, that's all. Like, Kon is open to exploring that experience. Just–as an experience.

"Actually, you're surprisingly not high-strung about this," Kara says.

"Am I?" Kon asks. "I mean, it's not that big a deal, is it?"

She stares at him.

"Kon," she says slowly. "Pink kryptonite affects your sexuality. It makes you attracted to people you're not normally attracted to. It confuses you and everyone around you and it is really freaking embarrassing to explain afterwards."

"I've been mind-controlled into shaving my head and breaking my best friend's arm," Kon says, continuing to not really see what the big deal is. "That was embarrassing. And fucking traumatic. This? This is just kinda weird."

"Only kinda?" Kara asks incredulously. "You're one of the straightest guys I know! How are you just fine with this?!"

"I mean to be fair, that's probably making some unfair generalizations about straight guys," Kon points out. Kara stares at him. "What?"

"I don't even know how to respond to that," she says.

"Sorry?" Kon says, then tucks the pink kryptonite into his jacket pocket with a shrug. He's not trying to hide it or anything; just getting kinda sick of holding it. And it's that or he either ditches it somewhere or starts tossing it around and that'd probably be . . . just, well, absolutely epically stupid of him.

Or it seems like it would be, anyway. Whatever color it is, it's still kryptonite.

"I mentioned keeping that away from Kal, right?" Kara says.

"Yeah, on that note, are they like . . . done down there yet?" Kon asks, glancing down towards the mess of the street that Clark's standing on a few hundred feet below with a whole bunch of randos from S.T.A.R. Labs, for some reason. Somebody mentioned something about neutralizing Metallo's kryptonite heart without actually killing him, but mostly it was science talk and clearly theoretical anyway so to be honest Kon'd kinda tuned it all out as "not currently relevant", and that's all he knows.

"Definitely not," Kara says.

"I'm gonna call Robin while we're killing time, then," Kon says, pulling out his phone.

"You're going to call your closest male friend," Kara says. "Right now. While you've got pink kryptonite in your pocket."

"Yup," Kon says, already pulling up Tim's contact.

"Can you not see how that might be a bad idea at the moment?" Kara asks. "Not in any way whatsoever?"

"Well I'm not calling Impulse," Kon replies reasonably. Kara stares at him again, for some reason.

Eh, whatever.

He calls Tim.

"Hey, Conner, what's up?" Tim answers distractedly, which Kon doesn't hold against him because when isn't Tim distracted, really. Dude's got too much going on in that head of his, for real. He's just glad the guy ever picks up the phone at all.

"So apparently I'm gay right now," Kon greets conversationally, figuring he should lead with that just in case he actually is about to do something embarrassing to explain. "Pink kryptonite is fucking weird, man."

". . . uh," Tim says as Kara covers her face with her hands. "What?"

"Pink kryptonite makes you gay, Kara says," Kon says. "And we're both just kind of chilling above downtown Metropolis waiting for Kal to finish up with the science-y people so we can get said pink K locked up, so I'm bored out of my mind right now and calling you to complain about it."

"You're calling me," Tim says slowly. "While you're . . . gay."

"What, is he asking to come over?" another voice asks from the phone, sounding amused. It takes Kon a second to recognize it, but–oh yeah, that's the mysterious Bernard, isn't it?

Right, Tim has a boyfriend now. Kon's never actually met him on account of being the worst at secret identities and the whole thing that is Bernard living very firmly in Gotham, land of "no metas allowed unless you're either a supervillain or Batman's too dead to stop you", but he's heard him over the phone a couple times now, although they've never actually personally talked. So maybe thinking about Tim while being high on pink kryptonite isn't actually, like, kosher? Or polite. Or whatever.

. . . then again, Bernard did ask.

"I don't know, maybe?" Kon says thoughtfully, considering the idea. "Are you open to me coming over?"

"Yes," Bernard says.

"Bernard," Tim says.

"Babe, I know we're pretending I don't know you're an ass-kicking vigilante and all but come on, don't make me turn down Superboy," Bernard says wryly.

"We're–wait, pretending?!" Tim sputters.

"Pretending so, so hard," Bernard confirms, sounding nothing but fond. Kon's actually a little jealous of that tone of voice, he's gotta admit. Like–it's been a bit since anybody's talked to him that way, is all. "But like, if you actually thought you were being subtle maybe you shouldn't talk about kryptonite on the phone right in front of me or put themed emojis next to all your superfriends' civilian names in your contacts list?"

"Oh my god, you do that?!" Kon asks with a gleeful cackle, immediately forgetting everything else in favor of that absolutely delightful piece of information. "You're the worst! Batman just rolled over in his grave and Oracle is absolutely losing her shit on the other end of her wiretap!"

"B's not even dead right now," Tim says in exasperation. "And if O cared she'd have already hacked my phone and changed them. And for the record plenty of people put random superhero emojis next to their friends' names, that's a totally normal thing to do!"

"Usually the random superhero emojis aren't associated with contact pics that are dead fucking ringers for said superheroes," Bernard says, sounding amused again. "Just as a thing and all."

". . . anyway so you're gay today, how's that going for you, Conner?" Tim says as Bernard laughs gleefully in the background. "Triggering any unfortunate mental health crisises or anything? Making you worry about the validity of your masculinity? Because I can safely assure you that's all bullshit and you're fine."

"Naw, I know all that, being gay is just a thing," Kon says with a shrug. "Kara's being a little weird about it but honestly it's going way better than, like, the times supervillains mind-controlled me into being into them. Like just as an overall experience, I mean."

"Wait, how many times has that come up?" Tim asks in bemusement.

"I dunno?" Kon shrugs again. "I mean you were there for the Poison Ivy incident, and then Gorgeous Gilly happened to me a while later, which was, uh, genuinely horrifying because she tried to literally marry me during all that, so . . . I think just the twice, probably? But don't quote me on that, I don't even remember what I had for breakfast."

"And how is Kara being weird, exactly?" Tim says in his very unsubtle "assessing my teammate's psychological condition" voice.

"Oh, she's mostly just avoiding me?" Kon says, as a guy who's personally not really all that concerned with his psychological condition at the moment. "Because I've got the rock in my pocket on account of not wanting to just leave it lying around somewhere and she doesn't want to get affected by it. I don't know why, I don't really get why it matters."

"I mean it matters, definitely," Bernard says. "Like it very strongly matters to a lot of people."

"Fair, but I think we're all too invulnerable to really have to worry about getting gay-bashed or anything," Kon reasons. "Like, at least not as a heat of the moment thing."

". . . god can you imagine the world we would live in if every piece of shit gay-basher had to deal with the consequences of punching fucking Superman?" Bernard says feelingly. "For real."

"Oh, pink K's temporary," Kon clarifies. "Kal's not gay anymore."

"Hold up, I'm sorry, are you saying that at some point he was?" Bernard demands in obvious delight. "Is that what you're telling me right now?"

"I guess he was into redheads?" Kon says, tilting his head. "Slightly twinky redheads, specifically. Which I don't blame him for, I'm gonna be honest."

"Well now I know that forever, thanks," Tim says dryly.

"Alternate option: he could've been into Batman," Kon points out.

"Redheads it is," Tim says. "You just . . . redhead away over there."

"I mean I thought about it, kinda," Kon admits.

"Ngh," Tim says, for some reason.

"No thinking about Batman, though?" Bernard asks with a snicker.

"Not so much," Kon says, making a face. "Did consider having some Superman thoughts but I'm apparently not that narcissistic, surprisingly enough."

"Kon!" Kara chokes.

"Tell me you've never considered having Superman thoughts and I'll tell you you're a fucking liar," Kon snorts, shooting her a dry look. "Weren't you like totally naked when you first showed up on Earth? And then he found you like that and wrapped you up in his cape all nice and gentlemanly and took you home with him?"

"He is my baby cousin and you're being affected by pink kryptonite poisoning!" Kara accuses, her face bright red.

"Wait, is it actually poisoning me?" Kon says with a frown. "I feel like you should've led with it actually poisoning me, if that's actually a thing."

"Well no, not actually, it's physically harmless," Kara says grudgingly, folding her arms. "But you're still being affected! You're having Superman thoughts, of all things!"

"He just seems like he'd be considerate," Kon says reasonably. "Like, you know. Biblically."

"Ngh," Tim says, again for no apparent reason. Bernard sounds like he might be laughing. Or choking? Or maybe both; it's unclear.

"Please don't hit on Kal," Kara says. "Especially don't hit on Kal with pink kryptonite in your pocket. I don't want to know how that situation would end up."

"Ideally with him being considerate," Kon says. Tim chokes. Kara covers her face again.

"Does pink kryptonite affect your inhibitions too or are you just always like this?" Bernard asks curiously.

"Eh, pretty sure I'm just always like this, going by the things I've definitely still not been forgiven for saying to Power Girl," Kon says, idly tapping a finger against the side of his phone case. "Like, pretty damn sure at this point."

"That is unfortunately accurate," Tim agrees resignedly.

"So you're saying it is ethically okay to have Superboy over while he's gay," Bernard says in a promisingly speculative tone. Kon grins. Just a little, but yeah–definitely he grins. Kara grimaces, because she is absolutely no fun whatsoever.

Spoilsport.

"I did not in any way say that," Tim retorts dubiously.

"I mean that's what I heard, man, and I'm the one with super-hearing in this conversation," Kon says with a wider grin. "My inhibitions are all inhibited and my personal opinions of people are all the same, I'm just currently batting for the other team."

"So your normal opinion of me is that if you were gay, you'd come over," Tim says dryly.

"Yeah?" Kon says, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, obviously."

"How is that obvious?" Tim says.

"Because I already come over every time you let me," Kon reminds him.

"Oh yeah?" Bernard says slyly. "And how often does he let you come, exactly?"

"Not often enough," Kon replies honestly, and doesn't even bite at the obvious dumb sex joke Bernard so thoughtfully set up for him even though it is frankly painful not to.

"Ngh," Tim says. Kon continues not to understand the reason for him repeatedly making that same weird little noise, but whatever, he guesses. It's Tim, maybe he's stitching his own bullet wounds again or something. Guy's a multi-tasker like that.

"You know this would probably make for a fascinating case study about sexuality, actually," Bernard says musingly. "I mean, all I intend to do is abuse the situation to get into your very tight tights, but seriously, maybe we should all be taking notes or something."

"Ugh, hell no, Rob'll go full Bat if we let him do that," Kon snorts, then smirks. "He can take pictures, though, I know he's into that."

"Ngh," Tim says yet again, accompanied by a weird random "thump". If Kon didn't know better, he'd think he'd just fallen off a chair or something.

"Aw dammit, dude, I think I actually like you as a person now," Bernard says, sniggering. "Are you keeping the kryptonite? Please keep the kryptonite. Like, just for Valentine's and Tim's birthday, that's all I ask."

"Honestly don't know if Superman's gonna let me but I do kinda wanna," Kon admits. It seems pretty convenient, really. And definitely fun.

". . . and you're sure his inhibitions and opinions aren't being influenced in any way, Kara?" Tim asks suspiciously.

"He's really just like this, yeah," Kara says resignedly. "Well admittedly Kal spontaneously developed opinions on window treatments and used the word 'smashing' in cold blood when it happened to him, but that might've just been him sucking at flirting. Because he really does suck at flirting."

"What about when it was you?" Kon asks curiously.

"No one ever said it happened to me," Kara says.

"You kinda implied–"

"No one ever said it happened to me," Kara repeats, narrowing her eyes at him and doing an impressively bad job of acting like she's not blushing.

So it definitely happened to her, yeah.

"Okaaaaay, we'll pretend about that too then," Bernard says. "Well, what are your opinions on window treatments, Conner?"

"That I don't know what they are," Kon says.

"Sounds like he's in his right mind to me," Bernard says.

"He is absolutely not," Kara retorts dubiously.

"I really don't feel weird or anything, I swear," Kon tells her, since he still doesn't get the problem but also doesn't actually want to worry her either. "I don't even feel any different."

"Kon, you are hitting on your best friend and his boyfriend," Kara says. "Together. At once. Simultaneously, one might even say."

"You've met Wonder Girl and Arrowette before, right?" Kon says. "And both the Batgirls? And–"

"Oh my god, Kon," she cuts him off.

"Just saying," he says, then pauses for a moment and frowns consideringly. "Actually, question, how gay is this stuff making me, because while we're on the topic of threeways I kinda always wondered about what Starfire and Nightwing get up to together and if–"

"KON!" Kara yells, covering her ears.

"I'm just asking," he huffs.

"I don't know if it's actually possible to be gay enough to not be into Starfire," Bernard says musingly. "Like I can't imagine how it ever could be."

"Right?" Kon says.

"It's possible to not be into Starfire," Tim says. "Like, theoretically. Asexuals and aromantics both exist, for one."

"Do they?" Kon says doubtfully. "Like in general, sure, but when around specifically Starfire?"

". . . I can't technically prove you wrong due to a lack of reliable evidence but still," Tim says. "The possibility is there. If nothing else the multiverse is a thing."

"Last time I saw her she was wearing half a gold lamé bikini and I am not going to tell you which half or define how loosely I am using the term 'wearing'," Kon says.

"I said it's possible, not probable," Tim says.

"What about you, man, are you the gold lamé type?" Bernard asks with a teasing snicker. "Just while you're gay and all, of course. That's like, practically a cultural thing. Gotta be authentic to the experience, yeah?"

"That is in no way whatsoever a cultural thing, babe," Tim says dubiously.

"Please, like I've never worn freaking lamé," Kon scoffs. "I've worn collars and loincloths and leather and crop tops and enough unnecessary belts to tie up a Bat, lamé is nothing."

"Collars and . . . loincloths?" Bernard repeats, sounding confused.

"Yeah, this one time I crash-landed on a lost isle of beast-men and they kidnapped and enslaved me for a few months," Kon explains, waving a hand distractedly. "Frankly I count myself lucky they even let me have the collar, much less the loincloth."

". . . um," Bernard says.

"You, uh, never mentioned the collar part of that story before, Kon," Tim says, clearing his throat. "You very definitely never mentioned the collar part of that story before."

"Oh yeah, the prince kinda kept me as his pet for a little bit?" Kon tells him with an easy shrug. "Like he and all his buddies ganged up on me and then took me home with them, but I was kinda . . . feral, I guess? Technically? So like, collar and chain setup. But he was cool, he took real good care of me."

"Ngh," Tim says just barely faintly.

"Yeah you should definitely come over," Bernard says. "Tim, get the check. Conner, exactly how super is your super-speed?"

"You can just call me Kon," Kon says. "And . . . mach 3, last I clocked it?"

"Isn't that like two thousand miles per hour?" Bernard asks.

"Two thousand two hundred and twenty-three point three," Kon replies with a pleased smirk. "Faster than a speeding bullet. Or so they tell me."

"We'll just meet you at Tim's, how's that," Bernard says. "That work for you, Kon?"

"That works for me, Bernard," Kon confirms, smirking wider.

"Oh my god, Kon, you cannot possibly be serious right now," Kara says in exasperation, rubbing at her temples. "Just because you're temporarily gay doesn't mean you should do anything about it!"

