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moonit3 · 1 month

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How about a Yandere! Monster Mimic, where falling in love with a human reader...

(The mimic is a shapeshifting monster that can transform into an object or anyone it has seen, of course it can revert to its true amorphous form if it wants to.)

another non-human of for my blog? yes, please.

MY NON-HUMAN HUSBAND IS PERFECT!

➽ context warnings: male! yandere but he can shapeshift, fluffy content, gn! reader, mentioned cheating but nothing happening, also there isn’t much warning in this one.

➽ word count: 1.8k

➽ synopsis: your monster husband is the best thing to ever happen to you and there is no way you could forget him for that.

➽ yandere! mimic monster x gn! reader

➽ a/n: so you know when shows/anime have small segments inside the same episode (like saiki kusuo and the way of a househusband)? if the answer is yes, then i can tell you that i have write this since i watch them recently and got in the mood for something different compared to my past works. also, shot out to me if there is any mistaken down here!

tv show!

a soup opera is at the tv and smash can’t take his eyes off the screen, not even hearing you calling him to eat. instead, he just keep changing his appearance every time a new actor show up at the scene.

“nash!” you called him, but falling to gain his attention when he doesn’t even bet an eye at you. “it’s time for dinner, remember?”

no answer, he keep watching the tv on his own as the show continues to show the leads going to a wedding between another characters. the humanoid creature returned to his original form when seeing the groom and the bride kissing each other at the altar, afterwards he turn to see you and it was easy to understand what he wants to learn about the scene.

“to make the marriage officially end, the groom and the bride have to kiss each other after promising to spend their lifes together.” you replied. “but something they don’t work together and split up after. it’s common to happen, just like it happened to my uncle and aunt.”

he nodded, taking your words to consideration before going back to watch the soup opera, but this time with a bowl of rice that he began devouring without hesitation. nash always acts like he hasn’t eaten in days, when in fact, he had breakfast and lunch not long ago.

decided that you won’t dry the dishes for now, you took a place next to nash on the couch, watching the tv with him in silence. without taking his many pairs of eyes of the screen, he pulls you closer by his crawl, making you rest your head at his arm.

a smile grown on your lips when he does that, not only that makes you feel safer, but also relaxes your mind. it’s a sweet reminder that nash cares about you, even though he never spoken a word to you and the fact of him being whatever he is doesn’t change how much you care about him.

the cat

it already the third time that nash ended with his face full of cuts and bruises after another failed attempt of petting the stray cat that comes around home. you would be laughing if the whole event wasn’t sad, well at least, to his eyes.

“don’t cry, baby.” the sniff coming from the creature has become a common scene since the first time the stray cat has visited you and the cat always left after making nash’s face their newest canvas. “i’m sure that one day, the stray will become more docile and let you pet their fur. maybe even entering our house to sleep with us.”

he continues to sob regardless of yours words, but he remains still under your care when applying another band aid to his face. it’s a unique scene to have a two meter creature full of colorful band aids on his face, like he has been a victim of children’s drawing.

after you finished taking care of him, nash move away from your touch and made his way out towards outside the cabin, where he began sunbathing and stare out into the sky. to make sure he won’t get in trouble, you took a seat at the couch from the front porch, watching nash resting the sun and not giving much thought to the the wild animals that live around the cabin.

the breeze hitting your body makes you drowsy and your eyes can’t hold much longer, not after working hours and hours to fix the roof before the winter comes around. a yawn escapes your lips before you start feeling tired and your mind begging you to fall asleep after working long hours, but another side of you is forcing your mind to stay awake to spend more time with nash. and speaking of him, the monster approaches you with something in his arms.

“what it is, nash? another worm or grasshopper?” you asked, but seeing his smile reaching both of his ears confirms that it’s something even better. “show me.”

and he does. in his arms rests the stray cat that has been visiting the cabin for the past few weeks, but today it seems friendly, showing no signs of aggression towards nash as it usually does. because of that, he looks happier with the cat peacefully sleeping in his arms like a baby.

the scene itself is an adorable one, something that could easily come out from a kids’ shows and you could smile at nash for finally befriending the cat. your husband look so happy when snuggling the small animal, almost like he wasn’t crying just moments ago from being rejected from said animal.

the smile on your face grown more on your lips when you patted the stray cat, seeing the tiny animal enjoying being on nash’s laps only made you relaxed more, specially when he sat next to you to let you pat the cat even more.

“do you want to keep it?” he nodded, enthusiastic about the idea. “then, we should get a few things for the little one tomorrow when going to the town. got it?” he nodded again.

another yawn came out of your lips, making nash ware of your tiredness and he adjusted your head to be the one laying on his shoulder. even with your eyes closing, you can feel his form shape into a soft fur that makes you wonder if he knows that you love when he does that.

“im going to take a nap, wake me up in a hour or so…” and with that, you began dreaming on nash’s shoulder and he couldn’t be happier to have you by one side and the cat in the other side of his arm. the two most important things to him in the same place.

the old lady and the store

“i know your secret, young blood.”

your eyes widen open when the old lady’s words reached your ears, it’s only seven in the morning and there is already a problem that you need to solve...did nash got in another trouble with the town people? you hope not.

“my secret?” you played like you didn’t know what she is talking about, pretending to be a fool is an easy job for you. “i think you are mistaken, lady. i am nothing, but a mere normal hunter that lives in the woods.”

she didn’t buy your words, not when a grin suddenly emerged at her thin lips, you could already guess the many words that she would say about nash and you can imagine how the townspeople will hunt down nash. however, you stood quiet in front of the balcony, pretending to be a normal hunter while the old lady just stared at you.

“don’t play the idiot, kid.” she got up from her seat, even being shorter than you, the lady knows how to make her presence known and scary. “i know that young hunters like you always have your dirty secrets inside those wooden cabin.”

you only stared at her, not saying any words as she walked closer to you to take a better look at how shaken you have gotten with her intimidation. it’s hilarious that a hunter would be a the mercy of an old widow lady like her, one that barely hits your shoulder, the others would laugh at this scene.

“tell me, young blood.” her voice is now like a thunder stomping inside your head. there is no other clients at the store, so she didn’t need to low her voice at you. “how many people are you sleeping with?”

…

….

“excuse me? i-i am not sleeping around!”

the old lady laughed at your reaction, not caring if her loudness would reach outside the market, everyone of the town knows better than spying at her. it’s clear to those who could hear outside that you have become her newest victim to her attention and curiosity.

“please, kid.” she patted your shoulder when returning to her seat behind the balcony, this time with the biggest smile you ever saw at her lips. “i know everything about everyone at this small place and i know that you have been *hanging out* around with different people by every week that you comes to the town to sell your goods.”

“you are mistaken, lady!” you tried to make her rethink about the subject, but you quickly realized that she won’t hear you, not when she already looks absolutely certain about your ‘affairs’.

“don’t worry, kid. i won’t tell your husband about it.” she winked, giving you an even big smile when referring about your so called ‘partner’. “after all, i was just like you during my young days. full of beauty and grace, ready to make anyone fall to my feet and trust me, i was good at it~”

her rambling gains an extra awkwardness when you remember that nash did took many humans forms when coming to the town for the past months with you. he would often take different appearances when accompanying you, sometimes he would resemble a bombshell girl from those old magazines or maybe a good looking man from those old spies movies that you often caught him watching instead of sleeping.

well, at the bright side of this situation. the old lady believes you are sleeping around, not that you share the house with someone not human…so things are going good for you, right?

“that’s nice to hear, lady.” your lips curves into an nervous smile when she hands the products and that you quickly put inside your bag, wanting to leave fast as possible. “but i got to go, you know, to meet one of my ‘contacts’.”

she stares at you, again with her classic smile that reaches both of her eyes, “don’t forget to tell me about it when you come back to shop!” and with that, you finally leave the market with your bag full of stuff for the incoming winter.

the path back home was a peaceful one, no wild animals has tried to approach you and the rain didn’t start yet, so nothing has happened during your walk. once you have arrived at the cabin, nash welcomed you with open arms and brought you to a hug and began acting so happy, like you haven’t seen him in years.

nash brings you inside the cabin to show that he didn’t mess with anything during your absence nor has the cat destroyed the interior like you would expected, the small feline is still asleep in the same place you saw before going to the town. showing that he did succeed with his goals, nash helped you organize the things you’ve brought around the house.

it’s always a nice view seeing him becoming taller than you to organize the higher shelves of the kitchen and the storage room. thanks to him, you don’t need to bring the ladder from the basement. and with his assistance, the two of you arranged the foods rapidly and efficiently, leaving time to the two of you relax for the rest of the day.

@moonit3 writings

#yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere writing #yandere male #yandere x gender neutral reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x gender neutral y/n #x gender neutral reader #gender neutral insert #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader #my oc nash #➥·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ moon writings

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cripplecharacters · 1 month

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The Mask Trope, and Disfiguremisia in Media

[large text: The Mask Trope, and Disfiguremisia in Media]

If you followed this blog for more than like a week, you're probably familiar with “the mask trope” or at least with me complaining about it over and over in perpetuity. But why is it bad and why can't this dude shut up about it?

Let's start with who this trope applies to: characters with facial differences. There is some overlap with blind characters as well; think of the blindfold that is forced on a blind character for no reason. Here is a great explanation of it in this context by blindbeta. It's an excellent post in general, even if your character isn't blind or low vision you should read at least the last few paragraphs.

Here's a good ol’ tired link to what a facial difference is, but to put it simply:

If you have a character, who is a burn survivor or has scars, who wears a mask, this is exactly this trope.

The concept applies to other facial differences as well, but scars and burns are 99% of the representation and “representation” we get, so I'll be using these somewhat interchangeably here.

The mask can be exactly what you think, but it refers to any facial covering that doesn't have a medical purpose. So for example, a CPAP mask doesn't count for this trope, but a Magic Porcelain Mask absolutely does. Bandages do as well. If it covers the part of the face that is “different”, it can be a mask in the context used here.

Eye patches are on thin ice because while they do serve a medical purpose in real life, in 99.9% of media they are used for the same purpose as a mask. It's purely aesthetic.

With that out of the way, let's get into why this trope sucks and find its roots. Because every trope is just a symptom of something, really.

Roughly in order of the least to most important reasons...

Why It Sucks

[large text: Why It Sucks]

It's overdone. As in — boring. You made your character visibly different, and now they're no longer that. What is the point? Just don't give them the damn scar if you're going to hide it.

Zero connection with reality. No one does this. I don't even know how to elaborate on this. This doesn't represent anyone because no one does this.

Disability erasure. For the majority of characters with facial differences, their scars or burns somehow don't disable them physically, so the only thing left is the visible part… aaand the mask takes care of it too. Again, what's the point? If you want to make your disabled character abled, then just have them be abled. What is the point of "curing" them other than to make it completely pointless?

Making your readers with facial differences feel straight up bad. I'm gonna be honest! This hurts to see when it's all you get, over and over. Imagine there's this thing that everyone bullied you about, everyone still stares at, that is with you 24/7. Imagine you wanted to see something where people like you aren't treated like a freakshow. Somewhat unrealistic, but imagine that. That kind of world would only exist in fiction, right? So let's look into fiction- oh, none of the positive (or at least not "child-murderer evil") characters look like me. I mean they do, but they don't. They're forced to hide the one thing that connects us. I don't want to hide myself. I don't want to be told over and over that this is what people like me should do. That this is what other people expect so much that it's basically the default way a person with a facial difference can exist. I don't want this.

Perpetuating disfiguremisia.

"Quick" Disfiguremisia Talk

[large text: "Quick" Disfiguremisia Talk]

It's quick when compared to my average facial difference discussion post, bear with me please.

Disfiguremisia; portmanteau of disfigure from “disfigurement” and -misia, Greek for hatred.

Also known as discrimination of those mythical horrifically deformed people.

It shows up in fiction all the time; in-universe and in-narrative. Mask trope is one of the most common* representations of it, and it's also a trope that is gaining traction more and more, both in visual art and writing. This is a trope I particularly hate, because it's a blatant symptom of disfiguremisia. It's not hidden and it doesn't try to be. It's a painful remainder that I do not want nor need.

*most common is easily “evil disfigured villain”, just look at any horror media. But that's for another post, if ever.

When you put your character in a mask, it sends a clear message: in your story, facial differences aren't welcome. The world is hostile. Other characters are hostile. The author is, quite possibly, hostile. Maybe consciously, but almost always not, they just don't think that disfiguremisia means anything because it's the default setting. No one wants to see you because your face makes you gross and unsightly. If you have a burn; good luck, but we think you're too ugly to have a face. Have a scar? Too bad, now you don't. Get hidden.

Everything here is a decision that was made by the author. You are the one who makes the world. You are the person who decides if being disabled is acceptable or not there. The story doesn't have a mind of its own, you chose to make it disfiguremisic.

It doesn't have to be.

Questions to Ask Yourself

[large text: Questions to Ask Yourself]

Since I started talking about facial differences on this blog, I have noticed a very specific trend in how facial differences are treated when compared to other disabilities. A lot of writers and artists are interested in worldbuilding where accessibility is considered, where disabled people are accepted, where neurodivergence is seen as an important part of the human experience, not something “other”. This is amazing, genuinely.

Yet, absolutely no one seems to be interested in a world that is anything but cruel to facial differences. There's no escapist fantasies for us.

You see this over and over, at some point it feels like the same story with different names attached.

The only way a character with a facial difference can exist is to hide it. Otherwise, they are shamed by society. Seen as something gross. I noticed that it really doesn't matter who the character is, facial difference is this great equalizer. Both ancient deities and talking forest cats get treated as the same brand of disgusting thing as long as they're scarred, as long as they had something explode in their face, as long as they've been cursed. They can be accomplished, they can be a badass, they can be the leader of the world, they can kill a dragon, but they cannot, under any circumstances, be allowed to peacefully exist with a facial difference. They have to hide it in the literal sense, or be made to feel that they should. Constantly ashamed, embarrassed that they dare to have a face.

Question one to ask yourself: why is disfiguremisia a part of your story?

I'm part of a few minority groups. I'm an immigrant, I'm disabled, I'm queer. I get enough shit in real life for this so I like to take a break once in a while. I love stories where transphobia isn't a thing. Where xenophobia doesn't come up. But my whole life, I can't seem to find stories that don't spew out disfiguremisia in one way or the other at the first possible opportunity.

Why is disfiguremisia a default part of your worldbuilding? Why can't it be left out? Why in societies with scarred saviors and warriors is there such intense disgust for them? Why can't anyone even just question why this is the state of the world?

Why is disfiguremisia normal in your story?

Question two: do you know enough about disfiguremisia to write about it?

Ask yourself, really. Do you? Writers sometimes ask if or how to portray ableism when they themselves aren't disabled, but no one bothers to wonder if maybe they aren't knowledgeable enough to make half their story about their POV character experiencing disfiguremisia. How much do you know, and from where? Have you read Mikaela Moody or any other advocates’ work around disfiguremisia? Do you understand the way it intersects; with being a trans woman, with being Black? What is your education on this topic?

And for USAmericans... do you know what "Ugly Laws" are, and when they ended?

Question three: what does your story associate with facial difference — and why?

If I had to guess; “shame”, “embarrassment”, “violence”, "disgust", “intimidation”, “trauma”, “guilt”, “evil”, “curse”, “discomfort”, “fear”, or similar would show up.

Why doesn't it associate it with positive concepts? Why not “hope” or “love” or “pride” or “community”? Why not “soft” or “delicate”? Dare I say, “beauty” or “innocence”? Why not “blessing”? “Acceptance”?

Why not “normal”?

Question four: why did you make the character the way they are?

Have you considered that there are other things than “horrifically burned for some moral failing” or “most traumatic scenario put to paper”? Why is it always “a tough character with a history of violence” and never “a Disfigured princess”? Why not “a loving parent” or “a fashionable girl”, instead of “the most unkind person you ever met” and “total badass who doesn’t care about anything - other than how scary their facial difference is to these poor ableds”? Don’t endlessly associate us with brutality and suffering. We aren’t violent or manipulative or physically strong or brash or bloodthirsty by default. We can be soft, and frail and gentle and kind - and we can still be proud and unashamed.

Question five: why is your character just… fine with all this?

Can’t they make a community with other people with facial differences and do something about this? Demand the right to exist as disabled and not have to hide their literal face? Why are they cool with being dehumanized and treated with such hatred? Especially if they fall into the "not so soft and kind" category that I just talked about, it seems obvious to me that they would be incredibly and loudly pissed off about being discriminated against over and over... Why can't your character, who is a subject of disfiguremisia, realize that maybe it's disfiguremisia that's the problem, and try to fix it?

Question six: why is your character wearing a mask?

Usually, there's no reason. Most of the time the author hasn't considered that there even should be one, the character just wears a mask because that's what people with facial differences do in their mind. Most writers aren't interested in this kind of research or even considering it as a thing they should do. The community is unimportant to them, it's not like we are real people who read books. They think they understand, because to them it's not complex, it's not nuanced. It's ugly = bad. Why would you need a reason?

For cases where the reason is stated, I promise, I have heard of every single one. To quote, "to spare others from looking at them". I have read, "content warning: he has burn scars under the mask, he absolutely hates taking it off!", emphasis not mine. Because "he hates the way his skin looks", because "they care for their appearance a lot" (facial differences make you ugly, remember?). My favorite: "only has scars and the mask when he's a villain, not as a hero", just to subtly drive the point home. This isn't the extreme end of the spectrum. Now, imagine being a reader with a facial difference. This is your representation, sitting next to Freddy Krueger and Voldemort.

How do you feel?

F.A.Q. [frequently asked questions]

[large text: F.A.Q. [frequently asked questions]]

As in, answers and “answers” to common arguments or concerns.

“Actually they want to hide their facial difference” - your character doesn’t have free will. You want them to hide it. Again; why.

“They are hiding it to be more inconspicuous!” - I get that there are elves in their world, but there’s no universe where wearing a mask with eye cutouts on the street is less noticeable than having a scar. Facial differences aren’t open wounds sprinkling with blood, in case that's not clear.

“It’s for other people's comfort” - why are other characters disfiguremisic to this extent? Are they forcing all minorities to stay hidden and out of sight too? That’s a horrible society to exist in.

“They are wearing it for Actual Practical Reason” - cool! I hope that this means you have other characters with facial differences that don’t wear it for any reason.

"It's the character's artistic expression" - I sure hope that there are abled characters with the same kind of expression then.

“They’re ashamed of their face” - and they never have any character development that would make that go away? That's just bad writing. Why are they ashamed in the first place? Why is shame the default stance to have about your own face in your story? I get that you think we should be ashamed and do these ridiculous things, but in real life we just live with it.

"Now that you say that it is kinda messed up but I'm too far into the story please help" - here you go.

“[some variation of My Character is evil so it's fine/a killer so it fits/just too disgusting to show their disability” - this is the one of the only cases where I’m fine with disability erasure, actually. Please don’t make them have a facial difference. This is the type of harm that real life activists spend years and decades undoing. Disfiguremisia from horror movies released in the 70s is still relevant. It still affects people today.

"But [in-universe explanation why disfiguremisia is cool and fine actually]" - this changes nothing.

Closing Remarks

[large text: Closing Remarks]

I hope that this post explains my thoughts on facial difference representation better. It's a complicated topic, I get it. I'm also aware that this post might come off as harsh (?) but disfiguremisia shouldn't be treated lightly, it shouldn't be a prop. It's real world discrimination with a big chunk of its origins coming out of popular media.

With the asks that have been sent regarding facial differences, I realized that I probably haven't explained what the actual problems are well enough. It's not about some technical definition, or about weird in-universe explanations. It's about categorizing us as some apparently fundamentally different entity that can't possibly be kind and happy, about disfiguremisia so ingrained into our culture that it's apparently impossible to make a world without it; discrimination so deep that it can't be excised, only worked around. But you can get rid of it. You can just not have it there in the first place. Disfiguremisia isn't a fundamental part of how the world works; getting rid of it won't cause it to collapse. Don't portray discrimination as an integral, unquestionable part of the world that has to stay no matter what; whether it's ableism, transphobia, or Islamophobia or anything else. A world without discrimination can exist. If you can't imagine a world without disfiguremisia in fiction... that's bad. Sad, mostly. To me, at least.

