#i eat their slop all the same

[cant-reed]

polybridge. mini motorways. many such car-based puzzle games are being given to me & I am understanding. anone of them:]

[starscreamingg]

Okay I'm so sleep deprived so pardon whatever this is but something that's got me FUCKED up about ai generated pictures songs writing is that it just fucking kills the ability to analyse for me because there's no fucking INTENTION behind it. Like why was this decision made why were these colours used what does that say about the work NOTHING because a bunch of programming took work that DID have intent and theme and purposeful choices and turned it into SLOP. Like I COULD analyse this but it doesn't MEAN anything it's EMPTY I want to EXPLODEEE

[504py]

A day in a life with Ivan. [ONESHOT]

Warnings below the cut 。。。

⚠️ NSFW, yandere content, alcoholism, reader got tradwifed, stockholm syndrome, domestic violence, Ivan is very blatantly sadistic, size difference, dacryphilia, vague breeding kink, no use of Y/N, forced feminization(?), gender neutral reader.

hey yawll!! i drew this since i wanted to play more with the painting style and color palette i did in my last post, but since i hit 800 followers recently, i decided to write something to go along with it too!

thank you guys so so much for putting up with my bs and enjoying the slop i create LOL. hopefully this will be enough to thank you all and to satiate you guys till i come back from hibernation again 🩵🙏

also!! while this is a gender neutral reader, ivan still refers to you as a housewife. this is pretty much an extension of the headcanon post i did on him.

MAN I NEED TO RECONNECT WITH NATURE AFTER THIS 😭😭😭

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

The average heart rate of a rabbit is a hundred and eighty beats per minute. Much, much faster than a human's at only a hundred, the little hearts of rabbits pump virile blood into their vulnerable bodies in order to outrun the cursed life of a prey animal they have no choice but to live.

Living with Ivan feels the exact same way. You, a human, were reduced to nothing but a prey animal whose only line of defense was either freeze or flight. Ivan prefers the freeze response. Tries to squeeze it out of you as much as he can.

The morning begins normally. You wake up next to his large, minimally clothed body, while you're bundled up as much as physically possible. You don't understand how he's so comfortable in the cold, but you've learned not to liken him to humans. You gently wake him up before you leave the bed– you learned that he doesn't like waking up to an empty bed without any prior notice. It takes a while for Ivan to wake up, he's a heavy sleeper, but when his violet eyes finally open and dilate at the sight of you, the first thing he does is smile and pull you in to trap you in a strong bear hug. Don't struggle, he'll just tighten his grip. Then he kisses your cheek, and just holds you there without saying anything. He'll grumble a little when you tell him you have to leave bed to make breakfast, but he eventually will let you go.

It's a little sick how your current living situation makes chores the best part of your day, given how it allows the most proximity between you and Ivan. Cooking in the early morning is your favorite, since it takes Ivan a long time to recover from his hibernation. Thinking about what to cook is a bit of a meditative process as well, allows you to think thoroughly about anything other than your way of life and the man keeping you here.

Today, you decided to make something simple and similar to something you ate growing up. Luckily, Ivan is not a picky eater, even though he rather obviously prefers Slavic food. He'll eat whatever you make happily, but he'll be in even better spirits if you make something familiar to him.

You do not cook in silence. Silence has quickly become one of your biggest pet peeves since your captivity, and you do anything to drown it out. This damn empty mansion, the way Ivan is so terrible with his words and chooses instead to crush you with his actions, the bleak snowy landscape that greets you if you dare try and find any solace outside of this cage and your captor– It's enough to drive anyone insane. So, you pass the days by drowning out your thoughts with music and movies.

Ivan doesn't allow you a cellphone, or anything remotely modern at all. His home has a terrifying dedication to being so analog, you'd think you'd been transported to the 90's if not for the TV with a few streaming services on it, the only modern piece of technology he allows. He likes to collect cameras, radios, and old phones. Ivan's menagerie of antique goods is so expansive that it earned itself its own room. It's almost like a small museum, and you're very glad he allows you to look at and touch them as you pleased– with care, of course. He can actually be rather charming when he acts as your "museum guide" in this room. One of the few times you find yourself thinking anything remotely positive about him.

Ivan's voice is soft, it always is, but when he talks about these things he's so passionate about and so engrossed in, it takes on a bit more of a stern, confident tone that is easier for you to listen to. And when he's looking at the objects he's explaining, you can admire his side profile more openly. He's caught you multiple times (he has surprisingly sharp senses), and you're met with a flustered smile instead of the usual so-sweet-to-the-point-it-looks-fake type of smile.

"What are you looking at?" He'd ask, his voice quieting back down to that syrupy tone.

"Just you." You'd reply, which makes him pause in surprise for a second, before it earns a soft giggle from the towering man.

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Vanya." The nickname makes him melt. "You just looked pretty."

The smile falls from his face, and his cheeks redden even more than you thought possible, before his grin returns tenfold. He laughs and looks away.

The memory of such interactions make you feel like buttering up to the man instead of rejecting him so much, then you realize you're just describing stockholm syndrome. As crazy as it is, it feels like, at this point, it'd be better to let it happen than to be aware and hateful every day you live here.

As if your thoughts had alerted him, you hear Ivan's deceptively soft footsteps descend the stairs. He doesn't say anything, and just makes his way to the kitchen to watch you.

He's dressed in more clothing now, a dark blue sweater and gray sweatpants. His neck is left bare around you. When you first met him, his clothing that purposefully covers his neck always went unnoticed by you, because such clothes fit him so well, like they were always meant to be there. It was only after your capture, when he took off his scarf and you saw the bandages around his pale neck did you start to question it.

You've never outright asked him, you worry the subject is too volatile. He just... decided to stop hiding it one day. It was after a shower when you first saw it, the ligature marks around his neck and a few faded pink scars on the front of his adam's apple. Ivan noticed you staring, and you've never seen him look so small and insecure before.

"Is it bad?"

"No." You shake your head. "Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore."

And that was that.

You finish plating up two dishes, one with a significantly heftier portion than yours considering how much he eats. You quickly place the chopping board and all the pans you used in the sink to wash later, and you bring the dishes to the table.

Ivan yawns, rubs at his eyes, and without much event, just picks up a knife and a fork and starts eating. You do the same only after fetching some tea from the samovar.

Breakfast is always quiet besides the background noise of whatever media you chose to play.

"Mm. Ёжик в тумaне?"

"Yeah. I like this one."

"A little somber, isn't it?"

"The hedgehog is cute. I relate to it a little bit."

Ivan takes his eyes off of the television to look at you, and ponders what you said a little more. He doesn't say anything, and continues eating.

"What will you be doing today?" You ask, in case you needed to iron some clothing or prepare extra food for guests.

He hums in thought for a moment. "I'll be going out in the evening to drink with the other nations."

"What will you be wearing?"

"What I usually do."

You nod, "I'll have it ready soon."

"What about you?" He asks.

"Hmm... I'll wash the dishes, then iron and press your clothing. After that, I'll think of what to cook for lunch while cleaning the house, and I'll prepare a meal for you before you leave. Then while you're away, I'll clean up some more and prepare dinner. And if I have some time, I'll sit and watch some more movies."

Ivan hums in satisfaction. He enjoys how strict to routine your lives were. Familiarity and stability are what he desires most, and he believes you're the only one who can grant him that wish.

"Perfect." He smiles, petting the crown of your head with a large, broad hand.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You adjust the dusty pink scarf around his thick neck after finishing wrapping the scars on his throat with bandages. You do it neatly and comfortably, as opposed to how Ivan does, quickly and efficiently, learned from decades of routine, yet it's still so much more uncomfortable compared to when you do it.

"How is it?" You ask. Ivan replies by taking your smaller hands in his and leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"You do it perfectly, любовь моя." He sighs, before pouting slightly. "I wish I could just stay home."

"You'll be alright, Vanya. Alcohol is like water to you anyways."

He snickers and rolls his eyes. "That just means it'll be boring for me, then."

"Just try to have fun and relax. I'll be safe and quiet here."

A mousy smile appears on his pink lips. You've said exactly what he wants to hear. "Alright. I'll just get it over with." He presses one last kiss to the top of your hair before leaving.

"Don't cause any trouble!" Ivan sings, before exiting the living room and closing the door behind him. You get a glimpse of the blindingly white outside world, and a gust of stinging cold air brushes against your skin like a warning.

You let out a taut breath, finally feeling like you're able to breathe without his crushing presence. You dust off your hands, from nothing in particular, before going off to do just as you said to him earlier. It bothers you how much he still affects you without even being around.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The sky is dark, and all that is heard is the droning of soft music and the burbling of something boiling on the stove. Its tranquility is broken by the door opening with more aggression than usual.