"I mean, I'm feeling pretty serious?" Kon says, shrugging again. He still doesn't get why she's being so sensitive about this. "It's not like this is the weirdest thing I've ever done in pursuit of a good time. Like, holy hell, lemme tell you about the Ravers sometime."

"You're going to have to look Robin in the eye after this!" Kara says. "And work with him! And be a normal person in his presence! Normally!"

"I'm aware?" Kon says, vaguely bemused by her concern. Like he's never been normal around somebody he's slept with before, geez. "Tell Kal I ran off with the pink K, if he wants to lock it up in the Fortress or wherever I can bring it back tomorrow."

"Maybe Monday," Bernard says.

"Or maybe Monday," Kon amends.

"It's Thursday!" Kara sputters.

"So it's a long weekend," Bernard says.

"I'm not explaining this to Kal," Kara says. "I'm not explaining this to Batman."

"I really don't see why you'd have to," Kon says. "Rob, you cool with the long weekend thing? Not too much of an imposition?"

". . . I got the check," Tim mutters in obvious and absolute mortification.

Kon's gonna take that as a "yes".

"Cool," he says, grinning broadly. "See you soon, Boy Wonder."

He ends the call. Kara drags her hands down her face and continues to stay very far away from him and the pink kryptonite in his pocket.

"When you go back to normal and freak out and make everything weird with Robin and your team and even Robin's literal boyfriend, I'm going to say so many 'I told you so's," she swears vehemently. "So don't say I didn't warn you."

"Your objection is on the record," Kon says, then tosses her a lazy salute with another grin and takes off, kryptonite and all.

Best to just scarper while Clark's distracted, yeah?

Definitely best.

[radioactive-mouse]

I get how tempting it is to just label flower husbands as “toxic” and move on, but god they can be SO much more nuanced than that, it makes me insane.

I think something that goes largely unexplored by the fanbase is c!scott’s obsession with composure. he’s clearly very proud of his ability to stay calm under pressure and be two steps ahead of everyone else— not that he’s afraid to rely on people, him and cleo very clearly have that unshakable trust between them, but i think that sometimes he gets so wrapped up in being steady, reliable scott, never hot-headed, never spiteful, or clumsy, or nervous.

and jimmy is a very real threat to that composure, more often than not.

and i think the way their relationship functions in 3rd life, while steady at the time, definitely set them up for complications down the road. scott, for as fiercely dedicated to his allies as he is, kind of tends to handle jimmy with kid gloves for the earlier parts of their relationship. he’s not very good at the death game, but that’s fine, he doesn’t need to be, scott will take care of it— he’ll get them set up with armor and potions and walls and jimmy can do… whatever it is he does when scott’s not around. mostly getting swindled, if he had to guess. but it’s fine, because scott can be steady, level headed, clever—

i do think most of scott’s ribbing about how he doesn’t know why he lets jimmy do anything when all he does is get scammed half the time is genuinely all in good fun, (jimmy is more than happy to play the fool most of the time, if only to bring a little bit of levity to things) it is super symptomatic of the way scott actually thinks about him. i don’t believe he thinks jimmy is actually stupid or anything, but i do think scott doesn’t quite trust him to get anything done. scott would never in a million years let himself lean on jimmy for any kind of support, because in scott’s mind jimmy’s job is to be bright and brash and only listen to that heart of his that’s too big for his body, too big for this game.

and i think too often we forget just how much losing jimmy destroyed scott in 3rd life. you ever think about how wrecked he must’ve been to place 10th despite being a consistent finalist in every other season? do you think about how all he has left is the burning, white-hot urge for revenge from the second jimmy’s body hit the ground?

i don’t think scott ever wants to feel like that again. i don’t think scott wants anyone to see him like that again. i think scott tries very hard to love jimmy from a safe distance where no one gets hurt. and i think that distance fucking kills jimmy, metaphorically speaking.

(also, tangentially related, i think there’s something to be said for how instantly tango goes “we only have a short time together, your curse will probably get us killed, and that’s fine.” and how jealous scott gets of that sentiment. as far as scott is concerned, tango and jimmy are of the same niche— they feel everything, loudly, even if it causes problems and even if it gets messy. and god that just makes his blood boil.)

i’m just so… entranced with the way scott carries himself with so much confidence and it’s not like he’s insecure, he really believes that, he’s a strong player and he knows that, but also revealing any emotion he deems to be “ugly” or “messy” makes him start to completely unravel. the driving force behind him is always love and loyalty and protectiveness over the people he cares about, but he’s juggling that with being dead set on never getting so close that losing them will completely ruin him.

anyway, this is getting away from me, but i think a lot of jimmy’s frustration with scott comes from the fact that he refuses to let their relationship go both ways, and i think by the time of the infamous “say i love you back” scene in limlife he’s just exhausted with throwing himself repeatedly against scott’s brick wall of perfectionism. that, and the whole Situation between them in double life, which i could honestly make it’s own post but good god i need to STOP typing or this will go on forever. forgive my completely disorganized ramblings i just have been trying to get all this down on paper FOREVER

[ronearoundblindly]

For the every Cevans character, what is each one’s favorite position in bed? 😏😆

Fac-i-na-ting. I have categorized them into similar positions and then broken down the specifics or variations. No, I do not know the actual names of a lot of positions. I use the terms 'top' and 'bottom' but NOT in a BDSM way.

Sincerely, MINORS DNI. Warnings for very smutty descriptions of each of these characters 'in the act' and just...do I need to warn you about how much I was sweating during this???

'Top' Positions

Curtis Everett - Jimmy Dobyne - Steve Rogers - Ransom Drysdale - [Bucky Barnes]

Curtis is a cramped-quarters kind of lover, like you have been fucked up the bed until you and he are pressed against that headboard like a pretzel on a baking sheet. Gahdamn, he is intense. He threads an arm beneath you to make sure you're as close as possible. He grinds his pelvis into you, loving how his balls slap your ass. He likes it real sweaty, but he'll help you clean up in the shower, too. Dirty boi. 😮‍💨 We need him.

Jimmy and Ransom like you bent over but in different ways. Ransom just enjoys doggie-style. He feels awkward with too much eye contact and doesn't have to worry about that from behind. Jimmy is exceptionally good at spontaneously pressing you back or down onto a counter or the couch or perhaps a fence outside. 😳 He's oddly into fucking with at least some clothes on, but not because he doesn't like your body. He has a thing for choosing sex over chores or other obligations, so he and you are dressed for doing whatever else. It's just a little naughtier that way.

Steve is--I'm sure we can all agree--a missionary man. He looooves that eye contact Ran is so afraid of, but BUT! Steve's also a most considerate gentleman. He worries about putting too much of his weight on you, so his actual favorite position in pinning you against a wall (or mirror or window, etc) because he can lean into you without fear. He also enjoys that you get very, very excited for him to hold you up like that. You wrap around his neck and kiss him like it's your purpose in life. You get handsy, and that's about his favorite part...

[I know you said CE characters, nonnie, but Bucky just sneaks in, sorry!]

Ngl, Bucky took me the longest to figure out, and I'm not entirely sure he has a true 'favorite,' something he likes a good deal more than other positions. I have, however, landed on Bucky going braindead and gooey inside when he gets you in a mating press. There's, uh, a symbolism to wanting him and his cum inside you for as long as possible that hits all the right buttons to shut him down to the rest of the world for a while. He likes to sit back afterward and grip your knees to keep you right there until some drips out as you clench around nothing. You aren't empty though.

[Why. the fuck. does Bucky always get so 🥵 in these?]

'Bottom' Positions

Johnny Storm - Jake Jensen - Lloyd Hansen

Lloyd lets himself be lazy. He legitimately tucks his hands behind his head like he's at the beach and taunts you to work harder. He's so used to ordering people around and being quite active. Unless he has some aggression/frustration to work through, Lloyd needs to not be bothered with effort. It's your turn. Put your back into it.

Jake lets you control everything. Let's be fair: Jake is just happy to be here, ya know? He gets to be naked, he gets to see you naked, and he is going to come no matter what. Use him to your heart's content. Don't try telling him not to touch you (like an order or a deprivation game) because he can't stop himself. Every other order or request, he's game for, but on his back offers the best view of you--and technically, his glasses fog less 😬.

Johnny straight up loves when you ride him. He controls everything from below, though, because it's not actually about you taking over. He loves guiding your hips. He loves fucking up into you. He loves already being prone to fall asleep faster. [Go on, try to tell me I'm wrong. ::listens:: ::crickets:: Yeah, that's what I thought.] It's a win-win-win situation. All around cannot fail to please him. Johnny is definitely the type to assume that what feels good to him feels as good for his partner.

'Side' Positions

James Mace - Ari Levinson

Mace technically changes positions so much it maybe doesn't count as 'side,' but he's so playful, I'll allow it. His favorite sex, in general, is filled with natural ebbs and flows, quicker frantic times as well as soft doting and sweet, blissful enjoyment. A position that puts either him and you a hair's breath away from taking over is ideal. He wants to enjoy your company as much as your body. Mace can do both of those things in many, many different positions.

[Mace is quickly becoming a sleeper-fave of mine, my gawd. He's 😘🤌]

Finally, if Ari doesn't scream "wants to wake up fucking you," I don't know who does. He's spooning you, or coiled together with you someway, and just...ready when he sees you first thing in the morning--or in the middle of the night. Why bother moving much? He'll lift that leg up for you. He'll wrap around you to cup your breasts, play with your nipples, and rub your clit. Don't you worry 'bout a thing. Doesn't have to do with the position you're in, per se, but Ari also gruffly whispers other shit he'd like to do to you in your ear. It's vaguely easier to do that when your heads are on the same pillow, just saying.

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; 'Who Would..." Asks; Ko-Fi]

A/N: I successfully scheduled a post! Look at me, learning and shit...

[bookofthegear]

You search the room carefully, even though the space between your shoulderblades itches with the thought of secret doors and people leaping out while your back is turned. Jimmy keeps watch, which helps.

Your search confirms your earlier suspicions—somebody left this room in a big hurry, probably when they saw you setting to work with your screwdriver. That’s good? Maybe? They were more scared of you than you were of them?

Is that good?

There’s a low brick shelf that contains jars labeled in a language you don’t read, something swirly. Wedding invitation levels of swirly. The labels look hand-lettered, not mass produced. You’re guessing it’s food, though you have no plans to try it unless you’re on very short rations. You took a semester long class in what foods are safe to eat in a dungeon, and the lecture called “Botulism And You” has left you extremely wary of canned goods of unknown provenance.

The footprint in the firepit is roughly human foot shaped, but that’s the most you can say about it. The ash-mud is too goopy to hold fine detail. You can be fairly sure they didn’t step outside the firepit afterward, though, because there are no muddy footprints. Which means the only way they could go was up.

You look up the dark shaft above the firepit. The walls are black with soot. Obviously it was used as a chimney for some time. You don’t see any handholds. Possibly they had a rope, and pulled it up after themselves? If you hold the lantern just right, you can see what looks like a distorted handprint. It’s not impossible that they climbed up by bracing themselves against the walls, though you have no idea how they’d have gotten up there in the first place. You certainly can’t follow, even if you wanted to.

You saved the desk for last. It was swept clean, whatever was on it grabbed in a hurry, and the drawers were cleaned out. Except… You spot something far in the back and pull out a couple sheets of loose paper. They are covered in dense lines of the swirly writing, and drawings. Careful sketches of the faces of several humans.

Sleeping humans.

“That’s Two,” Jimmy says, his wings trembling slightly. “And Five.”

The drawing of Five has a small bird tucked up under her chin. You’re no artist, but it has the sort of start-and-stop, ragged-extra-lines look of something drawn from life. Which would mean…

“Oh, that’s creepy as fuck.” You glance up the chimney and wonder if someone is watching you and drawing a portrait right now.

[shanastoryteller]

Seasons Greasons be upon ye! ❄️⛄️ Can I request a little Sybok and Jim buddy au? Throw Spock in there too he feels lonely without his T’hy’la

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Spock is having a perfectly normal and pleasant conversation with Cadet Uhura when there's a cool hand on the back of his neck and he tenses before being flooded with feelings of affection and amusement.

"Sybok," he says evenly.

Their father had discouraged physical touch between them when Spock was a child. He'd worried that Sybok's unrestrained emotions and blatant disregard for societal customs would rub off on him.

Perhaps the distance would have been easier to do endure if their father had told him that, but he does not know. In any case, he cannot help from finding it comforting now, despite the lack of propriety.

"Spock," Sybok returns, a grin on his face that's most unbecoming.

Cadet Uhura is staring, jaw an inch lower than typical.

Sybok at least offers her the ta'al instead of something mortifying. "Apologies for my younger brother's rudeness. I am Sybok."

He would have introduced them. Sybok merely caught him off guard.

Cadet Uhura seems to shake off her surprise and offers him a beatific smile of her own. She copies his ta'al flawlessly. "Not at all, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you. Your writings are most interesting."

She's read his brother's thesis? He had not known that Cadet Uhura was a practitioner of masochism.

Whatever horrible response this would have pulled from his brother is interrupted by an excited shout of, "SYYYYYBOK! BOK BOK BOK!"

Spock is aware that the last syllable of his brother's name is also the sound humanity has associated with chickens.

He'd still never anticipated it being clucked at him in such a manner.

He looks over to see James Kirk sprinting in their direction while Cadet McCoy tries and fails to stop him, shouting and reaching for him but James Kirk is out of his reach.

Cadet Uhura scowls, shoulders going back and her eyes narrowing.

Sybok's face lights up and he looks behind him. "Jimmy!"

James Kirk reaches them, grabs onto his brother's shoulders, and vaults himself up so his legs are wrapped around Sybok's waist and he's draped across his back. "You asshole! Why didn't you tell me you were on world? Fuck you."

"Where's the fun in that?" Sybok asks, seemingly unconcerned with the way James Kirk is draped across him.

Cadet McCoy reaches them then bends over, bracing his hands on his knees and gasping for air, "Jim."

James Kirk raises an eyebrow.

"Stop," he pants, pointing a finger in his direction, "this."

Cadet Uhura slowly moves her gaze across each of them, looking back and forth between Sybok and James Kirk several times. "Do you ... know each other?"

Vulcans have a religion of sorts, although it's more a series of ritual for the dead than anything formal, and there is no worshipping of any sort of deities. That sort of impracticality was purged from the society with Surak's teachings. Should he wish to indulge in such things, which he does not, his mother's family has long been disciples of Judaism.

Despite this, he has the sinking feelings that he's in hell.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + seven

authors notes: so this one leaves probably more questions than answers, but there's also a lot of things sprinkled throughout, and all questions will be answered....eventually.

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: fluff, language, discussion of parental loss, brief (two line) flashback of aftermatch following csa, suggestive themes, ptsd trigger

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 8k

Solana: Are you busy today?

Normally, Roman would keep his phone face down during business meetings but with increasing communication with Solana, he’s leaned more on the side of having it face up so he’s aware when notifications come through. 

It’s not a priority. Just a…..preference. 