Remember, that your readers aren't going to look at Character with a Scar #14673 and think "now I'm going to research how real life people with facial differences live." They won't, there's no inclination for them to do so. If you don't give them a reason, they won't magically start thinking critically about facial differences and disfiguremisia. People like their biases and they like to think that they understand.

And, even if you're explaining it over and over ;-) (winky face) there will still be people who are going to be actively resistant to giving a shit. To try and get the ones who are capable of caring about us, you, as the author, need to first understand disfiguremisia, study Face Equality, think of me as a human being with human emotions who doesn't want to see people like me treated like garbage in every piece of media I look at. There's a place and time for that media, and if you don't actually understand disfiguremisia, you will only perpetuate it; not "subvert" it, not "comment" on it.

I hope this helps :-) (smile emoji. for good measure)

Mod Sasza

#mod sasza #disfiguremisia #face difference #mask trope #writing trope #writing resource #writing reference #writing resources #writing advice #writeblr #writing tips #long post #burn survivor representation

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dfortrafalgar · 1 month

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I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Law x Fem Reader

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read these warnings before reading this fic. Genuinely, I implore you. I started writing this fic on a whim a few weeks ago, when I was contemplating my own experiences with reproduction-related health conditions such as the one that will be addressed later on in this story (endometriosis). Reproductive education and health is something that I feel very strongly about, and I feel that topics such as pregnancy complications and loss aren't addressed enough in media for fear that they're too taboo or shocking. Which, to be fair, is true, at least for the shocking aspect. Pregnancy loss is difficult, traumatic, and life-changing, for better or for worse, truly dependent on the person and the world around them.

Now you might be wondering... why would you drag one piece into this? well, i don't know. i felt like it, perhaps. Law is a character who resonates very deeply to me, his character is emotionally complex and layered, and imagining him in a scenario like this one became very interesting to me. Combine that with everything i stated above and taddaa, you get this fic.

this story does and will eventually have a happy ending (a very happy ending!) however it will take a bit to get there. this is a multi-chapter fic that i'm moving from my ao3 to my new blog, and the same warnings there apply here.

if this fic doesn't seem like your cup of tea, i encourage you to check out some of my other fics on my blog. i have a few law/readers that are tooth-rottingly fluffy and much more feel good.

with all that out of the way, thank you for reading.

Chapter 1

[Next]

The air in the room was as stifling as a sauna from the stress and anxiety filling the air. It was so silent, the tiles surrounding the small area blocking any and all noise from outside. The door was closed, caging you in.

You were sitting on the toilet lid, your hands rapidly perspiring and your whole body shivering with nerves. Across from you, your husband had his arms crossed, his head hung low, his heel bouncing off the floor. The tension was unlike anything you had ever experienced, however this had unfortunately become the norm for the past six months.

On the side of the sink sat a long white stick. Neither of you wanted to look at it.

“Do you think it’s ready now…?” you asked, inwardly cringing at how pathetic and weak your wobbly voice sounded.

Law picked his head up, his golden eyes creased in profound concern and worry. “It should be. Five minutes, right?”

“I think so,” you replied. With a trembling hand, you grabbed the stick from the counter. Law watched your every movement with a close eye. With a deep breath, you flipped over the test and gazed at the result window.

A single red line.

After the last failed attempt, you made a joke that you didn’t have any more tears left in you to cry, but clearly that wasn’t the case as fat, salty tears rapidly welled in your eyes and flowed down your cheeks. Law immediately knew what the result was the second your lips twitched downward. His heart sank into his stomach, immediately stepping toward you, grabbing the test from your hand and blindly chucking it into the small garbage can in the corner. He knelt on the floor in front of you to pull you into his chest.

“Damn it…” you whimpered. Your body forced you to take a shuddering inhale before sobbing an anguished, “FUCK!!!!”

Law’s heart broke. He didn’t even know what to say to comfort you anymore. 6 months of failed attempts at conceiving a very wanted baby had caused nothing but pain to both of you. You had both been scientific about the process. All birth control and protection was ceased, and the two of you were religiously tracking your cycle to make sure you would try during your ovulation window, but nothing but failure after failure showed up.

You thought you were broken.

Law thought he was broken.

You wept into his shoulder, your body shuddering with each pained sob that crawled from your sore throat. Law’s hands were frozen around you, firmly gripping your back. You couldn’t see the tears that were forming in the corners of his stern eyes, biting his lip and forcing every muscle in his face to prevent those tears from slipping downward. The last thing you needed was to see him cry, but he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to hold it in.

“Law…” you whimpered into his shoulder.

Law stayed silent.

“I’m sorry–”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he quickly retorted, cutting you off. He felt you lurch in his arms. “This isn’t your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault… it’s…”

Now you stayed silent.

Law took his own shallow inhale. “I… don’t know.”

For one of the only times in Law’s life, he was rendered completely incapable of speech. Normally calm and analytical, looking for every possible solution or reason for an issue, he was now left completely helpless to the crashing waves of sheer dejection. As your quivering body clung to him like a lifeline, his entire brain was scrambling for some sense, any logical thought, for the current predicament, but it was starting to become glaringly obvious to both of you.

It was very likely one of you was infertile.

When you finally picked your head up from his shoulder, Law’s previously broken heart fractured into even more irreparable pieces.

Your eyes were puffy, swollen and bloodshot from your tears. Your entire face looked bloated from the force of your crying, and you were clearly flushed. You looked, for lack of a better word, completely miserable. Law helped you stand from the closed toilet seat, keeping your eyes away from the trash can where the negative pregnancy test lay on top of discarded tissues and makeup wipes, to guide you to your shared bedroom. Neither of you had to say a word, you knew he was going to put you into your shared bed and let you get some much-deserved rest after the stressful eternity (10 minutes) you had just endured. It was almost 8:00PM anyway, and regrettably, both of you still had work the following day.

You didn’t fight it when Law eased you down onto the mattress by your shoulders. You kept your eyes pinned closed, not wanting to let your husband see any more of your beaten state. You rolled over onto your side and hid in your pillows. You didn’t hear Law mention that he would join you after cleaning up, and you didn’t notice the overhead light dimming. You simply begged for sleep to take you quickly and painlessly.

When Law finally returned after washing his face, he gazed dejectedly at your weary form. Finally asleep, fortunately, but your cheeks were glossy with fresh tears. The man carefully crawled into bed behind you, carefully pulling your body into his. He wished more than anything that he could make your pain go away. He ran through the many years you had been together, and struggled to find a time where your sorrow was as profound as it was this evening. His mind was constantly at war- his analytical, doctor side beginning to list specific reasons why this could be happening, and his sincere, passionate, loving husband side breaking apart reflecting over the sound of your sobs.

It could have been either of you. But it also could’ve been both of you. The thought was enough to finally force the tears in Law’s eyes to break free and travel down his cheeks. Some of them plotted into your hair.

—

You awoke to the sound of whispering in your hallway outside the bedroom. The blinds covering the window above the bed you shared with Law were pulled shut, but the sunlight still beamed through them leaving patterns on the walls and floor. The side Law slept on was empty and freshly made. No surprise, he left for work early in the morning after all. You slowly sat up in bed, your head pounding. The events of the previous evening came rushing back to you, but you felt nothing but an empty melancholy, a dark fog that hung over your brain and clouded your vision.

The door to your bedroom slowly opened. You looked up just in time to see a very large, very fluffy cloud with four legs and two beady eyes come sprinting into your room. Its feet ripped across the carpeted floor as It hopped on your bed with a loud huff, immediately snuggling on top of your duvet and leaning into your body for some much needed cuddles.

You mustered a weary laugh, your hands instinctively moving to the back of the dog’s neck to rub his fluffy cheeks from behind, eliciting happy grunts from the large animal. He had his tongue out, a tiny pink blep among the sea of rich white fur.

“Bepo,” you sighed. “You know Law doesn’t like it when you get on the bed.”

“He missed you!” called a voice from the hallway. Spiky red hair appeared in the doorway. “So did we, actually. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

Shachi had, actually, woken you up, but you didn’t need to tell him that. “No, not at all.” You shook your head. Bepo’s tail was wagging in your face, causing you to sputter out small strands of loose fur from your mouth. The red-head entered your bedroom, leaving the door open. The smell of French toast instantly wafted into the space, making your mouth water and your eyes widen. “Is Penguin cooking?”

“Yee-up,” Shachi replied, popping his lips to enunciate the word. “Law invited us over, if you couldn’t tell.” He flashed a smirk. “You got the day off, by the way.”

Your eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. “What?”

“Law called in sick for you,” the man confirmed.

You frantically reached for the night stand and grabbed your phone, tapping the screen to illuminate it. It was almost 10:00AM, and sure enough, your alarm had been turned off. Three texts from Law sat waiting on your screen, as well as two texts from your coworkers.

Baby~~<3

Sorry, I broke into your phone to turn your alarm off. You get to sleep in today, I called you out sick. I didn’t tell them anything, just that you weren’t feeling good.

Baby~~<3

Shachi and Penguin might be there when you wake up. I did tell them a little about what happened, just so they know to give you space if you need it.

Baby~~<3

Call me if you need anything at all, I love you.

Ika-chan

I heard you called in sick today!!! I hope you’re alright, let me know if you need anything!

Nami Swan

How r u feeling? If u caut the flu u can blame Usopp :P

You smiled, your heart beating in your chest. “You guys are too much sometimes.”

Shachi proudly rested his clenched fist over his sternum as a display of pride. “Nothing is ever enough for your best friend!” The sight made you chuckle.

You were caught off guard by Penguin entering with a much larger platter of food than you ever expected. He excitedly approached your bedside with a wide grin, marveling at his own work. A bowl of mixed fruits, a plate of French toast drizzled with maple syrup and dollopped with a swirl of whipped cream, a small portion of sausage on the side, and a single unopened bottle of apple juice. You graciously accepted the spread, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t completely befuddled.

“You guys know I’m not actually sick, right?” you asked, glancing at your husband’s best friends with concern. You shooed Bepo away from getting too close to the sausage.

“We know,” Penguin clarified. “We can treat you to a nice breakfast even when you’re not sick, though!”

You smiled, forcing down the lump that formed in your throat. “Thank you guys, I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I know what you’d do,” Shachi stated. “You’d eat your breakfast and savor every bite!” He stood up from your bed and clapped his hands twice, beckoning Bepo off of the bed and over to his side. “We’ll take Bepo for a walk around the neighborhood! Take some time for yourself!” The two men left with your dog in tow, leaving you to stare in awe at the spread of food.

Your mind was reeling. Law’s text informed you that he had given his two friends a brief summary of what had happened, but you didn’t really mind. If anything, it brought you some comfort to know that you and your husband’s two closest friends understood the predicament you were currently in and were more than willing to go out of their way to support you. You also couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Law calling you out sick for the day, putting your passcode into your phone to turn off your alarm, and making sure his friends would be there for you when you woke up. You were beyond grateful for such an incredible support system, but just to be on the safe side…

You grabbed your phone once more, opening your text messages with Law.

Good morning baby, thank you for calling me out. Im feeling a bit better, Shachi and Penguin made me breakfast. I hope you didnt give them too much grief ;3; Take care of yourself today, I’ll see you when you get home. I love you!!! <333

With your breakfast completed, you slowly trudged to the bathroom to take a relaxing shower. The sight of your negative pregnancy test filled you with nausea, but you pushed past the feeling and turned on the water.

#trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #fem reader #law x reader #x reader #reader insert #tw pregnancy #tw miscarriage #tw pregnancy loss #im losing you

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kaisers-house-of-desires · 9 days

Note

Can I request a Gojo x male reader that owns a cafe. Reader is having an event for his cafe where if someone gets a special item in their dessert (like idk a cherry or something) he would make them a custom dessert. Gojo, who had won the competition, requested to have Olive as his dessert. (Olive and Gojo do know each other, so it's nit like Gojo is a stranger requesting this lol. If you choose this request then thank you <3

Consider it done~ And for the sake of not naming the reader, I won't be using the name Olive but the relationship can remain.

Title: Sweet Tooth

Characters: Gojo x m!reader

Contains: heated/sensual make out

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI

Reblogs > likes

"Congratulations! You won a custom dessert!"

Behind shaded lenses, Gojo blinked in reaction to the announcement. "Hah?"

You handed him a specialized card in both hands, a small one made of easy to punch paper. "A custom dessert! It's an event I'm holding. People who order a specific item from the menu get a special dessert made just for them, free of charge! With limitations of course."

As a café owner, you liked to hold these little events on occasion, especially if you ended up with more ingredients than you sold. It was a convenient way to get rid of them without having to throw them away and wasting them. For Gojo to win one felt like a thrill, as he didn't often stop by as of late thanks to his teaching position. He luckily had some time during the day to come by for a sweet treat, especially since he promised he would at some point.

Taking the card, Gojo scanned the text.

You've won one (1) free custom dessert*! Present this card at purchase to redeem. *Limitations apply. Good for one item up to ¥800

His drink and to-go box were already on the counter as he gazed back at you. With not a lot of time left in his break, he gave you a charming smile, picking up his items after sliding the card in his pocket. "I'll definitely stop by before you close to redeem this, maybe get some extra things while I'm here."

You two gave each other a wave before Gojo stepped out.

---

As closing time approached, you tried keeping the oven on as long as you could, keeping all the necessary ingredients nearby for whenever Gojo entered the shop, but despite your efforts and hopeful waiting, closing hour came, and you begrudgingly turned the heat off while putting the ingredients into storage.

You were upset, yeah, but not exactly at Gojo. It wasn't the first time his job made him stay out, and it wasn't the first time he didn't show up when he said he would. You didn't want to think about all the plans that fell through on top of this, so after locking the front doors, you set yourself to nearly deep clean the café to distract yourself.

You were going to start with the back. Since that area was out of customer sight, you never really cleaned it as well as you should, but at least it was always within code. You had put your apron up on the rack when a knock rattled the backdoor in the room, nearly causing you to jump out of your skin.

You don't recall ordering any new items, as this is where deliveries would be handled commonly, but you could have simply forgotten. That being said, you opened the door, revealing a towering male with familiar white hair and cloth-shielded eyes.

"Yo, am I too late?" His voice was all too casual for his delay in presence.

Disappointment had gave way to anger, and you turned around, allowing Gojo to enter the shop, gazing around the new environment for a customer.

"You have some nerve..."

"What? I came by! I said I would!"

"You said you'd come by before closing!" Built up frustration bubbled to the surface as you started gathering your cleaning items, haphazardly pacing back and forth to grab the items that were strewn about. "Like how you said you'd come over for drinks last week, or how you wanted to catch a movie the time before that."

Gojo let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I know I messed up. Things have been...crazy with the school for awhile."

"Then you should just focus on that instead of giving me hope." Water splashed from the soap filled bucket you made while talking, having slammed a rag in it after. There was an unsettling silence before Gojo spoke.

"But I'm here, right? After closing, sure. But I'm not bailing completely." He revealed the card from his pocket, still in decent condition despite the activity he typically does. "I still wanna cash in, if that's okay."

You stalled your movements, glancing at him with the revealed card before your gaze went back to the bucket, letting out a sigh.

"I...Yeah." There wasn't any point in being angry right now. You had to admit it was nice of him to come back when he said he would despite being late. He could have bailed out or gotten caught up with work like he usually did but he actually came back this time. "I'm sorry. I'm...really sorry." You straightened up, taking a nice deep breath to ground yourself for the moment. "I haven't started cleaning yet, so what would you like? I can get the stuff back out, but remember it's a ¥800 limit."

"If it's custom, what determines the price?" As Gojo spoke, he stepped over to you, rereading the text to make sure he read it all correctly.

You replied while tying your apron back on. "Size, mainly. You can take a menu item and change it how you want, and I can let you know if that will be within your range."

"Can I go off menu?"

"Well...I don't see why not, but you'd really have to know what you'd--" Your words cut off once you turned back around to face Gojo after your apron was on. He was so close to you, you could almost feel the heat radiating off of him, which contradicted the chilling feeling from the icy blue stare that now graced you. "--w-want."

"So as long as I really know what I want, I can have it, yeah?" His voice dropped to a husky tone as he leaned close, your back starting to press into the wall.

"S-Satoru--"

"Well, can I redeem the cute shop owner~?"

When his cold hand touched your heated cheek, your heart picked up in pace. It pounded in your ears, nearly drowning out all sound. You had no idea Gojo felt this way, but maybe you were just oblivious to past actions.

"I-I...um...I-I'm not exactly a dessert..."

"Are you sure? Because my sweet tooth kicks in whenever I see you~ Maybe I could have a sample first?"

Before you could respond, Gojo's lips found yours, and he was quick to help himself past them, humming from the sweet taste that coated your mouth from sampling your creations throughout the day. Soft groans left the two of you, and you found yourself gripping at Gojo's uniform sleeves, not in protest, but to keep your mind steady. Luckily for your sake, he didn't keep the kiss long, pulling away once notice you were shaking to get air. As you panted lightly, he gave you a playful smirk, licking his lips with a satisfied hum.

"Well after a sample like that, how could I not have more~?"

You didn't need to wait for him to make a move. This time, you urged in, connecting your lips once more with his. His body pressed flush against you, the silence in the air replaced with sensually charged sounds. You gripped at his clothes as his hands raked through your hair, tongues dancing with one another as you held each other close. You were emotionally charged; anger, desire, and excitement all mixing within yourself like a lumpy batter. You didn't exactly know what to feel with him, but desire seemed to be the strongest ingredient.

This sudden makeout seemed to last awhile to you, feeling like tens of minutes went by before you two finally disconnected, gazing into each other's glazed eyes while your chests heaved for air.

"M-My house later," you breathed. "Y-You better not be late this time."

"Trust me," Gojo exhaled in response. "I wouldn't miss that for anything...~"

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devildom-moss · 6 months

Note

This is sort of a joke so only do this if you want to but: brothers with an mc who eats moss like kris from deltarune. It's..... weirdly attractive? There's a sheep joke to be made here

Sometimes we need a silly little joke, and that's okay. I hope you like it anon. Is the moss thing related to this blog name or is it just random? Also, I don't know who that is - and I had to look up what deltarune is. Maybe it's an age thing or maybe it's just one of those topics I know nothing about. Either way~

Also, I'll be honest, I set up an excel sheet with all of my requests organized by post type before I did this request. Now I feel more organized. Yay.

The demon brothers react to MC eating moss

(SFW) (silliness)

Word Count: +1,600

Lucifer

No. No. No. No. “Spit that out right now, MC.”

They’re going to give this poor single parent of 6 an aneurysm. Moss could be dangerous for MC. Where did they even get that? Did they at least wash it before shoveling it into their mouth?

What is he going to tell Diavolo if moss gets them sick? “Yeah, sorry about needing you to call a human doctor for MC. I looked away from them for one minute, and they started eating moss.” He has a responsibility to keep MC safe.

Lucifer is the type to order MC to get a psych eval when he sees them eating moss. He knows it’s weird and potentially dangerous. This kind of unusual behavior should be closely monitored by a professional.

He’ll nearly lose his mind believing that MC had definitely lost theirs.

“What in the Devildom has gotten into you? Have you utterly lost it? MC, I can’t handle these kids on my own anymore. I need you to be sane and relatively normal, please.”

Please don’t do this to him. Lucifer needs stability in his life, and eating moss is not the picture of stability.

He will make MC’s potential problem about him for a bit in true bad single parent fashion.

Mammon

“The hell ya doin’?!”

Mammon will not hesitate to point out how weird he thinks they are. He doesn’t want to hurt MC’s feelings, but he can’t stop himself from giving them a look of confusion and light disgust.

“That can’t possibly taste good, can it? Ya can’t just go ‘round eatin’ any plant ya see.”

Once the initial surprise works through him, he’s just worried about MC eating something weird. What would he do if they got sick? What would he tell Lucifer? He’s their guardian, and he takes that role more seriously than he likes to let on.

Mammon’s the most likely to try to physically remove the moss from MC’s mouth (but Lucifer is a close second). It could be dangerous. He’ll confiscate MC’s moss if they have any left and keep a close eye on them.