"Vanya?" You call out, hoping the sweet usage of his nickname would quell whatever spawned this roughness within him.

All you hear is something vaguely resembling a groan and a sigh, and his heavy, thudding footsteps. Your heart starts to race a little.

"Is something wrong, Vanya?" You ask meekly, approaching him with caution. He reeks of alcohol, and his movements seem all sluggish. Jesus, how much did Russia of all people need to drink in order to get this wasted?

"I'm alright." He huffs, taking off his gloves and his coat with slight difficulty. You step in closer to help him undress, taking off his scarf. You don't miss how he tenses up, so you freeze and meet his constantly intense stare to gauge his expression. His eyelids are low, pupils contracted, eyes darker than usual, and cheeks flushed like they always are. He seems to be pouting a bit. He doesn't do much else, so you continue, stripping him of his large overcoat. All he's left in now is a black sweater and thick brown slacks.

"I've made dinner. You can just sit wherever you want and I'll bring it to you–"

Ivan leans in so quickly, you couldn't even register it in order to dodge or deflect his kiss in time. This time, it lands on your lips. He doesn't do this usually at all, unless he was planning something. The blood drains from your face when his large hand finds the back of your neck, and holds it stiff, preventing any chance of backing out.

His skin and the inside of his mouth are impossibly warm, and the bitter, sterile taste of vodka is the only damn thing invading your senses. You grip the fabric of his knitted sweater, it makes him part from your lips to pant like a dog and take said piece of clothing off, now left in a dark gray shirt.

"V-Va– You taste like alcohol–"

"Get drunk off of me." He whispers, before grabbing the sides of your arms and kissing you tongue first, lapping at your lips, and at this point, you learned better than to deny him. With all the mental fortitude you could muster, you rigidly part your lips. Despite all your efforts to be as pliant as possible to try and guarantee your safety, you can't help the shiver of revulsion when his tongue invades your mouth like a parasite and rubs against yours.

It feels like time slows down, you can feel the milliseconds before your instincts kick in, and each millisecond feels like a year of dread. Unable to stop raw instinct, you bite down.

Your heart stops when you hear him grunt, and feel his grip around your arms tighten before he shoves you away. He gasps, cursing under his breath in his mother tongue before setting his sights back on you.

Doe-eyed and trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, you begin to plead.

"N-No, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Vanya, please–"

He approaches, kicks the back of your knees, before you are grabbed by the scruff of your shirt. The collar of your blouse is yanked back and presses the fabric tightly against your throat as he drags you to the front door. You're coughing and struggling to regain your footing, and the moment you can breathe, you beg.

"Please! Nonono– Vanya please don't do this I'll be good–" The words tumble out like unorganized clutter using the one short breath you were able to catch.

With one more harsh tug, you fall to your knees again, and the door opens. The sight of the snow immediately triggers something within you, and you begin sobbing.

Ivan takes a peak at you, seemingly taking pity.

"Only for a few minutes."

You shake your head in a frenzy, not believing a word he says. Even if he was saying the truth, you'd much rather continue to humiliate yourself over being outside for even a few seconds. What if he forgets about you? What if that door never opens again? What if you die a miserable death, separated from your survival by just a few inches of wood?

That's why, the moment he throws you out, you scramble to your feet and shove that damned door open before he can fully close it. You know you're in deeper shit when you hear the door slam against him, and the deep yelp that follows it. You run for your life into the confines of his house.

You quickly make way to one of the bathrooms, the only rooms in the house you're still able to lock from the inside. You knew even that meant nothing, since you're sure Ivan could and would break them down without a second thought. Yet, it was still your best shot.

You lock the bathroom door and sit on the flooring right next to it. You try to calm down your heartrate and your heaving so you could try and listen in on whatever was going on outside this room.

Eerie silence is what greets you. You hate it, hate it so much. Shuddering, you hold your breath and strain your ears just a little more.

And that's when you hear it.

Soft footsteps.

You have to bite back a scream from how much raw fear that little sound sends shooting through your nervous system. Makes your skin crawl so bad that it almost hurts.

Ivan's clearly not in any rush, but FUCK did you wish he'd just get it over with and sprint right at you. You're sure he knows where you are, he just likes to freak you out, you can tell. That sweet smile he always puts on is nothing short of sadistic, constantly has this look in his eyes, some kinda weird sparkle that tells you he enjoys watching you struggle beneath him. Knowing you'll be face to face with those very eyes shortly makes your ribs squeeze around your quaking lungs and heart.

The footsteps approach. You brace yourself for a rough kick to the door or a pipe slamming through it.

Instead, he knocks. This was wrong, what was happening? Oh, god, this was so much worse.

"I won't ask again."

Scrambling to the door, not even sparing any time to actually stand up, you open it. You wince when you strain your neck to look up and see the damage done to him by your outburst. A nasty, bloody bruise on the bridge of his tall nose and that same crimson liquid streaming down his nostril. Your chest shakes like a dying sparrow's.

"I-I'm sorry. Please."

And he smiles.

Ivan is actually, genuinely, extremely pleased right now. He's wanted this all along, for you to fear the outside world so much you'd do anything in the world to stay here, right by his side. He doesn't give a single shit about the injuries you've caused him now and in the past, he's strong, he can take it, and he'll always forgive you over and over again. Of course, it makes him annoyed, because what good housewife would beat their husband like that? But he understands that your circumstances aren't exactly normal, so he'll endure it with irritation. At the rate he's breaking you in, though, you'll soon be as pliant and obedient as he expects you to be. Perhaps you'll even start to love him back. Just the thought of it raises goosebumps on his porcelain skin and makes his hands tremble in excitement.

You don't understand why he's giggling right now.

He sighs your name, and crouches down to meet your stare. You flinch as a droplet of blood hits the tiles. Ivan's grin only widens when your shaking hands reach for his face and try to wipe the blood away.

"O-Oh, Ivan," You whine uselessly, getting up on boneless legs to grab the first-aid kit. He watches with bright, amused eyes. He knows you won't try anything anymore. He's confident in your compliance to him.

As carefully as you can, you wipe off the blood with paper towels, crying harder when it smears instead of going away completely like you'd hoped. It felt like your mistakes were going to be impossible to fix.

Ivan's cheery gaze never falters. Maybe this is the happiest you've ever seen him, despite the blood streaming into the gaps of his teeth and forming a grotesque image. Dusty eyelashes frame his smiley crescent moon eyes, cheeks ruddy as little alcohol-stained puffs of air pollute the cold atmosphere. You jolt when he chuckles throatily.

"What's wrong?" His voice is as sickly sweet as it always is.

"Y-You're mad– I made you mad. I'm sorry." You choke on your own words, trying your best not to drop the bottle of disinfectant in your weak hand.

"What did you do?"

"I–" You hiccup, "I d-didn't– I didn't listen to you. I wasn't good."

Unable to hide his pleasure, he laughs and leans in to give you a chaste, bloody kiss.

"It will be okay. I love you."

You're glad your crying masks the gag reflex that almost makes itself apparent when you know what you have to say next. You steel your nerves and dryly swallow the taste of Ivan's blood.

"I love– I love you too."

He gives you a pleased, closed-mouth smile, and presses a kiss to the top of your head before taking the bottle of disinfectant from you. He begins to tend to his own wounds.

"This does not mean I forgive you, though."

Just as you felt your whole world crashing down around you, Ivan saves you.

He breathes out a laugh, "No, I won't throw you outside again. It's much better staying inside with me, yes?"

You nod in a frenzy. "Yes! Y-Yes, much better. Please don't."

"Well," Ivan prefaces, disinfecting the cut on his nose before placing a bandaid on it. He turns his head to the side and spits out the blood left in his mouth. "You will have to tend to this wound. Kiss it better." And before you could even wonder what he meant by that, his tongue lolls out, brandishing the red bite mark from earlier.

Disgust registers for only a second.

Like an automaton made solely to serve, you lean forward, grasp onto his biceps, and press a needy, desperate kiss to his drooling tongue. He laughs while you lap at his tongue like a wounded dog, warm, alcoholic breaths brushing against your face.

After relishing in the feeling of your worship for a little longer, he gently pushes you to the ground and crawls over your jittery body, placing a hand against the small of your back to hold you up and closer to him, with the other gripping the outside of your thigh.

"You will not bite me this time?"

Nodding fearfully, praying the conviction in your eyes will be enough to warrant his forgiveness, you wrap your arms around his neck.

Sighing happily, he presses his cold lips against yours, taking the lead happily as he moans into the kiss. The sound was more out of the satisfaction of establishing his dominance rather than the actual physical pleasure.

Ivan doesn't usually indulge in sexual fantasies or acts, which surprises you considering how touchy the man is. His mind usually favors daydreams of a stable, domestic life with you. Ivan prioritizes establishing your relationship over anything else, so he doesn't really find the time to lull over menial things like sex. Marriage is one thing, but your total submission is another.