Grabbing his phone, he quickly shoots her back a text.

Roman: What do you need?

Before he can put his phone back down, those three dots appear. He keeps the thread open for her reply to slide in.

Solana: Nvm. I’m sorry to bother you.

Roman curses inwardly, barely keeping it to himself and not making the room of men aware of his frustrations. He can acknowledge Solana has slightly improved with her over–apologizing over the past couple weeks, but it’s moments like this that get him upset all over again. 

He fucking hates repeating himself.

But….

There’s that small, annoying ass, nagging voice in the back of his head that reminds him of why she’s always so apologetic, why she thinks her damn existence itself is an inconvenience. And he can’t really fault her, blame her for years of trauma fucking with her mental.

Roman: You’re apologizing again. How many times I gotta tell you to stop that shit?

It could probably, definitely, be worded better. Maybe even a bit…kinder. But Roman is a lot of things. 

Kind is not one of them.

He then adds, knowing she’ll probably try to find another excuse to not be honest with him. 

Roman: What do you need? The truth, Solana. 

There’s an appearance and disappearance of those dots at least three or four times. He can picture her biting down on her bottom lip as she tries to word what probably is a simple request as best she can.

The amount of overthinking she does has to be fucking exhausting.

Solana: I was just gonna see if you could meet me at the library. I wanted to show you something.

Solana: But, it’s not a big deal! Please forget I said anything.

A couple of things strike Roman strange, two in particular. The first being that as soon as she says what she needs, the answer is an automatic yes. Like, it’s not even something he really thinks too much about, but he also chalks it up to a level of genuine curiosity. This might be the first time she’s actually directly asked him for something.

It must be important. Important enough for her to ask him to come see whatever it is, at least.

It’s why he doesn’t even comment on her second, follow up text.

Roman: What time you get off?

He can make whatever work.

Solana: It’s okay. Really.

This damn girl….

Roman’s jaw clench as he types out a text that matches his mood. 

Roman: Solana….

She’s giving him a damn migraine. He’s not sure why he doesn’t just ignore her at this point. If it’s that fucking important, she wouldn’t be giving him such a hard time.

But then the stupid nagging voice returns, reminding him that her even asking in the first place is a huge deal that shouldn’t necessarily be shot down because of lingering struggles that are probably going to be around for a while.

Solana literally has years of baggage and trauma she needs to heal from.

And that shit doesn’t happen overnight.

Solana: 3pm

Roman blows out a breath. Fucking finally. 

He lays his phone back down, not necessarily wanting to hear any pushback or counter arguments she might try to supply, fake ass reasons she wants to back away from her assertive request. 

Not happening. 

Roman: I’ll be there.

“Jey.” Roman’s deep voice cuts through the group who set their eyes on him. “I need you and Jimmy to handle the Barrett meeting for me.”  While the twins are annoying as shit majority of the time, they’re effective all of the time. Roman has trusted countless meetings with them, and none have turned out badly. They always get shit handled. 

His cousins both echo okayness with this change in plans, as expected. The same way Roman expected his Wise Man to be the one with questions.

“My Tribal Chief, we’ve had this meeting scheduled for weeks. What could possibly be more important?”

It’s a fair question, Roman isn’t too stubborn to admit that. But, it’s also not a question that applies. Again, it’s not that Solana is important, per se, it’s just that if his alternative is dealing with Barret’s loquacious business dealings, he’d prefer Solana.

He’s also partially intrigued by the mere fact she’d even had the balls to ask something of him in the first place. It’s promising. Assertiveness has always been more attractive to him than passiveness. 

Roman’s answer is both simple and vague. “I have somewhere to be.”

“But—”

“Wise Man.”

Paul’s childlike smile deepens suddenly, as if he’s been picked to be fucking line leader. “Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“Who’s the Tribal Chief?”

Rikishi is the only one to offer a visible reaction, hiding his chuckle. He knows exactly where this is going, even if his decades old friend does not. 

“Y–you are, my Tribal Chief.”

Romans voice is sharp and lethal. “So why the fuck are you asking me to answer to you?”

Paul’s expression pales. “I would never, my—”

“Sound like it to me,” Jimmy’s messy ass chimes in. He looks at Jey. “What you think, Uce?”

“Sound like it to me too.” Jey, as expected, agrees. Only for him to nearly fall back in his seat when he jumps up so both feet are on the expensive ass leather. Roman is annoyed all over again for a new reason. “Ayo, Uce, ya’ll got a rat problem!”

At that, Jimmy is twinning with his brother in more than just appearance, also with his feet off the floor and onto the leather chair. Roman hopes they both fall over and break their goddamn necks. Rikishi can handle Barrett just fine.

“Ain’t you like a goddamn billionaire? How the hell you got Stuart Little and his fam running around your crib!”

Roman’s gaze follows the line of vision the twins are so damn focused on only to be met with Dulce calmly walking past both of them to sit in front of him, looking up with a tilted head. 

She’s clearly looking for Solana. 

And he knows this because it’s become a bit of a habit. If he’s home and she’s not, Dulce’s nosy ass seems to seek him out as if he’s supposed to magically make her owner appear. It’s not something he’s brought up to Solana, because he knows she would just freak the fuck out and over apologize for Dulce “bothering” him. 

And that’s not the case. 

It’s a bit annoying, but it’s not a bother.

His staff keep an eye out for her when Solana works, and he’s even seen Solana come back to the house on her lunch breaks to check in Dulce, so he doesn’t mind. She’s keeping up her end of the deal, being the primary caretaker for the puppy. 

“That’s Solana’s dog.”

Jimmy’s bewildered gaze is on him. “This a dog?”

“Yes.”

“You let her get a dog? Like a real ass dog?”

“You fucking see her, don’t you?” At that moment, Dulce calmly lays down on the floor next to Roman’s feet which are literally bigger than her small ass. It’s followed up by Paul starting to sneeze. 

Jey, who is now sitting back in his chair like a normal human being, points out, “man, you hate dogs.”

Naturally, Roman goes a bit on the defense, shoulders straightening. “I don’t hate them.”

Jimmy makes a sound, also with his feet planted on the ground. “Bruh, you literally use to tell us when we was growing up, ‘I hate dogs.’ That’s why we started calling you Big Dog, cause it was funny to see you get all mad and shit.”

Roman may or may not remember that, but it doesn’t mean he’s going to acknowledge it. Besides, he’s allowed to change his mind. Hate was always probably too strong of a word to use anyway. 

There are a lot of things Roman hates, even more people that he hates, but dogs are not on the list. 

It was more irritation than anything.

“Whatever.”

“What’s her name?” Rikishi asks, bending over his chair to try to catch Dulce’s attention.

Roman watches the puppy gradually make her way over his cousin, ears dropping as he gently rubs the top of her head. “Dulce.”

“Dul–what?”

This…..this is why Roman is on high blood pressure medication, why Dr. Michaels recommended he start wearing one of those smart watches to monitor his heart rate and other shit. Not that he did it.

“Dulce. It’s Spanish.”

“Aw man, why you ain’t say that in the beginning?” Jimmy turns to Jey. “The dog only speak Spanish.” He looks over at his dad who now has Dulce in his lap, continuing to pet her. Roman rolls his eyes. This dog is a damn attention whore, just like he predicted. “Hola, lil’ chalupa.”

Jey punches his brother on the arm. “Uce, you can’t be saying that kind of shit. It’s racist.”

“No, it’d be racist if I called the dog Taco Bell since her mama half Mexican, but I ain’t do that shit, cause I like Soso.”

“Stop calling her that.” 

Jimmy avoids Roman’s warning and proceeds to ask with all of the intrigue. “So not only did you let her bring a dog up in here, but you let ole’ girl pick a rat for said dog?”

Already irritated and on edge, Roman isn’t sure why Jimmy’s question irritates him as much as it does, and not even because it's a question that’s being posed when he’s trying to review a contract. It’s that Jimmy is questioning Solana’s decision in general.

He answers as calmly as he’s capable of responding. Roman also notices that Paul is red as a tomato as he pulls out an Epipen. Roman easily brings his focus back to Jimmy. “It’s what she wanted.”

“Should have got a big dog,” Jey suggests, hovering over by Rikishi as he tries to interact with Dulce whose eyes are fluttering closed. Roman swears this damn dog sleeps 23 out of the 24 hours in the day. 

That answer is simple, Roman grabbing a pen to sign off on the contract in front of him. It’s satisfactory enough. “She’s scared of them.”

“What is she not scared of?”

But that comment, for whatever reason, is what makes him snap. “Get out.”

Both the twins are unfazed, but it seems to trigger something for them as Jimmy exclaims, “I forgot!” He looks over at Jey, reminding. “Remember, Soso made some extra food for us.”

“Oh shit, she sho’ did!” 

Roman makes a mental note to write Solana about that. It’s not her job to keep feeding his grown ass, married ass cousins. 

The two bid their farewell, Jey shouting out as his parting term, “yeet!”

“Stop doing that,” Roman calls after their retreating forms as Paul also excuses himself for some air. 

Maybe he really is allergic to dogs. 

Rikishi stands up and walks over to him, still holding Dulce but not saying anything. He’s just looking like he wants to say something. Another of Roman’s pet peeves, of the many.

With a mutter and scowl, he asks, “what?” 

His cousin simply shrugs, nonchalantly commenting. “The girl is growing on you, Uce.” It’s an assessment, for certain.

However, Roman has zero desire to have this conversation with his older cousin, or anyone, in general. Hence, his vague ass reply of, “she’s tolerable.”

Because that’s the truth. Solana is neither amazing nor insufferable. She’s in a pretty balanced space between the both: tolerable.

Rikishi gives him that sly ass look that makes Roman want to punch him in his fucking face. “E tua le fale tele i le faleo’ o.”

It’s an old Samoan proverb that means “Even the mighty need others.”

Instantly, Roman’s gaze is cutting. “I don’t need anyone.” He never has, and he never will.

Rikishi just offers a knowing smile, lowering Dulce back to the ground and placing a hand on Roman’s shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. “Of course not, Uce. Of course not.” The older man says nothing else, just walking out, Dulce returning back to stand by Roman’s feet, head up, staring at him.

He rolls his eyes, murmuring as he gets back to work. “She’ll be home later.” 

Dulce barks in response. 

________

The minute Roman pulls up to Solana’s job, sees the expression on his cousin’s face, he knows something is up.

Solo may have a dangerously good poker face, but Roman invented that shit. 

He got the blueprint from Roman. 

Solana is sitting near the front of the building, surrounded by fucking children as she reads some basic ass book that they’re all clearly eating up based upon how they can’t seem to take their eyes off her.

Roman isn’t entirely indifferent, instantly taking note of her outfit, more colorful, less covered. It reeks of Naomi’s influence, but in a good way. 

As always, she looks good, better than good.

Not wanting to interrupt, Roman motions for a few of his men to take Solo’s place as he gestures for his younger cousin to follow him.

As soon as they’re outside the building, Roman gets right into it. “You got something to say, so say it.” 

Roman knows his cousin well enough to know that despite his brutal fighting abilities, the man is always careful and meticulous with his words. Unlike his hot headed older brother, Jey, Solo always thinks before he acts.

It’s why Roman doesn’t think twice about the space between the issuance of his prompt and Solo’s answer.

“You made me your enforcer for a reason, yeah?”

It’s an easy answer. “Yes.” 

“You upped me in the ranks to prove myself, right? To earn my way into the inner circle?”

Roman is already bored with the conversation, but considering this is family, he throws a bone. “Yeah.”

“So just how am I supposed to do that when you got me playing babysitter to your new wife?” The turn in topics as well as increase in Solo’s volume does slightly, very slightly, take Roman by surprise. Granted, he does a masterful job, as always, hiding that surprise. “Any lower guy could do this shit. She don’t—”

“Solo.” Roman gives him that tight smile and scratches his beard, typically the last thing people see before they meet their maker. “You answer to me. You do what I say you do, and I say you’re assigned to Solana.”

Roman doesn’t know what’s in the fucking water for people to be testing him the way they are, but it’s really starting to piss him off.

Solo looks down, clearly embarrassed by this talk down but not enough to shut his mouth. “I get that, but—”

“Wasn’t she already hurt once under your watch?” Roman’s voice is razor sharp as he reminds the younger man of his failure. The memory of that fucking bruise on Solana’s wrist from her bitch of a brother returning all of those strong emotions. “I gave you a job, and you didn’t do it. She got hurt while under your protection. It’s because you’re my cousin, you're even still breathing right now. You know better than anyone I don’t accept failure.”

At that, Solo concedes, knowing good and well there is no excuse or justifiable reason. “I understand, my Tribal Chief.”

Roman does his best to chip away some of his anger at this outright disrespect as well as the memories of Solana hurt. He steps past his cousin, calling out over his shoulder. “And Solo, don’t think because you’re family I won’t put a bullet in your head for questioning me.” Out of the corner of his eye, Roman can see Solo still has his head down. “Fail me again, let her get hurt again, and I’ll put your ass six feet under.”

Roman doesn’t allow the conversation to persist beyond that, big steps taking him back to the library just in time to see the children disperse, whipping past him as Solana approaches. The wedges on her feet give her a bit more height, but he still towers over her, which is a usual experience for him.

But, it doesn’t negate the fact that she’s so damn small.

“Hi,” she greets in that familiar unsure voice, eyes darting from him to the ground. “Sorry—I mean—story time ran a bit over.”

He’s appreciative she at least caught the apologizing before he had to call it out. “It’s fine.”

She offers a tight smile and motions for him to follow her, which he does, just as his eyes follow the sway of her ass as she leads the way.  

He’s starting to really enjoy seeing her in jeans. 

She leads him up the stairs and in the back area he’d visited her before what seems like so long ago, finding that her bastard of a brother had manipulated her into being alone with him. The last fucking time that shit will ever happen.

She pulls a key out her back pocket and unlocks the door, informing, “I have to grab something first.”

He doesn’t say anything, just nods. It’s like she feels the need to justify every little thing she does. 

Roman watches her walk over to the desk, leaning over as she grabs him something out of her bag, a notebook, the journal he first found her writing in the first time he came to see her at her place of employment. 

She’s back by him, closing and locking the door. “Come on.”

Typically, if this was anyone else, Roman would have demanded to know just what the fuck was so important that caused him to have to rearrange his whole schedule. Granted, he can’t take that out on her, nor would he ever, when he’s the one who rearranged his whole schedule for her. She didn't ask him to do that shit. 

He did it on his own volition for reasons unknown. 

The walk to the next stop doesn’t take long at all, Solana soon sticks her key in another, unfamiliar door, opening and stepping aside but directing him to walk in.

He does as such, naturally and instantly taking in his surroundings once she hits the light switch. It’s a room obviously, a previous storage room he would guess based upon the large filing cabinet lined against the wall to the right of him. There’s also another couple pieces of furniture against that same wall, like a desk and mini bookshelf, but that’s not what immediately catches his attention.

He’s instead more interested by the remaining walls that are essentially lined with larger, white bookshelves, all filled with a combination of notebooks, books, and journals. Completely filled. 