His search history from that day will be telling. “is moss dangerous for humans” “is moss dangerous for humans to eat” “types of moss that are safe for humans to eat” “how to tell if my human is sick” “human ate something bad what happens” “why did my human eat moss” “is my human mentally ill” “Devildom human doctors near me” “human-friendly moss” “good dates for humans” “how to charm weird humans” “how to romance weird humans no magic” (He got distracted.)

Leviathan

Levi finds it funny (and he probably actually knows which character you’re referencing, anon). It’s weird, sure, but he figures whatever MC is doing, it’s pretty harmless.

He wonders if that applies to algae. It might make cleaning out his fish tanks a bit easier if MC can and wants to eat it. The thought pops into his head, but Levi decides against it.

It’s strangely comforting that MC has something weird and arguably off-putting about them. Usually, he’s the weird, gross one. (This is where creepy Levi kicks in and he wants to know more about MC’s weird habits. Maybe if it turns out that they’re super weird, he can keep them all to himself. However, Levi lets his creepy thoughts go as quickly as they came.) Levi unlocked new information. Friend points +50. MC’s charm points +30.

“If I kiss you right now, that’s close enough to touching grass, right?” That’s a thing he’s supposed to do, isn’t he? Shit. He didn’t mean to say that out loud, but it’s too late.

Levi’s one of the brothers who will just let MC be and do their thing. He might double check and make sure MC isn’t going to get sick, but after that, he’ll leave them be. It’s not really his business. If it makes MC happy, he won’t judge.

Satan

Oddly supportive boyfriend.

The man’s a little feral and weird. I think he would find it kind of precious and adorable; it’s kind of like how cats like to eat grass.

He’d spend a while figuring out which mosses are safe to consume, asking MC if they have any preferences for which moss types they enjoy. Do they prefer certain textures and mouth feels? Are certain colors preferable? Which moss tastes the best?

Then, he would set up a moss terrarium for MC filled with their favorite mosses. Satan may ask them to help him build it as a cute little craft date. This way, MC will have a way to safely snack on moss whenever they wish. A terrarium has the added benefit of MC being able to control where the moss comes from so that they can avoid any harmful bacteria, viruses, pesticides, etc.

Of course, Satan understands that eating moss is unusual, and he may question what it is that compels MC to eat moss, but he doesn’t see the need to stop it.

He may taste the moss himself (in the same way that someone with a pet may be tempted to try pet food). It would, in all likelihood, disappoint him, but MC’s enjoyment is all that matters.

Satan has a real “MC can have a bit of moss – as a treat” kind of mindset. He’ll probably try to see if he can hand-feed MC like they’re a stray cat. He’s weird, too, but we love him.

Asmodeus

“Honey, no. This isn’t how we transition into our feral era.”

Asmo thinks it’s kind of gross, but he asks if maybe eating moss is good for the skin or something (because he can’t think of any other reason MC would even consider eating moss).

When they tell him that’s not why, he gives them a troubled stare with his arms crossed over his stomach. “Uhm, hun. Why are you eating it then?”

Even if MC tells him that it tastes good, there’s no way he’s trying it unless it has incredible health and beauty effects. He can’t stomach the thought of it.

After the disgust washes over him, the concern floods his system instead. He asks if MC is sure that they can and should be eating moss. Regardless of what MC tells him, Asmo will go to Satan or Lucifer (probably both) to make sure that MC isn’t putting themselves in any danger. He couldn’t handle it if MC got sick. All that stress would destroy his skin (and break his heart beyond repair).

Once he ensures MC’s health, he tries to just let MC do their thing. “Just please don’t eat that stuff around me, ‘kay? And if you eat it, please brush your teeth before you kiss me.”

Beelzebub

“Aw, MC, are you hungry? I’m sure we have something more delicious than moss in the fridge. I was just on my way to get a snack. I’ll pick one up for you too, okay?”

He’s probably eaten some moss in his time. He’s no stranger to eating weird things, so his reaction is the least judgmental.

Sometimes moss looks delicious, right? It just makes sense to him that they would want to try eating it.

Beel will definitely ask them to spare some of their moss so he can try it, too. If the moss tastes relatively bad, he might be weary of their tastes in the future, but as long as eating it won’t hurt them, Beel doesn’t care.

Beel is probably the only one who would try to suggest tastier methods of eating the moss. “What about putting it on top of ice cream? Or maybe in a cheeseburger. Mmm. . . cheeseburger. A moss salad might be more appetizing, too. I could blend it into a smoothie or some soup for you. How does that sound?”

It makes him feel a bit comforted that they both have eating habits that others think are weird – like it brings them closer and is a special connection only they can share.

Belphegor

He’s seen Beel bite into a pillar at the castle when he’s hungry. He’s not too troubled by a bit of moss-eating.

Belphie trusts MC not to be stupid enough to ingest moss that would be toxic to them, and not worrying saves him a bit of energy and time. Additionally, I think Belphie would be relatively knowledgeable about plants, so he would probably be able to tell if what MC is eating is likely to kill them.

For the most part, he just doesn’t care. MC could even kiss him with fresh moss breath, and he won’t give a shit. It’s probably better than morning or fish breath, and he’s still getting a kiss, so he doesn’t see a reason to complain.

He won’t be ultra supportive like Satan, but he will be a bit more enthusiastic about it than others – mostly because it gives him an idea for a prank. He could make soup with moss in it, have MC bring a bowl to Lucifer, and eat one themselves so he isn’t suspicious. Then Lucifer would end up eating moss soup. He could probably do that with multiple types of food, too.

One (stupid) point of contention will be that Belphie thinks moss is better as a pillow than as a snack, but he acknowledges that’s a ridiculous difference of opinion. However, that could be a nice date idea: find a mossy forest where he can take a nap while MC gets to snack on moss.

He will probably get scolded by Lucifer and Mammon for enabling MC’s behavior (and not at all because he goes on weird moss dates with MC).

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liyawritesss · 10 months

Text

ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ ʜᴏʙɪᴇ ʙʀᴏᴡɴ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ...

Characters: Hobart “Hobie” Brown [Spider-Punk] x black!earthy!GN!reader

Type: headcanons

Synopsis: What’s it like to be favored by everyone’s favorite punk-alt spider, in either a platonic or romantic setting?

Warnings: cursing, very very horrible british accent & slang I apologize in advance/please teach me better

A/N: I specifically had an earthy!reader in mind but I think that it can somewhat be applied to most other aesthetics as well. It was just a reason for me to write a farmers market date type thing because it's so cute to me. Hobie is around 18-19 in this!!

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @pantherheart @marsfunzon22 @movie-enthusiast22 @famedrs-blog @briology @honeybleed @pnkweb

You meet Hobie at a community farmers market, one that you frequented often because of the closeness to your home and the bartering style of trade that was used in place of currency. You had a service of your own that you provided to the community, and exchanged the things you made, grew, or produced, or the knowledge you had in exchange for the things that you needed such as food, clothes, utensils, etc.

Hobie’s crew was a new sight to see in the last couple of trips you’d taken to the market, their presence striking yet welcomed by the community there. Thick black boots and spikes adorned their bodies, slightly rattled clothes giving them an edge, but none of them were hostile, and in fact, many of his crew - including Hobie himself - engaged in the bartering and trade system themselves

The two of you seemed to be from completely different worlds, but with the same mindset, beliefs, and values in defying the construct, it wasn’t long before eventually the two of you engaged with each other as well.

On his electric guitar you noticed a couple of missing strings, and the remaining ones seemed to be on their last legs anyway. You had a friend who specialized in string instruments, and offered to get him a new set of strings if he taught you how to play. Contrary to what you initially thought, he accepted

So a week later, you both met at the market again, you with the promised strings and a basket of baked goods and other produce you were bartering away, and so began your friendship with the punk-alt man.

Hobie and his crew called you their ‘wildflower’ because of the earth tones you dressed in and how you were so fascinated with flowers that sometimes you’d pin them to your clothes or your hair. It was cute to them, him specifically, and it was an interesting sight to see a spot of green and brown amidst the sea of black and red.

You’d go to his shows sometimes, teasing him about putting the strings you got him to good use, and he definitely shows up and shows out because of it.

If its a late night, and you took a raincheck on one of his underground shows, he’ll find himself at your place and crash, leaving little to no room for argument. Hobie spends the night so often he has clothes tucked in his own little chest in your room.

You don’t live in town, however, opting to live in the countryside in a tiny cottage left to you by your family, so you always wondered if he actually made the trek to your place or did he find someone to drop him off. He doesn’t tell you about his other identity just yet, though, so you’re stuck trying to figure out his riddles on the subject.

After a while of knowing each other he’ll give in to your constant begging of performing a wick maintenance on him. He never saw a point in ‘maintenance’ on his head, he liked it the way it was, but you were obviously fed up with how careless he was with his hair and figured it couldn’t hurt to indulge you. Though he cant deny that he knocks right out after the first wash, the way your fingers were massaging his scalp had him a bit too relaxed.

Neither of you are sure when the line between friendship and relationship began to blur. You just know that at some point he began to have physical contact with you more, growing more protective of you. You’d sleep in the same bed, finding comfort on top of his lanky yet warm body as Hobie’s arm drapes around your waist in his sleep. You start cooking for him, taking extra care in the presentation of it, even though all he’ll do is wolf it down the second he smells it.

Hobie never says anything, and with his constant reminders of hating labels and hating consistency as they were all forms of oppression by the establishment, neither did you. Yet you could never deny the tug on your heart that pulled you towards him whenever he was around, nor could you ignore the shift in his eyes whenever they landed on you.

It takes time for Hobie to come around to the idea of having these strong affections for someone. He never used the term ‘love’ as it pertains to relationships with people due to his past, and the knowledge that anyone you ‘love’ could leave you at any given notice. He was much better at showing rather than telling, but even that was hard for him for a while. So when he found his heart swelling and his chest growing tight and it becoming harder to breathe around you when he was harboring his feelings in secret, it scared him a little bit. Cuz how was someone like you even attracted to someone like him?

It is ultimately up to you to have a sit down with Hobie and address the air that surrounds the both of you - that whatever yall started off as has changed, and that you want it to be a good change, but Hobie has to acknowledge it to, and acknowledge you and how you feel. And as said before, it’s scary for Hobie, because he’s never had a need to label what he felt for anyone, but when it came to you, what he felt was so strong and intense that he felt like he had to.

So he tells you, he tells you everything that night - about his feelings, about his fears, even about him being Spider-Punk. And he’s expecting you to be apprehensive and change your mind about being with him, and what that truly means for people like the both of you. But you dont push him away, you don’t tell him to fuck off, and Hobie isn’t sure if he should be relieved or even more scared about that

All he knows is that he wakes up the next day to you cooking breakfast, like you normally did when he slept over, but this time, it feels different; solid, secure, warm. It feels like home, and that's something Hobie hasn’t had in a long time.

He moves with more purpose now, a lot of his intentions directed to you and the betterment of his bond with you. With his crew and out in public, he won’t hesitate to call you his person - he won’t use the term boyfriend or girlfriend, but partner or person is more reflective of the bond he wishes to enhance with you.

Overall, loving Hobie Brown is an immense task. He’s loud and wild and everywhere sometimes; he’s also thoughtful, considerate, and gentle other times. You gotta teach him how to love in some areas, teach him what it means to be loved, and overall: patience and understanding is key with a man like Hobie - he’s got a lot going on, but if you’re willing to be down with someone like him, he won’t hesitate to make it worth your while.

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precious-little-scoundrel · 10 days

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|| My fellow Colonel

Y’all asked for it and here it is. Whew, I wrote all of it today so here’s to hoping it is tolerably alright. Also, as an aside, I am just shy of 1k followers and that’s astounding to me. I had to rebuild this blog from scratch in December after two previous deactivations where I lost a similar amount collected over a far longer time. I’m truly so grateful for each of you who take an interest in sharing this little corner of the internet with me. Thank you, thank you!

Warnings: usual universe warnings apply, 18+ with additional chapter warnings for gore and violent character death, brief mention of racial discrimination and a very dark headspace for Ida at times including brief yet crassly recollected sexual assault

April 1945, escape spoilers ahead

“Bitte.” Ida kept her hands placating, outstretched and harmless by her side, the most open expression on her face that she could summon as she stared the woman down, “Bitte nicht!”

For eleven days she and Smith and Cleven had managed to scrounge their way westward, evading recapture or altercation. But eating from the dead horses on the side of the road was out of the question, agricultural fields were churned to sludge by Amtrak’s and the small amount of wheat berries they found in one abandoned supply truck had long since ceased to fuel their weakening bodies.

They had passed by a camp, one that they observed from the shelter of the woods to be abandoned or liquidated, once used for civilian labor, judging by the signs. After a careful reconnaissance it was agreed that Ida should go and act on her hope that the commandant's empty dwelling may not have been completely ransacked. That there might be some leftover provisions either there, or in the homes of the other personnel. She had had no luck at the commandant’s, it had been empty, no luck in the next idyllic little shack either, only the eerie knickknacks of some bygone person whose vocation it was to deal in pure evil.

In the third house she had found jars of spoiled milk, tubers of some sort gone to sprouts but she did not care, she grabbed a ratty towel lying on the floor and made a sling for them. She was in the process of prying a loose floorboard up, anticipating some root cellar below when the whining creak of a sneaking step sounded behind her in the still place.

She whirled around in a crouch, half expecting either one of her companions or else one of the many starving children they encountered on the road. Instead, silhouetted inside the bright doorway there was a woman, in the uniform of a guard and with a Lugar poised at the ready. Ida felt a cold spike of fear at the flashing recollection of her last encounter with such a female, at the horrid misery that was Ravensbruck, the complete and entire lack of respect shown to her or her girls by these indoctrinated tools.

Ida’s grasp of German had been sufficient enough to keep herself and her companions away from suspicion in their occasional interactions with passersby. While she wore the heavy overcoat of a military man, it had no markings, and it was just as likely for some freezing civilian to steal it off a carcass as it was for an American female officer to be on the loose. Ida knew this and she tried to play at being dumb, pointing to the food, explaining in unstudied desperation that she was starving.

The female guard observed her coldly, her impassive face showing a certain lack of curiosity or even remote interest in Ida’s narrative that made her heart quicken with a presentment of a swift and sudden execution. She has seen these guards lift a gun, squeeze the trigger, and move on boredly all in the matter of a second. What about her own features or story were so compelling to prevent it?

“Bitte nicht!” She repeated again, choosing to take a step forward, eyeing the woman’s grip and posture, professional, soldierly, the woman left little opening for Ida to capitalize on, but she would rather get a bullet in the gut while fighting than be shot hunkering over stolen potatoes.

There was a darkening in the doorway, it caught Ida’s eye right before she timed her launch. It was Cleven. His appearance made her hesitate a moment too long. He had his arm barred around the guard’s throat in an instant but the pistol was out of his reach and one stride too far away from Ida’s grasp. Unlike the hapless children in the forest that had attacked them days ago, this officer had bullets. Ida felt the searing tear of its bite smart her shoulder, blurring her vision in pain before she rushed in, clasping her own hands around the pale wrist.

Cleven had the woman’s eyes rolling back with his grip, her grapple at his forearm growing feeble as her oxygen ran low. Another shot rang out, a bullet embedding in the ceiling rafters as Ida managed to wrench it away at last. She turned it on the woman and fired, only to find her luck run out again, as well as the chamber.

There was a knife in the guard's boot, both women seemed to think of it at the same instant as the guard became possessed with a final animated struggle to reach for it, desperate to break out of Cleven’s strangle. But Ida wasn’t about to watch another friend die, or miss her chance to go home, to bear witness to what her girls, her men, her brother were yet enduring, not to spare herself a fleeting moment of misplaced mercy. She dove for the boot, wrenched the knife free from its sheath and drove the blade in under the sternum, carving it upwards as she herself rose to her feet. Her wrist was fully in the chest cavity, arm covered with warm still living blood, by the time she saw the guard’s head loll impassively against Cleven’s chest, the soul finally gone dim behind the eyes.

“Sweet Jesus.” He stepped back from the corpse, letting go. Ida felt the weight of the body in her wrist as her grip on the knife was all that kept it standing. She tore the weapon free with another sickly gush, and blearily observed it crumple to the floor.

“There are spuds.” she told Cleven as she braced her hands on her knees, nodding to her abandoned sack of potatoes. The edges of her vision were blurring from the exertion, her coat sleeve was soaked to the elbow, but she had a weapon now and a dead Nazi at her feet. Both sat well with her.

The potatoes bought them another days walk, with Smith using the ratty towel to wrap Ida’s shoulder, it was only a flesh wound. That evening they had another run in, but this time it was with the friendly faces of gum chewing yanks who were welcoming with their smokes and their K rations. Poor infantry boys, they were bamboozled by the existence of a female officer, the experiment of integration having only added to the flyboys somewhat derisive glamor. But it was mostly awe, and a healthy amount of respect, that they showed for the blood smeared lady Colonel.

“That make you one of Brady’s Banshees?” one bright corporal made conversation with Ida as he allowed her a seat beside himself on the hood of a tank, it was a hitched ride into Belgium.

“She is Brady.” Smith drawled for her, enjoying far more than Ida how gobsmacked the man was to be in the presence of feminine greatness.

They were welcomed warmly everywhere by their fellow allies, ferried like heroes on any conveyance possible. Smith was their cheery intercessor, knowing her superiors were of so torn a spirit and conflicted of conscience as to be half inclined to go back to where they came from. In truth, Ida could hardly bring herself to board the last plane -an unbelievable courtesy taking them from Paris straight to Thorpe- as all she could think on were what repercussions might have been exacted on the others for their escape. And what cruelties she had left her brother to endure without her.

Cleven was not much better; Egan, Maureen, all of them still left behind. As they took their seats on the benches, felt the old nostalgic rumble of the engines, not of a Fort but of a Gooneybird, what should have been a lightening of spirits as they soared over the channel was instead a dismal camaraderie of guilt.

That fateful night when they had all agreed to escape before crossing the Danube, the organization had been infuriatingly chaotic yet the groups were chosen with emphatic pragmatism. The guards were used to watching certain persons in company with their favorite fellows. The Bradys, the Buckys, Smith and Murph, each had some comrade the Germans expected to be their partner in any subversive endeavor. With this in mind, their agreed-upon groups were intentionally fractured to confuse their captors, each hoping to meet up somewhere on the road or in the forest.

Cleven and Ida had waited only a few hundred yards in the tree line for over an hour, hoping to be joined by their fellows. In the end only Smith came, with the word that the gig was up, Egan had been detained, John Brady never even began to saunter off before they closed the perimeter. No more were coming. It took all of Smith’s vicious logic to keep the officers from going back, she had to lean on reminders of reprisals and certain death, how they could in no way alleviate the suffering of the others by rejoining them.

What they could do was carry through, escape, go back to England, spread the word, liberate.

Despite this inner turmoil, Ida felt like kissing the ground when her feet landed on East Anglian soil. Or, rather, the cement of the old familiar runway. Instead she settled for Crosby‘s cheeks, the beaming fellow being so utterly honest in his welcome that some tiny part of her melted in momentary relief at having actually made it. That hadn’t really sunk in, not until there was an English mist pelting her face and Harry’s crinkled cheeks between her hands.

“A major?!” she repeated his rank and felt prouder than his mother in that moment while Harry blushed scarlet under the affirmation.

“A-and a father.” tumbled out of his mouth as a deflection except, that subject made a great hullabaloo too, with even Cleven growing exuberant in his congratulatory shoulder slapping. “What am I doing makin’ you stand out here, get in the jeep sirs, I’ll take you to a hut, or-or the club? Or the doctor?”

Both Ida and Cleven stiffened in their swing into the jeep at the last suggestion, a brittle defensiveness tightening their smiles, “Bed and board are all we need, thanks Crosby.” Gale gave him one of those devastatingly final little nods of his.

They kept him occupied and rambling on the ride, updates on new crews, new buildings, Jeffreys, Meatball, the improvement of rations, tales of bombing Berlin, the prospect of victory within reach. By the time he’d parked outside Cleven’s old barracks, Harry knew next to nothing about their own experiences, and he felt that somehow to have been quite calculated.

“There’s still a ladies sector, Colonel,” Harry assured Ida, much to her confusion as to why there wouldn’t be, “I’ll take you and Smith there.”