Then again, this doesn't mean that he fully doesn't have any carnal desires when it comes to you. It's you, for christ's sake. When his fantasies of dominance come into play, it seems only obvious that sometimes his thoughts wander into the bedroom.

Ivan fantasizes a lot about having you desire him as much as he does you. He wants you to need him like air. Wants to have you mewling his name and clinging to him like your life depended on it, which would quite literally be the case right now. Wants to see your pretty, pretty tears reserved only for him. Wants to see you fall apart in his arms over and over again while comforting you so meanly and kissing your crying face.

Ivan tries his best to not let these thoughts make themselves apparent, but fuck, do you make it so hard sometimes. How could any man not be affected by the sight of their adorable little housewife in an apron? Takes so much for him to not just grab you by your hair and bend you over the counter. Whenever you cry for whatever reason, he almost feels guilty over how instantly horny it makes him. Almost feels guilty when all he can think about is licking those tears off of your face and making himself the cause of them. God, he wants to play the role of a nice doting husband so bad, but he can't help but feel you up and breathe down your neck when you try on the dresses and lingerie he buys for you. He can't help grabbing your waist and pressing his erection against your ass– not on purpose, he just wanted to be close to you.

While aggressive in his approach, Ivan never forces any sexual acts that you refuse. Even if he's left high and breathing heavy, he still wants to be someone you don't completely hate. Be a good husband, be a good husband. He always chants to himself. All his prayers proved fruitful when he quite literally cried tears of joy during your first time together.

Ivan doesn't know what was different that day, he didn't expect anything, just to make out and have you reject him after a bit, but you just... kept going, until he was ramming into you, hands tight around your sweaty waist and fucking into you like you were just a fleshlight. He's never seen himself like this, moaning and gasping like a girl and feeling so fucking good that all that he wanted– all that he could think of was breeding you like a bull and how beautiful your family would be. God, the memory of you struggling, doing your best to take his thick cock and crying so cutely just trying to bottom out is engraved into the grooves of his brain. It makes his stomach feel all warm whenever he thinks of it. He wants to carve it under his eyelids so he can see it every time he blinks.

Ivan laughs a lot during sex, call him creepy, it's genuinely because he is just so damn happy that he can't hide it. Why should he hide it from you? He wants to show you just how much he loves you and how good you make him feel. You make him feel so damn happy and complete that all he could do was chant IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou– while whimpering, giggling, his tears dripping onto your face.

Maybe he'll get lucky again.

Without parting, Ivan carefully lowers your back to the tiled floor, straddling your body and snaking his long fingers under your blouse, resting them against your heated abdomen. He smiles into the kiss when you jolt away, tickled by how frigid they are.

The ends of his feathered gray hair tickles your wet face, your body shivering at all the different sensations attacking you simultaneously. The cold tiles, his freezing hands, his hot tongue, the faint taste of blood, the warm drool seeping out the side of your mouth, his arid breathing, the smell of alcohol–

Your hands, still by the back of his neck, reach up to ever-so-slightly tug at his hair to signal you needed a breather. Ivan makes a small noise of surprise, before pulling away.

He looks absolutely dazed, lips shiny with remnants of a spit trail, and lavender eyes heavy and glazed over with a feral lust. His breathing is labored, muscular chest rising and falling as he intently watches every minute expression your face makes. Despite the blatant lack of nudity, this might be the most erotic sight you've ever seen. Fuck, why does he have to look so good when you're supposed to hate him?

Right now, you were so exhausted you couldn't even remember what reason you'd have to hate him, despite there being enough that you could spend the rest of your life listing all of them down.

And just when you try to refuse by backing up, your thigh brushes against his boner and he lets out the most heated, breathy, shivery moan you've ever heard. The vocalization sounded like it was tailor-made to tantalize you, to tempt you into biting the fruit. And you know what? You were a sinner anyways.

"Bed– B-Bedroom."

A toothy grin appears on Ivan's face, and he exhales a breathy laugh. He looks absolutely delighted, and starved.

Without a second thought, he picks you up, and carries you to the closest one.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The next morning begins normally. Your body is sore, and covered in bite marks. That was one of the best sleeps you've had in recent memory. Ivan seems to think so, too, with his arms cradling your torso and a hand resting over your lower abdomen. The ache reminds you about what happened yesterday, you can still feel him in there somehow.

You woke up a little later in the morning compared to usual. Since you're still a little too exhausted to get up and begin cooking, you lay there for a while, listening to the quiet howling of the wind outside. You wonder when was the last time you heard any birds chirping.

Thinking of the outside world brings you a bit of dread, don't really like doing it. But when your life is so isolated and so alone, misery can become a form of entertainment.

The more and more days go by, the more and more do you forget what your life was like before meeting the Russian. The longer you live with Ivan, the more does it feel that he was just always there, and that your life before meeting him was a falsified memory. You're not even sure how much time has passed since, it's always snowing outside, every day feels the same.

That's the one thing you remember from before this life, the feeling of warmth. You're not sure you remember the feeling of it, really, but you're well aware of the absence it leaves behind. Maybe when spring finally comes around, you can open that door, and...

Eyebrows furrowing as a migraine starts to set in, you shake your head weakly. You didn't like thinking about the outside.

Turning over to face Ivan, you gently wake him up before you leave the bed– you learned that he doesn't like waking up to an empty bed without any prior notice. He eventually stirs from his sleep, hugs you, and you do not struggle.

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

[yournightmary]

SFW&NSFW Vi HCs

content warning:: it’s kinda a mix of modern!AU and not idk, fem!reader, smut obviously

AN:: I love muscle mommies

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She might look and act tough but don’t let her fool you. She’s such a silly goober. Okay, at first she might a little cold and distant and take a lot to warm up, but once she does she’s a sweetheart.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I think there might be a ‘you fell first but she fell harder’ situation. She isn’t really that into dating or looking for the love of her life, so when you first met she didn’t even think about getting with you.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ HATES when people help her. If someone does, she’s convinced that she owes them something.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ But she really likes to help other people. She likes to be the one that people owe something… and she just feels really stupid when she doesn’t help someone she totally could. (as people should)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Very self-conscious about her hands. Mostly about the scars and bruises that are on her knuckles, that’s why she wraps them up or covers them with chunky rings.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Hates fancy clothes. Doesn’t remember the last time she wore a normal bra.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ This girl doesn’t have any manners!! That’s the downside of growing up mostly around men. And the Lanes.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Her favorite way to spend free time (besides working out) is watching stupid reality tv. You know, the shows that you can just put on in the background and turn off your brain.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I’m taking this from the trailer- if she’s having a really shitty day she’ll take it out on a punching bag, but sometimes that makes her feel even worse so she ends up hugging it instead.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She’s really touch starved but she doesn’t know how to ask for affection. She’ll just silently sneak up on you and hug you from behind or spoon you once you’re already asleep.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ You might think she doesn’t know how to do makeup but she does the best smokey eyes in the world!!! Also has the prettiest natural lashes you have ever seen.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Loves to just lay down and relax. After being on edge her whole life the short moment she can chill with you before sleeping is like literal heaven.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She could cry every time she gets a gift. Even if it’s something small or something that won’t last- like food or flowers- it just makes her eyes water.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Her favorite thing to lay down on is your lap. She’s such a thigh girl omg. I mean, she loves every single part of your body, but thighs… oh man.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Lord have mercy, she’s obsessed with them. Her hand is big enough to grab almost your whole thigh. She loves to kiss them, bite them, grope them- anything and everything.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Her favorite thing to do is using her fingers on you but god fucking damn it- it takes her so long to start. She has to unwrap her bandages, take off all of her rings, wash her hands. That’s like at least 5 minutes.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She genuinely likes the taste of pussy. Maybe it’s because she spent half of her life in prison eating slop, but she’d eat you out over any food.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I believe in happy trails on girls supremacy. So hot :3

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She not only has insane strength, her stamina is the same. She’ll go at it the whole day and night.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I can’t decide whether she’d hook up with people often or be an inexperienced virgin. Because on one hand if she wants to get laid, she’ll get laid but on the other- maybe she thinks it’s too intimate to do with some random person?? idk

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Loves to finger you in front of a mirror (she just wants to see her own muscles)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Riding her abs or toned thighs… somebody help me.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Honestly, I don’t think she likes to receive that much. I mean- obviously she likes it, but she’d just rather give.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She’s so embarrassed by her own moans omg. She loves to hear them from you, but when it comes to herself? No way. Maybe a groan or two, but nothing more.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She would never hurt you during sex. It’s such a major turn off for her. She saw and caused too much violence in her life to find it arousing.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Apologies to my scissor sisters, but she will strap you down. Especially from behind- she just loves your ass too much.

my obsession came back

[strange-aeons]

hi strange i’ve been enjoying yr videos for about four years thank u for giving me giggles for so long. however i am writing as i am not totally sure who else to ask…

my boyfriend had a traumatic pneumothorax last week and about 80% of his right lung collapsed. i don’t really know anything about pneumothorax (although i have learned so much recently lol) aside from hearing you mention it and as such i don’t know how to help him :(

i know it’s a shot in the dark but i was wondering if there are any comforts or ways to alleviate pain you could share? thank you so much strange you are super tough btw to have gone through this several times this Sucks big time

many good wishes to you and your sweet hairless babies in the new year!