Intrigued but also confused, the latter of which is unfamiliar to him, Roman turns to Solana, asking, “what is this?”

Her cheeks redden, but she manages an answer that’s somehow not marked by as much stuttering. “There are all my journals—well,” she stops, giving a nervous laugh. “Most of them. Some are books I’ve read, and….” She walks over to a section that somehow seems different from the others, albeit lined up neatly with the rest of the items. Solana’s hand almost hesitantly feathers over the spines of the journals. At closer look, Roman can see they’re a bit dated and worn than the others. “These were my mother’s.”

Her answer surprises him, but he quickly recalls her sharing that she started writing because of her mother, because they wrote to each other.

She clears her throat and then turns back to him, sharing, “every time I finish a journal, I leave it here.”

Obviously. “Why here?”

“My mom started it. It—it was an arrangement she had with Mrs. Jensen. She worked here, and along with her pay, she arranged so she could keep her writings here and after….” Solana starts to hesitate, and Roman can see it’s because emotion is brewing. Just gently bubbling under the surface. “After she died, I kept up with it.”

Roman recognizes the sensitive nature of the subject and makes a subtle effort to change the topic on her behalf. “You’ve really written in all of these?” It’s impressive. He has to give her that. The thought of writing in general has never appealed to him, so for her to have a room full of journals she’s completed is fucking impressive. 

She nods, adding sheepishly, “filled em’ up.” Solana then takes the one in her hand, lifting it a bit. “Finished this one this morning.” He watches her squeeze it into a row that’s probably already being pushed to the limit.

She’s going to run out of space eventually.

She’ll need something bigger, sooner rather than later. Roman compartmentalizes this for a later date and time to navigate.

“You keep em’ here to hide them also, don’t you?”

“They can never know what I’ve written….” She doesn’t need to say who they are. It’s more than obvious. It’d be a sure death wish. “I just—-I know you said you’d write for now and it’s been almost a month, but—but I—I figured if you knew just how important and helpful writing is to me—”

“Solana.” There’s no need for her long ass, drawn out explanation. He understands now why she wanted him to see this space, the goal behind the request. “We’ll write as long as you need it.”

He watches her shoulders drop, a sign of relief. She bites back a smile he wouldn’t be opposed at seeing. She looks even better when she’s smiling. “Thank you.”

He only nods, and Solana finds herself taking him in. 

All of him.

In recent weeks, she’s discovered yet another newfound difficulty and source of anxiety for herself. And that new addition would happen to be in the form of the 6’3 man before her.

Roman has always made her nervous, for a variety of good and valid reasons, but recently, the cause of that anxiety has shifted to something else, something a bit on the unfamiliar side for her, or rather something she hasn’t really had to think about since her last disastrous relationship.

Attraction

Solana has come to terms with the fact that she’s attracted to Roman, yes, but also that she hasn’t the slightest clue of what to do about and with that said attraction.

It’s always been there, to a certain extent, but it was more dormant, something she knew was present but voiceless and nameless, almost invisible.

Now, in interacting and engaging with him more, it’s formed more defining characteristics, creating a sense of butterflies in her stomach whenever his smoldering gaze falls on her or when he says something to her, that deep, baritone voice sprouting goosebumps on the back of her neck.

It also doesn’t help that he’s indicated a couple of different times now that he also finds her attractive, or pretty, beautiful even.

That he thinks she looks good.

None of that makes sense to Solana nor can she understand why he would believe any of those things, but she would never make him out to be a liar, so it must be true, to some extent.

And therein lies the dilemma. 

One of many that exist in her life.

How she’s supposed to balance attraction with fear, desire with aversion, peace with trauma. It’s all a muddled mess. 

“Solana.”

“Sorry.” He only has to sigh one time for her shoulders to sulk, but instead of apologizing, she points out in a small voice. “It’s—it’s a habit.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a fucking habit to break.” His irritation is palpable, and Solana feels even smaller around him, like she’s done something wrong. “It’s not you I’m annoyed with.”

“Oh.” And that genuinely surprises her. In Solana’s experience, she’s always been the source of people’s, especially the men in her life, exasperation. But before she can step out of her comfort zone and ask him what’s wrong, he informs her of something that completely makes her emotions flip and twirl into a puddle of distress.

“Your father called for you today.” And just like that, any sense of relation and ease she’d achieved is dissipated, replaced with growing unrest. “Relax…” It’s not missed upon Solana how Roman’s tone quickly and almost easily jumps from irritated to almost soothing, like he’s trying to calm his nerves. “I told him to fuck off.”

That doesn’t make her feel any better. “He doesn’t like being told no.”

“And you think I give a fuck?” His deep voice is full of indifference and edge, but this time around, Solana knows it’s not directed towards her. He then asks, “do you want to talk to him?”

It takes her off guard. “What?”

Roman repeats himself with a surprising lack of irritation. “Do you want to talk to him?” 

Solana can’t remember the last time she was asked such a question. Been given a choice. Then again, it’s happened quite a few times since her marriage to Roman, starting with Bayley asking her something as simple as how she wants her makeup done. 

She doesn’t know what to make of that. Just another thing added to that mounting list of confusing and conflicting thoughts and feelings. 

“If you want to, I’ll allow it.” He quickly adds the caveat. “But not without me present.”

Prior to the past couple weeks, Solana would suspect Roman’s stipulation stems from a place of possessiveness. But now….now it feels like it comes from someplace else, something so unfamiliar and foreign. 

Protectiveness. 

It feels like he’s being protective of her. 

His proclamation from earlier returns to the forefront of her mind.

“I’m not going to let anyone lay a fucking hand on you.”

He’d also included a list of people he wouldn’t allow to do as such, including her dad and brother, which is why he clearly would only let Solana speak to her father if he’s around. 

It’s just the why that has her stumped.

But, back to the question being posed, the easiest and most simple answer is no. She’d rather not be around someone who’s only ever left her hurt, emotionally and/or physically. Or allocated that task to her brother. 

Not to mention the fact that the only reason he probably wants to talk to her is to discuss this nefarious plot she still refuses to allow herself to think about because it’s so inconceivable. 

“Not really,” she answers after what feels like forever, “but…”

Roman picks up on her hesitation. “But?” 

“Like I said, my–my father doesn’t like being denied.” And before he can protest or again reiterate his outright indifference to her father’s feelings, Solana adds in a quiet voice, “and I usually end up being the one to pay for it.”

Roman steps towards her, and before she can process what’s happening, his finger is under her chin, tugging so that her head is lifted, eyes locked with his. 

His voice lowers, quietly asking, “you still don’t believe me when I say I won’t let anyone hurt you, huh?” It’s rhetorical, sure, but Solana is too focused on the fact that this man is touching her. It’s as innocent as innocent comes, but it’s still touch, something she usually hides away from like the plague. However, outside of the initial shock and borderline discomfort, Solana doesn’t jump away, doesn’t feel the need to put as much distance between them. She’s almost….almost comfortable.

“I’m going to kill them both, eventually.  Fucking with them in the meanwhile only makes the outcome that much more worthwhile. But…” And the surprises keep coming, especially as he makes her aware of his intentions. “One word. All I need is one fucking word from you. That you want them gone, and it’s done. No questions asked.” 

Power.

Solana wonders if this is what power feels like, the ability to say one single word and have a life be ended. How she feels about those lives belonging to her brother and father remains to be seen, but even being given such an option, such an almost promise, it’s an indescribable experience.

Roman’s brown eyes, light and contrasting everything about him that is sharp and hard, study her. “You understand me?”

Naturally, she nods against his index finger that’s under her chin, demanding maintained eye contact. 

“I need words.” It’s a reminder from the infamous wedding night, something that seems so far in the rearview mirror now. 

“Y–yes.”

He seems pleased by this acknowledgment, enough to pull his hand away from her, Solana trying not to make too much of the strange sensation that floats in her stomach at the absence of his touch. 

Roman suddenly offers. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll up your security detail.” Before she can protest and probably apologize if she’d unintentionally indicated it wasn’t already enough, he asks, “you get off at 3 every day?”

“Essentially, y–yes.” 

“I’ll start meeting you.”

The surprises just keep on coming.

Instantly, she feels bad, shaking her head. “You don’t have to—”

“Solana.” This man must get tired of having to say her name, she’s certain of that. “I’ll meet you.” He says the same thing, but this time, she knows not to push back because it’s a done thing. “Just make sure I have your updated work schedule.”

“Wh—what about Solo?”

“He’ll still be assigned to you for any other outings.” This makes her feel a little better, that he’s not entirely rearranging and inconveniencing himself for her. “You ready to go?”

Yes. No. Maybe. There’s so many different questions she has with only a select number of answers, but in this moment, she goes with the one that feels most right. 

Especially with Roman reaching for her hand.

Nodding, she swallows and accepts his gesture, noticing how his large hand closes over hers, almost protectively.

“Yes.”

________

“That for me?” Solana looks up from the notebook she’s almost certain she’ll have filled and completed by the end of the month. Roman’s presence and question both catch her off-guard. She didn’t really expect to speak to him again today, especially after he already spent time with her earlier that day. She figured he’d had his maximum daily dosage. 

Especially after she’d already prepared and fixed dinner for him, the two of them falling into their now routine of him eating in his office, her in the living room before she makes her way out back to the patio where she either writes or, now, plays with Dulce.

Solana shakes her head, answering softly as Roman sits on the chair opposite her.  “no. It’s…”

“About your mom?”

With him now aware of the nature of some of her writing, she answers, “yeah.” Roman’s question triggers something she’s certain she intentionally never commented on because it was such a shock to her system that she really didn’t know how to respond. “When….when you said it wasn’t my fault….did—did you mean that?”

If she expected there to be delayed response or even confusion on his end, she was entirely wrong because he answers almost on the spot. “Yes. I told you, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

She’s starting to believe that. 

Wetting her lips, she informs in that same small voice, “no one’s ever said that to me before.”

Xavier’s unshaven face and dark, judgmental gaze is focused on her, Solana doing her best to ignore the pain that wrecks her body, the beeping of the machines and IV’s in both her arms. The throbbing between her legs is equally scary as it is confusing. What did they do to her, and why did it hurt so much?

He pulls the cigar from his mouth, dropping and stomping it on the floor, gruff voice asking, “why didn’t you fight back?” He shakes his head, spitting at the same spot that’s littered with remnants of one of many poor habits. “You’re weak just like your mother.”

Roman’s firm voice snatches her away from spiraling too deeply in dark memories of an even darker past. She does her best to shake away any sign she was about to dissociate when he surprises her for what feels like the 10th time today, almost quietly sharing, “My mother was killed when I was ten years old.” There’s a synchronous dropping of her mouth and stomach at the exact same time. “You think that shit was my fault?”

The answer is obvious and immediate. “No. Of–of course not. You were—you were just a kid.”

While her response is borderline automatic, coming from a place of pure logic, everything else is so confusing. Roman’s mother is….dead? Not even dead but murdered when he was a child?

Just like hers.

Solana doesn’t know how to process this. It’s not until this very moment that she realizes not once has she ever considered or thought about his immediate family, like parents and even siblings. At the wedding, so many people were present, obvious family members of his, but she’s just now realizing she never considered who was who. Were they all cousins, aunts, in-laws even? 

Where is the rest of his immediate family? Better yet, who makes up his immediate family? She’s aware of the twins and even his older cousin Rikishi, but is there not more?

“So were you.” She can’t tell if Roman intentionally works to redirect the focus back onto herself or if he’s unaware of the fact she’s suddenly wondering just how much about the man across from her she still knows nothing about it. “So why is it different for you?”

It’s an effective diversion and valid question that she’s never once asked herself.

“No one’s ever said that either.” Her voice is only a couple octaves above a whisper, and Solana finds herself sharing more than she’s probably ever divulged to anyone. “When I….when I’m writing, a lot of the times, I’m writing letters to my mom.” Having this conversation with anyone, let alone Roman, of all people, wasn’t on her life agenda. But, it seems like a lot of ‘nevers’ are gradually morphing into ‘actualities.’

It’s such a strange experience, too.

“Like I said, we used to write to each other, and after….after she was killed, I couldn’t find it in me to stop. I think at the beginning, I kept doing it because….because I didn’t want to accept she was gone.” The understanding and underlying emotion shifts to the surface, resulting in her quickly wiping at her eyes to keep the tears from falling. “Like I was waiting for her to write me back.” It’s not missed upon Solana how Dulce suddenly moves closer, tucking her body right up against Solana’s thigh. “And I’ve kept at it over the years, cause—she was the only person I could ever talk to.”

Roman repeats the same message he wrote to her, almost reminding her of a lifeline she’s gradually starting to realize is available for the first time in almost twenty years. “You can talk to me, Solana.”

And she is. She doesn’t know how and especially why, but she is, and as heavy as the topic is, there’s a hint of relief at finally having another living, breathing person to speak to and with about these things. 

Especially…..especially someone who can maybe relate to her. “How did you do it—how did you….move past it?”

It’s not the best wording, she’s certain of that. Losing a parent. Having a parent be murdered isn’t something one gets over. 

Solana knows this better than most, but Roman….he’s so composed, so together, so unbroken. 

So unlike her. 

His expression darkens as he answers in an eerie but calm voice. “I got my revenge, and I killed every single son of a bitch who played a role.” His delivery unsettles her a bit, but he seems to easily shift back into that almost patient tone she’s only ever heard him use….with her. “But, I’m not like you, Solana. You're innocent. My ledger bleeds red.” Solana doesn’t know what it looks or even sounds like for Roman to be uncomfortable, but his delivery in the next part definitely feels as such.  “I don’t….feel things like you do. You feel everything. I feel nothing.”

She whispers. “I wish I was like that, that I didn’t feel.” Because it’s true. Because it’s how she initially started to self harm, because she wanted to feel something other than emotional pain. Even physical pain was better than the anguish that racked her every day, 24/7.

He’s quick to shut that down, to tell her the complete opposite. “No, you don’t. That would mean you’ve lost that innocence you have.”

That actually makes Solana smile, chuckle, but there’s not an ounce of humor as she shakes her head. “I–I lost my innocence a long time ago.” Stolen. It was stolen from her a long time ago is the more appropriate way to word it. Stomach a complete freaking mess, she does her best to power through her anxiety at what she’s about to tell him. “Roman…..I—”

“Ayo, Uce—”

“What!” Roman snaps, Solana jumping back away from him, hypervigilance back on high and alert. He briefly casts his gaze back in her direction, and she can almost swear she sees a speck of guilt. Like he’s apologetic for scaring her. 

Jimmy, however, is unfazed by his cousin’s temper. He’s lived with it his whole life. Ain’t nothing new. “Rhodes men were on Bloodline territory—”

“What?” At that, Roman’s head snaps back in Jimmy’s direction. And Solana watches as any sign of Roman, patient and almost kind, is replaced almost instantly with that same cold, stoic demeanor that could strike fear in the heart of even the strongest man. 

He stands up, hands on his hips as he moves a bit away from her. Solana also stands, fighting her urge to move closer to him. 