The old hut was as she remembered it, same as all the others, curved metal amplifying the patter of rain and the monotonous comfort of Air Force regulated bunking. It hit then, no more wooden combines or roadside shelters. She was really back.

“Where the hell is everyone?” Smith asked, the place eerily quiet, even for midday.

“There at- there at work.” Crosby offered haltingly.

Suspecting something dreadful, or as Bucky liked to say of her instincts -sniffing out bullshit- Ida slowly turned to Crosby and gave him a stare, one she recalled having once effectively shrank the man by a few literal inches. Perhaps because it was remarkably similar to her brother’s. Harry bore up under it better now, oak leaf cluster on his breast or a hard three years adding some spine to him, she didn’t know, but still his expression wavered guiltily.

“At work?” she repeated his phrasing, “That what the kids call war these days?”

“A few, a couple, -some,” he settled on, “are on missions. We’ve been uh, we’ve been running a lot of missions. Picking up prisoners -like you guys.”

“The rest?”

“At work.”

“Where’s this work?”

“Uh, well, various posts, you know how it is-“

“-grounded?” She supplied.

“Well, yeah. Just like Douglass and me and-“

“They badly hurt? Who’re we talking about?”

“Colonel,” Harry begged her, looking mildly close to drowning on dry land and sending a wet eyed sos at Smith, “dozens of them are posted here. Grounded yes, but, in good positions, required positions-“

“Did they get corresponding promotions?” Ida hit back, “Were they grounded because they were too valuable or were they hurt? Or did they just get squirreled away in some cupboard with a typewriter?”

“Look, uh, sir,” Harry chuckled nervously, “a lot of them are on missions, some of them are at their jobs -where I should be right now. But, it’s true, uh, the brass thought that, well they weren’t sure, Ida, when we got word you’d escaped we wanted to welcome you back right and uh, we didn’t know what to expect. We’ve had a lot of reports. Some reassuring and a lot…not. Not reassuring at all. And uh, we didn’t know what to expect, they didn’t know and uh, depending on how you were, it could affect the morale. So they thought, clear the place out a little, yeah? Make sure you were -you were…”

“Didn’t wanna scare the kids.” Ida supplied, tone softened, suspecting she probably did look half witch from all her trials.

“We didn’t know what to expect.” Harry repeated, a significant amount of relief bleeding into his voice, like he was going to get choked up on her mere continued existence.

“Well I need a change of clothes, and I need a shower.” Ida smiled at him until he gave her a fastidious look while glancing at her blood stained coat and she sent him a sour glare in return, “And a nap. And then I dare say nothing about me will be cause for alarm, not even for general LeMay.”

Harry was back to chuckling nervously as he walked his way backwards out the hut. “Of course, yeah, uh, we tried to supply uniforms, laid them out -best we could scrounge, for now.”

“Thanks Croz.” Smith offered, trying to soften the ending of this interaction.

“Before you go,” Ida stalled him, “tell me a little about the new ones? Who should I know? What should I know? Hate to wake up in here and have to start making acquaintances from scratch.”

“Colonel,” Harry answered her in the most mournful voice, “there aren’t any new ones.”

That old whiff of cold dread was back. “Crosby.”

“They uh, after you went down, colonel they, they scrapped the program.”

“You cannot be-“ Ida rubbed at her throat, trying to get it to open up, wondering what the hell it must be like to be Gale Cleven and get to come back to Thorpe Abotts and nothing be different, get to be home and get to find everything where it should be because your own higher ups aren’t fighting against you right along with the bastards with the flak and the barbed wire and the endless taunts about women being made for breeding. “Crosby what do you mean scrapped? They shut it down?” she wished she sounded angry, but she knew it was a cry, and to his credit he looked ready to cry for her.

“Colonel I’m so sorry, the reports were so alarming and the-“ he shook his head, “-they grounded all female servicemen right after. Cut the program, if it wasn’t for Kidd they might’ve sent them all back, discharged or moved to the WASPS. Well, they stayed, but, it’s not- it’s not what it was, colonel.”

Ida bit her lip, that old throbbing pain from the old injury of her cheek bloomed again, it felt like arriving at the stalag in one too many ways. “Y-you said something about, you said some were up on missions.” She wracked her brain for it and found it, that one bit of hope and she clung to it like a woman drowning.

“Yeah!” Crosby was over eager to soothe the pain with the modicum of good news he had, “They are! Rosenthal he uh, he’s over the squadrons now and uh, he’s seen to it they are allowed up. Mostly uh, mercy runs or behind allied lines, they don’t want anyone captured but, they’re up. They’re getting their thirty missions. They’ve uh, they’ve changed the number, since you were here.”

“Thirty.” she repeated numbly.

Harry’s footsteps had long ago receded along the gravel outside by the time Ida allowed herself enough movement to sink atop the pristinely made bed in her filthy clothes and just stare at the opposite bunk of equally pristine sheets and all of it so pristine and so rigorous and so proud and so pristine and so-

The echo of her own scream startled her, banging off the tin walls and circling back to her. Ida felt more than saw the implacable Tallulah Smith jump in fright beside her, but that level headed woman knew better than to soothe her officer. Not after what they’d just learned. She bit her tongue and busied herself sorting amongst the clothes and provisions for towels, combs, soap, toothbrushes. Ida watched this rich display of care on the part of their fellows with a snarl bending her lip, she could taste salt and knew she was also crying and all that she could hear amongst the cacophony in her head was a desperate wail -she didn’t want combs and towels, she wanted her squadron back.

Some aspect of this heartbroken petulance must’ve shown on her face as Smith extended both a comb and towel to her with forceful kindness, “LeMay didn’t lay these out.” was all she commented. “Think of it as Harry’s hospitality. You look a mess, and won’t get any respect for it.”

Smith had some vantage point from which to speak, Ida knew. Native American with bronzed skin just shy of being segregated twice over, getting screwed over was something Smith had made into an art form of cat and mouse. Ida had long admiringly observed it; she never thought she’d need to adopt a similar posture to this degree. Not when she felt like grabbing at the knife still in her trench coat pocket and making a charming scene and all it would get her was confirmation of the reports.

Whatever those were. Alarming reports, apparently. It was so very upper brass of them all to find the enemy’s methods unfortunate and so shoot themselves in the foot like it evened things out.

“I’ll be along in a minute.” Ida insisted to Smith from her bunk, refusing more than the towel and comb.

They’d all been through hell for daring to be combatants. But Ida, at this news of her loss, was beginning to recall particular parts of her own hell she had not dwelt on since they occurred.

Colonel -the way each had called her that, sneering at the mere concept of a colonel with a cunt, an officer so easily breached, a leader made by her Creator to be bent over and taken. She’d had a squadron then, and no amount of scorn or cruelty could take that from her; no, only her friends could take that away.

And they had.

Robert Rosenthal was giving himself a little pump up speech as he stalled outside with his hand on the door knob, knowing he needed to knock first and that knocking would buy him a little more time to ready himself, and so he really should go ahead and knock. The pattering drizzle on his hat brim should have been human incentive enough to get inside already, if duty and honor and admiration weren’t quite cutting it today. But he stalled, even went so far as to cast an indefensibly juvenile and furtive glance over his shoulder at the shrinking form of the accommodating lady who’d passed him on his march here. A Lieutenant Smith, who had told him she was glad to be back and that her famed superior was still inside-

“Angry as God after catching the Israelites worshiping cows at Mount Carmel.”

Rosenthal knew Ida Brady had every reason to be utterly furious, hell -he was furious for her, with her, about her. And he had no right to stand there and wish she wouldn’t take it out on him, to defend himself with shitty excuses like the fact a few of the girls got to see the top of clouds because he had put his shiny and promoted boot down and asked for it. He wasn’t exactly the problem, perhaps, but he was, by sheer implication of it being men like him unable to require better treatment, at fault. And so, Rosie stood in the drizzle and gave himself one last minute to think about Colonel Ida Brady as she had been the last time he’d seen her, terrifyingly formidable and utterly kind.

“It’s no worse than your dread of it, I swear.” she had told him and Nash that night before their first time up, “I was relieved to have seen it.”

What had she seen since? He stared at the little leather binder in his hand and scoffed at the administrative mission that carried him here. To hell with it. He knocked, he waited, he knocked once more, and he went in.

The stipple of rain on the roof of an empty Nissen hut was a calming background noise he himself savored whenever possible. Despite their bare aesthetic and extreme practicality, there was a serenity to them as well, and on spotting a seated figure a few bunks down from the entrance, he felt a pang of empathy for the desire to just decompress.

She looked up at the sound of his footfalls, not startled in the least. Not angry. In fact, she looked utterly dazed, like the men he’d helped out of their forts after a bad run of it. A face he’d seen in the mirror once or twice or a couple dozen. There was a docile listlessness in her gaze that he knew better than to be comforted by, despite the selfish feeling of relief at not immediately being eviscerated about her squadron. She was gaunt, understandably so, her strong jaw so pronounced he could cut his thumb on it, the pallor of her skin jarred unsettlingly with her dark brows, set off in stark relief by her tangled, jet black hair. Her overcoat was half muddy brown, half doleful rust. There was a bloody story there, a recent one, not washed away by a hard rain or bath. Rosenthal didn’t have any doubt how that struggle had ended for her assailant: she was here, wasn’t she?

He’d never seen anything more magnificent in all his life than this battered figure sat on a pristine cot with dawning recognition in her eyes.

“Welcome back, Colonel!” he ventured, keeping his tone soft as befitted the setting, yet unable to keep the creeping happiness at her return from showing in his voice.

“Mm, yes. Rosenthal.” Ida was straightening automatically, rising from her seat, shrugging off her clumsy overcoat and standing near to attention at sight of the brass on his lapel, “I remember you. A Colonel now, I see. Well done.”

Rosie felt his cheeks burn, another juvenile thing, her hand extended itself to his surprise and he clasped it warmly, maybe a little too firmly. “Well that’s kind of you, Ma’am. Very kind. Welcome back, Colonel.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“Apologies.” he stumbled, releasing her hand in hopes of regaining his thoughts. She didn’t look angry yet, she looked wary, “Just glad to have you back. There was…a lotta concern.”

“It was touch and go but -here I am.”

“Right.” There was silence after that, it was so thick that the quirk of his kind lips and the gleam of his eager eyes slowly dimmed and fell as no small talk resumed. “Uh, colonel,” he ventured, “due to those aforementioned concerns, uh, I’ve been asked-“

“Aforementioned? What kind of talk is that?”

“Ha, well, lawyerly talk I’m afraid. I need to get a report from you, colonel.”

“For God’s sake man, I just got here, maybe with a shower and a nap and a cup of joe I might have a report for you but- I just got here.”

“Yes.” he refused to wince, he refused to. He was a colonel now, he had to require unpleasant things every day from his friends. Today it was required from a hero. Small difference in a war. “And if it were up to me I’d give you weeks to do all that before asking a thing from you. But I can’t, colonel. They wanted an immediate, preliminary report. It’s -it’s the same as an integration after a mission. Less interaction beforehand, less time to confuse the details- you get my drift.”

“You’re under orders.”

“I am.”

“Why didn’t you say? God’s sake Rosenthal.” she was close to angry now.

“Sorry, ok, Colonel I-“

“Why the whole welcoming committee schtik? Just say what you mean.”

“It’s not a schtick, Ma’am,” he insited, heatedly, “it’s a genuine honor to have you back with us and a relief to see you safe. And yes, I have orders to get a preliminary report.”

“In future you can save us both precious minutes of our lives by being this forthright, please?”

“Understood.”

“Right, well. What’s wanted? What kind of report?” He didn’t fail to notice the sudden and very studied nonchalance that took over her gait, the way she leaned against the railing of her footboard, almost a slouch that made the lean line of her look entirely unperturbed. He wasn’t a good lawyer out of naïveté about such posturing. She was braced like hell for this, probably worse than he was.

“On uh, on your general treatment. Ma’am.” he decided to summarize it thusly.

“Well Colonel,” he had forgotten what a nice voice she had, it wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t gruff, it was simply nice, “if Gale Cleven’s under eyes didn’t tell you the food was meager and hardly nutritious, I’ll go on record to say so. But they did try, I think I can give them that. Looked like everyone was starving by the end.”

“Conduct of your guards?” he had his stupid little leather case open on his forearm and the not quite soggy notepad in it was being dutifully filled with scribbles.

“I’ve little to say against the Luftwaffe, they were honorable for the most part. I think you’ll get that same report from the others. There were a few incidents, but we were enemies. To be expected.”

“Right, uh,” the pencil drug a little “this is a general report so I’ll spare an inquiry into those incidents.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

“Anything else?” Ida tried to smooth her face, she really did.

“Colonel -yes.” she watched him as he deliberated for a moment before seeming to recall her scathing admonition of before, and carried on resolutely in the bluntest manner he could summon, “Regarding your prolonged detention before the stalag. It’s our understanding you were not always under Luftwaffe jurisdiction?”

“That’s correct. Combatant status was not recognized for four and a half weeks.” Ida gave a clipped nod. “We were even briefly detained at a concentration camp.”

“I can’t imagine what you must’ve seen there.”

Ida stared back with some slight emotion flitting over her mask-like face at long last and Rosie felt maybe his own showed it, too, “From what I’ve heard, we may be the only ones to have left alive.” she said at last.

“Your testimony, what you saw there, it could become-“ Rosie drew in breath, “-invaluable.”

“I’d do anything to see justice done, Major.” she agreed, “Sometimes I think I dreamed such mass cruelty. Seems too large to be real, too awful to be abetted for so long by so many.”

“I saw what was left of one of the smaller camps. In Poland.”

“Mm, so you can imagine.” she retorted, but it was a kind retort.

“I don’t see much else when I close my eyes.”

“Mm.”

“Right, back to this uh, report, the question is, how were you treated before civilian status was adhered to?”

“Is this a personal report or a general one?” Ida inquired suddenly.

“The assignment was to ask about your own observations as senior officer of the female contingent of-“

“-then in that case, the treatment was barbaric, Major Rosenthal.” Ida informed him forcefully, “The Luftwaffe used plenty of rough tactics and one officer was particularly cruel to Cleven. I was informed my brother was dying and that my obstinance in denying giving them information was prolonging his torment. All of that I was prepared for, it was one soldier’s attempt to break another. The gestapo, on the other hand, were beasts. And the SS -sadists. They dealt in cruelty for the pleasure of it and my girls went through hell. Once in the stalag there was a reprieve. Then the Luftwaffe were relieved of command and it began again- if you expect details, come back with a larger notepad.”

Rosie gave a curt nod of his own in understanding, his brow creased at the implication.

“No one wants to see justice done for them more than I.” Ida went on, “But they’re still out there, and I’m here. And I-I don’t know that those are my stories to tell, Colonel. What I saw is plenty enough to hang a village. And it wasn’t just toward my girls.”

“At…at a later point, you’d be willing then?” he ventured, softly, no longer professional, “To tell me what you saw?”

“Larger notebook, Rosenthal.”

“Yes ma’am.” he knew a dismissal when he heard one, he even felt a brief and heinous relief at the prospect of slipping away on a high note. The dreaded scrapping of the program still undiscussed. “I’ll uh, leave ya to that shower.”

“It’s good to be back, Colonel.” she called to him while he was still maneuvering through a somewhat meandering exit, she called out this concession as if it were meant only in regards to him, “Like what you’ve done with the place.”

Well now that was -that was kind and that was unexpected and Colonel Robert Rosenthal may have let the door hit him on the way out.

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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proton-selfships · 2 months

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So I just read this great post by @kittyandco and it struck a really, really deep chord with me as someone who was also in the selfship community in ye olden days (as in, pre-pandemic olden days).

Now, don't get me wrong, those days weren't perfect either. I still experienced hostility for little reason, and it still hurts me to think about and affects my ability to trust people to this day. And I sure as hell wasn't the only one, or the one who had it the worst. But that lack of good faith that used to be the exception really does feel like the norm now, and it makes interacting way more stressful than it ever was back then. You're expected to read novella-length DNIs and can't interact with or follow anyone without fearing that you missed one of your fandoms on their DNI list and will get shit for it.

(And those pages are often confusing to navigate and use hard-to-read colors, to boot. Seriously, the Web Content Accessibility Guidelines should be mandatory reading for anyone making a Carrd or Rentry account)

And that's not even to mention the fear of what you say to someone in a private conversation getting twisted and shared and vagueposted about without your permission. That's something I've witnessed happen to multiple friends of mine. Again, isolated incidents back then, way more common than it should be now.

Meanwhile, *old woman voice* back in my day... What I always think back to was the really popular ask game that would go around, where you could ask whoever reblogged it to come up with headcanons for your F/Os. And people were sending each other asks left and right! People were excited to look up F/Os they'd never heard of to come up with a little pick-me-up for the person in their ask box! And I remember them being a blast to read and write!

Nowadays? If your F/Os are from sources that's not in the media zeitgeist or another limited set of perennial sources people will generally know enough to engage with... Good luck getting anyone to talk to you. (And that definitely goes double for anyone who ships with characters who aren't white men or isn't white themselves, that's a whole other issue that I've definitely experienced as a lesbian.)

I think it's both the growing atmosphere of hostility and social media in general's growing focus on "making content" and "branding" that keeps people from reaching out to each other unless they ship the same kinds of things they do. It's not really a community anymore. And that sucks, because that's a problem that's infected selfship spaces from the social media landscape as a whole

But I think we could still make the choice to see each other as people. Because, at the end of the day, selfshippers don't really have anywhere else to go. We're all just a bunch of people who carry love for characters in our hearts. Shouldn't we be willing to extend that love to each other, too?

(Obviously, this comes with caveats. I don't know if this is just me and my friends, but it also feels like we're all just too tired nowadays to reach out or meaningfully engage with other shippers' work. I'm definitely guilty of going MIA for long periods for that reason, so I'm not going to act like the lack of interaction with my blog specifically isn't my fault there. But in my experience I've seen a lot of that exhaustion come from this, from the walking on eggshells and the lack of reciprocity of the energy you put in, so it all still applies)

#these aren't my comprehensive thoughts and are pretty stream-of-consciousness #but I've been sitting on these thoughts for too long and just needed to get it all out of my system #selfship #selfshipping #selfship community #peyton says stuff #about selfship #public service announcement

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mraeelli · 5 months

Text

Hi guys, I’m opening up my commissions! 💌 I will be doing it slot based for every month and will update my status on my tumblr page itself (on the left box). I would love to draw/paint your characters! Email me if you’re interested 😊 (more info below the cut) 🤗🎀

What I can do: +Original Characters +Fanart +Mild Nudity/Artistic Nudity +I accept text descriptions and supporting references, though the payment will differ slightly due to me having to design from scratch. +If there’s anything you want me to draw that isn’t listed here, don’t hesitate to ask! I’ll see what I can do :)

What I can’t do: -Very explicit NSFW -Anthro/furry characters -Heavy Gore/Sci-Fi (If it’s not too complicated then I might be able to do it :) -Mecha -Overly complicated armor (this one is negotiable, you can contact me for more info!) -If I find any subjects uncomfortable for me to draw, I reserve the right to turn the request down (sorry!)

Additional Info Personal usage only, and I reserve the right to post it on my blog or use it for promotional purposes unless you have stated beforehand that you don’t want me to. +Commissions will likely take around 3-4 weeks to complete, or sooner depending on how complex it is. If there are any delays I will inform you accordingly +Payment will be made once initial sketch has been confirmed and will finish through by email :) +All payments are to be made upfront through Paypal invoice

How do I send an inquiry for a commission?

Thank you so much for taking your time to inquire/commission!

To inquire about anything general regarding the commission, i.e: a simple question about if I accept drawing this/etc. can be asked through my email (stated above), Instagram-DM, Tumblr-DM, or Tumblr-Inbox.

Any inquiries will be replied within 3-4 working days. To inquire about applying for a commission, sending it through email is the best way for me. Thank you!

What do I send in for my commission?

please send an email to [email protected]

Some things to include:

Your paypal email that you’d like the invoice to be sent to

A description of what you want me to draw (eg. your OC, a canon character) and the type of commission you want

References of your OC/Character you'd like (or alternatively, text descriptions with maybe a face claim if it’s alright)

Info (some personality traits, mood/vibe of the drawing,lighting, etc. anything you think is important for me to know when I am drawing)

More Info

Character Info

General Information : Name, Age, Race, Personality and anything you’d like me to know :)

Some reference pictures (if you only have text as reference - it would be great if you could provide some images such as face claims of the character, and/or clothes that you’d like the character to be wearing.)