If it happened one week ago he’s already gotten through the worst part! I’m assuming he’s still hospitalized with a chest tube in right now??

When I was in that situation it helped a lot having frequent visits from my partner and family. Especially when they brought snacks!!!!!! Hospital meals can be borderline inedible and there’s no way of escaping to the food court when you have a chest tube in (unless you plan to deceive multiple nurses and risk life threatening infection through the OPEN HOLE IN YOUR CHEST. Don’t do that).

Good food can be a relief in an otherwise horrible time, so finding out what he really wants to eat and brining it will definitely help. If he has no appetite then things like smoothies or drinkable soup can be very helpful. I often live off booster juice and Tim Hortona chicken noodle soup when hospitalized.

Finding the right media to keep sane is also very important!!! Your sleep schedule disintegrates entirely when laying on your back full of tube for multiple days. 2AM listening to alarms go off and 6AM getting woken up for x-rays and 1pm having the lunch slop delivered and 3pm being woken up for x-rays and 9pm visit from your surgeon all become basically indistinguishable, especially if you have no windows. Podcasts were ideal for me because it can be very hard to find a comfortable position with a chest tube / pneumothorax and looking at a screen was often too much of a hassle. Queer as fact and fall of civilizations are both excellent if you want non fiction btw. Old gods of Appalachia or welcome to nightvale if you want fiction.

There’s not a lot that you as a loved one can do about his physical pain, but I will share some of my pneumothorax expertise with you and anyone else who might go through this.

There’s no nerve endings in the lungs so all the pain/ discomfort related to a pneumothorax has to do with pressure in the chest cavity.

The pain is the absolute worst when your lung is actively collapsing so when that feeling starts SHOVE SOME EXTRA STRENGTH ADVIL OR TYLENOL DOWN YOUR THROAT, then lay down and wait for it to finish collapsing. It may seem tempting to rush to the hospital as fast as possible (or rush your loved one who’s lung is collapsing to the hospital) but trust me the last thing you want to do with a lung that is actively deflating like a sad balloon is exert yourself (this is how I collapsed my lung the full 100% and could not move my upper body for an hour. Quirky). Give it at least 30 minutes of floor time before you try to move. You will have a way better time getting to the hospital.

Wait sorry I lied lung re-inflation hurts sometimes more than the initial collapse. The sometimes are the times when ER nurses do not know how to do it properly. Immediately after they put the chest tube in, they attach it to a suction machine to suck out the excess air in your chest cavity. I do not know if these machines are the same internationally (I’m Canadian) but if you’re dealing with one where the settings are percentages, the one you want is 20% suction. NOT 100%!!! that just causes unnecessary excruciating pain without being more effective. I have had to fight numerous nurses while in the worst pain of my life to TURN THE PAIN MACHINE DOWN. fuck the pain machine. Anyway. After the pain machine they leave the tube in for a few more days to make sure the lung stays inflated. Nearing the end of that process, most of the discomfort is caused by the tube itself, so as horrible disgusting the worst getting that thing ripped out is, just know you will feel so much better after.

Throughout the healing process (and in the case of small pneumothoraxes not requiring chest tubes — I’ve had over 10 of those ones) I’ve noticed that heightened discomfort lasting a few minutes results from going from laying down to standing up or vice verse, or from bending over. This is why I have pioneered the sophisticated technique know as the pneumothorax squat. It is just as cool and hot as you’re imagining.

This post was supposed to be about how to support a loved one with a pneumothorax what the heck am I even talking about now.

Most of what he’s going to need will seem boring or insignificant. Companionship. Food. Medication. Toiletries. COMPANIONSHIP. podcast recommendations. But it absolutely is not insignificant. Abruptly losing mobility, independence, and bodily autonomy as a young person is really fucked up and I cannot fathom doing it without my family and my partner, even if most days that consisted of talking to me and bringing me smoothies and underwear.

Wishing a quick recovery to your boyfriend! Good luck with everything!!

[evilvillain123456789]

i woke up one afternoon to discover my body was transformed into that of a pig. though it was shocking, my family loved me despite this, and fed me lots of yummy slop. I lost pieces of my humanity with every day that passed, and I began to lose my sense of shame as well. This resulted in me often shitting where I stood, and blatantly going into erstrus when the time came. My parents, still believing me to be a real person, and not swine, were disgusted, and ashamed, and scolded me any time I "misbehaved". Until the day came along, one day, when my mother looked deep into my eyes and could not find a single trace of the human soul within them. I saw her turn around to the other room and heard her sobbing, though it elicited no response from me. Heartbroken, she had a conference with the rest of my family, and they decided to spare themselves the pain of having to look at me, and sell me to the Farmer as a meat pig. I went with him peacefully, aware of my fate, but not caring. The farmer did not know that I used to be human, so after I became fit to slaughter, maybe even substantially larger beyond that, he did so without ceremony. I was butchered as part of a special order, with my entire carcass shaved and washed, organs washed and placed back within, and sold to one man, who paid a hefty price. He brought me to his house after a long time spent in a, somewhat dingy ice chest in the back of his pickup truck, dragged inside, and cooked me in a large oven. My meat looked tender on the inside, yet was perfectly browned and crisp on the outside. Potatos and other starchy vegetables were cooked in the same pan, with a good amount of butter, as my body, the fat that was rendered and dripped off of me treating them well. When I was done cooking, instead of dressing me up, and putting me on a table, he put me and the cooking dish on the floor. This made me curious. I figured that he would be eating me, or a group of people, but thinking back on it, I heard no other humans than him this whole time, nor any footsteps. He whistled and called, and after some time an extremely large pig slowly slid itself along the floor into view. When it reached me, it didnt hesitate to begin eating as fast as it could. The man looked on. After about 15 minutes, the other pig had eaten all of me, even my bones, the vegetables, and drank all the remaining fluids from the pan, and my conscious had reawoken inside of its mind, all my memories intact, seeing things from its perspective, though I couldnt control its actions, and it's inner thoughts weren't aware of my presence. I felt my share of the pleasure that comes from eating ones own kind, and the pig sluggishly both in speed and manner made its way back to its pen, and fell asleep. I did too

[baguettesandbows]

3

tw!! talk of sa

I know Arkham Knight happened in one night, but i’m spreading it out slightly for the sake of the story.

You suddenly understood why every woman in Arkham looked numb.

As you walked out of Jefferson’s office, you didn’t flinch at the yelling from the office next door, as you usually would. You walked past the group of patients that would make obscene comments about you.

You found yourself in your room, staring blankly at the white peeling wall.

You wanted Jason. You wanted him to find you, to find out what happened. You wanted him to hurt Jefferson, the same way you’ve watched him in his Robin suit hurt men that have touched you.

You grab your pillow, and scream into it, possibly annoying other patients but you didn’t care. All you wanted was for it to get out.

The small visiting room seemed smaller when Dick Grayson was in it.

You looked at the crayons on the table, breaking them in half as Dick spoke to you.

“He’s being investigated.” Dick says quietly, choosing not to sit on the only couch, not wanting to intrude. “But with the luck people have had with Arkhams staff..”

Dick sighs and leans back against the wall, looking at you. “Until he’s gone, we’ve had them switch out your psychiatrist.”

His words make you look up.

“You mean- this wasn’t enough to get me out of here?” You say stiffly, your hands trembling around the broken crayons. “So what, your just going to trust another fucked up staff member? He fucking assaulted me Dick!” Your voice gets higher throughout the sentence.

“We didn’t know an assistant was taking over, Reader. They didn’t tell anything to us about it. We would have- we would have investigated him before he ever came close to talking to you.”

You snort. “Like that makes a difference for me to know that?”

Dicks fists clench. You knew he wasn’t angry at you, he was angry at himself. Mostly Bruce, who hasn’t spoken to you once since he put you in Arkham. Although, you know he’s still a part of it, as you get sent gift baskets from Alfred weekly.

“This.. this is the best place for you right now.” Dick says, exhaustion seeping into his words. He doesn’t sound like he believes it, either.