Jimmy also presents with a seriousness she’s never seen in him, never even really knew he was capable of, to be honest. “We got three guys down. Another two critically injured.”

Roman curses, turning away, back toward Jimmy and her. He then asks, “you got a location on em’ yet?”

“Pearce should have it any minute now.”

“Good. Let’s go.” Roman nods, stepping away from Solana and in the direction of Jimmy just as Dulce walks over, clearly wanting Solana to pick her up. She must also pick up on the sudden shift in the atmosphere. 

Dulce in her arms, Solana finds herself calling for Roman. “What—”

“Not now.” His dismissal is sharp and sudden. It shouldn’t hurt her feelings, because it’s obvious he’s in an entirely different zone now, but it does. 

Solana sinks back into her shell of silence as Solo steps forward. “You want me—”

“Stay with Solana. She doesn't step foot outside this fucking house, you understand me?” Roman’s orders are indisputable, an almost sense of urgency in his tone. “Heighten security around the premises.”

Solana has so many questions. Just what is going on? Why is Roman so on edge all of a sudden? Who is Rhodes and why do they present such an imminent threat where Roman marches out the house, Jimmy on his heels without even a second glance at her.

It’s all so confusing. 

“You need to get inside.” Solo’s equally stoic reminder, command maybe, pulls her from her thoughts. And Dulce suddenly growling at Solo definitely redirects her focus.

“Shhh. It’s just Solo,” she comforts, petting and trying to calm the puppy who quickly upgrades her growling to barking. This also confuses the mess out of Solana.  

She’s not sure she’s ever seen Dulce both growl and bark at someone.

Wordlessly, she walks in the house, past Solo who she notices makes sure to lock the door behind them. 

“Stay in your room," he instructs, and while she has more questions than anything, his austere tone is more than enough for her to not push back. 

Dulce will just have to use the crate if she has to use the bathroom. 

Without another word, Solo carries Dulce up the stairs and into her room where she lays the puppy in her bed and Solana climbs onto her.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she grabs her phone and opens up the latest group text thread she was messaging in. 

Solana: Can I ask you guys something?

Their replies come in not even five minutes later. 

Bayley: Of course!

Naomi: Anything.

Without allowing herself too much time to overthink it, Solana sends out the simple question.

Solana: Who or what is Rhodes?

Solana: Roman just rushed out of here after Jimmy said something about Rhodes men being on Bloodline territory. I’m not allowed to leave the mansion.

Just like the start of the conversation, the replies come in almost instantaneously. 

Naomi: Fuck.

Naomi: Yes, stay put. Solo’s there with you, right?

Solana: Yes.

Solana’s anxiety is only growing. Naomi sounds just as intense as Jimmy and Roman were. 

Her follow up text doesn’t do anything to help the confusion either.

Naomi: The less you know, the better. The guys will handle it.

Handle what, though? That’s what Solana really wants to know. What is the story here, and why did this Rhodes person or group have Roman so wired. 

Just then, another notification comes through. From Bayley, but in their individual thread and not the group chat. 

Solana switches over, reading her messages as they arrive almost back to back. 

Bayley: Rhodes is a person, but…that’s a complicated story.

Bayley: And I'd feel bad telling someone else’s story, but what I can tell you is that Rhodes is Cody Rhodes, head to the Nightmare Factory, the Bloodline’s biggest opp. Tensions have been at an all time high for like two generations with countless bodies dropped on both sides. It’s always a bloodbath when they’re in the same vicinity. 

Solana is regretting even asking anything in the first place. Bloodbath when they’re in the same vicinity, the same vicinity Roman is heading for as she types. Her shoulders drop, anxiety starting to shift to a new target. 

Concern for his safety.

Bayley: If you’re somehow ever in a situation where someone from the Nightmare territory is around, get the hell out of dodge. They won’t hesitate to kill you, especially with you being Roman’s wife.

Bayley: Or Rollins. Seth Rollins. Especially him. Guy is fuckin’ psycho.

Solana: Rollins?

Bayley: Roman, Seth, and Cody used to be friends a long time ago, like way long ago, and it just….it went bad. Really really fucking bad, and Cody and Roman have hated each other since. Like, I don’t know if hate is even a strong enough word for how much they can’t stand each other. 

Solana: But why?

Bayley never replies. 

________

Roman doesn’t step back into the house until almost 4am. He feels every bit exhausted as he probably looks, more physical than anything, some mental, maybe more than he’d like to admit.

Dealing with anything Nightmare related typically has that impact on him.

Solo meets him at the door, looking as on alert as he did when Roman first saw him at the ass crack of dawn this morning. 

The first thing to leave Roman’s mouth isn’t intentional as much as it is unintentional. “How was she?”

Solo motions to the marble flooring leading to the spacious living room. “She’s waiting for you.”

Roman wasn’t expecting to hear that, and he’s certain it shows in his facial expression. “What? Why? Why is she still up?”

Solo shrugs. “You’ll have to ask her. She don’t talk to me.” Which is more Solo’s preference anyway. It’s his job to protect her, not be her fucking friend. “Everything good?” Roman nods but doesn’t say anything, still stuck on the fact that Solana is still up. “Imma head out.”

Roman’s response is as distant as his expression. He doesn’t care whether Solo stays or leaves. “Alright.”

Once his enforcer is out the house, Roman sure enough finds Solana sitting on the sofa, legs crossed, notebook in her lap as she writes away.

“Solana.”

She gasps, clearly taken by surprise, but when her head lifts and her eyes land on him, she untangles her legs and moves the journal to the side. Solana walks over to him, keeping a distance that makes sense for her. “You’re back….”

“What are you still doing up? Don’t you have work in a couple hours?”

“It’s okay.” She shakes her head, adding sheepishly, “I–I don’t sleep much anyway.” He knows this well. “I just—I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Her eyes widen as she hones in on the nasty looking cut near the middle of his hairline. “You’re hurt….”

It’s really not until she says anything that Roman remembers the only “injury” he received from tonight’s bloodbath. “It’s fine.” He then redirects the focus to the main topic at hand. “Solana, you don’t have to wait up for me.”

She ignores him, actually ignores him and instead reaches up to feel the cut that’s maybe a bit more deeper than he realized because her feather light touch brings a bit of a sting. 

“You need stitches.” It doesn’t sound like a suggestion, and he realizes as such following her next surprising action. She takes his hand and leads him into the kitchen, motioning for him to sit down on the stool as she pulls out the medical kit from under the sink. 

Similar to the night of WarGames, she moves in between his open legs and starts tending to his cut, meticulously and carefully stitching him up.

She says not a word, and neither does he. Truthfully, it’s more an unconscious thing than conscious, like neither knows what or if to say something. Especially considering both are currently feeling more than what they know how to properly verbalize, or verbalize at all, really. 

“There….” Roman can tell when she’s done. She gently runs her fingers over her diligent work, her eyes focused on the source of her apparent concern when all he wants is for her to look at him, for her eyes to lock on him. “I think I’m—” And just as Solana goes to move away, to step back and clean up, she’s stopped. 

She’s stopped, because Roman reaches for her, keeping her near him.

His hand is initially on the small of her back, and Solana has the same experience from earlier. That initial tense feeling that quickly mellows into something almost calm, almost secure. 

She’s not sure she’s ever been this close to him, not since the last time she tended to his injuries, not since their wedding day, since their wedding night.

But unlike that last almost traumatic time, she’s not pummeled with anxiety, not paralyzed with fear. 

It’s just the calm. 

His eyes never leave her, bouncing back and forth between her eyes and lips. He then says in a low voice that’s unlike anything she’s heard from him before. “Solana….”

There’s something different about the way he says her name, something more sincere, something almost….vulnerable. 

Roman suddenly has both hands on her hips, holding her, just as her nervous hand moves to lay her palm against his chest. 

His eyes instantly shut at her touch. Interactions with anything regarding Rhodes have always done something to Roman emotionally, but it’s always been something he can manage relatively well. Something simple and easy. There’s nothing simple and easy about whatever the fuck is coursing through him at having her so close to him, having her touch, soft and unsure as the expression in her eyes. 

She doesn’t know what to make of his eyes closing nor does she have time to consider what to make of that because an image, a flashback of a different kind of touch, a much more painful, visceral touch shoots to the forefront of her mind.

And her chest starts tightening, that fear drawing back up. 

“I–I can’t.” Because as much as some part of her, albeit big or small, likes this, likes being close to him, feels safe being this close to thim, another part, much larger and much stronger, can't handle being this close to him. “I’m sorry.” Eyes watering, she breaks away, Dulce is quickly behind her, Solana reaching to hold the puppy as she dashes up the stairs. 

Roman sits unsure, confused, angry. He stands up, pacing across the floor, hands up and on the side of his head before his fist slams against the refrigerator door. He curses, but not from the blow. That shit doesn’t hurt. 

His reaction and frustration is directed solely toward the fact that he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s feeling right now.

The same thing Solana is struggling with as she sits on her bed, legs pulled up to her chest, silently crying into her thighs.

Both of them wondering the same exact thing:

What the hell just happened?

[bloodlineee1]

Your mine.

pairing: Roman Reigns x reader.

warnings: smut minors dni 18+

plot: y/n has been getting close with Damien priest and her toxic ex/boyfriend(it's complicated) doesn't like that at all.

disclaimer: this is my first fic so bare with me lmaaooaoa

"no way you said that" I gasped.

talking to Damien Priest is always unpredictable right now he's telling me the story of the bar fight he got into last night.

"I swear" he laughs.

"so then what happened?" I laugh.

"so he stands up and-" he stops and looks over my shoulder.

I turn around and see Jimmy walking towards us.

"hey, sis.....priest" Jimmy puts his arm around me and kisses my forehead before mugging Damien.

"hi Jon" I smile and hug him.

"Roman wants to see you in his locker room" he whispers in my ear.

"right now?" I question.

"yes right now" he mocks me.

"well he's gonna have to wait, Priest is telling me a story" I roll my eyes and turn back towards Damien.

"It's okay go, I'll tell you the story later" he smiles.

"Are you sure?" I question.

"yeah, yeah I'll see you later anyways" he nudges my shoulder.

"Okay, I'll see you tonight." I smile.

we start walking towards Romans locker room and I already know I'm in trouble I've been pissing him off for 2 weeks I blocked him on everything, I've been going out after every show, I've been posting revealing photos because I know he's watching some how and I've been avoiding him but he deserves it after the shit he pulled.

"what y'all got a date or something?" he lifts one brow.

"Don't worry about it nosey" I walk faster.

"Roman ain't gonna like the fact that his girl going on a date" he catches up and shakes his head.

"I stopped being his girl a while ago and you better not tell him because I know you told him I was with priest yesterday" I smack his arm.

"I ain't say shit" he sucks his teeth and rubs his arm.

"you didn't tell him?" i tilt my head.

"hell nah I ain't tell him" he says obviously lying.

"then who told him?" i question.

"oh shit we're already here" he pushes me into the locker room and closes the door.

"Jon-" I yell.

roman looks up from his phone and I can see in his eyes I'm in huge trouble.

"Wise man, leave us" he says still staring into my soul.

"yes sir" Paul basically runs out of the locker room.

"pussy" I mumble.

"I heard you've been real friendly lately"

"I heard you've been in my business" I reply smartly.

"you are my business" he stands up.

"I haven't been your business since you decided getting your dick wet was worth our relationship" I roll my eyes.

"how many times do I have to tell you I didn't fuck her shes lying" he raises his voice.

"even if you didn't you still gave her the idea that she could" I yell.

"I told you this before that wasn't my intention you know your the only one that gets my dick wet" he smirks and put his hands on my waist.

"Whatever" I try not to smile.

"You been giving my pussy to Priest?"

"This is not your pussy anymore so it's none of your business if I have"

"Don't fucking play with me, You've been giving my pussy away?" he grabs me by the neck.

i smile.

"you smiling?".

"I guess Damien just has that effect on me" I test him.

"oh yeah" he puts his hand in my gear.

"mhm" I moan when he starts to play with my overly sensitive clit that missed him so much.

"Damien makes your pussy this wet?" he rubs his nose on my cheek.

"ah...uhuh" I chuckle.

"get on your fucking knees," he says obviously done with my antics.

"or what" I push a little more.

"don't be a fucking brat you already in trouble, I said get on your fucking knees" he grabs my hair, pulling Me Down to my knees.

testing his patience is my favorite thing to do.

"take it out" he says sternly with no room for arguments.

I untie the drawstring on his sweatpants and pull them down with his boxers, his dick springs out begging for attention that I'm not ready to give him just yet so I sit there and I stare.

"I'm really not in the mood for your fucking games you know what to do stop fucking playing with me or you won't cum for a week test me if you want to" he grabs me by the hair and lifts my head so I'm looking right at him.

"threats?" i ask mischievously.

"promises, baby girl, promises now be a good girl and open up that pretty mouth of yours" he taps my face.

I kiss his tip then I open my mouth and take him as deep as I can tasting his sweet pre-cum on my tongue.

"that's it, just like that" he groans.

I take it out of my mouth and stroke him so I can catch my breath.

"stop playing with it, you know better" he grabs my hair again he loves grabbing my hair and I love it even more.

I take him back into my mouth and he wastes no time fucking my throat aggressively not letting me up for air.

"you think he can fill your throat like this? huh?"

i look up at him with my glossy eyes begging him to slow down.

"oh please you know your enjoying this you love getting me this angry don't you?"

i moan.

"oh shit, fuck i'm gonna cum fuck" he moans before cumming in my mouth.

i look into his eyes before swallowing his cum.

"good girl" he kisses me.

i smile at him.

"my turn?" I look at him begging for a release but I know he's not gonna let me cum because he's a fucking psycho.

"don't look at me like that you know your not cumming after the shit you been pulling for two weeks." he dismisses my plea wiping my face with a warm towel.

"wha- that's no fair" I gasp.

"oh its not fair?" he grabs my titty.

"no stop don't touch me if your not gonna let me cum" I push him away.

"mhm I'll handle that attitude later but for right now clean yourself up you have a match in 20 and after that tell priest its over" he smacks my ass.

"it never started we're just friends" I laugh.

"better be, you're mine" he grabs me by the neck and kisses me before I walk into his private bathroom to get ready.

[hoodedjelly]

Nicktoons unite main 4 in their respected styles ( minus jimmy neutron i'll explain more below)

i feel very mixed about these but it was still fun either way studying all of these cartoons respected styles. the final does make me happy, seeing all of them together ^__^ 💞

below i will explain my thought process working with each style so get ready for a wall of text:

first before anything you may be asking: why no jimmy neutron style!? it's because i tried and gave up! i was starting the rendering process for timmy and i hated it so i just didn't continue! no point of making myself miserable for something thats harmless fun style studies. but have these as a little treat:

Fairly Oddparents style: the easiest style to work on and research for, fop style is not that complex. i should also add i didn't draw each style in one sitting i drew each character together and then edited them all, so that might be the reason why some look better then others, i just got good. but i'm saying that because the character i started with was spongebob! specifically because i was tired of ppl thinking dp style and fop style are the same and how spongebob would look the same in both styles, just a flat square. which is wrong! fop style is very different! i would prob describe it as a flat paper style. has sharp and rounded thick lines. the main source of research i used for it was the designer for fop was Ernie Gilbert. he has designed a lot of iconic characters for the show and i highly would check out his work, this is his website

Danny phantom style: now this one was tricky, prob the hardest one to figure out and i honestly don't think i really DID figure it out. the possible reason is i am still trying to go through the show atm myself, but i'd doubt it. they all just look off to me, just a little. which no need for me to work myself in a circle trying to make it "perfect". im no professional character designer! especially not Stephen Silver.