If you are going for the painting option, it would be great if you could tell/provide some references on the mood and lighting that you would like to go for. (For example, a dark somber scene with only the moon as the light source) - to evoke a certain feeling/story

Don’t hesitate to ask me any more questions through DM or email!

#commission art #commissions #commission #artist commission #commission info #commission prices #commission price #open commissions #commissioninfo

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alllgator-blood · 21 days

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ohh my goodness can you pls pls pls do a brush tour?? i love ur art so so much its so cruncy >:]

Yes I can, I appreciate your interest!! I use paint tool sai 2 which is kind of archaic, but I've been drawing on a wacom pen and touch small + using paint tool sai since 2012 and I'm too stubborn to move onto something better. I actually only use three brushes so I've made a little drawing where I only use one brush per character to show the differences:

Gonna put the screenshots of the brush settings below the cut cause it got longer than I expected:

I drew my three big faves cause frankly I am sick of looking at kallamar and narinder's smug faces lmaoooo ANYWAY. GOING FROM LEFT TO RIGHT, WE HAVE THE CHUNKY BRUSH. I use that brush for messily coloring things in, doing big blocky background shapes, or just adding texture to a drawing. It's my favorite brush to paint with but I have not....finished a painting for this blog yet...

Then for the crunchy brush, it's a tool I use half for lineart and half for coloring. I use it for stuff like changes in fur color/markings, drawing all the lines in the backgrounds I do, and finer details the chunky brush can't handle. It's also the lineart tool I use for my drawings where the lines are all on the inside of the chararacters but not the outside!

As for the smooth brush, this one only ever gets used for lines but it was created when I was so bored of my lineart tool I stopped drawing for a while. I wanted a calligraphy pen and had to work around SAI's limitations, so while it doesn't have that thin-thick angular effect that calligraphy pens have....I manually apply the pressure and it looks passable enough. I hope.

The brush settings are visible in the pics but uNFORTUNATELY I DO *NOT* remember where I got my stupid brush pack from. I literally downloaded the files before I was even a teenager but I *do* remember they're from deviantart. If anyone is for some reason kicking and screaming to acquire this ancient, crusty brush pack I'm sure I could throw it in a google drive

I have other useless information about my process if any of this is remotely helpful: for the anaglyph effect on my lines, I literally take a full 120 seconds to copy+paste two copies of my lineart, color it red and cyan, and then slightly move them up+down beneath the black lineart to get that 3dish effect. My flat backgrounds are just another sai preset texture, usually the checkerboard one cause it's swag. The rest of my brushes are just for utility or to fill in the gaps, that scroll bar leads to a bunch of empty space. They're not worth showing off just because they don't ever get used, or it's just like. The bucket tool. The select tool. A binary pen I never use. And lastly, for my usual lines, I actually go back and mess them up myself to get them to look more chaotic...my lines are usually smooth + even but it's so boring to look at and time consuming that I'm trying to unlearn that.

here's a wip of what my lines USUALLY look like with the smooth brush. You can see for the background I mostly used the chunky brush for shapes and then the crunchy brush for the finer lines! But yeah it takes forever to do smooth lines because I have nerve damage in my arm (it's why my stabilizer is maxed out...) and I refuse to use the line tool. In a professional setting I definitely make sure my lines are polished but this is just my goofy fanart blog and I want everything to look like it's been laced with crack.

I HOPE ANY OF THIS HELPS?? OR JUST SATES YOUR CURIOSITY, I try to not gatekeep the way I do my art so I have literally no secrets tbh

#not sure how to tag this one uhhhhhhhh

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jtargaryen18 · 1 year

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His Inheritance: Chapter 26

Part 26: Duplicity

Series Masterlist

Words: 4.3k

Pairing: Mobster Steve Rogers x Mobster daughter reader

Warnings: References to illegal prescription drug use, firearm use, and deception. This is a dark fic. Please read responsibly.

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but archiveofourown and tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission.

Summary: For @alexakeyloveloki. Your father is the head of one of the most powerful crime families in Boston but he’s protected you from that life. In your quiet home outside the city, you’ve been cared for and protected. When the desires of a more powerful man with the will to dominate bursts into your life, all your illusions are shattered as he comes to claim what is his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 26

Dark dreams pulled Steve from sleep. It was 3:37 AM according to his phone.

With a sigh, he pulled himself out of bed, propping his pillow behind his wife’s back in his place. She was sound asleep and that had him smiling. The night before in the bath had been delicious. He had her again later in bed.

She’d need to sleep in after that.

So much raw emotion welled up in his chest as he watched her. His wife took up a lot of room when she slept, sprawling over the bed at night. Over him. He loved it, especially now that she mostly slept nude as he did. She was beautiful, her radiance and confidence growing by the day.

As he got dressed, he kept stealing glances at her. She’d brought a hell of a lot more than just status into his life. His wife challenged him. She challenged everyone. As delicate as she appeared now, asleep in his bed, she was formidable as a lioness, especially when defending those she cared about.

Steve couldn’t wait to have children with her. How fierce would their sons be? Hell, his daughters would be fierce too. He hoped they looked like her.

Making his way downstairs, thoughts of the family he wanted faded like dreams as he reached his study, returning to reality. Wincing in the light when he flicked it on, he saw the office was just as neat and sterile as it had ever been. Steve always had strict rules about who was allowed in his study, just like his father had.

Those rules didn’t apply to his wife, he realized, who came and went from his center of business as she damn well pleased.

Those memories he loved. Holding her in his chair, spanking her over the desk. Twice. That last one had to led to him just taking her like a beast on that refined wooden surface. It had him stirring just thinking about it. Steve wanted more memories like that. He wanted more.

What would it be like seeing toys littering the floor one day? Or to have little drawings left for him on his desk?

With a deep sigh, he sank heavily into his chair.

Ever since his wife had entered his life, she’d blurred the lines between his personal life and business. Steve walked a fine line between frustration and ecstasy the entire time with her, his need for her so often consuming his thoughts.

In the meantime, everything he thought he had control of was unraveling.

Barnes was coming for him, swiftly and methodically, and he needed to deal with that before he lost respect and credibility in that dark world. The fact that his rival was getting away with hitting his turf made Steve look weak, incompetent. Barnes striking his home, his family’s home, demanded a harsh answer. His leadership of the families would be defined by the decision he made here.

But Steve also needed to protect his family. And hadn’t he done a poor job of that lately? His sister had been severely beaten by her husband and before that Clint had been shot. Hansen’s attack on their home left Belova and Dyson both laid up.

His enemies seemed as obsessed with his wife as he was. If Hansen had gotten his hands on her…

Barnes had more than adequately demonstrated that no one was beyond his reach.

That had to change.

Steve had tried to be diplomatic in calling the meeting with the other family leaders. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Why was he trying to win the other families over when at least one of them was gunning for his?

“Up early, boss?” Luca looked in, making Steve realize he didn’t remember to close the door.

Steve nodded.

The portly cook walked just inside the office door. It was the only time of the day he ever saw the man in a pristine white apron.

“Your father used to do the same thing. Couldn’t sleep the night before. He’d just get up and get started. Always admired that about him.”

Steve snorted. “Probably never found himself in a situation this fucked up.”

“Sure he did,” Luca told him. “Someone challenged him, he hit them hard, and he hit them fast. That’s all. No mercy. No regrets.”

Luca made it sound so easy.

“You got a new consigliere yet?” Luca asked.

Steve nodded. “I’m going with Murdock.”

Luca nodded his approval. “Good choice. We’ll see what he’s made of these next few weeks.”

That was an understatement.

“I’m calling a meeting this evening,” Steve told him. “If I remember right Dyson’s going to get medical tests this morning?”

“That’s right,” the cook said. “Him and Belova both. They should be back from the hospital by this afternoon. We sending Scott with them?”

Steve shook his head. “I’ll be here all day. Send Neal.”

Luca nodded, closing the door behind him on the way out of the office.

Steve would spend some time getting his thoughts together. Then, with his crew, they’d decide how best to deal with Barnes.

***

Dyson smiled when she made her way from the exam room back out to the waiting area.

“How did it go?” he asked.

Yelena smiled back. “The CT scan didn’t show any damage. They also did a Brain Trauma Indicator test, but it will be a couple of days before we get the results of that.”

Dyson rose from his chair, and she hoped that meant they were ready to head back to the house. While she took some comfort from the fact that Mrs. Rogers’ husband was there with her – and she had Scott, Luca, and Clint – things were just so tense right now. So dangerous.

She would feel much better once she got back.

Dyson shrugged as they walked out of the office area to head back into the reception area of the hospital. “I’m just old.”

He laughed with her as they found the lobby where there were gift shops, a cafeteria, and an information desk. Neal sat not far from that desk with the paper in his hand. So much for being there to keep her and Dyson safe. He looked like he could really care less.

Neal couldn’t have cared less when Bruce Banner had been about to knock the shit out of her boss. Scott pulled Mrs. Rogers back but that wouldn’t have stopped him. And she was still cursing herself for not hearing the commotion sooner than she did.

Neal noticed the two of them a beat before they reached him. Dyson cleared his throat loudly, telling Yelena he was as unhappy with the soldier as she was.

“Ready to go?” Neal sounded bored.

“Yeah,” Dyson grumbled. “Go get the car, will ya?”

Yelena was hard put not to laugh as Neal glared at him, folding up the paper. His knuckles were white as he gripped that paper and marched toward the exit to do as he was told.

Just as he was walking out the electric doors at the hospital’s entrance, a familiar figure in teal-colored scrubs was walking in. Agnes spotted Yelena in an instant, smiling brightly.

Her heart nearly stopped in her chest.

Of course Neal recognized her, slowing down and glancing over his shoulder to get a good look. He would remember she came to the Rogers’ home. He’d already mentioned thinking she looked familiar. It wouldn’t be hard for him to put the pieces together and figure out why she really came that day.

It was the worst timing imaginable.

Dyson didn’t know either, so she had to fake a smile when Agnes walked up. It wasn’t her fault, and Yelena talked to her for moment. Her ID badge announcing her position as an RN was right there in plain sight.

“Let me know when the lady of the house needs another manicure,” Agnes said, a big wink and then she headed off to work.

Beyond the glass entrance, she could see Neal pulled up to the door in the car. She felt Dyson’s attention on her. She took a step but his hand on his shoulder stayed her.

“That’s the lady you brought to the house to do Mrs. Rogers manicure?” he asked.

Yelena nodded. “She does it as a side hustle,” she tried.

“She’s an RN according to her badge,” Dyson pointed out.

She shrugged, turning to meet his gaze. “So? She does a good job. Mrs. Rogers was happy with how her nails turned out.”

Yelena tried to continue walking. This time Dyson jerked her to a halt.

“Please tell me you didn’t do what I think you did,” he said, dead serious.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Yelena played dumb. She wasn’t counting on it to work but she had to try.

“Yes, you do.” Dyson blew out an exhale.

Yelena shook her head. “Mrs. Rogers is perfectly healthy. What other reason would I have to bring Agnes to the house?”

“To make it so Mrs. Rogers don’t get pregnant,” Dyson said, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Oh, my God. Do you know how bad this is?”

Yelena didn’t deny it. But she didn’t drop her gaze. The deed was done now. What did he expect her to say?

“Did she put you up to this?” he asked.

Now her heart slammed on her chest. If she said yes and this went as badly as she suspected it was about to, Yelena would have betrayed Mrs. Rogers. And she couldn’t live with that.

But if she said it was her own idea, and it most definitely was, she jeopardized her own position. And Lloyd was still out there. And Dyson knew it.

“Fuck,” Dyson muttered a little too loudly. “You know Neal recognized your nurse friend, right?”

She wasn’t stupid.

“The trick here is to keep him from telling the boss what he thinks happened here,” Dyson explained. “And he’ll think exactly what I think.”

Now Yelena was seeing red. “I know he’d like nothing better than getting Mrs. Rogers in trouble with her husband.”

She could tell Dyson didn’t expect her to say that, but it was the truth.

“When Banner showed up at the house, the only one protecting her from him was Lang,” she insisted. “I was down there as soon as I heard the commotion. Neal? He would have let Banner have her.”

Now the older man looked appalled. “Why the fuck would he do that?”

“Because he doesn’t like Mrs. Rogers,” Yelena said. “And he doesn’t appear to have her best interests at heart. That puts her in danger because the boss trusts him implicitly.”

“Neal’s earned that,” Dyson replied.

“So much so that the boss should choose him over his own wife?”

Dyson shook his head. “Come on.” He motioned towards the car with Neal watching them from the driver’s seat. “I got to try and get to the boss before Neal does or there will be absolute hell to pay.”

She was all too afraid he was right.

“He’s going to ask if there was a problem,” Dyson instructed her. “When he does, you act pissy. I’ll tell him you didn’t get one of the tests I wanted you to. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sending up every prayer she knew, Yelena followed him out to the car.

***

You made it back to your room, still winded because you’d practiced for nearly two hours today. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you removed your pointe shoes, the band-aids and tape beneath. You winced at the fresh blister forming on the outside of the smallest toe on your left foot.

What you’d planned to wear the rest of the day was already laid out on your bed, you just needed undergarments and socks and you’d be ready to shower. You smiled when you opened the drawer where you kept your intimates to see the satin red thong there that went with the teddy you bought in New York for Valentine’s Day last week.

Well, Steve bought it for you after surprising you in the city when you thought you’d catch holy hell for being out of the house.

What a night that had been. Your heart still fluttered to think about it.

The hum of your phone on your bedside table got your attention. Maybe it was Yelena. You hoped her and Dyson’s medical tests went well.

The text was from Yelena, but it stopped you in your tracks.

I'm so sorry.

You stared at the text message from Yelena on your phone, wondering what the hell that meant. Your heart was sped up as you typed a reply asking if she and Dyson were okay.

You heard voices beyond your window. Peering out, you saw the black Jeep had pulled up, watched your husband climb out and march towards the front door. You hadn’t realized he left the house, but he sure seemed on a mission to return to it.

We are fine. I’m worried about you.

What?

Her next text came a beat later.

Neal figured out who Agnes is.

You froze in place. Holy shit. If Neal knew who Agnes really was, he had an idea of why she came to your house. And if he didn’t figure it out, Steve would.

Telling Steve would be the first thing Neal would do with that information.

Steve’s tread was loud on the stairs, pounding in time with your heart. Steve was coming and you had nowhere to go, no time to prepare.

The door of your shared bedroom flew open, and Steve slammed it behind him, his face flushed from the cold, from anger. His blue-eyed gaze found you fast, and there you stood in leotard, leggings, and bare feet. You were sweaty, tired, with your hair pulled back from your face.

As much of a sweaty mess as you were, your husband looked as well-groomed as always. He peeled off the leather jacket he wore and tossed it over the chair at your vanity. The deep wine of the sweater he wore with jeans emphasized the angry color seeping out of his collar.

Dropping your phone on the edge of your bed, you folded your arms across your chest, bracing yourself for the storm that was coming.

Steve took in your stance. A muscle at his jaw flexed.

“We need to talk,” he said with a tight voice.

You just nodded. What else could you do?

You calm demeanor only seemed to piss him off more.

“Tell me about your manicure a few weeks ago,” Steve demanded, moving closer to the bed.

You held your ground. You didn’t like the way he was trying to set you up.

“I already did,” you said. “You said you liked my nails. Remember?”

His scowl deepened. “What was the woman’s name?”

“Agnes.”

“And was this manicure your idea?” Bitterness crept into his tone.

It was hard to hold your tongue. That question put you on the spot. If you said no, and you were pretty sure you told him Yelena arranged it to lift your spirits, he would get rid of her. And you needed her. As your friend and as a protector.

That meant you had to take the blame. And you weren’t sure you were ready for the consequences of that…

“It was,” you said finally. It wasn’t entirely true, but it was the course you chose.

Steve paused, surprised at your admission. His throat worked as he swallowed hard, just staring at you.

“She did more than your nails.” Steve shook his head. “The injection is good for three months, right?”

Wait. Agnes said that there would be no medical record of the injection. Had she lied to you? Or did he…?

“How do you know it was an injection?” you had to ask.

“Neal paid Agnes a visit at the hospital today.”

Steve knew everything.

“What did Neal do?” You were seeing red now. “Agnes isn’t in this. If he hurt her...”

“Neal warned her,” Steve told you.

Neal was intimidating. The poor woman just came to do you a favor.

“Neal is good at subduing women,” you told him. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning he wasn’t so quick to protect me when Banner stormed in this house,” you said. “Scott pulled me away. Yelena saved me.”

“Don’t try to shift the blame for this to Neal,” Steve said. “Neal has proven his loyalty to me.”

“I’m not one of your men,” you shot back. “I’m your wife.”

“And a wife’s duty is to give her husband a family. To take care of that family.” New emotion entered his voice. He wasn’t just angry. “Why? Why would you go behind my back and do this?”

You shook your head, frustration welling up in you fast. Was he serious?

When you didn’t say anything, he charged forward, grabbing your chin in his large hand. His grip hurt as he pulled you to him by your face.

“You know what I want,” he said angrily, his face inches from yours. “Every time I’ve made love to you, I was hoping that was it. That was the one. And it would only be a few weeks after that when you’d be waiting here for me for a different reason. To tell me I was going to be a father.”

When he shoved you away from him hard, you stumbled back. The bed was right behind you, and you tumbled onto the edge of it.

“But here we are,” he growled.

Your own temper flared at that. You were going to be punished for this. You knew that. You weren’t going meekly. You weren’t just handing him a victory like he’d been handed everything else in his goddamn life.

“Here we are,” you said. “And once again, it’s all about what you want. About what you expect.”

“Enough!” he yelled. “This is the part where you remind me that you had no choices. I know. Your father hid you away and then I forced you to marry me. And I’m sorry, I truly am, that he didn’t even try to be a father to you.”

The venom in his voice told you he wasn’t trying to make you feel better. Steve’s fury was palpable, you could feel it coming off him in waves.

“Want to know what I regret?” Steve asked. “I regret that he didn’t try to prepare you for the world. He should have taught you your place.”

You would have agreed with him if you hadn’t been so angry yourself.

“No, he did just what he was supposed to, according to you. He didn’t spend time with my mother, or my brother and I from what I hear. She tried to get us out of your world.”

“She found a lover.” Steve moved closer. “If she hadn’t done that, maybe she and your brother would still be alive.”

Jumping off the end of the bed, you marched forward and slapped him across the face with all your strength. It was satisfying to see his head turn with your blow, but he was quick to recover.

“I wasn’t prepared,” you told him angrily. “I haven’t been married before. I never had a lover before. You’ve had many. You’ve had time to enjoy life and learn what you like, what you want. You’re at a place in life where you want to start a family. I haven’t had that time or experience. What? I was just supposed to spread my legs and pop out babies because that’s what you wanted?”

“You didn’t have a lot of experiences in your life,” Steve pointed out. “I considered it an advantage.”

You snorted. “I’m sure you did.”

“Somehow all of this lack of experiences wasn’t a problem until you married me,” he said.

“Is that what you thought?” you asked. “I’d go from being his hidden little girl to your dutiful wife? That just makes you naïve.”

Scrubbing a hand over his beard, Steve stared you down. “You might have a point there. I was naïve in just letting you run free in this marriage. Letting you do what you wanted.”

“I’ve asked for so much,” you shot back, sarcasm bleeding into your tone.

“I gave you the bodyguard you wanted,” Steve snapped. “I had to find out she was training you with weapons when Hansen attacked my home. You hid that from me. I allowed it. Now I find out you hid your little contraceptive shot from me. I can’t trust you. What else have you hidden or lied to me about?”

Steve was right. You had hidden things from him.

“What is your problem with starting a family?” he wanted to know. His gaze swept over you. “What else are you going to do? You’re fit. You could probably have children and get right back in shape after.”

“So I’m vain?” you asked.