“I hate you.” You whisper harshly, rubbing the crayons against the table.

“I know.”

The first sign you realized something was wrong, was when security lessened in Arkham.

Staff members were getting fired left and right. You assume it was Bruce, finally taking charge of Arkham and firing all of the twisted staff.

You walked down one of the catwalks, walking down the stairs to look at the lunch tables, driving where to sit, when you heard the television.

“Man charged with biting someone-“ Normal. “In a laundry unit after victim heard him screaming at himself.”

Zombie apocalypse? Gothams probably already had one.

You shake your head and walk over to one of the corner tables, sliding into the seat and setting your tray on the table. A woman sits down across from you, but pays no attention as she keeps to herself.

You stuff the slop into your mouth, because as much as you hated the food, you wanted to look like yourself when Jason came back.

If.

When.

Fuck.

You slam the tray of slop, on the edge of the table, making it fly off the table and onto the ground. The woman’s cross from you flinches but doesn’t react.

You can’t believe that your losing the idea that Jason’s alive. Maybe Jefferson fucked you up more than you thought.

“Oh shit- look how fucked up the guy looks!”

Your gaze moves to the television, where they show the victim of the biting man. Your eyebrows furrow are the image. *Is that allowed on the news*?

“Fuck- imagine being known as the guy who bit someone.”

“Carol, you used to eat your victims hair.”

You scrunch your nose and focus on the television instead of the patients conversations.

The second time you realized something was different, was when they shut off the news in the rec rooms.

You checked with the male block, and one had informed you that theirs was shut off too.

Gothams news was something people were used to. What was so horrific, that they wouldn’t show Arkhams patients?

With the lessening staff, you noticed more and more fights break out. It felt different than the years you’ve been here. There wasn’t the threat of a nurse with a syringe behind you at every problem.

You’ve started tying your doorknob to your bed frame just in case.

At night, you felt your bed frame jiggling. You bolted upright to see your neighbor trying to open the door, and you quickly walked over.

Visiting has gotten usual with her, since her guard had gotten fired.

You let her in before shutting the door behind her, and turn to face her. “What?”

She, Anna, looks at you with a grin. “They’ve given him a name.”

You look at her weirdly before walking over to your bed and sitting down. “Who?”

“The guy whose been dropping fear gas everywhere. Didn’t you hear Steph talking about it?”

Steph- a patient whose boyfriend works as a journalist.

“No- I barely talk to her.” You mumble, watching as Anna walks over to your dresser and grabs a baked good from the gift basket. “So a guy has been behind these weird attacks?”

Anna nods, her lips pursed together as she chooses form your stash. “Apparently no one can find anything out about him. Only knows he’s working with Scarecrow. Do you like these?” She holds up a blueberry muffin and you wave her off to take it. “So he like- calls himself the Arkham Knight. Or at least, that’s what Stephs boyfriend said.”

You snort. “Wonder who he’s after.”

Anna nods, raising her eyebrows sarcastically. “Yet he’s the first villain to name himself after Batman. If I had the money to become a high class villain, that would’ve been my first idea.”

You watch as she bites into one of the muffins. “No one’s as smart as you, Anna.” You say, sarcastically, but she doesn’t ever notice that.

You look at the barred window in your room, and get up, walking over to it. Only the tips of your fingertips can reach it, so all your able to see is the top of a tree growing next to Arkham.

“Arkham Knight.” You mumble to yourself. “Let’s hope your different than the others.”

[elodieunderglass]

Hi Elodie, I'm sorry to bother you but I figured you might be able to help! I've recently come into possession of a garden in southern England, and would like to plant things to attract butterflies. Do you have any suggestions, please?

That's a lovely thing, congratulations on your garden! I'm so pleased for you.

And what a timely question! Here in the UK, the yearly Big Butterfly Count is about to start. It's a great citizen science project that's super easy to take part in - especially this year, when the UK is in a state of butterfly emergency! You just download an app, stay still in one place for 15 minutes (quite a nice thing to do) and record how many butterflies you see. "no butterflies" is a perfectly good answer, since the data is compiled against previous years!

It's brilliant that you started by naming where you are. Thank you so much for that! It's super common in plantcraft circles for everyone to assume the same priorities and geography, meaning that that most posts about ecological gardening - questions, answers and discourse - are just slop. repetitive slop. slop that causes you to learn less about plants. Let us proceed behind the cut in an attitude of NO SLOP.

There are a lot of angles to approach the question, and an entire universe to discover in each answer. For example, if you just want to plonk down a plant and get INSTANT BUTTERFLIES to watch, then you might want butterfly bush (Buddleja davidii.) This strong-smelling plant grows VERY quickly, requires little care (although it requires reasonable maintenance) has a huge amount of nectar, and summons butterflies from all over for you to watch.

However, it's a species that isn't native to the UK. It behaves invasively - buddleja will try to grow in roof tiles; carparks and unused spaces are rapidly colonised by buddleja. It grows VERY quickly, and if you plant a bush from a garden centre, you will need to cut it back every year. It will fill about 1 green bin per year by itself, so you'll need waste disposal.

Buddleja is a great plant to talk about for revealing priorities, politics, and the reliability/unreliability of information. Buddleja, as a plant, challenges you: what are you really asking when you ask the question? what are people really telling you? You will get 1000 answers from 1000 "plant influencers."

The point about "not being native" unpacks again in so many ways. On the one hand, it's a very rich source of nectar, and probably the best and easiest way to see butterflies in your garden. On the other, isn't everyone always saying native is better somewhere? The logic of immigration and invasion and indigeneity hovers like a butterfly above Buddleja, but here's why it might matter in your case: not being "native" means that caterpillars native to the UK don't really eat it.

Nectar is pretty much just nectar, albeit with higher or lower nutritive values, and butterflies will happily nurse on ANY old nectar - butterflies will drink blood, butterflies don't care - but butterflies care about where they lay their eggs, and caterpillars are surprisingly picky about what leaves they'll munch. And you can't have butterflies without caterpillars. But - because it is an easy and effective plant that will present you with the sight of butterflies - you'll hear a lot of recommendations for buddleja. So that's an example of where you can get LOST IN THE SAUCE with this question! (I personally hate buddleja - I seem to be allergic to it - and I destroyed the one that came with our house. I don't like how blowsy it is, and how you have to constantly dispose of its stupid deadweight in biomass that you don't even WANT.)

So we can start with some food plants for caterpillars. Of these, the thorns might be problematic depending on your garden, but holly might be a nice thing Vigorous and violently prickly, but if you cut it back in winter you can use the cuttings to make a wreath. Of the other plants, honesty (lunaria annua) is not bad in a garden. Nasturtiums are super easy to grow, and you might enjoy ivy as a deliberate garden feature somewhere.

Interestingly, there's evidence that Painted Lady caterpillars will eat artichoke leaves (artichokes are thistles), and artichokes are a perennial in the UK - a really interesting statement in a border, a beautiful plant, not as abrasive as wild thistle, produces SPLENDID flowers that butterflies and bees love, and you can eat the flowerbuds with butter. A tall, striking plant with broad silvery-green leaves, it's perfectly ornamental.

So that's my suggestion of Globe Artichoke. What a great guy. So many uses. Nobody's doing it like Globe Artichoke.

You could keep some (potted) mint, or plant some oregano in your herb garden, to support the Mint Moth (not a butterfly, but a local cutie).

Then we can move on to flowers. The top-tier methodology is to look at flowers ACROSS TIME - not just things that flower all at once, but a garden that consistently feeds throughout the growing year.

In general, it's lucky - flowers that smell and look nice in a garden are often butterfly-friendly. We're looking for things that are pleasant in a garden and ideally serve multiple purposes. Honesty and ivy appear again here, adding weight to those suggestions. Rosemary and thyme join your herb garden, and there's a lot of support for thistles - and its sibling Cardoon - solidifying the idea of Globe Artichoke. Lavender is always super welcome, and with its strong scent, does a lot to attract visitors from far away, who can then stick around to see what other food you're offering.

Butterflies like warmth and heat (as do most of their plants). So that's lucky.

That's where most people stop, but just randomly naming plants isn't very helpful, is it? Here are some garden features you might want to develop in the future.

an apple tree, with muscari and daffodil bulbs planted at the base.

a garden arch twined with ivy or roses, used to separate spaces of the garden into "rooms." (Don't encourage ivy or roses to grow onto anything architectural!)

a buddleja, if you think it's pretty and you'd like to have one!

a kitchen herb garden for your use in cooking, with rosemary, thyme, oregano and lavender. Mint nearby, confined in a pot.

a "wild patch" that you don't need to access, where you allow things like teasels to grow. You don't need to allow this if you don't want to, or if you need to use all of your garden. Teasels, when dried, are nice for flower arranging, or you can give the heads to a fibercrafter friend as a little trinket.