Spongebob Squarepants style: this one was tricky but in the opposite way to dp style, where i didn't know what to reference! to start off the show is mainly nonhuman characters, so finding character refs were hard. the refs i did use were the mermaids and the superheros, so i used that for timmy. but in the middle of working on jimmys i was watching a video of someone ranking every single spongebob ep and TURNS OUT in the later seasons, i think season 13, there were human designs! (technically elfs but whatever).

and weirder thing is how they draw patchy but im not going to get into that. i am assuming that style is for characters that are supposed to be real life humans up on land in that universe (but why not just use real life humans? idk, maybe tom kenny is getting to old for the role). BUT ANYWAY, i used the elfs for a main source for jimmy and danny, they turned out a lot better then the timmy in my eyes. i wanted at least one of them to have the black eyes but they all have bright blue eyes and the show usually always colors blue eyes. i get ahead of myself cause there was a lot more factors i still had to figure out. like the line art. the show doesn't have a clear line style like dp or fop, its just relatively consistent medium lines. so i just went with more recent show stuff then older stuff since it's HD.

ok but thats basically it, i can prob go on more but i'd feel no one gaf. i made these for fun and it was fun making them! i love all of these shows a ton so it was nice looking up the designers and artist for these shows. support the artists!!! fuck bitch fartman!!!!!

[theminecraftbee]

Jimmy notices Scott sitting near the edge of the Ace Race launch. They’re both on the practice server; it’s a good place to hang out. Gets away from the kinds of lives they live elsewhere, even if Jimmy figures the one he’s got right now is good enough. Scott’s here a lot, Jimmy’s found; it’s probably some combination of whatever the weird messenger thing he has going on with Noxite is and the number of other lives he’s lived. Jimmy bets it’s just quieter here than, like, he doesn’t know, he’s heard something about pirates?

Anyway, he’s always down to say hi to Scott. Also, Scott looks—strange. Diminished feels rude. Not preening like a peacock? No weird ethereal glow? It can’t be that the romance has worn off, it never really did, not all the way, Jimmy’s always seen him as sort of made of lace and marble and beautiful things from the beginning and even now that they’re like, friends friends, it’s just—

Jimmy plants himself in the grass. He can’t find a poppy, but he can find a dandelion. Close enough?

“Flower for your thoughts?” he says cheerfully.

Scott looks up. He laughs. “You can’t be doing that, Jimmy. We’ll get double-married. I already have too many husbands, you can’t be on there twice.”

“I think I can marry my flower husband as many times as I want,” Jimmy says.

“We barely even do a romance anymore.”

“Well, excuse you for not being a romantic.”

“Me? I’m not the romantic? Me?” Scott says incredulously.

“Well I don’t know how it would be me,” Jimmy says imperiously. He pauses, huffs, and sits down next to Scott. “I mean, we can do romance if you want. Hadn’t done that the last few lives because, you know, work better as friends right now, but I can totally wow you. I can, uh. Uh. Make… chocolate? No, I can’t do that, actually, don’t hold me to that—”

Jimmy pauses.

“Scott,” he says.

“No, keep going,” Scott says weakly.

“Have I done something wrong?” Jimmy asks.

“No, no, it’s just—sort of being a messenger god, I get a feel for things, and—it’s gonna happen again soon, Jimmy.”

“Oh, okay,” Jimmy says. They both know what they’re talking about. “I’m absolutely gonna win this time, just so you know.” He says it with all the false bravado of a person who’s mostly just hoping he doesn’t die first again. This time, this time, this time. He’ll do it by his own merits, though; he’s not sure what he would have done if Joel had actually gone through with the halting plan to die for him that he’d told Jimmy about last time. Probably crowed on happily about it, honestly, but with needles in his stomach the whole time.

Scott hasn’t responded yet.

“You don’t have to worry. You’re way too good at this. Constant finalist, now that you don’t have me weighing you down,” Jimmy tries.

“I shouldn’t talk about this with you,” Scott says.

“Rude,” Jimmy says. “We’re husbands at least twice over.”

“Yeah, but do you ever regret it? Don’t you—don’t you regret it?” Scott bursts out. “Don’t you ever wake up and—and you weren’t good enough to protect them and you’re not good enough to be loyal to and frankly you aren’t good enough to follow the rules either and, and so you’re just constantly winning. And you aren’t trying and you just think, if you’d just—if you’d just fucking slowed down, figured out how to protect—this is stupid. I’m proud of Martyn. Got him to win, at least. I can’t regret him winning. I wouldn’t have wanted anything else. I never have. Forget I said anything.”

Jimmy stares.

“I don’t regret it,” he says, and he’s surprised to realize he’s telling the truth.

“Not even for all the mocking?” Scott says.

“I mean. Wouldn’t have teamed with Grian and Joel if…”

“Oh,” Scott says. He stares out over the practice server. Jimmy cannot guess what’s going on in his head. No matter how many lives they’re friends, husbands, lovers both star-crossed and casual, enemies, and friends again in, Jimmy has to admit, Scott’s kind of a closed book. It’s one of the character flaws he has to make up for being perfect at everything else.

It’s part of what makes him Scott.

“I don’t regret it,” Jimmy says, almost more urgently.

“Oh,” Scott says again. “I do.”

Jimmy’s not sure what to say to that.

He’s never been good enough at winning much of anything to understand that kind of regret, is the thing. Blessing, curse, whatever else, he just…

“Sorry. I’ll be better tomorrow. Not normally the kind of person for this stuff,” Scott says. “It’s not that I’m not confident, it’s just…”

That, though. That, Jimmy can understand.

He scoots closer to Scott.

“Let’s race. I’ll totally beat you so badly. I was watching CPK do skips. And, I don’t know about you, but…”

“Yeah, you’ll hit those in your dreams,” Scott says. Neither of them move to stand up, though. They remain sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, watching other participants jump off the launch. It’s nice here. Quiet. A place apart from all the lives they live. Jimmy wonders if that’s why Scott’s here so much. Jimmy might have to show up too; that’s what increasingly old friends are for, he figures.

[locusfandomtime]

my favourite headcanon when dealing with whatever the hell mcyt’s names are is that everyone just has a fucking universe assigned string of characters (the username) which everyone knows and is what the universe calls you by, but serves no actual functional purpose by itself

in society, the username is used as the legal name because its convenient - at any given point a username is unique to one person and you can easily identify someone by username

but obviously, the username is random and as a casual name it may not work - “Grian” is a fine name but “BdoubleO100” is a nightmare to say, so people develop nicknames based off these. some people go as far to have nicknames completely divorced from their username - e.g. “Jimmy” for “SolidarityGaming”

usernames probably bring up a lot of questions. they seem random, not affected by environmental or genetic factors in any discernible way. they’re more likely to contain words - or things that are kind of like words - than a truly random string of letters. I imagine there being a lot of meaning ascribed to them - like certain numbers symbolising certain things or certain words detailing something for your future. example: people with “7” in their name are more serious (supposedly. it’s kind of equivalent to our zodiac signs. belief varies)

I like to think about all the implications of this naming system. xB off-handedly said that Joel’s username is “SmallishBeans” so he’ll only be calling him “Beans” and not “Joel”, does this imply that some people believe your nickname must be derived by your username and consider nicknames that aren’t illegitimate? what about people that want to change their username? there’d be less name changes than our world (since names aren’t family or gender related) but it’s certainly possible (as you change the username of your minecraft account), but is there a stigma against it? rejecting the very name the universe gave you? are “rare” names (such as with small character count or palindrome etc) considered lucky or unusual?

(using the term “nickname” for ease of understanding because that’s our closest equivalent but in-universe this isn’t really what they are. better term “casual name”? “nickname” implies it isn’t your real name or is a cute shortening, whilst this would definitely be considered your name, just one of two types)

i just have… thoughts.

[neesieiumz]

𓆩☆𓆪 | 𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙻𝙰𝚆 ⸺ ⚞𝚁𝙴𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚁 𝙱𝚁𝙰𝚄𝙽 ⚟

⸻ synopsis ⫸〖 it's not every day a criminal breaks into your home, huh?〗

⸻ warnings ⫸ sm*t. 18+ wild west!au. part i of the gold rush anthology! bar-maid!reader. robber!reiner. black-coded reader. female reader. afab anatomy. p*rn with plot. full nelson position. fingering. a bit of dacryphilia. reiner threatens reader with a gun. the two of them get comfortable with each other really quick. reader calls her mother a bitch in this. reader was raised by her late grandmother cause her mother abandoned her. Erwin is in this, who was also raised by reader's grandmother. sheriff!erwin. erwin sees reader as a niece/daughter. annie and bertholdt are also in this, but they don't matter.

⸻ writers note ⫸ this has been sitting in my drafts for the past two months because I wanted to finish the next part of the anthology. I just finished the Erwin one, so I'll upload it when I'm halfway done with the Eren one or fully complete it.

⸻ word count ⫸ 5.7k

masterlist. | next part in the anthology |

Heavy boots sunk into the mud, and loud voices called out to the dark forests. The sounds of horses neighing, catching up against his hunched-over form. He ran as fast as he could, dodging the trees and branches, boots snapping the sticks and stones within the wet ground. Hand clutching the bleeding wound, he glanced around, looking for something, anything to get him out of this situation. His partners were long gone, taken into arrest by the law. They told him to run, to get out while they distracted them. 

He tried his best to blink away the tears, the sudden burn possibly due to them being mixed with the sweat dripping down his face. He’ll get the rest of them out, he resolved, he first has to survive this. Glancing up and around, a large shadow was right up ahead. Squinting, the blur came into focus, before revealing a small home. It was well kept, but all the lights were out, which was all Reiner needed. He jumped the fence, flinching at the sudden stab of pain in his abdomen. He limped towards the back door, pulling out his old trust lock pick before jimmying with the lock. He hissed out a yes as the door creaked open, before hobbling right inside. Gasping, he leaned against the door, hearing the sounds of the law running by. 

“What the…”

A voice called out, before suddenly, a dark glow illuminated the room, revealing a decently sized kitchen. A gasp rang out, as Reiner looked to the light, seeing someone standing there. 

Fuck…

He pushed himself up to his feet, immediately running over to you, who immediately screamed before running away, possibly to your bedroom. Despite his injury, he had just enough adrenaline to catch you, pulling your arm back. He muffled your screams with his hand, wrapping you in one big hold as he dragged you away from the hall, before taking you right back to the kitchen. He could hear your muffled whimpers against him, the feeling of your body shaking against him. 

He pressed his lips against your ears, “just stay quiet for me darling, and all will be right.” 

Reiner pressed himself against the counter, waiting for the sounds to go away. As he did so, he could hear your own sounds beginning to quest, however, the feeling of wet salty tears began to soak his hand. Just as they were beginning to go away, a sudden loud knock came out the door, jilting the both of you. 

“Y/n, it’s Erwin, are you awake?!”

Reiner cursed under his breath, heart pounding away at his chest. He stepped away from the counter before looking at the door, seeing a tall figure standing right at the door. He then looked back down at you, before telling you not to scream. Slowly he let go of your mouth, removing his hand from you before grabbing the top of your dress, wiping away the slowly drying tears on your face. 

“You gon answer that there door, and pretend like I’m not here. Say whatever you gotta say, alright…?”

You nodded your head quickly, and he nodded his own, before taking you by the hand and draggin you over to the door. He stood at the side, one hand still pressing against the wound while the other, pulling out his revolver, holding it up. You glanced over at him, seeing him nod his head. Taking a deep breath, you reach over, unlocking the door with the key still stuck on the knob before opening it up just a little bit, enough to see the sheriff of your town. Erwin Smith, a man both you and many people in this town respected. He was very close to your family, especially your grandmother, having helped her many times while she was still alive. So seeing him and talking to him was an easy occurrence for you.

“Hello there Erwin,” you let off a smile, hoping it wasn't wavering too much.

He let off his own warm smile, “hey there cherie, hope everything’s okay?”

You nodded your head, “everything’s fine, was just about to head to sleep when you knocked.”

For kickers, you looked behind him, seeing a bunch of horses and men standing on the front of your lawn, “what’s going on here?”

He looked back to see the people before looking back at you, “well we were trying to catch someone, and he ran right through here. I was hoping you saw something?”

You pondered a bit, before shaking your head, “haven’t seen a thing sheriff, sorry. Everything was dark for me.”

He hummed, before reaching down, pulling out a sheet of paper, “if you're so sure, take this. His name Reiner Braun, a dangerous felon known for robbin’ and shootin’ people.”

You slowly took the folded sheet, before peeling it open, those familiar eyes brown malice staring right back at you. 

You looked up at Sheriff Smith’s warmer ones, smiling, telling him you’ll keep on the lookout for him. He nodded, before turning around, and heading back to his own horse. As you waited to watch him go, you could hear a sudden thump right beside you. Closing your door, you glanced over to the right only to find the very man now slumped on the floor. The hand that was holding his side was now soaked with blood, the sounds of his slow, heavy breaths echoing in the living room. You glanced over at the door, at the muffled sounds of the sheriff telling his men to move out and continue looking before looking back at Reiner.

Letting out a defeated sigh, you walked away heading towards your kitchen before going to your sink and picking up an old tattered rag. Dampening the rag, before grabbing a bucket, and filling it up with hot water. Before walking back to the dangerous criminal, you bent down, grabbing the small bucket your grandmother deemed an aid kit, along with the bucket of hot water. Walking back to your living room, where Reiner Baun, which was apparently his name, was now writhing and bleeding out on your grandmother’s hardwood floors. Bending down, sitting at your knees, you grabbed the dirtied dress shirt he was wearing before slowly unbuttoning it. His large body dripping with sweat, you removed the shirt as much as you could, revealing the irritated wound. 

You took the rag, leaning down before removing his bloodied hand from the lasting wound. Slowly, you pressed it against it, applying as much pressure as you could. He fought against you, but his strength greatly dropped, allowing you to continue to press against it. He let out deep heavy groans, all dripping with pain. Soon, the tattered rag was soaked with blood, removing it before dipping it in the hot water, washing off most of the blood before pressing right back on. Soon, the wound stopped bleeding, just enough for you to get the gauze and the large sheets of cotton to wrap it. 

Once you did so, staring down at your shotty work of a doctor, Reiner’s own eyes slowly opened, looking over at you. 

“Should have let me bleed out on your floor,” he let out a low raspy groan, still in pain.

You scoffed at that, “and let you ruin my grandmother’s floors? She’ll rise up from her grave to scold me with a hot comb.”