“Are you?” Steve asked. “You’ll have the best doctors, the best care. You can hire personal trainers if you're worried about your figure. We can hire people to help you with them once they're born. Nannies, tutors. Whatever you want.”

Now you were staring him down. “Don’t you know how that sounds? You want us to be parents and you’re already planning on how to let other people raise them.”

“Excuse me?” That pissed him off.

“I had all of that,” you said. “Nannies, tutors, governesses. What I didn’t have was a good relationship with my father. I didn’t have a mother or a sibling because of your world. I’m not saying I don’t want children one day. But I’d like to reach the point you have where I’ve lived a life and I’m ready for that.”

“Did you ever think of trying to tell me that? I thought we were finally on the same page. That we wanted the same things. You let me believe that,” he said bitterly.

“Would you have listened?” you asked. “And maybe I did let you believe that I could pregnant. But I was afraid. How could I enjoy sex when each time I was worried that would be the one? And I’d be pushed into something I wasn’t ready for. Responsible for a child.”

The hurt showing on his face surprised you. “You enjoyed sex with me because you knew you weren’t going to get pregnant?”

Your heart lurched. You felt like so much was riding on your answer, and you were angry.

But it was truth, damn it. Hiding things was how you got here.

“Yes,” you said slowly. “I would hope you’d understand why. I wasn’t even familiar with sex. I just wanted time.”

“You just wanted to take control away from me.” Steve’s glare made you pause.

“I thought you wanted me to trust you? You said you hoped one day this marriage would be something I needed too.”

“I thought you loved me,” he said with a finality that had fear spiking in you.

Faster than you could blink, Steve snatched your phone off the bed and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans. The speed of his movements had you flinching. He noticed.

“What are you doing?” you asked, sounding way less confident now.

“Taking control of my household,” he said coldly. “Just like I’m getting ready to take care of business with the families. What do you think I’m doing?”

You swallowed hard. Steve’s gaze on you was assessing. He could read you so easily.

“Thought I’d spank you?” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I think you’d enjoy that.”

Humiliation had your face heating up, remember the last one that you’d provoked.

“I should have done this from the beginning.”

“What do you mean?” you had to ask.

Steve moved back, putting a distance between you.

“Your injection is good for another four weeks,” he said. “We’ll resume our marriage then.”

What?

“Resume our marriage?” Your voice pitched higher than you would have like. But he caught you off guard. “What does that mean?”

“That means when that shot has reached the end of its efficacy, I’ll be back. Until then, you’ll stay in this room. My men will bring you meals and anything you need for toiletries and supplies. But that’s it.”

Oh, this wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.

“Your men?” You had to be careful now. “What about Yelena?”

“She’s done,” Steve said curtly. “She’s worked her last day in this house. She just makes you worse.”

Tears stung the backs of your eyes. It was exactly what you feared.

“You can watch television but I have your phone,” Steve continued. “And your laptop is downstairs.”

And he was cutting you off from the rest of the world, from any support. Tears streamed from your eyes. Some from regret, most from anger. You blinked them back as you considered the weeks ahead.

And what you’d done to Yelena. What if losing this job put her in danger? What if Hansen got to her?

“When I come back, we will get to work on starting a family,” he informed you. “Just maybe you’ll be more grateful by then.”

“Or I’ll hate you.”

Steve shook his head, marching for the door of the bedroom you’d been sharing. “I’ll find another place to sleep in the meantime.”

“I’m sure you will,” you said through your tears. Visions of him with Kat flashed in your mind, threatening to break you.

And with that Steve marched out of the room. You heard the lock turn a beat later.

@valsworldofcreativity @21stcenturywitchcraft @coconutqueen21 @buckybarnesplumwhore @bval-1 @caffiend-queen @candy-and-writing @capsicle-shield @chaoticfiretaconerd @chrisevansgirl @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @coldmuffinbanditshoe @daughterofthenight117 @hv-chw3 @iheartsebastianstanstuff @imanuglywombat @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @justrae9903 @lok1sgrl @lokislastlove @mariaenchanted @marvelouspottering @maxwelllee2020 @nannies-dont-date @nekoannie-chan @nerdwholikesword @notyourtypicalrose @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @peaceinourtime82 @rainbowkisses31 @rayofdawnworld @richonne4life @rissysthoughts-blog @saiyanprincessswanie @scarletsoldier21-blog @shygirl-000 @supernaturaldean677 @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @team-iron-wannabe-man @titty-teetee @tonib666 @villanellevi @vitamingummies @weebid @what-is-your-plan-today @what-is-your-wish @xoxabs88xox @rosalynshields @naturalthrone22 @marvelovernfan @gotnofucks @nekoannie-chan @capicheleo20 @eralen @helenasmirkedno @samwinter09 @kawairinrin @tinystudentfirepurse @bluemusickid @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @geminievans1 @daughterofthenight117 @sunmoonandbucky @dwights-new-plague @akkinda10 @aubageddon91 @sunflowerstony @jennisahoe @kalesrebellion @candy3002 @tardis-23 @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @cynic-spirit @angstsfordays @tamashigirl @akkinda10 @laurenreadsfics @buckysteveloki-me @justlifethingsx @dancer3205 @shtposting101 @iloveshawnieboi @denisemarieangelina @moonlacebeam @btitannaaaaa @pastathighs @pinkzsugar @lunamyangel @siriusjohnpotter @bababasti @priii @retrxbarnes @norababora @savinasavers @holl2712 @4charmed @janelongxox @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sarcasmoverlordxo @iridescentwafflesauce @ajbunky @dontbescaredtosingalong @candy3002 @joossieisdabomb icrytomuch @buckybuckobucky @nonsensicalobsessions @Bebop282 @onceuponahuntersrealm @crashbarbie @valsworldofcreativity @sunflower-writings @siriusjohnpotter @naelovescandy @rootcrop @traceyaudette @dre6ming @ajdjshei @saraaras17 @broadwaybabe18 @pbeckn26 @ughdontbeboring @terry2227 @beyoutiful9413 @winesex @eclipsxntice @missaprilt23 @Tardisin221bst @Sunflowersoldat @sanfransolomitatm @angrykitsune01 @jesgisborne @lilac-monster @samxira @steverogersismycrush @prettywhenicry4 @lalaooopsie @kboogie98 @captainkimmy87 @lowkeysebby @liecastillo @saranghaey @traceyaudette@ ktrivia @@wintasssoldier @andydrysdalerogers @patzammit

#His Inheritance #Mafia AU #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Lloyd Hansen #dark fic

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cripplecharacters · 1 month

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hi there!! i love this blog and it's helped a lot in my self acceptance pursuit and drive to properly differentiate my characters.

i have an oc with facial scars that are left over from his first design and would like some pointers for redesigning to properly implement this facial difference. he has a scar over the bridge of his nose and one on his lip, both are from accidents related to his story, but i recognize these specific locations (and way to drawing) are overdone and not well implemented.

he does not hide his scars as he has a lot of love for himself, just not a lot of social confidence. so i'd like some help giving him a more realistic facial difference/scarring. thank you in advance! here's a pic of him for reference

Hi!

First of all, I always appreciate a fat, self loving disabled character! Very nice to see. Great drawing too, I love the flowers!

My main advice for making those scars more realistic would be by starting to think how your character moves his face (or moved it while his scars were forming and healing). The thing with scars is that they rarely grow linear, because everything around them moves. And the human face moves a ton.

For a scar on the mouth, it would probably end up following a similar pattern to aging wrinkles. That's how you can think of them here; healing scars are kind of speedrunning the same process. If your character smiles a lot they will form differently than if they frown. If his mouth opens a lot when he talks it will be stretched more than if it doesn't. I know that this is hyperspecific, but it's an interesting thing to consider I think. So, if for example he is someone who smiles a lot and smiles big - his mouth scar would be stretched horizontally on his lips to accommodate that motion, and the whole scar would follow a pattern that's closer to the nostril-corner of the mouth wrinkle rather than a straight line. And if he does the opposite, it will be tighter and more vertical.

In terms of the mouth, it is somewhat possible that he would have problem fully moving his mouth where the scar is formed. Either because of the scar itself or because of the injury affecting some nerves here. It could give him a somewhat lopsided smile (kinda what I have lol) where it's easier to move the half without the scar. But I don't think it would affect his speech or things like that.

For a nose scar, more or less the same stuff applies. If he smiles a lot or wrinkles his nose, the scar will be more stretched, especially on the sides. If he furrows his eyebrows, the scar would be more "wavy" there as well from the motion happening over and over. (Apologies, I don't have the best sight and can't tell if this is the case or not? If the scar is too low for that then ignore this lol.)

Another suggestion here: if he has a scar on his nose, then the rest of the structure felt it as well. If it was done with something sharp; soft and potentially hard tissue would be missing here and there. The area around the scar would be more "tightened", i. e. skin would be tightening around the scar because the tissue that used to be there would be lost or too damaged (or infected. But that's more complicated) to keep. I have scars like this myself, although not on my face. The scar is bumpy and sticks out, but the whole area they're in is depressed when compared to the rest of the skin. In my case this comes with nerve damage (I have no sensation around my scars, nor can I move muscles there voluntarily) but I'm not sure if that's universal.

If it was blunt trauma, his nose would probably have a different shape - presumably asymmetric, maybe bent to the side from the impact. Possibly indented. Depends on where the hit came from, really. But it's unlikely that only the skin would be affected. Potentially even some sort of skull fracture, if we're talking major force.

A few more things; if this is a result of an accident, it's not very common (although can absolutely happen!) that a scar will be this thin and flat (aka a flat-line scar). Those are generally a result of careful surgery. For an accident it's possible that it would be a hypertrophic, keloid, or contracted one as mentioned earlier. I'll say that atrophic scarring would be rather strange here but all other types are fair game. Your choice here, really.

Of course you don't have to implement everything I said here; just treat these as suggestions. As I said a lot of it will depend on other factors, so tailor it to your character!

I hope that this helped a bit!!

Mod Sasza

#mod sasza #qyuryyus #face difference

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annymation · 2 months

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Fun facts about “Kingdom of Wishes” characters

I’m bored, so have some random facts about the characters from my wish rewrite!

Random picture just cause I like to have eye catching pics as “thumbnails” for my blogs and also I can totally see my version of Asha making this pose.

Anyway, if you haven’t read my Kingdom of Wishes- A Wish Rewrite then this post might not make much sense, feel free to read it anyway though, there’s no spoilers.

On to the fun facts!

Asha✨

Asha sometimes sits hunched over when she's drawing. Her friends constantly have to remind her to keep her back straight otherwise she'll get a bad posture.

After Simon gave away his wish and became… Well, sleepy, she had to become the voice of reason in their group, the big sister in a way, since she was now the eldest. She wasn’t that good at leading before though so she left most of it to Dahlia.

Asha's favorite color is purple, obviously, and she dresses in purple for her birthday, however, her second favorite color that she also wears often is orange.

She's not very good interacting with kids, believe it or not, of course she likes kids, but she has a hard time knowing how to play with them.

Asha did meet the king in person ONCE before her 18th birthday… I’ll leave it at that.

Aster 💫

Aster is canonically the star Lacaille 8760

Picked this one because it looks like he’s boxed up in the middle of other brighter stars that make up the Microscope constellation, and yeah there is a microscope constellation and it’s straight up just a square. He’s one of the nearest stars to the Sun, at about 12.9 light-years' distance, however his light is so faint it’s almost impossible to see with the naked eye.

2. Aster’s eyes can see what people desire, more clearly if he holds the person’s hand, like an empath, but even without touching the person he can see what they want, but only if he focus, and the way he sees it is like words surrounding the person.

3. I said this once in a ask but I’ll say it again, I see Aster and Rapunzel’s powers as connected, not that all Disney movies are connected with KOW, but Tangled at least is pretty close. So, Rapunzel got her powers from a sun drop, right? Well, the sun is a star, we can assume she has star powers. My point is that if Aster was to sing the Rapunzel’s healing song they’d glow and heal any injured person around, and make the elderly younger, Magnifico sure didn’t know that though because if he did he’d just do what Gothel did and lock Aster up.

4. Aster could hear Asha reading stories with Sabino every night, and that’s one of the many ways they became interested in human culture.

5. Aster often annoyed some stars by complaining that their constellations didn’t look like what humans called them as, like the Cetus constellation doesn’t look like a sea monster, or the Leo constellation didn’t look like a lion, even though the stars had no control over how humans saw them as and they couldn’t change their positions in the sky.

Magnifico 🫧

Magnifico could look younger if he drank his wife's rejuvenating potions, but they taste horrible and every time she drinks them (Twice a year) she screams in agony like her insides are burning, only to then turn to him with a smile and ask "Want some, my love?" and he just replies with "... Thanks dear, but I think I'll stick with my skincare routine."

Most of his "passionate king" persona he got from copying his brother's mannerisms, after all, his father always said he should be more like his little brother.

He kinda hates that little hair strand coming out on his forehead, but no matter how much hair gel he applies on it, the hair strand always comes back... Also his brother had an identical one.

Kings and queens in Rosas usually don't wear crowns, as the culture is for them to feel close to the people, not above them. However, Magnifico gifted Amaya with a tiara, that has a red garnet on her forehead, red garnets are associated with love, passion, and desire, but it has also been known to represent other things such as courage, strength, and protection. Basically he gave her a lucky charm. He also gave her the sash with the drawing of a moon she wears on her waist, it used to be his when he was a prince.

I can’t for the life of me decide which one of these Magnifico would wear to sleep:

I can see him wearing either of them. Same for Amaya.

Amaya 👑

1.Amaya pretty much had to teach Magnifico how to be a likable figure. I implied it a little bit in the story with Magnifico saying stuff like “Well, I did have the best teacher” to Amaya after he made a little acting scene on chapter “When Blue Turns Green”. Point is, before meeting her Magnus was pretty much an antisocial, reclusive prince that avoided even being seen in public. For him to become the larger than life, enthusiastic king we know in the story he and Amaya had to practice his social skills a lot, think of it like Belle teaching the Beast proper manners, Amaya changed him… But for the worst.

2.Like I explained on her backstory, Amaya is from Greece, and she committed some very serious crimes over there. So every time Rosas receives visitors from Greece Amaya puts on the hood of her cloak over her head during the wish ceremonies. It’s kinda funny, any other wish ceremony she looks normal, but whenever Greek people are around she goes:

3.I imagine some fun shenanigans must have happened over the years with Amaya’s potions going wrong, like she tests it on a rat and it turns into a giant rat running around the castle, or she mislabels the potions and drinks one that turns her into a worm 🐛 so Magnifico gotta prove he’d love her even if she was a worn and turn her back to normal.

4.Amaya is kinda like the moon in this story, because the moon doesn’t shine every night, in some phases the moon is barely visible, just like how Amaya is most of the time more in the background while Magnifico shines like the sun, but, when it IS her time to shine, just like a full moon, she outshines Magnifico himself.

5.She likes to feel comfy, she often walks around the castle with no shoes on most of the time but no one can tell because of her long dress.

Aaaand that’s all I got, hope you guys like this additional content, might inspire some fun asks hehe 😜

Thank You For Reading!

#wish rewrite #wish reimagined #kingdom of wishes #disney wish #wish 2023 #disney #wish movie #wish #wish disney #wish star

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weirdworldofwinnie · 8 months

Text

Oasis in a Desperate Land of Dark Desire - Part Three: Bad Timing

Cillian Murphy as J. Robert Oppenheimer x Female Wife Reader NSFW 18+ only

Summary: It's that time of the month and some new innocent boisterous visitors to the house don't make it any easier, in addition to you still being muddled over Robert's behavior.

Word Count: ~5,128

Warnings: Descriptions of menstruation, period stereotypical gender roles, some angst, nightmares, infidelity hints, age gap, slight daddy kink (sorry not sorry)

Usual disclaimers apply, obviously NOT based on complete real life historical accuracy (especially this chapter as the children and their mother are my made-up characters), and this is essentially AU fantasy/fiction with Cillian as Oppenheimer.

Part One

Part Two

Tag list: @forgottenpeakywriter, @frozenhuntress67, @immyowndefender, @szde8-blog, @bypurple, @irenethewoman @uniquetacofun

If you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know.

It happened midmorning, the familiar feeling of a bloom of crimson staining your panties as you were in the process of pouring out a full bottle of wine in the sink since you decided to purge all bottles of it from the house. Robert wouldn't be that upset; he was not extremely fond of wine and you couldn't trust it to make you feel happily drunk, for it seemed to have the opposite affect and you refused to succumb to the negativity, plus being compared to Katherine didn't help matters.

You left the bottle in the sink for the time being and hurried off to the bathroom, uncomfortably aware of the leaking blood and you pulled down your skirt and panties, frantically searching for the box of sanitary napkins tucked under the sink and once you retrieved a fresh pair of underwear from the closet, you affixed one in and groaned at the incoming cramping beginning to pulsate through your lower abdomen. You were glad Robert was not around to witness, although he had always been supportive and understanding, men in general tended to be peculiar about menstruation and sometimes you couldn't blame them; it was an intimately awkward pain in the ass.

You popped in a painkiller pill from the medicine cabinet and went back to the kitchen sink, staring down at the vibrant red splash of wine; a parallel to what just began for you. So maybe last night had not been just you overreacting from alcohol after all... As you uncorked the second bottle, it then occurred to you that this was an awful waste and you stopped, setting the wine on the counter and sighing. Maybe keeping a few around wouldn't hurt, especially when company came over... You'd just have to practice self control, that's all.

Around midday (lunchtime for most people), Robert dropped by, but he certainly wasn't interested in eating and only came to retrieve his hat and a briefcase, casting a quick cautious smile your way as you were sitting at the kitchen table, intent with studying for your nursing degree. At least that took your mind off your bleeding and the cramps had numbed from the painkiller, making the day bearable.

But around two o'clock, you heard a loud unexpected knock at the front door and startled, pushing aside papers and an anatomy book to go greet whomever it could be.

The mother, Mrs. Thompson, whom you'd discussed babysitting her two young boys on the first day here was there with them standing on the front step. Her children Duncan and Douglas were close in age, around three and four respectively and nearly twins; strikingly similar in appearance with their matching towheaded short hair and big brown eyes set in cherub faces.

You hadn't expected them so soon and it must have shown on your face because she was instantly apologetic, speaking hurriedly.

"I'm sorry if this is an inconvenient time, but I was wondering if you'd be so kind as to watch my little boys for a few hours as we talked about?"

"Oh, sure, I did promise to after all," you replied courteously.

"I'd be appreciative. It's my tentative first half day on the job and they don't have the daycare in operation yet, so it's been rather hectic and of course my husband works at the lab, so he can't babysit."

"Of course. Now what time do you think you'll be able to come pick them up?"

"Six o'clock, but we usually eat at five for supper and they tend to get so cranky and peckish, so-"

"I'll feed them, don't worry," you offered and her eyebrows shot up.

"Are you sure? I'd be so grateful if you could. Oh, and if you tend to have trouble telling them apart, just remember this: Douglas is the older one with more vocabulary and about two inches taller."

She touched the tops of their heads and bent to peck each one's cheek quickly before straightening up, giving them directives.

"Boys, please behave for Mrs. Oppenheimer and Dougie, look after your brother. Mommy will come back soon, okay?"

They nodded distractedly and then bolted off into the house curiously, already taking in this new environment and starting to chase each other around the living room. Mrs. Thompson shrugged with an exhausted laugh.

"Well, as you can see they are the opposite of timid. They can entertain themselves for hours, but that's just the problem; they just give each other endless energy!"

"I'll do my best to keep them in line and safe," you told her assuredly before bidding goodbye and closing the door, taking a deep breath and moving to sit down on a chair in the lounge, where the boys had stopped racing and were quietly exploring the space, peeking on tiptoes at the bookshelves and out the windows. You watched them bemusedly, not accustomed to children very much and they almost reminded you humorously of puppies as they wandered about and began to chase each other, a game of tag it looked to be with Douglas tapping his little brother on the back and then racing off to the other side of the room with a laugh.