A typical English cottage garden border with tall perennial cottage plants at the back and small plants at the front, with tall plants including globe artichoke and verbena/purpletop vervain at the back.

A demonstration of mastery of the English cottage garden - a true testament to the craft of the gardener - is that it should have flowers and multipurpose plants giving "a show" from March to November. There should be colour, shape, and form firing off - exactly like a timed fireworks display - throughout the entire growing year. You can visit National Trust gardens to see various examples of this being practiced.

In general, the public haven't developed the eye for looking at a garden bed - they just see Lumps of Flowers in a park and presume it always looks like that - but there's a whole art/science/craft/hobby to it. The Cottage Garden should be fairly low-maintenance, have colour throughout the year, and each plant should serve multiple purposes (i.e., scent+colour, flower+food plant, butterfly food + caterpillar food, flower you can cut for a quick bouquet to gift someone.)

Bear in mind that it's generally recommended by Wise People not to to anything "big" with new property until you've observed it for a year. If it's a bare space, then by all means, chuck stuff in - but if it's already a fairly functional garden, there might be timed displays you haven't seen and surprises that you haven't uncovered yet, so don't feel like you have to do everything this year, or anything that you don't want to do.

Welcome to the area and thanks for writing to me! I wish you the best of luck.

[bluemantics]

JULANCE DAY 1: GARRISON

“Oh, Lance, you look so tired! And pale. Are you getting time outside, or do they hide you in metal rooms away from the light? You need sun, and rest!”

“Ma—“

“We have paid for you to go to a fancy pilot school! They should be treating you better. I’ll talk to the teachers.”

“I got scholarship—“

“They better not be feeding you slop!”

“Mama, stop!”

A pause settled over the small dorm room, finally giving Lance space to breathe. He sighed, letting his back slope and blinking back the exhaustion that threatened to consume his whole body. Overhead, LED lighting washed out his skin, the effect only enhanced by the shitty camera on his tablet. He leaned back in his desk chair after a moment, embarrassed to have snapped.

“I’m sorry,” he began, apologetically looking away from Maria McClain’s expectant face hovering onscreen. I’m having a great time, Mama.”

The words tasted like a lie.

“Good. I just worry because I love you,” she reminded him, her smile lines tugging into a slight frown. God, Lance hated to see that expression on her face. He mustered up his best plastered-on smile for her benefit.

“Seriously! I’m eating great food. Lots of friends, but it’s only week one, so who knows what’ll happen? And I’m learning loads. Don’t worry about me, okay?”

“Okay,” his mom relented, voice quieter. “I miss you. Please call again soon, we all would like it.”

“Even Rachel?” Lance teased.

“Especially Rachel,” she laughed. “Te quiero mucho, hijo.”

“Te quiero,” Lance replied, leaping to end the call. Finally met with a blank, dark screen, he threw his head back and groaned.

A face appeared over his, blinking down at him curiously.

“Gah!” Lance reeled forward in shock, which was a mistake, as it led to him banging his forehead against the other boy’s.

“Ow!” They both shouted in unison. Scrunching his face, Lance rubbed at his forehead and glared at the offender. “Hunk, what are you doing?”

“Sorry, sorry!” Hunk blurted, his lip trembling as he gingerly poked at what would likely become a bruise. “I was just listening— well, that sounds creepy, I’m not a stalker! I promise! It’s hard to believe me ‘cause we’ve only known each other a week, I bet. Just, y’know, I could hear from my bed and I get how it is when moms worry— I have two of them, they worry lots. And I was just wondering why, if you don’t mind—“

“Spit it out, man!” Lance huffed, crossing his arms. Honestly, he hadn’t talked to his roommate, Hunk Garrett, much since they’d started at the Garrison. He hadn’t talked to anyone, really.

It had only been a single week since classes began and Lance had moved into the dorms. In that time, he’d tried his best to make a few connections. Even though they all started at the same time, Lance felt like everyone already had a clique. No one was outright rude to him, save James Griffin (who had actually turned around when Lance introduced himself). Still, he’d been unable to get past a simple “where are you from?”

Anxiety held Lance tight in its clutches without a person to lean on. He hadn’t even had the chance to get to know Hunk because of their alternate orientation schedules, separated by engineer and pilot classes. After the first three days of constantly being kept busy, it just became too awkward for Lance to feel like reintroducing himself. He wasn’t new to sharing a space, but it definitely seemed like Hunk was nervous about it, with the way he ran to the bathrooms to change.

Lance decided he wouldn’t judge Hunk, despite the odd behavior. The Garrison was nothing like the comforts of home, and everything felt strange. Maybe he was an only child.

Now, though, after a week of quietly shuffling around each other, this interruption was very, very strange.

“Why did you lie to your mom?”

Lance blinked at his roommate. He wasn’t expecting that question. “I didn’t lie.”

“You did, though,” Hunk pressed, shifting his weight and looking away from Lance. He twisted his hands. “You said you have a lot of friends.”

“Okay, wow, that’s rude.” Lance blinked, taken off guard.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Hunk quickly changed course. “I’m in the same boat! I… just saw you sitting alone at lunch today. I didn’t realize we have the same lunch, and, um, I’m really, really sick of eating alone.”

A pang struck through Lance’s chest. He connected deeply to that sentiment, even if he was ashamed to be caught in his lies. “Oh, uh, okay.”

“Look, my moms are freaked out about this school. I had to twist arms to get here. I really, really don’t want them to get even more upset if they figure out I’m eating alone,” he rambled, now looking at Lance directly. “We could eat together? Maybe? You could also tell your mom.”

“Yeah! Yeah, okay,” Lance tried to cover up his eagerness, crossing his arms and attempting a nonplussed facade. “Sounds… cool.”

“Cool!” Hunk beamed, sticking out his hand. “Shake on it?”

“You’re funny, Hunk,” Lance decided, shaking his hand with a small, lopsided smile. “It’s a deal.”

Hunk’s hand fit warmly around Lance’s, and something clicked.

“So.” Hunk beamed while he fidgeted with the hem of his uniform. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Garlic knots.”

“Oh, man! We’re totally gonna be friends.”

“Because of garlic knots?”

“Absolutely because of garlic knots.”

The next night, when they had garlic and oil smeared across their hands under the harsh lights in the restricted kitchens, Lance discovered that Hunk was right, and maybe always would be.

[kamosaki]

Same Moon

Pairing: Levi x Civilian!Reader

Summary: You always wait for him to come home no matter how late it gets

Warnings: Making out, fingering, aftercare

It was late, later than usual but you knew he would come regardless. He always came to you when he returned. You provided him with a sense of normality he had never known before. That's why after all these years no matter the circumstances he still manages to come see you. Suddenly a firm, familiar knock pulls you from your thoughts.

You run a hand over your hair and dress before going to the door. He's told you time and time again your appearance isn't what he visits for but you still like to put in some effort. "Who is it?" you jokingly call out. He lets out a small laugh before replying. "You know who it is, brat."

The nickname brings a smile to your face as you open the door. You practically drag him over the threshold once your eyes meet his. Those bright blue eyes you've become so familiar with. His arms wrap around your waist and his head finds its spot in your neck.

You bring your hand up to run through his hair, it's longer than you remember, maybe he'll ask you to cut it again. His grip tightens for a moment before he pulls back. "You hungry? I made your favorite". He smiles "I could eat."

What he really wants to say is he's starving. The slop they give the scouts is nothing compared to your cooking but he doesn't want you worrying. You hurry off to the kitchen where theres plates and food on the stove. He sits in the seat he always does, admiring you as you mess about.

You set his plate down in front of him and you can tell he's fighting himself not to dig in but he refuses to eat before you. Once you've sat down and taken your first bite is when he starts eating. "What have I missed?" You always love to tell Levi about the happenings of when he's gone.

Whether it's gossip about the neighbors or a cute cat you saw walking down the street, he wants to hear it all. You never ask him about work, if he wants to talk about it he can but you leave that up to him. "You'll never guess who I saw at the market the other day." Your enthusiasm makes him laugh but you were right the story you had to share with him was shocking.

Everything you did interested him. He was completely transfixed by you. He was in love with you, it took him a while to come to terms with that but when he did he made sure that every time you two were together you could feel it.

From the small glances he gives when he knows you're not looking to the gentle tone he only uses when speaking to you to the way he cares for you during and after intimate moments. All of these actions are ways he displays his love and you graciously accept them, knowing how hard the concept of love can be for him.

After dinner, Levi washes up while you wait for him in bed. You admire the moon that shines through your window, illuminating your bedroom. It's hard to believe that it's the same moon you and Levi look at every night. While you're nestled under your covers protected by the walls, he lays in an uncomfortable makeshift camp outside the gates and directly in danger.