He let out some formance of a chuckle, smiling a bit. Taking a deep breath, you stood up before heading down your hallway Stopping at the small closet, you owned it before taking the few spare pillows and blankets out. Walking back, you found the area where you left him empty before seeing him rest right on your couch. Pursing your lips together, you walked over to him, before handing him the blankets. 

“Here, sleep as much as you can, then I want you out of my house, all right now?”

He blinked at you, smirking before taking the sheets and pillows from your hands. 

“Thank you mighty kindly, cherie,” he cooed, placing the blankets on the couch beside him. 

You hummed, before glancing back at your kitchen. He’ll probably need something to eat so he can heal faster… is what you thought to yourself before walking towards the kitchen. He said nothing, only turning his body as much as he could, watching you walk away. His eyes lingered on your backside, before looking away, focusing on his accommodations for the night. 

Pulling out some bread, some meat, and other things from your ice box, you made him a couple of sandwiches. You took it to him as well, seeing him all laid out and spread out on your couch. Tongue poking out your cheek, you handed him the plate. 

“Just for you to heal faster, body can’t work without something to fuel it,” you said, turning around once he took it. 

He said nothing, although his smirk said all his words for him. You took the lamp that illuminates the kitchen, before walking away. Just before you walked inside your bedroom, his voice called out to you, 

“Good night, cherie!”

You turned your head and glared at him for a few seconds before walking back into your room. He let out a chuckle, before taking the sandwich, taking a large bite from it. 

Slowly opening your eyes, the feeling of sunlight beaming through the trees and through your window jolting you awake. Lifting yourself up, stretching with a smile on your face as you look around your room, ready to clean yourself up and head into town for work.

Three… two… one…

A frown immediately overtook your face, oh wait…

Pushing yourself off your bed, and grabbing your robe off of the bed frame, you flung your door open. Slowly stepping into the room, carefully listening for anything that didn't sound like your creaky footsteps. As you reached the living room, no sign of the man from last night on your couch. Glancing around, not seeing him in your kitchen or hearing him in your parlor room either. Nothing was missing either, luckily. Least he had that courtesy, you thought to yourself. 

That’s when your eyes caught onto something sitting on your kitchen counter. Walking towards it, eyes widening as your eyes locked into two stacks of cash sitting one by one, a piece of paper sitting under it. 

Picking up the paper, you gazed over it, 

For all your troubles cherie, now and in the immediate future, 

⸺ r.b

You couldn’t fight off the excited smile, as you picked up one of the stacks, sniffing it before squealing. 

“Oooh, my mother would tell me to return it… too bad that bitch wasn’t the one who raised me!” 

You placed the money in a hidden area in your room, before getting ready for work, which was at a bar in town, the only one within the area you lived in. The town was large, a farmer’s town with miles and miles of land tended by a multitude of farmers all around. It would probably be called a city to others, but you weren’t like them city folk. Wearing a creme dress, shoulderless with loose, wave-like sleeves. You paired with skin-colored pantyhose while placing your work shoes in a bag. You put on your walking shoes and grabbed your keys and other things you need before heading off, locking up the entire house, especially your back door. You walked through the pathways in the forest, glancing at all the heavy footsteps and horseshoe grooves within the damp ground. 

You soon made it to town after fifteen minutes of walking, waving at the locals around town before making it to your destination. Despite it being early in the morning, the bar was bussing with all different walks of life. Smiling at the bands of men calling out your name, waving at them before arriving at the bar. You shuffled into the bar, waving at your friend, who was serving three people at once. She owned the bar, inheriting it from her deadbeat of a father. The two of you had been friends for a long time, ever since your mother had sent you here when she moved to the “sophisticated” parts of town. 

“Hurry up and get up here! There’s orders to be taken, you know!” She said, giving one man his tall glass of beer. 

You headed to the back room, placing your bag down, before switching into your taller heels, with cotton-padded into them for a bit more comfort. You’ll be on your feet all day. Looking in the mirror, swiping your lips with gloss before placing your long plaits into two pigtails, tying them with matching creme bows before walking out. As you walked out, you grabbed an apron, tying it around your waist as you took your station around the bar. 

Your friend sighed in relief as you helped her out, taking the few plates in her hands before asking which table they went to. 

“The Garrison boys over there in the back, and there should be a few more coming out.”

Nodding your head, you took them down, plastering a smile on your face as you approached their table.

The morning continued like that and continued well into the afternoon as well. Your job was a rush, but the pay was very good and included a mountain of tips as well. As night approached, things slowed down just about as all the men soon had to return to their wives or head down to the secret club behind the old platoon which their wives didn’t know about. The door chimed open, glancing up and only for Sheriff Smith along with a few of his men standing right there. 

Glancing over, you see your friend tidying herself up, pulling her long locs out of her deflated ponytail, and letting them fall. Smirking at her, with her not even looking at and flipping the bird before carefully walking over to the area they had overtaken. As she spoke, having a shimmering smile while she looked down at Erwin who sent her his own award-winning smile right back. You looked back down at your work, which was wiping down the counter and preparing for you to head back home. Your shift was over soon since your coworkers didn’t like you walking back while the moon was too high at night. 

They had once asked you to consider actually moving into town, but you wouldn't have it. This was the home you were raised in, the home your grandmother had raised your own mother in. 

“Cherie, wait a moment,” Erwin’s familiar voice called out to you, just as you put the rag away, preparing to head to the back room to get your things. 

You turned around, seeing the tall man tower over you. You don’t know why, but your heart began to slightly pound. 

“Can I help you, sheriff? This ain’t about last night, isn’t it?”

He grimaced a bit, “m’fraid it is, lemme walk with you to the back?”

You glanced over at your friend, who looked between the two of you, shrugging her shoulders and nodding her head before focusing back on the others in the bar. The two of you walked together down the small hallway before reaching the small room where all the workers had placed their own things. He opened the door for you, thanking him as you walked inside the room. As you found your things, Sheriff Smith began to speak. 

“As you know, last night, we were chasing a very dangerous criminal, who had reached the forest where you live.”

You nodded your head, “yes, and you knocked on my door and you asked me if I had seen anything, and I told you that I had not.”

He nodded his head, “yes, yes you did. We continued to look through the forest, but he was gone. Like he disappeared within the wind, cherie…”

You nodded your head, “yes… is there something else you wanna say, Erwin?”

“This morning my men conducted another search, to make sure we didn't miss anything, and we found heavy footsteps… leading away from your home.”

Your heart dropped to your knees, lucky your back was still turned away from the sheriff so you turned to pack your things, flinging off your shoes as you pretended nothing was wrong. 

“Heavy footsteps, leading away from my home… is there something you wanna say, sheriff?”

Heavy boots walked closer and closer to you, as you turned around and faced him, face calmer. 

“I just wanna know the truth, cherie, you know you and I go way back. Your own grandmother helped raise me after my father died. You're like a niece to me, and I hate to see you in some trouble.”

You took a deep breath trying to calm your beating heart, however before you could say anything, the door suddenly slammed open, revealing an out-of-breath officer. 

“Sheriff, the other two thieves escaped their cell!”

The tall man cursed, hissing under his breath before running out of the room, not even glancing back at you. Once he was gone, hearing the muffled sounds of the rest of his men following suit after him, you let out a breath of relief. You soon walked out of the room, grabbing a box of food from one of the chefs for dinner. You waved goodbye to your boss, before walking out of the bar, the cooler air of the night hitting you. It was still hot, so there was no need for a jacket as you walked away, heading towards the forest into your home. The walk to your home was quicker than the walk to the bar, soon arriving at your home. As you began to pull out your keys, you could hear muffled sounds inside the home.

No…

Inserting the key, you flung your door open, seeing three figures lounge around on your grandmother’s couch. 

Locking eyes with familiar hazels, seeing him smirk before lifting up his glass, holding a beer, “hey there, cherie.”

You could almost scream. Instead, you stepped inside your home, closing the door before dropping the bag right onto the floor. You glanced around the room, seeing your table and floors all messed up and dirt tracked all over your floors, and you could almost guarantee that your icebox was nearly empty. You stepped over the trash, ignoring the two unfamiliar pairs of eyes watching as you approached the larger blonde man. 

You stared down at him, with him looking you in the eyes. Unbreaking your stare, you pressed your hands roughly against the side of his waist, right where the wound you wrapped was. He cursed, screaming as you did so. 

“Yeah, that’'s what you get, now y’all better clean this fucking house or else!”

The two others with him snickered at Reiner, seeing him being kicked around by you. Hearing their laughter, you turned towards them, eyes sharp in glares. 

“Don’t think I ain’t forget yall yet, yall get up too and clean this fucking house! Or else, I’m getting Erwin down here!”

Immediately the two of them shot up, one of them towering over you all like a giant. You pushed them all around, making sure they picked up all the trash and scraps they had put on your floor. You rested on your couch, entertaining yourself while you ate your food, still hot luckily. They were kind enough to chop up some wood for your fireplace, enjoying the warmth as they picked up the last of their mess. Once they were finished, the two unknowns had plopped down onto the couch, while Reiner made himself comfortable right beside you. He leaned down, mouth wide open, trying to get a bite of your food, but you pushed him away, grimacing as he laughed out loud. 

“Think you can fuck up my house, and eat my food, you have another thing coming,” you mumbled, eating the bit on the spoon. 

“Aww come on cherie,” he mumbled, landing his head on your shoulder, “i'm still hungry!”

You rolled your eyes, “go and find something else to eat, maybe in prison, where you all belong.”

He smirked, “and yet, you still hadn’t turned us in, cherie. Plus, I paid you kindly for your services, thinking that “immediate future” was a joke huh?”

You rolled your eyes again, scoping up the last bite, before hovering the spoon in front of his face. He glanced in between the spoon and your face, before eating it, humming as he did.

“Thank you kindly, cherie.”

Ignoring the warm feeling his raspy voice gave you, as well as the looks the two others gave each other before glancing back at the two of you. 

“How long you are staying here, Reiner, along with your two little friends, because Sheriff Smith is sniffing around me,” you gasped slightly before extending your hand, smacking him in the head again.

“Hey!”

“Be careful where you stepping when you leave next time, cause they was sniffing around and saw your fucking footsteps!”

He suddenly smirked, “‘next time?’ huh?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, before raising your hand at him again. He immediately held his hands up and surrendered, scooting a bit away from you. Annie and Bertholdt snickered, looking at the two of you. Getting up, walk towards your kitchen to put away your bowl. Reiner followed after you, a teasing smile on his face. Cleaning off the bowl, drying it, and putting it away, feeling him stand dangerously close behind you. Drying your bowl before pushing past him, heading towards your living room. 

“So I’m assuming you're staying the night once again?”

Reiner nodded his head, leaning against the wall, “hope you're alright with that, cherie.”

You narrowed your eyes at that, “didn’t I tell you to stop calling me that?”

He shrugged his shoulders, tucking his hands into his pockets. You glanced over at the three of them, before rolling your eyes.

“I’m gonna take a bath, y’all better figure out how y’all gonna sleep.”

You sat amid your room, ignoring the sounds of the felons taking shelter within your home. Sitting at the vanity table your grandmother had the in-town carpenters built for you when you turned fifteen. You looked over at the set of picture frames, mostly filled with photos of you and her, one with Erwin as well. Picking up one of the picture frames, the last birthday you were able to celebrate with her before she passed. 

“Is that your grandmother?”

Screaming, jerking up, knees hitting the table, as you turned, seeing blonde hair in your peripheral.

“God, don’t do that!”

He stood straight up, watching you as you turned around in your seat, still holding the frame. 

“And to answer your question, yes, yes it is.”

He held out his hand, and tentatively, after glancing between his face and his hand, placed the frame in his hands. He looked down at it, smiling a bit at your wide smile, arms wrapped in the smaller frame of your grandmother. 

“The two of you look alike,” he says, handing you the frame.

Your mouth curls up into a slight smile, and you place the frame back on your vanity, “everyone used to say that about us, and that used to include my mother as well.”

His eyebrows quivered at that, “your mother? Is she still alive?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “yep, sipping on fancy margaritas and livin it up in the big city with her rich old-ass husband.”

“Forgot she had her own mother and a daughter too, didn’t even come for the funeral, even after me and Erwin sent letters.”

He hummed, “Sheriff Smith?”

You nodded your head, “after his own daddy died, my grandmother watched after him. My mom and he were sweethearts once, but she decided this lil ole town was too small for her but taking care of her daughter was too big for her.”

“What about your father?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “never met the man, grandma always told me she’d wring him by his neck if she ever saw him again. Says he’s the reason my mother took off to the city and never looked back, but I think she was putting blame on anyone but her.”

Facing the mirror, the lamp illuminated the side of your face. You could see Reiner still standing behind you, his face cut off from the mirror. Crossing your legs, feeling a slow, churning throb in between your legs. 

“I like to think she would have helped you when you first arrived at my door, despite threatening me with a gun. She always had a knack for getting in trouble, and helping people who didn’t deserve to be helped.”

You could feel his hands beginning to rest on your shoulders, his actions not stopping your spiel. 

“Which is why, had my mother come through that door when she was still alive, she would have taken her back in on the spot.”

He hummed, leaning down towards you, seeing a few of your tears rolling down your cheeks. His face lingers over your shoulder, looking over at you. You glanced over, looking at him straight in his eyes.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to rant about my life, you’re still a stranger technically.”

You began to move away, but his hands tensed, keeping you right in your seat. His left hand moved from your shoulder, sliding across your chest, reaching up to your neck. Letting out a shaky breath, shivering as he moved your head back towards him. 

“Don’t gotta apologize, cherie,” he mumbled, thumb stroking your cheek.

Your body turned as well, your leg swinging over the bench as you faced him fully. Your body, responding to some unknown force, leaned forward towards him as he leaned closer to yours. 

“Reiner,” you gasped, right before he rushed forward, lips capturing yours.

The kiss was deep, and heavy, as his hand stayed tight at your neck, his other, sliding down your body. He grabbed at you, pulling you right into his lap. Your moan was muffled by the kiss, your hips slowly grinding into him. His hand soon left your won, settling right on the other side of the bottom before effectively picking you up. Unremitting as he approached your bed, placing you right on it. For a moment, he let go of the kiss, reaching down and unbuttoning his shirt, before pulling it off his body. As he threw his shirt onto your hard-wooden floors, your own hands reached up to his buckle belt, feeling his erection press up against his jeans. Reiner smirked down at you as you unbuckled, sudden haste pushing you. Getting the tough fabric off, Reiner did the rest, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. 

He soon leaned back down, climbing in between your legs before capturing your lips into his once again. Your hands slid up to his face, the feeling of his scruff against your hands and face. His hands slowly slid up your thighs, going right under your nightdress, gripping at your waist, pressing further into you. You could feel him pressing into you, the feeling intensified by the pressure he placed on your waist, easily keeping you grounded against him. His hands soon left your own, one pressing against the back for your thigh, pressing it as far as it goes. The other moved down your dripping wet pussy, two large fingers easily spreading your lips with ease. Gasping for breath, immediately choked on a moan as he pressed one finger, entering slowly within you. He moved from your mouth to your neck, as he moved his fingers in and out of you slowly. His lips were still wet, allowing him to leave soaked kisses against your skin. 