"Be careful," you called out as Duncan bolted after him, bumping into the furniture along the way. It took a few minutes for you to relax and adjust to their energy, and while they were busy tagging each other back and forth, you went to retrieve the papers and books from the kitchen to continue studying, but unfortunately your headache was coming back stronger with fatigue and you really had to use the bathroom, but worried if you left them unsupervised, would they get into mischief or accidentally ruin anything? Your head kept throbbing and so you leaned back to rest your eyes just for a moment... Until a shattering crush made you gasp and you saw a guilty faced Duncan standing at the foot of a smashed vase on the floor. His older brother quickly apologized and sat down to pick at the pieces, but you rushed to take over so he wouldn't hurt his hands on the sharp shards of pottery, telling both of them to go sit down now. They obeyed, clamoring up onto a chair and swinging their legs, pouting.

"Alright you two, this is your first warning. If you break something else, I'll have to tell your mother about it," you warned, but they only gave you doe eyed innocence that made you feel a little better. You plowed through for a couple hours, taking one bathroom break and then helping Duncan with his own potty break before there was a noise at the front door at four-thirty. The boys perked up and ran to it, presumably thinking it to be their mother even though she wasn't supposed to be back until six. You heard Robert's surprised voice and entered the hall just in time to see little Duncan run straight into his legs, bouncing off and appearing confused as he staggered backwards.

"Daddy?" he asked, craning his neck upward and face falling when he saw a different man.

"Oh dear, I certainly hope not," Robert chuckled with wide eyes as he gently maneuvered around the little boy and you walked to meet him with a smirk.

"Daddy, hmm?"

He nearly flushed and glanced away as you looked down, allowing Duncan and Douglas to go play outside in the yard for awhile.

"Just stay on the grass and by the window where I can see you both," you instructed firmly and Douglas nodded, taking Duncan's hand and dashing out the open door as you looked back to Robert, still smiling.

"I kind of like the sound of 'Daddy' for you."

His eyebrows twitched in perplexion and he held up a finger, speaking with uncertainty.

"I thought we agreed to hold off on raising any children - of our own that is - until later? Or have you changed tunes already?"

You reached for his tie, giving it a teasing tug and cocking your head, playing up to his confusion.

"That's not what I meant, darling. I think you do something to me when referred to as that... Don't you think daddy has a nice ring to it when spoken in my voice, though?"

He gave you a strange look, but smiled amicably.

"I, well, I suppose it's... interesting. You continue to surprise me and nourish my expanding knowledge of various feminine desires, so I thank you for that, my love." He walked away towards the living room and you trailed behind, unsure of quite what to think of that response.

"How long have they been here, the children?" Robert asked while setting his briefcase down to the floor and you causally glanced at your wristwatch.

"About a couple hours, Mrs. Thompson dropped them off at after two o'clock."

"Well, you must have your hands full," he remarked.

"It's been easy," you half lied, knowing that broken vase was very minor loss but you weren't completely sure of what you were doing, not being an expert babysitter, and you still had to make a somewhat kid friendly dinner.

He just nodded, walking over to the large window panes and staring out at the yard, where the boys were chasing each other around a pine tree and then Douglas crouched down, pretending to shoot at his brother with a little finger gun and Duncan copied him, dodging invisible bullets. You joined Robert's side and observed unsmiling as you considered how males have such an inherent tendency towards violence, even during mock play. It spoke volumes about the tragic times you were living in and how it all was filtered down to children.

"I'm sick of all the fighting, Robert," you commented sadly and he made no expression.

"We live in a volatile planet," he replied flatly and you pursed your lips, turning away.

"That doesn't mean I have to embrace it."

"You don't; it just takes you instead, a pacifist as prisoner."

"I'm about to start dinner, would you like to help for once?" you changed the subject with a snap and he clenched his jaw, following you to the kitchen where you fumbled with pots and pans, gathering ingredients for a simple chicken with mashed potatoes and side vegetables dinner. Robert pulled out the cans of peas and carrots from the cupboard and took his time with the can opener, muttering under his breath about explosive versus implosive and you side eyed him, asking him if everything was alright.

"Yes, fine. Only conversing with myself," he answered with a thin grin and you shrugged, beginning to cook and deciding to leave out ample amounts of spices on the chicken because of the children's likely tender taste buds.

The boys came in a few minutes later and you noticed dirt and dust all over Duncan's front and Douglas had filthy hands as well.

"How did you two get so dirty? I told you to stay on the grass," you exclaimed exasperatedly and they ignored this, distracted by the dinner preparation and you had to shoo them away from the stove.

"Can we have porridge?" Douglas asked hopefully and you stared, amazed at how children's thought processes work.

"No, that's for breakfast only. It's dinnertime."

"Cereal?" Duncan added hopefully, licking his upper lip and you shook your head, looking to Robert who wasn't paying much attention and fixated on spooning out the canned vegetables into a saucepan.

"Mac 'n cheese!" Duncan suddenly shouted, beginning to hop up and down while his brother added to this impromptu guessing game.

"Hotdogs? Momma makes us hotdogs, they're my favorite!" he exclaimed as you walked over and took their small arms, marching them out to the bathroom to clean up. You can't do much about Duncan's soiled shirt other than a wipe down, for there were no clothes in the house that would remotely fit him and you hoped his mother won't be upset.

When you came back to check on the cooking and having sent the boys back to the living room with a stack of blank papers to draw on with pens from Robert's study, you smell smoke - and not the usual odor from cigarettes. The pan of chicken is burning and Robert is nowhere in sight.

"Dammit!" you cried, furious at him for carelessly and bizarrely abandoning the hot stove, and you rushed to pour a cup of water on the pan, creating a loud hiss and puff of smoke and vapor. The chicken was too blackened for consumption, so you tossed it out bitterly before going to mash up the potatoes. You felt a tug on your skirt and you glanced down, seeing Douglas looking up at you, his tiny chubby hand clutching the hem of your skirt.

"I need to go potty," he declared, hopping from foot to foot and you sighed in frustration, taking his hand and leading him down the hall once again to the bathroom and making sure he could go by himself before returning back to the kitchen, where now the vegetables were becoming overcooked mush.

"Fuck," you muttered, hurriedly removing them and dumping forkfuls onto plates. You jumped at the sound of Robert behind you and you glared at him as he looked visibly distracted.

"Thanks for nothing! We almost had a kitchen fire because you went off to who-knows-where while I was cleaning the boys up in the bathroom," you chastised and he closed his eyes briefly, stressed and guilty.

"I'm sorry, I had to run through a calculation and I thought it would be fine to leave it for a minute as long as you were coming back," he explained and you scoffed, thinking that as no excuse.

"You should know better than to leave a stove unattended, even for a few moments. And you know, this is absurd. When are they coming to finish the kitchen? If we're going to host, we'll need a bigger space."

"Don't worry, they'll be working on it and I'll fix this." He moved to take the saucepan from you and ladle out the rest of the soggy veggies. You took a seat at the table, plunging your sore head into your palms just as Douglas came wandering back in, whining.

"I'm hunnngry, Mrs. Oppen-hemmer..."

"Oppen-heimer," Robert corrected over his shoulder with a smile and you rubbed your face, standing up.

"It'll be just a minute, how about you please have a seat to wait, alright? And where is your brother at?"

"Potty," Douglas replied and you gave Robert a glance.

"Can you go fetch him and leave the food to me?"

He gave a curt nod and left the room while you took the last chicken breast left and placed it in the pan to sizzle. Thankfully it didn't take too long and you were grateful your husband was dealing with one child while the other waited, watching you curiously and kept asking if he could have ketchup, presumably for the chicken.

"Just about ready?" Robert's voice made you turn to see him with Duncan toddling in, hanging onto the cuff of Robert's sleeve.

"Did he wash his hands?" you asked and Robert nodded again in affirmative, helping the kid onto a chair. You set out their plates and once everyone was seated, the boys dug in clumsily (Duncan was definitely the messier one and you tried to help him with cutting up the chicken), but in all considered, they were fairly civilized; their mother taught them well for their age.

Robert meanwhile was quiet, neglecting a smoke as he actually ate most of the food on his plate instead and you wondered if you should have young guests over more often if they influenced him to make a better impression of an appetite.

"So how do you all like it? Good?" you asked them towards the end of the meal.

"Yummy," Duncan said while Douglas vigorously nodded with a closed stuffed mouthful and Robert smirked, gently nudging your ankle under the table with his foot.

"It's delicious as is anything you put your culinary talents to is."

"Even though it burned initially and these vegetables are a tad overdone?"

"Perhaps we should try barbeques then," he suggested, the tip of his shoe suggestively tickling your stockings and you twitched in your chair, avoiding his piercing gaze.

"I'm glad you all are satisfied."

When the boys finished, you took their plates to wash out at the sink and Robert told them to go to the living room to play. He came close, grazing your shoulder and feeling around your skirt, but you flinched away from his touch and he frowned, taken aback.

"Not now," you murmured and he backed away, retreating from the kitchen as you finished the dishes, joining the others in the main room a while later, and immediately noticing Duncan posing in front of the fireplace with Robert's tobacco pipe sticking out from his mouth. You quickly swiped it out from him while your husband only laughed as he was seated on a chair in front of the boy, clearly entertained.

"That's for grown-ups only, young man," you chided seriously (with a scoff at Robert for encouraging this) and he giggled sheepishly before getting distracted by his older brother tackling him from behind. They wrestled on the rug before getting up and Duncan attempted a handstand which ended with him falling back down with a flump to his bottom. Douglas giggled and you could only shake your head in amusement as you sat down on the sofa, Robert abandoning his chair to join you with a sigh, tucking an arm around your body as he watched the boys, displaying a pondering expression.

"I don't recall Frank and I ever being that rambunctiously cheerful at their size," he remarked softly.

"Well, from what I've heard, you were a rather unique child."

"I was sickly often; these boys are as healthy as horses."

"Well, besides that. I doubt those two will be giving a formal presentation to the New York Mineralogical Club on geology at age twelve, although you never know."

"True, but look at them; they have such modes of sensory perception and imaginations that are lost on us adults. What if they could solve the most complex problems with simplicity?"

You leaned your head tiredly onto his shoulder as he rubbed your forearm, the cramps returning and you had the thought that you wouldn't entirely mind skipping periods for pregnancy... but child rearing full time was daunting and you weren't ready for it even though the mere thought of such breeding such domesticity with Robert made you a bit weepy... or maybe it was just the period swinging your hormonal emotions about. But there is still a bright flash of reality; wasn't this how modern life, the human experience, was meant to be and what awaited you in the future if you had Robert's children?

You glanced at him, trying to read his contemplative expression. Was he thinking similar family thoughts and reflective of his own childhood, or was he only pondering his work, scientific equations, the war, or even... Jean Tatlock? You hoped not on the latter. He could be difficult to read most times, on a different wavelength from the rest of humanity and you considered yourself one of the few people in his life that felt only a minor alienation from his brilliance and knew to leave him there in his mind, for it was his true home until he orbited back to the present with everyone else.

Duncan climbed up onto the sofa, yawning widely and his brother joined a second later, scooting to your side and his chestnut orbs looked up at you with a hint of longing.

"I miss Momma," he whispered and you glanced at the clock on the wall that showed a quarter to six.

"She'll be here soon," you told him comfortingly and sure enough, not five minutes past six o'clock, there was a rap at the door. Robert stood up as you urged Douglas off the sofa and went to awkwardly scoop up his sleepy tuckered out little brother in your arms, carrying him to the door. Mrs. Thompson was relieved and so were you as you handed her youngest son off into her arms (he was heavier than he looked!) and Douglas hugged her legs happily. She thankfully didn't seem to notice or care that they weren't spotlessly clean.

"You two are so gracious, I can't thank you enough."

"No need to, we are glad to be of assistance," Robert told her sincerely and as he invited her and husband for the soonest party, you were reminded of something.

"Hold on, I have something for you before you go," you announced to her and dashed off to the kitchen to snatch up the neck of a wine bottle off the counter from your earlier attempts of purging. You presented it to her as a gift, causing her to light up in surprised elation.

"Oh, this is a delight!"

"Take it as a token of friendship," you told her as Douglas pulled impatiently at her pant leg.

"Wanna go home," he moaned and she thanked you and Robert again before slinging Duncan over her shoulder and clutching the wine in her free hand.

"Goodnight," you and Robert both called out, and you gave Douglas a little wave as they walked down the pathway and to the road. You slowly closed the door and Robert turned to you, brushing a strand of hair back towards your ear and you almost thought he might lean in for a kiss, but then he moved away, occupying himself with lighting a cigarette instead.

Later that night when you both are laying awake in bed, he seemed to sense something was up as you were curled with your back to him, riding the waves of aching pain shooting through your lower abdomen and back, waiting for the second painkiller pill to kick in while feeling mildly depressed. His hand warily made contact with your shoulder and you stirred, rolling over to face his concern.

"What is so wrong? Is it because of those boys? It was very considerate of you, but we don't have to have them over again for awhile."

"No, not at all, it's not their fault. I've been dealing with my cycle that began this morning and it's been rather... difficult on top of whatever is happening with our relationship."

Realization dawned on him and he adjusted the sheets, cocooning you and him closer together.

"I suppose tonight isn't an appropriate night for any activity then?" he asked knowingly and you shook your head, but moved into his body, fingers needlingly grasping his night shirt and he put a hand to your hip, stroking your butt and crotch soothingly.

"Cramps?" he asked in a hushed voice and you only nodded, closing your eyes.

"Let me help," he offered and you shifted to allow his hands to massage into your lower stomach and thighs, making you squirm at the kneading pressure.

"Just let Daddy take care of you, alright?" he whispered huskily into your hair and the blush inflamed your cheeks, making you twist your neck to meet his seductive eyes.

"You understand it?"

He only shrugged, nonchalant.

"It's unusual and I feel a bit perverted for using such a term for romantic purposes, but I suppose there is psychology behind it."

You stayed quiet, letting him do rhythmic circles into your skin and if you didn't feel so raw and achy, you'd be wholly aroused to high heaven.

"Were there any calls today?" you asked curiously in a casual tone, testing if he'd tense, but his fingers remained steady and relaxed as they gently rubbed into the folds of your skin.

"There won't be any for a while," he answered and now you were the one ending up tense.

"A while? What does that mean?"

Robert exhaled heavily, blowing his warm smoky breath to your forehead.

"I can't guarantee there will never be further word during the duration of our stay here. Two, three years can feel like eternity and she may still love me."

"Then she'll just have to move on. You need to get your head straight and devote your energies here to work, to life with me, not back in Berkeley."

"I intend to and I will, but Jean knew me like no other and she sees me as an incomparable love. She hasn't seen any other man since me."

"That's not what you should ever tell your wife," you muttered bitterly, hating that he was making this sound as if this was all her fault.

"Every affection I have for various women is different. You happen to be my life partner, an equal for the long journey, and I would never replace that. But Jean doesn't have what I do and one never forgets their first brightest flame."

"Must be nice to have a list of lovers to pull from. I don't care what she thinks, I care about what you feel. What is Jean to you alone?"

He didn't answer for a long while and finally you tilted your head to gaze at him with a frown.

"Answer me, Robert."

He licked his lips and spoke very softly, fondly.

"She was a possibility and then I found you and my world was altered. I knew I had to marry you instead and I did, didn't I?"

"Do you regret it?"

"No, never. There is only one Aphrodite in my universe and that is you, my love. No one else compares."

You bit your lip, refusing to tell him about the information you were given from his own secretary yesterday. Besides, you had no solid proof of that note anymore, just hearsay that he could deny, and as much as it pained you to shove this issue under the rug, you had to in order to protect your husband.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"For...?"

"All the bad timing and for being a mess through it, I suppose."

"You can't control it."

"I know, but..."

"But what?" he asked pressingly.

"What's happening to us? It's this place, I think there is just something about living here, it feels..." you trailed off, unable to dress up your emotions with words that would be tailored enough to fit the frustrated mood.

"Los álamos, the poplars," he stated abruptly and you blinked.

"Okay, what of that?"

"On the banks of the Acheron river of the Underworld, they were resurrected pillars of death-"

"You're citing Greek mythology again, aren't you?" you interrupted and he suppressed a chuckle.

"Yes, I am. Do you suppose we are living in our own version of the underworld here at Los Alamos? We have departed from the living in some fraction, rowing down such a proverbial river to Hades, outcast by the great Zeus..." he trailed off, sounding nearly emotional at his own metaphors.

"I'm not sure about that, but I do know only you could take such natural beauty and see it doomed."

Robert was silent for a while and then he sat up, tossing the sheets off and swinging his legs out of bed and you raised eyebrows, watching as he walked out of the room to return a moment later with a journal in his hands and climb back into bed. You scooted down to rest your head in between his legs, letting him place the journal in his lap as he flipped it open, ruffling pages and you had a feeling of what he was perusing.

"I've never heard your poems read aloud before," you murmured with your eyes half shut and he shifted self consciously, hesitant.

"I'm an inferior poet, it really isn't meant or fit for oratory sharing..." he protested.

"If it's legible, read it," you ordered and he sighed, beginning to read quietly and slowly, savoring every word.

"It... It was evening when we came to the river with a low moon over the desert that we had lost in the mountains, forgotten, what with the cold and the sweating and the ranges barring the sky..."

His voice gradually lulled you to a sleepy state and as he read the last line - "We didn't look back at the mountains" - you dozed off to muddle through dreams that were of strange visions of white pine trees extending into skeletal fingers scratching at the cobalt sky, shadows dancing down darkened corners in hallways as you ran, running towards the haunting sounds of children crying, but you never could get there to comfort them... and then you wondered if you were not aching to get to them, but far away. Glancing down, you saw a pair of shoes but no feet filling them, and you realized were as empty as a ghost; no body propelling anything forward as though there was no sense in motion at all. You opened your mouth to scream, but of course there was no existing voice in your throat...

You abruptly woke up with a jolt sometime in the witching hour of the early morning tinged in a sticky sweat and saw that Robert was out cold on his back, his journal having slipped from his clutch to lay facedown on his stomach and you very carefully picked it up to place it on the bedside table before exiting to the bathroom to change out your pad and fill a hot water bottle, and then you grabbed a thin blanket and sat down in a chair, straddling the warm rubber in between your thighs and wrapping the blanket around your chilled frame, watching the moonlight track ever so slowly across the wood floor as a hour gradually ticked by. You lit a cigarette and took a long drag, ruminating on Robert's poem (which now you barely remembered from the lack of consciousness) but that one last line lingered on your tongue.

"We didn't look back at the mountains."

It seemed symbolic to how you felt about the past with his ex-lovers and wishing he would learn to face forward in the saddle with you and focus on the horizon instead of taking trips back into old forays. Or maybe you had to be the one to move on from all the doubts and let this go because surely a marriage couldn't survive on such strings of sad suspicion, of done summits. Besides, he had more important mountains to conquer here, whether this location be just an expansive landscape in the American Southwest originally belonging to the Indians, or a version of the infamous "Underworld" that was imitating Robert's love of such old folklore.

Hell, this was only the beginning.

Thanks for reading, this one was interesting to write especially with adding the children in and they may come back later on. Next chapter though will definitely be more smut focused ❤️

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nalyra-dreaming · 2 months

Note

There is a reason why black fans/poc fans moan about Lestat or DM and it has a lot to do with the fandom. There was this whole blowout over the idea that Louis is the Gothic heorine in this story. That he was the mother to Claudia. It is one thing to debate, it is another to deliberately write revenge fan fiction where Lestat gets pregnant or plays out a kink of being pregnant. So why wouldn't fans be wary of inclusion of Lestat (or DM) in considerable amount in this season, that they were looking forward to. I don't remember the last time I saw a passionate black/brown romance play out on screen on main television and yeah Vampire Chronicles or not, the whole of the series or not, one major excitement for fans has been the Loumand romance. Black or Brown bodies have rarely been portrayed as desireable without the inclusion of a white character. And we are building towards such intense, passionate, romance between loumand- so it is understandable that with the fandom history, the fans would be wary/disappointed about lestat or DM.

Okay, so, I get you. You are on my blog so you likely know that I get you.

I get why.

However, this show (and I am repeating myself here) is cast color-consciously. NOT color-blind.

And that is the world of difference here.

Louis could be re-imagined (and brilliantly so) because the show shifted the time, while also keeping his history, and character intact.

Armand could be re-imagined (and also quite brilliantly so from the little we have seen^^) because the area he is from was contested at the time - it's possible to apply "more" to him without changing the character.