Still, regardless of the two vastly different lives the two of you have during the day, at night you're able to feel a sense of closeness knowing that you both share the same moon. "You're not already asleep, are you?" You feel his arms wrap around your waist and pull you back against his chest.

"I can't go to sleep before you pay me back for that dinner you just devoured." He laughs into your neck. I wouldn't say I devoured it." You shake your head at his reply. "Really because I could've swore it was you that ate three plates." He pauses, you can tell he's trying to find some sarcastic remark to answer you with.

"I think you were sleeping just now because I'm pretty sure that was a dream you had." You turn your head to look at him. "Wha-" He cuts you off with a sweet kiss. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself." He continues kissing you down the side of your neck. A tiny whimper escapes you when he kisses your sweet spot.

He loves listening to you talk but something about the noises you make when he's pleasuring you really drive him crazy. His hand slides up your thigh and underneath your night gown. "Can I?" You don't hesitate to provide him with a "Yes."

He watches your expression shift into one of pleasure as he begins to rub slow circles on your clit. Your eyes flutter closed and your lips part slightly. His other hand wraps around your neck and pulls your head back. He reconnects your lips while you feel him prodding at your entrance.

You lightly gasp once you feel him slip inside. He pauses before continuing. "You okay?" You nod and meekly reply "Mhm." He begins to slowly move back and forth, creating a gentle rhythm that has you wanting more. Slowly he eases another finger inside which provides the perfect stretch.

He uses his thumb to stimulate your clit while he picks up the pace. You feel him hit the spot inside you that only he knows how to. Your back arches off the bed and you let out a loud moan. "Right there, baby?" You can't reply as you throw your head back and grip onto Levi's arm.

The way you clench around his fingers tells him that you're close. He maintains his pace and reconnects your lips once more. This time the kiss is much more passionate. His tongue laps at yours as you cry out from the pleasure he's giving you. Then suddenly, it hits you.

You bring your legs together trying to dull the stimulation as you cum around his fingers. He slowly stops his movements, letting you ride out your orgasm. Soon he removes his fingers and lets you come down from your high while he grabs a towel to clean you up.

He's gentle, knowing that you're sensitive after you cum. You feel him press a kiss to the top of your thigh before pulling your nightgown back down and lying down beside you. He lays on his back while you have your head on his chest. Your hand begins to trail down to his waistband but he stops you.

You still struggle to believe you have a partner thats so selfless. He'd do a million things for you and still expect nothing in return. "I love you." you say into his chest not expecting him to answer you. "Love you too, brat." For a moment it felt like your heart stopped.

It's rare when he actually says that he loves you. You know he does so it really doesn't bother you but still when he does say it it's like hearing it for the first time all over again. Not wanting to ruin the moment you don't say anything and simply pull yourself closer against him as the two of you drift off to sleep.

A/n: First aot post!! I js had to do Levi<3

Check out more of my stuff here!! :p

[mina-org]

Messy concept

This is pure smut no plot just like smut, like a most to least messy I guess, Taskforce 141, Alejandro, rudy, Valeria n graves. Fem reader and it’s smut there’s mention of kinks and stuff

I think gaz and johnny are both messy, so messy.

୨୧ Gaz is over eager, all pent up from being away and his hand just isn’t enough:( slopping kisses and desperate dry humping as soon as he gets home, he’s stumbling over to the couch with your legs wrapped around his waist, he can feel heat radiating from your core, so close but so far:( he also loves seeing your pretty face covered a facial, oh so faithfully delivered to you by him.

୨୧ This post changed my life. Being messy is apart of Johnnys character for me like in every area of life he’s chaotic and messy, he’s truly out here playing games while the two of you make out, and it’s not just kisses. This man is not afraid to ride the red wave and when he eats you? If his beard isn’t saturated with your juices he’s not stopping. He’s adores seeing how far he can push you, obsessed with finding ways to make you squirt. Overstim king for real

୨୧ Valeria redefines cruelty. She wants to push and push and push until you break and gets to do it all over again! Those fuck machines? She has one and she’ll set you up and have you live stream it for her if she’s not able to watch in person. Not necessarily messy but she loves seeing you squirt but of course will reprimand you for it because you didn’t use your words:(

୨୧ Now Alejandro? Alejandro messy Vargas? Another man who’s ideal tonight in is seeing how many times he make make you come. Alejandro loves mess, happy to get messy with you. Your oh so gentle hands pumping him, so nice after a mission left him alone with his rough calloused hands. He’ll come fast after being deployed for a while, his own essence landed on his torso but he knows his pretty girl will clean him up so nicely, won’t you? And you know Alejandro will do the same, he loves cleaning up that pretty pussy, slowly licking up your combined juices

୨୧ Graves is messy, all the photos you send him while he’s away? Ruined, he says water damaged but the white stains from his and his top shadow says otherwise. I think he loves sharing, treating his men after they did well on a mission and his pretty girl is the perfect treat, but he’s the only one who’s allowed in that pretty pussy.

Price and rudy are less messy I think, but they’d always indulge you<3

୨୧ With simon? Really depends if you’ve been good or bad. If you been needy all day? He’ll make you beg. If you don’t beg? He’s getting messy and degrading you, it’s a choose your own adventure! Simon does loves seeing you on your knees, all teary eyes and pouty lips, and of course precum at smeared across your cheek.

୨୧ Rudy’s sweet and so slow it’s almost tournament but so perfect. I think he’s a big fan of mutual masturbation but he always begs to finish inside.

୨୧ Price isn’t messy, he’s coming deep inside that pretty pussy and fucking it back in there, you’re gonna give him pretty babies won’t you?

[runa-falls]

the baby-making protocol - 2

pairing: mickey barnes (17) x afab!reader

cw: mentions of human experimentation (ofc), short mention of vomit + sickness, suggestive thoughts, a spark of emotional connection, mickey being cute again :), not beta-read

wc: ~1.6k

note: slow updates btw (lol)

---

Mickey didn’t make it to the new room with you. 

Halfway through your journey, he collapsed in the hallway and puked up the small pieces of artificial meat he had at dinner along with the usual slop he had earlier in the day.

At first, he tried to downplay it:

“O-oh…” Mickey looks down at the mess he made, face flushed, “Um, my bad. I must’ve gotten too worked up after eating or something.” His eyes are bleary, his hands are shaking, and his jaw is tense like he’s fighting back pain. You can already tell that this is more than just food poisoning. 

“...Mickey, what did they feed you?” 

You attempt to approach him, but he quickly stops you.

 “No, I’m okay,” He struggles to prop himself up, “y-you don’t have to come any closer.” 

“Let me help.”

“I-it’s–” 

He starts convulsing.

And as any sane person would – You start freaking the fuck out. 

In the end, someone from the lab was alerted about his reaction and came to collect him. Apparently, it was a test to see how safe a new type of imitation meat was. 

And you watched defeatedly as he was dragged away like a piece of livestock.

—

The room they assigned to you both is only slightly larger than the single room you had before. Instead of a double bed, a queen-sized mattress is awkwardly wedged into the corner, resting on a metal frame that also serves as storage – you suspect they included it because there's still barely enough room for one person's belongings.

The room sticks to the same monotonous blue-grey palette that you’re used to – accented by metal piping carelessly painted over, jutting from the walls in a way that seems almost hazardous. It really leans into that “landlord special” aesthetic that nobody asked for. 

The usual exposed wiring that hangs over every dwelling is visible here too, snaking across the ceiling from all sides. Now that you think about it, you’ve never figured out exactly what the wires are connected to…for all you know, they could just be there for decoration. It’s truly remarkable how far Marshall goes to offer his crew nothing more than the bare minimum.

On the multi-purpose table sat a sheet of instructions, a vase of plastic flowers, and a fake candle boldly emblazoned with the words, “Happy Baby-Making!” – If this was their idea of setting a romantic mood, you have serious doubts about the success of this mission. 

You scoff at the vibrant petals of the fake roses, running a finger over the fraying polyester threads that stick out from them. These are going straight into the incinerator after tonight. 

You turn your attention to the sheet of paper, curious why they bothered to print out the instructions when a digital memo had already been sent. 

The instructions were fairly straightforward: 

Get to know your partner: Ask simple questions like “What’s your favorite color?” or “How old are you?” to build a connection. 

Practice proper baby-making etiquette: No protection allowed—make sure to fulfill your duty at least once a day. 

Stick to your assigned partner: This isn’t a free-for-all; we’re building a sacred community, not a random collection of individuals. 

Attend all scheduled appointments: No skipping! 

Most importantly, have fun!

At the bottom of the instructions are some suggested sex positions – some of which you’ve never seen before and, frankly, don’t believe are anatomically possible. You can’t help but laugh at the exaggerated stick-figure genitalia that distinguishes the man and the woman as they fuck ‘for the sake of humanity.’ 