“Reiner,” you gasped, fingers weaving into his hair, messing up the blond strands. 

Back arching as his pace quickened, the lower half of your body trembling under him as you pulled harder against him. He whimpered against your skin, the feeling of you pulling his hair eliciting a deep feral feeling within him. Everywhere was heated, the air, your skin, your thin nightdress bunched up at your waist. Drool dripped from your tongue as you took everything he gave you, everything and more. 

“Lord,” you sighed, body aching all over, “I really shouldn’t be doing this, lord.”

Reiner chuckled, “I can go ahead and stop, if you need me to?”

You twisted your hand in his hair, “you bet not.”

He said nothing, chuckling one more time, but his kisses continued, trailing down to your chest, dipping into the valley between your chest. At the same time, he pressed another finger into you, your arousal coating his fingers. Your slip dress had long fallen off your shoulders, allowing him to reach them with ease. His journey continued down lower and lower, his hand still lingering on your thigh sliding down. The two of you hadn’t noticed the lantern dimming in the background, as the room was soon engulfed with darkness, nothing but the high moon shining over the two of you. Shuddering, twisting against your blankets as he plunged his fingers deep inside you, resting his head against your stomach. 

“Damn, didn’t think you’d be good at this, fuck…” you sighed, as your hips surged up into the air. 

“...that a challenge, cherie?”

Despite the immense arousal and pleasure flowing through your veins, you smirked down at him, “take it as you want, cherie.”

His eyes darkened, his unrefined look getting more and more feral. Reiner suddenly pulled his fingers out of you, taking a quick sniff before placing them in his mouth, tasting your arousal. Suddenly, he rose up, towering over you, before grabbing both of your legs. Squealing as he pulled you up from the bed, easily carrying you into the air. His hands grasping at your ass as he held you up, holding you up in the air. Your hands couldn't help but wrap around his shoulders, looking down into his eyes. 

“Reiner, what are you doing—” you started before being cut off by a loud gasp escaping your lips. 

You hadn't noticed him shifting his boxers, before feeling him sink into you deeply. Your sounds hadn’t deterred him though, his tight grasp on you as he moved you up and down his cock. The sounds of your moans echoing through the mid-sized room, the feeling of your tight wetness, only urged him more, deep, raspy moans spilling from his own mouth. His fat cock stretched out in ways others hadn't yet before, muddling your mind as he moved in and out of you. His brute strength allowed him to pull you nearly off him with ease, before plunging right back into you. His hips slamming into you, the possibility of leaving deep dark gnarly purple bruises all over your inner thighs. 

“Sosososo good, sos deep, oh my god!” Your mouth slurred on their words, head thrown back in euphoria. 

“What was that you were saying before?” he suddenly questioned, pulling almost completely out of you, leaving only the tip. 

Gasping, whining at the sudden prolonged loss of him. Your whines and squirms did nothing for him, only smirking up at you as he awaited your answer. His hands fondled you, squeezing your bottom rigidly.

“Tell me how good you feel, and maybe I’ll continue.”

Convulsing, aching for him to continue, your resolve fully crumbling. Reaching out towards him, your shaking arms attempt to pull him towards you. 

Your mouth spelling with pleas, “please please don’t stop, god I take back what I said. Keep fucking me just like that.”

He took in your words, his smirk getting wider and wider as you twisted, tears threatening to fall down your face. With no other words, he slammed back into you and continued pummeling you as if nothing happened. You clung onto him, and your head was thrown back as he did so. Reiners's efforts and actions electrified you, feeling your body jerk, a familiar pounding feeling building up within you. 

You let out a gasp, before letting out, “Oh god!” hissing as you came, clear liquid spilling out of you. 

Your cunt clenched around him, causing him to groan deeply, grounding his face into your shoulders as his thrust became erratic. His unsteady movements caused you to choke, his heavy breath rumbling right into your ear. 

“So good, fuckfuck,” he growled, slamming into you a few more times before letting off one final groan. 

Letting out a shaky moan, feeling him suddenly pull out of you, feeling his release land right on your stomach and thighs. Breathing heavily, legs shaking as he slowly lowered you onto the bed. Reaching over, grabbing his shirt that had landed right on your bedpost, using it to wipe away the mess. 

“Can’t have you getting pregnant now?” Is all he said, wiping away his mouth. 

You rolled your eyes, smacking him on the head as he threw his shirt back onto the floor. Just as you began to cover yourself up in your sheets, you felt movement beside you. Looking back, seeing Reiner getting into the bed with you. 

“Aht! What the hell you doing?! If you don’t get out?!”

“Aww, come on cherie, don’t make me sleep out here on that little couch. Nearly broke my back the last time I slept there. Plus,” he added, gesturing down to his wound, “I’m still wounded.”

You narrow your eyes, “didn’t seem like you were injured just a few minutes ago.” He still didn't budge, causing you to roll your eyes at that, “fine, but you better make some damn breakfast before you fucking leave.” 

He smirked, agreeing to your demands before continuing to pull the blankets up and around the both of you.You turned back over, snuggling into the bed, feeling Reiner’s weight shifting beside you. His eyes burned into the back of your head for a few seconds, before suddenly feeling an arm sling over your body. You rolled your eyes but suppressed the smile appearing on your face before snuggling yourself into his warm embrace

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[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 1.2

George: We don't have to keep [an image] up, we just remain ourselves. Don't we, Ringo? Ringo: well, we do, I mean, it's the other two we're worried about. It's a joke about John and Paul being bigheads, but a crazy person – definitely not me – could also see it other ways if they wanted to.

Paul talking about their mutual friend when asked how they met and John telling him not to complicate it. They're so married it's ridiculous. 

Always looking at each other with every single joke. 

He looks like he's in a lovely enclosure at the petting zoo. I've always been so confused by this footage. Can anyone tell me what the hell is going on?

I LOVE that we now know Paul was cast as Thisbe and John as Pyramus and then they switched. I'm actually dying to know how and why that happened though. My first instinct was “of course. Paul was scared he'd look too convincing as a woman, so John did it for him.” But no. Paul dressed as a woman at the cavern, wore ladies lingerie in Hamburg, and wanted to do a full drag show on TV in the early seventies. So why not Thisbe?

Why do you as a man randomly bring up the color of your friend's dick while staring lovingly into his eyes?

It must be noted. They had a wonderful time playing star-crossed lovers. 

The bickering pianos are so cute! And then John (prompting Paul): and John and I . . . Paul: oh I hate this. John: will probably carry on . . . Paul: we'll carry on songwriting . . . You just know Paul didn't hear the end of that one interview answer for a long long time. And it's because John just had to hear it over and over again.

Love the editing so that Paul smacks John's ass right as the symbols crash. 10/10 A+

This iconic moment. Poor George tally number 4.

Interviewer brings up marriage and John takes a shot like he wants to forget that the whole concept even exists. Literally poor Cynthia. And not even in an “lol her husband's gay” type of way. Just in a genuine “the way their relationship fell apart actually breaks my heart because she really did love him and in his way he loved her too but they were just so thoroughly incompatible” type of way. 

Paul: makes a stupid dad joke. John: giggles gleefully and kicks his feet

I have never seen someone so disappointed that they didn't need to lend their friend a pen. Paul had his hand in his pocket before John even asked the interviewer for a pen and when the interviewer gives him one, Paul literally hangs his head like he's just been cut from the school play. I just. The obsession is frankly cartoonish. But also, he just needs to be needed, you know? How many songs does he have which conflate being needed and being loved?

The juxtaposition of Paul and John elaborately messing with the interviewer (“yes John Lenard, that's me” and “actually it's done by mirrors.”) vs George's “I don't know” and “yeah.” it's actually kind of mean editing but whatever. It is ULM not UH. Someone should make that though.

Again, John. Calm down. He's not that funny. Just look at Jimmy. That's the normal person's reaction to that joke. John is half the reason Paul has such a big head honestly. 

Paul's answer to a question about the Beatles gaining a lot of adult fans is nice. Sometimes he shocks with a bit of wisdom. Sometimes his words don't get messed up at the point they hit his throat as he says. 

What the fuck? Okay so the interviewer asks Paul what he likes in a girl, right? I've always been too distracted by Paul saying he likes a sense of humor and John doing an obnoxious fake laugh in the background because John. It's embarrassing how obvious you are. Stop.

But I never noticed Paul actually says “people”. The interviewer asks about girls and he says he likes “people - er - girls” to have a sense of humor. Huh. Okay. 

So ULM was actually what made me a serious Beatles fan and this was the first moment where I had to pause it and verify to see if what I'd just read was actually true. It really is a doozy. 

How to flirt. A guide by Paul McCartney. Step one: get your crush’s attention. This should be extremely easy. Just gesture vaguely at something you're holding. He'll be interested. Step two: do something suggestive to a phallic object. Step three: that's it. You've got him. He'll do whatever you want.

The editing in this thing truly is brutal. Just the jump cuts from a question about Cynthia to John and Paul making each other laugh to girls screaming to John and Paul unnecessarily touching to girls passed out on the ground to John and Paul desperate for each other's attention to girls waving signs to John and Paul sharing weird eye contact to girls physically mobbing them to John and Paul beaming at each other to a question about Jane. It really does drive home the immense pressure of compulsory heterosexuality back then. 

Then a question that's obviously meant to poke a nerve and start some bad feelings. “Paul. Is John the leader of the Beatles?” Easily rebuffed with “no I'm not” and “there's no real leader”. I know I'm dramatic but really it's like every aspect of that society was against them you know? And they just kind of said "fuck you, we're crazy about each other."

Question: what do they think about when they're imprisoned in their hotel rooms? John: we don't think about one thing. *Whips head to look at Paul* well, some of us do. Oh and you know that how exactly? What, do you just have a printout of his every thought? Do you keep constant tabs on his dick?

Someone give me the heterosexual explanation of that moment when John very clearly and obviously checks out and appreciates Paul's ass as he and Ringo are pretending to be cowboys. Seriously. I'm at a loss here. 

Poor George tally number six? Seven? They're asked what they'll do if England reinstates the draft. John brings up Southern Ireland. George brings up Germany. Paul and John plan their joint escape to Southern Ireland as if George hadn't even spoken. 

The choice to play “Another Girl” over that quote of John's being like ‘Paul's actually much meaner than i am’ is great. Because that's seriously such a jerk song. I don't much like Jane, honestly, but fuck, she deserved so much better than Paul. He was such a douche.  

Literally all the song choices in this are phenomenal. “Hide Your Love Away” over the montage of 60s homophobia moments? It's so genius. Saying everything without saying anything. Letting the Beatles do the talking. 

The laugh track over the cartoon is honestly so sad. Nobody asked them if they were okay with being mocked like that and they never even made a dime off it. What would that have felt like to know that your being “too close” with your best friend was a running joke on TV?

“It's only love and that is all. Why should I feel the way I do?”

[ronearoundblindly]

Forgive me if I sent this ask before... I don't remember if I did 😅 but if not just know that I thought about sending it in since you started this series 🙈

For who would:

If you just hand them your baby niece or nephew or a baby you're watching for a friend (just any baby lol) who would hand it right back to you, silently hold it with a sheer look of panic till you come back and take it or be a natural and not give it back to you at all?

I love this bit of fluff and silliness for a Sunday; excellent question!

James Mace

He asks a lot of questions about what needs done or should be done. Is it changing time? How much head support should he provide? Is this a DND (do not disturb, D&D is for his own kiddos) baby ready for a nap? Is this play time? Should he be engaging the baby or keeping up conversation with the group?

Now, as to whether or not having the baby in his arms gives him any ideas: not any more than he's already had. You two have plans, you've talked about this and are on the same page, so his interactions right then have to do with that baby at that moment. He doesn't necessarily have stronger feelings when handling other people's children.

Curtis Everett

Curtis does not trust himself around babies especially. He goes extremely stiff and extremely quiet. He stares intensely. He will not do anything unless you tell him to do something with the baby. Even then he is not truly comfortable.

Babies bring up a lot of memories and emotions for him, and theoretically he knows he isn't in the same place/headspace as when he was younger, he knows babies aren't in as much danger as the old days, but he still gets so overwhelmed by it.

Yes, Curtis is even like this with his own children. He counts the days until his child is old enough to not be considered a 'baby' anymore. In fact, Curtis enjoys the memory of their infancy, pictures and videos, etc, more than he can enjoy being with them as infants.

Jimmy Dobyne

Honestly, a total natural. Small towns and rural areas mean closer-knit families, neighbors, and friends. They all help each other out. A bunch of kids shuffle around to spend afternoons here or Saturdays there. Babies get passed around to let parents get errands done or go on dates. It's not a big deal; it's just a way of life.

At this point, Jimmy has cleaned up after and fed a dozen different species of 'babies.' He's fine with it. He doesn't play much though, not with babies. Jimmy prefers when they're old enough to run around for catch or sports, etc. That's more his wheelhouse.

Johnny Storm

Fucking terrified to handle babies but LOVES entertaining them. Will do absolutely anything to make that baby laugh. To a fault sometimes because Johnny will get so animated he knocks shit over in the house or wherever you two are.

You give him credit for trying though.

Jake Jensen

Sits that baby up on his lap and continues to watch whatever screen he's focused on.

Jake isn't necessarily bad with babies, but he prefers to continue to enjoy the more adult entertainment/interactions around him. Like Jimmy, he will be more than hands-on excited once that baby can be active with their own interests (sports or otherwise) because he will participate and support 100%. Babies are just a bit too floppy and unreadable for him.

Lloyd Hansen

Thrilled to let those tiny baby fingers try to hold the grip of his switchblade. Adores how fucking angry the parents (or you) get when he plays with knives around them or has them play with the knives. Lloyd secretly finds baby facial reactions to be the funniest things on the planet--but, no, he doesn't actually like babies.

Ari Levinson

Ari is a playful papa through and through. Has more than once strapped that carrier to his chest and wondered around with someone's kiddo for whole parties. Endlessly entertained and entertaining when it comes to babies.

However, Ari really, really doesn't like when babies get grabby and pull at his hair. That shit hurts, and he hates it. Also he's oddly squeamish about spit-up and/or vomit. Technically, he is not a fan of diaper duty, like very, very, very not a fan.

Ransom Drysdale

The absolute fuck are you handing him a baby for??? Bitch, are you insane?! Be real. Seriously. Just don't.

There isn't even much improvement in this behavior when it's Ran's own child. Not a fan of the 'baby' stage, this one.

Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes

Lumping these two together because they do exactly the same things. Steve and Bucky physically treat female and male babies differently; they are sweet and cooing with girls, and then they talk about or mimic sports things with boys. They don't mean to be presumptive in this behavior, just do it be default.

Neither is afraid to roll their sleeves up and help with feeding or changing. They'll give equal attention to the baby and the group around you. They will both happily sit/stand/walk around with a napping baby in their arms--although they aren't thrilled to be unable to help with other stuff while they have no available hands.

Thank you for asking!

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