This is the Vampire Chronicles.

There is history between these characters. There are also "endgame" relationships (as Jacob called it).

The show has always said Loustat were the basis they're building on, Rolin Jones said at the SDCC 22 panel (before the show aired) that we shouldn't fear for Devil's Minion.

Yes, Loumand will be passionate at first. I hope they fuck nasty. I mean it when I say I want to see all the facets, how it changes over time. Because of what happens. There is love between them in the end, despite everything.

But saying the show is shoehorning Lestat or Daniel in the VC for "white" fans is ludicrous. Can I redirect you to @cbrownjc's reply here for that?

Lestat is one of the main characters of the VC. Daniel is Armand's big love. His only fledgling.

I get why it's disappointing that the main couple won't be Loumand. I get that.

But it never was supposed to be that.

They love each other. Fall for each other. In Paris. Truly love each other. Later. In Dubai. That is indisputable. But there is a reason why Rolin Jones was explaining the ending with "The Graduate". BACK THEN. (Here is a good post on that.)

After what certain people threw at me again, and again, and again for pointing out canon facts and discrepancies in the tale I won't sugarcoat my responses anymore, and I find the whining about what we said was to come for fucking 18 months indeed quite hilarious. Tbh, it's the only thing left I can find it. The only emotion left I have for that. This doesn't go specifically against any fans btw(!) (and definitely not against you), there were plenty of people who I know are not black who jumped the bandwagon just to make sure to be on the "right side, just in case", while knowing better. While knowing what would happen in the upcoming seasons.

While having experienced similar shit.

And re the debates, and revenge fanfics, or whatever: You don't need to point out the ugliness of fandom to me.

I have plenty of experience with that.

Since you're here you should know that.

#Anonymous #asks #ask nalyra #amc iwtv #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire amc #iwtv amc #iwtv 2022 #interview with the vampire #louis de pointe du lac #armand #loumand #lestat de lioncourt #loustat #the devil's minion #daniel molloy #devil's minion

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nerdieforpedro · 3 months

Text

The Man Next Door

Jake Lockley x plus size black female reader

This blog is 18+ MDNI

Word Count: approx. 4.1k

Summary: You've been eyeing your neighbor Jake for the last few months. A major even and discovery puts things into perspective. You make your move after the dots are filled in.

Warnings: Mentions of blood (various amounts), violence, one minor character death, sprinkles of Spanish, first aid, unprotected P in V (wrap it IRL), aftercare

Notes: My first Moon Knight fic! 🥰 It's been in the works for a bit. It's a half of a request for @megamindsecretlair I asked her what she wanted in it and she told me. We'll see if I delivered on that or not. 😄Dividers are designed by the wonderful @saradika-graphics ❤️

Main Masterlist / Moon Knight Masterlist/ Oscar Isaac characters

Sometimes he has blood on his hands, attempting to wipe it off with a rag, other times there are small drops of splatter on his chin and cheek as he gives you a morning nod before you head off to work.

He’s never without a drop of crimson on him, no matter what time of day you happen to spot him. It makes you keep your distance from him, not indulge in idle chatter like your other neighbors in your apartment building, ask to borrow items or even keep a package or two for you.

You’re curious about him, about Jake Lockley.

He’s been your next door neighbor for six months. You haven’t heard anyone in his apartment or seen anyone visit. It was odd, that you’re sure of. He only gets a few pieces of mail and seldom any packages. Never rude and never too friendly either. A fair distance away from any who may try to get to know him.

You wonder if you should have ever spoken to him now. It’s been a few days since you’ve seen him and had your morning farewell nod. You walk from the bus stop to work each day, it’s less than ten minutes and you count it as your exercise. This is the night you see him again, your neighbor. Walking home like every other night, you happen to hear a thud and look in its direction. Sure you left work an hour late due to your boss being a dick and wanting you to finish putting together the reports for tomorrow, but at least you got overtime out of it so you hadn’t minded too much. Maybe you should have.

You can’t say it’s completely unexpected, there’s only so many reasons Jake would have blood on him but it’s still shocking. It’s not everyday you see your neighbor standing in a pool of someone’s blood. Honestly you can’t tell the gender or the person or ethnicity from the distance and from the amount of blood.

There’s just so much. Dripping from his hands, splashes on his face and clothes.

No wait…the clothes are odd. They went from some off gray looking robes to his normal jeans, and jacket. Maybe you’re hallucinating. It’s then that you feel a hand on your arm.

“You know him, don't you woman? What do you know about him? Tell us!” When you turn to see who the hand belongs to, you’re met with a knife that grazes your cheek. There are four men in addition to the one holding you for a total of five. You’re shaking your head, it’s not a lie, you don’t know anything about the man other than his name and that he lives next to you. His grip strengthens on your arm as you try to pull away from him and the other men watch amused at your attempt to try and escape. Their laughs are replaced by curses as you stomp on your assailant’s foot and drop your bag to punch him in the face. He’s stunned so his grip loosened finally to give you a chance to go for the knife and you do.

There’s blood on you now. Not on your hand you punched the man with, but on the knife and your white button down from where you went for your assistant’s neck. He’s holding the side of it, trying to apply pressure but he’s shaky on his feet. One of his friends, you assume, grabs him to help him but he slumps in his arms, the man’s hand falling slowly from his neck.

Did you just kill someone? What the hell is happening?

(Khonshu): Is that the woman you glance at and who occupies your idle thoughts Jake? I thought she was one of the many worms. It appears she is not. You may want to don the suit again. She has spirit, but not skill nor strength. She’ll not last long.

(Jake): I hear you loud and clear, you old bird. What is she doing here anyway? She’s normally off work and at home by now. I know her routine and she doesn't change it by much. I knew she had a little fire in her, she went right for the neck, most would have gone for an arm or torso.

The three other men are circling you, screaming at you about their fallen friend and how they’re going to take their time in torturing you no matter if you actually know anything about Jake or not. You lunge at the man closest to you, going for his neck as well since that did the other man in, but he caught both your arms and chuckled.

“Luck like that only strikes once bitch!” He presses his fingertips into your wrists, but you keep hold of the knife, it’s the only weapon you have. But you start to smell more metal - iron, no there’s more blood. It’s not on you, or it wasn’t until the goon holding you falls forward and to step back to avoid his body hitting yours, wrists free, but you’re falling. It seems among all that scuffle, you’d been near a curb and you’d stepped off awkwardly.

You don’t hit the ground though, instead you’re in strong arms. The same gray you’d seen earlier except now there’s a mask, cape and a moon in the middle of his chest? He supports you as you stand up. You’re still holding onto your knife though, adrenaline running through your veins as you hold it close to your chest. He holds your shoulders and gives them a soft squeeze to help you pay attention.

“Mira! Hola! (Look! Hello!) Tch…” Jake’s trying to get your attention but it’s not working. This whole gentle thing isn’t his norm and he can see that your eyes aren’t registering him or his words at all. Not even him squeezing your shoulders, he’s worried that squeezing them harder will result in an injury and the suit only heals him, not you. The blood dripping from your cheek angers him and the men are only knocked out now. He needs to get you out of here so he can come back and find out information from them - slowly and painfully. He releases you and picks up your bag, then tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, he doesn’t have time to console you, not that he would be any good at it. He hears you squeal then yelling and shifts your back to the same arm he’s holding you with, then pinches your hip.

“Silencio! (Quiet!)” Your body tenses in his arms as he makes his way to the apartment building. He jumps to the fire escape outside of his window as he usually keeps it open for when he doesn’t feel like using the door. He removed that suit before heading in, donning his street clothes and carrying you inside, setting you down on his couch. You’re sniffling, but not crying loudly or yelling anymore which Jake is thankful for. He goes to get a small first aid kit. It was included with some beer he bought when he last shopped for anything really and hasn’t been opened. Kneeling in front of you, he sighs as you’re still looking forward, he’s wondering if he’ll still get soft nods and hellos after this. You might even see if you can move from the building. He wets some gauze with some saline and dabs your cheek, finally you respond by hissing from the sting.

“Oh, now you’re paying attention princesa (princess)? You’re in my place by the way. Stay still.” Jake gives you a brief smile before dabbing your cheek a few more times and applying some antibiotic ointment. It’s not nearly deep enough for stitches or even the little strips they have in here, but he still hates that you were there at all, let alone that you’re not only injured but you also had to kill to survive.

“I..so that was all real, not a nightmare? Oh…so I killed…” You finally drop the knife and in klangs on the floor, your hands take hold of your knees, covered halfway by your pencil skirt. Your realization sinks in that no, it was not some crazed fearful dream from watching way too much FBI in one night. No, there had been a fight, there had been blood and you had indeed killed someone.

“It was self-defense hermosa (gorgeous). That’s all it was. You wouldn’t have had to if I wasn’t slow in getting to you.” Jake takes your hands in his. You finally look at him. He looks like every other day, black leather jacket, dark gray t-shirt, dark wash jeans, a wry smile on his face and it’s surrounded by his dark shadowy stubble. When did he change clothes? His eyes are unexpectedly warm in their chocolate pools. You hadn’t really looked at them before, always in passing. You nod and close your eyes. He’s telling you what you want to hear, but you know what you did with that knife. “Come on, let’s get you next door. You should wash up and change clothes. Don’t touch your face though.” He instructs and you follow him to your feet as he stands and walks to his door. His apartment has the same brick walls, though his are more sparse with decorations though you see many books. You didn’t expect any and you’re not sure why.

You aren’t able to find your keys, your hands are shaking so badly and you’re crying again, silently since he told you to be quiet. He regrets that a bit. You’re not accustomed to death and violence as he is, of course it's shocking, most would find it so. “May I princesa?” Jake holds out a hand, he’s not going to force it, it’s not the time. You hand him your back and he searches for half a minute. The bag is large and looks like you keep a lot of ‘just in case’ stuff in it. He finds your keys and unlocks your door, but doesn’t enter with you.

“You’re not coming in? I…” Your voice fades out. You want to ask him to stay, you don’t want to be alone, but would he even want to? He likely thinks you’re a wimp for crying, why would he even want to stay? “N-Never mind Jake see-”

“I’ll be back. I need to tie up loose ends princesa. Just take a nice slow shower, if you get your face wet, clean and apply some more ointment and eat something. You did well, you survived. Don’t feel bad about it at all.” He’s spoken more to you now than he ever has. On one hand, this eleates Jake as he was never really sure how to start a conversation with you, but under these circumstances, it’s far from ideal. His arms wrap around you, bringing your head to his chest. He still smells a little metallic like blood but now like the books in his apartment and cigarettes? You’d never seen him smoke, curious, but not your focus. His heartbeat is steady and one hand touches the back of your neck, his fingers run up into the small hairs you have at the back edge of your hairs, those little ones that no amount of hair grease or edge cream will tame. He’s playing with them though before he lets you go abruptly. “Hasta leugo princesa (See you later princess).” And he’s back to his apartment. Gone that fast. His warmth lingers on your neck and the front of your body and it’s what you ponder while you’re in the shower.

Peeling off your clothes and showering was the easy part. The clothes went in their own small trash bag and would go out with tomorrow’s garbage. It was trying to eat, you made a sandwich and only ate half of it, then there was soup, which normally you love, but the smell made your stomach curl. Eventually, all of the sandwiches went down with some water and on the couch you sat. Alone with your thoughts. You don’t feel any different, but you know what you did with that knife. The blood, the men’s threats, the fear you felt, Jake being covered in blood. What was he going to do when he came back? Where should you even start with your questions? It had been a few hours by this point and you’re staring at the wall when there’s a knock at your door. Standing and hurrying to the door, a familiar voice uttered one word.

“Princesa.” It was the fastest you’d open the door for anyone.

Jake sits down from you on your couch and explains to you who he is, who he serves and why he usually has blood on him. It’s fantastical and had it been any other day, you’d told him to get out and avoided him like he was insane. But the events of the night had told you to believe him and it was honestly better to think he was punishing those causing harm to others than being a serial killer or something else. You do notice something though, Jake appears to be nervous, which is weird, his eyes are darting around and he keeps clearing his throat and moving on the couch, like he can’t get comfortable.

“Did you want to sit in the armchair? You might find it more comfortable.” Your offer makes him stop moving and sigh. Jake’s a little worked up since he’d been doing a lot more of Khonshu work, normally he’d drink to ease himself into some sleep. He should leave. Now. You’re freshly showered, took down a man despite being scared out of your mind, and he held you too long earlier, much too long. He meant to calm you with that hug but it instead had him in his thoughts again.

He shouldn’t have watched you stand either, your wide hips make Jake want to do more than pat them as do the soft caramel of your legs that he sees as you glide over to your fridge to offer him water. He stands as you bring him the water and he gulps it down, thanking you as he starts toward the door.

“W-Wait, you’re leaving already Jake?!” He needs you not to call for him like that. You sound like you need him and…that’s not something he can handle right now.

“You’re okay now. I shouldn’t stay any longer princesa.” He doesn’t turn to face you. If he sees your eyes he’s not going to leave. He knows what he’s feeling is partly from all the fighting but not entirely and that’s the part his mind has latched onto and won’t let go of.

“Could I at least have another hug before you go Jake?” You’ve said his name softly, almost with care. How can he say no now? He did give you a hug earlier. He turns to see that you’ve dropped your robe and you are wearing a red silk nightgown that just barely covers your bottom. Your eyes aren’t telling him you want a hug, at least, not just a hug.

“Hermosa, I don’t think that’s all you want from me. Let’s both be honest here. Has this been part of why you watch me as much as I watch you?” His steps are slow, he’s giving you an out. You can say no and give a flimsy excuse like your robe slipped or something. You don’t. You put your hands on his chest and run them up as he did to you, your hands grabbing his curls, their silken texture makes you smile.

“You’d be correct Jake. This dance has gone on long enough. You’re finally in my apartment and I almost died tonight. I also had a long shower as you suggested.” Your plush lips look so inviting and he can’t resist. The kiss is sloppy and his hands are roaming your body, he’d like to rip the gown off of you, but he’s sure you put it on to be admired so he will for a little bit. Jake is much more interested in what’s under it. He bends temporarily and hooks his hands under your knees to lift you up carrying you to your bedroom.

After setting you on the bed gently, Jake slips off his clothes, making a pile on the floor in front of your bed. He’s not one to be embarrassed and is well aware of what he’s working with. His swollen length bobs while he licks his lips. His eyes roam your body as he climbs on the bed, calloused hands start at your ankles and slide up your thick legs. Once he reaches your hips, his hands stay under your nightgown as he pulls it up and over your head. The low groan makes his Adam's apple bob when he sees you weren’t wearing any underwear as you open your legs for him to expose your wetness. You gasp at the cool air and it allows him to capture your lips again, your arms and legs wrapping around him.

He grins into the kiss, lurching his hips forward to have the head of his cock glide across your wet slit. Your hips react and jut forward having the tip enter you, Jake grins on your lips and pulls back but leaves the tip in. “Rather eager aren’t you cariño (sweetheart)?” He takes hold of his length, removing his tip fully and rolls the wrist of his free hand for you to roll over. “I’ll have you from the back first. I want to see that large ass of your bounce.” You roll on your stomach and spread your knees, feeling him lean over and run his hands along your body as he notches at your entrance. His bulbous head is just past your entrance. “Move that ass and push back on my cock. Show me what you can do hermosa.” He leans to kiss along your spine as you use your legs to move your hips back, having your forearms flat on the bed with your elbows as an anchor.

You’re able to get him deeper and feel him stretching you, almost too much, his hips don’t feel flush with yours yet, there must be more. “Jake you’re so thick…. Please move with me.” You coo, looking back at him, your hips moving slowly, your walls are pulling on his shaft, learning his shape. Jake’s hands are roaming your back as praises for working hard for him. He’s aware of his girth and wants to push forward but not yet.

He leans over your back again, making his chest flush with it. His lips are next to your ear, “Muy bien (very good) mi (my) princesa. I’m going to reward you by moving. Be as loud as you want.” A kiss is placed on your shoulder, a last bit of tenderness he shows you before straightening himself up and taking hold of your hips. He draws back, nearly pulling all the way out of you but he thrusts forward, his hips finally flush with yours and the walls of your core expanded to accommodate him as his thrusts increased as did your cries of Jake’s name. You felt yourself pressing into the mattress, at one point face down. Jake was not having it. He wanted you vocal unless your voice had truly given out, which he was sure it hadn’t. His hips came to a full stop and you gasped. “No, no princesa. You won’t go quiet on me yet. Roll.” He gave a light slap to your ass for encouragement for you to move.

You had just sat yourself up back on your elbows and lifted your head when Jake decided that you were moving too slow for him and pulled out of you, the loss had you groan before you yelped with your leg up in the air where it had not been for a long time. He crossed your leg over and succeeded in flipping you over so you were now on your back. Jake’s relentless, his hands are roaming your thighs, hips, stomach, breasts, “Jake....Jake..Fuck…” You keep chanting as he grins before capturing your lips again with his. He has yet to enter you once more and his precum is dripping onto your slit as it rubs your viscous liquids together.

Once he pulls back, he takes in your swollen lips, the heaving of your chest, every curve that he’s tried to feel with his fingers and he knows he hasn’t. This time when he slips back within you, it’s slower and he keeps eye contact with you, one hand on the back of your knee pushing your leg forward to allow him deeper and the other on the back of your neck to pull your face closer to his as he presses his chest against yours. “So much better than I imagined princesa. You’re not getting away from me you know.” He nibbles on your bottom lip as your core tightens around him again, “Good girl, milk me and accept what I’m going to give you.” Your hands grab his shoulders and dig into his skin, scratching him, your hips keep crashing into his as he speeds up a bit, nearly at his climax.

“Give me what you’ve got Jake. I’ll mark you…” Using your teeth, you graze the skin on his neck before biting down and hearing him hiss, giving you a few more strong pumps before spilling inside of you. The heat from his spend has the walls of your cunt close around his throbbing shaft as you scream in your own peak. Jake continues to slowly roll his hips until you both start to come down. Neither of you move, only the sounds of your breaths fill the room. Your body is completely limp and you stare up at Jake who gives you a small kiss to your lips before starting to move back, your arms weakly reach for him and he grins.

“You want more already? You’ll have to give me a few princesa.” Shaking your head, you stick your bottom lip out and give a small pout.

“Don’t leave yet. Stay.” Jake rubs circles on your belly and chuckles.

“You’re even more adorable than I thought. I need to know where your washcloths and towels are. We need to clean up. I’m not leaving.” You inform him that they’re in the small hall closet next to the bathroom to which he goes and gets two washcloths, warming them up along with towels. He wipes you down first and dries you, then takes care of himself before slipping the both of you under the sheets. His hand cups your cheek before running his fingers through your hair and then it dawns on him - you’re not wearing your bonnet. Jake asks where you keep them and you tell him the bottom drawer of your nightstand so he reaches to get one for you and you decide to pinch his rather round ass.

“I think we’re fond of each other’s asses Jake.” You laugh as he slips the red satin onto your head. “I’m surprised you knew that I wore one at night. You’re keeping that close of tabs on me?” An eyebrow raises and he puts his hands up.

“Come on, give me a little credit. I’m not going to say I know everything about caring for black hair properly, but I know bonnets, protective styles, but don’t ask me how to do any of them and oil.” He put up three fingers for the things he did know.

Now it’s your turn to grin. This sly man. “Pfft. You’re full of surprises Jake. We’ll sleep and then you’re helping me oil my hair in the morning before work.” You press his chest lightly and the scoot closer to him to cuddle. His arm wraps around your back, and those fingers of his run down your spine again.

“I’ll help you oil your hair tomorrow if it’s after breakfast and you take a day off of work.” Jake kisses your forehead and closes his eyes.

“Alright. You talked like you knew what to do. I won’t forgive you if you mess up my hair.”

“Hm. If it’s anything like what you did tonight, I get it. I’ll be extra careful princesa. Don’t worry.” You’d drifted off to sleep and Jake watched you before he dozed off as well, looking forward to having his hands on you again. In your hair or anywhere you’d let him.

Keeping an eye out from the apartment across the hall 👀: @soft-persephone @saturn-rings-writes @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @missladym1981 @alltheglitterandtheroar @dameron-grant-spector @soft-girl-musings @agentjackdaniels

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