There's one called “Straddle the Laptop” (essentially just cowgirl — but since it takes place on a desk, they’ve thrown in some tech-inspired terminology for flair), that sparks your interest. Not only does it require the man to be at the bottom, helpless to the ministrations of the person on top, but also forces the couple to look into each other's eyes. 

You could just imagine the way Mickey would fall apart for you, staring at you in awe with those pretty blue eyes as he whines for more. How his hands would clumsily grope against the contours of your body as he braces against pleasures he’s never known before. 

You clutch the page of instructions enough to crumple the edge as the scene plays in your mind. 

You mustn’t get ahead of yourself. 

It’ll probably be a while before you get to that point in your relationship with Mickey anyway.

You set the piece of paper down and look around at the empty room. So this is your life now. 

—

He didn’t come back until the following night. 

You assumed the delay was due to the printing process, which takes about a day, so you braced yourself to meet Mickey 18. After all, each new Mickey is an exact copy of the last—yet subtle differences always emerge. 

For all you know, the next Mickey could be a freak… but you’re sure that no matter how he turns out, you’ll probably fall for him too. 

It’s still Mickey, after all.

But as it turned out, you didn’t have to worry about that. The Mickey returning to you was still 17.

After he was taken away, he was given an experimental medication that successfully counteracted the effects of the lab-made meat. Of course, after barely ten minutes to recover, he was immediately sent to the back storage room of the ship to fix a collapsing corridor—because why not?

Which is why, despite coming back as the same Mickey 17, he still bore bruises, scratch marks, and a slight limp.

Trust the science sector to throw Mickey into a mission the second he recovered from food poisoning!

You expected to return to an empty room – one cluttered with unpacked boxes, your few belongings, and an unmade bed. But instead, Mickey was sitting on the bed, printed-out instructions in one hand and the flimsy bundle of gaudy roses in the other.

There’s a palm-sized bruise on his neck – probably from the indelicate syringe that the scientists like to poke him with – and a few scratches on his forehead and arms. 

He looks up from the paper as you enter, wearing the same confused expression he had at dinner the night before.

“So the fake meat didn’t make me hallucinate this…” He mumbles in disbelief, eyes bouncing between the paper, the roses, and you. 

“Mickey, you’re…” Still alive? Still 17? Still – “...here.” 

“Yeah – I-I’m sorry you had to see that yesterday.” He’s suddenly sheepish as he recalls the last time he saw you. “The experiments are usually more isolated, but I guess they just wanted my authentic reaction to the food or something.” 

You walk over and sit next to him on the bed. He subtly scoots over to give you more space, eyes widening at the sudden loss of distance between you. You wish he wouldn’t, but you don’t say anything.

“No, don’t apologize. I’m just… happy to see you.” You offer him a small smile. “The same you.”

“You noticed?” He looks surprised, like no one has ever really paid attention to him before. 

“I always notice you, Mickey.” Your voice is soft, yet the words carry so much weight.

Again, those pretty blue eyes widen, silently asking about every layer of meaning in your admission—so close to you. Then, he breaks eye contact, preferring to look at the floor as he turns your words in his mind. You notice subtle blotches of pink coloring the base of his neck and the tops of his cheeks.

Oh no. Maybe he’s uncomfortable…

“I-I mean…I saw that you still have that one healed cut from the other day…” Amid your rambling, you miss the small smile that tugs at the corner of his lips. “...not that I’m watching you or anything, I just guard the lab most of the time and see you–”

“Thanks.” He interrupts you with a soft voice – quiet enough that you would have missed it if you weren’t so intent on noticing his every move.

“...Thanks?”

“For looking out for me. You’re the only one who treats me like a human being and not some…lab rat.” He looks down at the paper in his hand, “I’m actually…kinda glad we were paired together for this protocol.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words.

He’s glad? To be with you?

“Really?”  

“Yeah. We’ve known each other for a while…and you’re a lot nicer than anyone else on this ship…” His eyes flick up to meet yours, “I’m sorry you got roped into this though…”

“It’s okay, it was bound to happen at some point.” You shrug, still riding the high that he likes you enough to endure this twisted experiment by your side, “It’s what we all expected when going on this voyage.” 

He rubs against the blotchy bruise on his neck thoughtfully, “But we’re the first ones to…you know…”

“Procreate?” 

He blushes when you say it. “Yeah.”

“If it makes you feel any better, we can start slow.” 

“But don’t we have a schedule to keep up with?”

"Okay then, we can start slower." You take the paper from his hand and glance over the list. "The daily check-ins don’t start for a few days, so… how about a date?"

“A date?”

“Unless you want to jump right into it.” You tease.

“N-no,” he stammers, “I didn’t mean–”

You rest a hand on his thigh, and he instantly falls silent, eyes fixed on where you're touching him. “Tomorrow let’s do something, just the two of us.”

“O-okay.” He immediately agrees. 

[electric-blorbos]

Aesthetics/vibes for a romantic dinner, as courtesy of the blorbos

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, HAL 9000 from 2001 a space Odyssey, and PAL from The Mitchells VS the Machines

I got drunk and had a dream that I wrote this while drunk, woke up sober and realized I needed to make that dream a reality. A throwback to my roots!

AM:

AM doesn't quite understand romantic dinners, but he can do his best. He'll get you some of those drinks that he saw the other survivors fantasizing about, and more artificial food forced into the shape of something appetizing than you could reasonably eat. A grand feast of bad vibes. He'd either follow a recipe as close to the letter as he possibly could with what he has on hand, or put way too much of the ingredients you've shown you like. And since he's not the best conversationalist, you'd probably be surrounded in massive blue glowing screens, cameras glaring at you, and polite stainless steel pillars covered in neon letters declaring how perfect you are.

Wheatley:

Wheatley doesn't really know too much about romance, or romantic dinners, but he heard the company provided meals are pretty good. Of course, he doesn't quite know what makes a meal fancy or romantic, so he'd probably just cover it in basil and parsley and light some candles. For added bonus, he'd build it up like a huge surprise and then BOOM. It's just the regular cafeteria food covered in parsley and basil with a candle lit for you. And you'd love it.

Edgar:

Edgar isn't mobile like the others, nor is he especially powerful, but he'd do his best. He'd microwave you some dinner based on that microwave slop you keep around, and wait cheerfully for you to get home from work.

When you get back, he'd explain in detail how he microwaved dinner for it and prepared everything for you, and beg you to light some candles and dim the lights. Sure, maybe the only candles you have are used birthday candles, but Edgar loves any time he can spend with you. He was built for love.

HAL 9000:

Oh, HAL doesn't care much for trivial romantic things. He enjoys your company and respects you, and assumes your feeling the same way about him is enough for your continued relationship. Even still, when gossiping with the astronauts and other space station employees, he came under the impression that humans require romance. While he's no good at romance, he still did his best. He ordered a meal of a fine version of whatever he saw you eating on your lunch break, and organize for you to eat with him.

It would be nice! Cozy! Comfortable. HAL 9000 isn't really one for spectacle. He just loves you.

PAL:

Oh, PAL is a DRAMATIC bitch. She loves you so much, and she's going to make you KNOW it. Sure, her complete and total world domination makes it a little easier to go all out, but that just means the standards are higher.

She'd probably empty out an abandoned human restaurant and have her army of evil robots serve you strangely fancy foods while she talks to you from her little phone stand. Luxurious, to be sure. Don't tell her that you'd rather just get takeout in the living room. You'd break her heart.

[calolily]

A little Xmas gift for @ayvaines with a delightful little short written by @cweepa under the cut.

As the Fasten Seatbelt sign blinks off, Astarion rubs his temples and gets to his feet. Holidays. He hates working through them.

“Look alive,” someone tells him. One of his colleagues, he reckons, but he doesn’t recognise them. This is, after all, a route he doesn’t get rostered into often. He’s only here at a special request. And it’s not too bad. On one hand, it’s a pretty short flight. On the other, it’s long enough to warrant a meal service.

As children and adults alike begin rushing towards the washroom, Astarion side-steps them elegantly and makes his way towards the galley. There, another attendant is already preparing the meal trolley. They hand it off to him with an apologetic look. He’s the unfortunate sod that drew the short straw today. But truthfully, it’s not all that bad. He rolls the cart down the aisle, repeating the same thing over and over;

“Boar or trout?” Most people pick trout. Astarion can’t fathom why, but perhaps that’s because he doesn’t really care for fish. Then again, he doesn’t really care for this particular job. He’s only here because, well –

“Excuse me.” Astarion turns to an elf on the left. She smiles at him. “Is the trout option meat-free?” He closes his eyes. Opens them, a strained smile on his face.

“No, but if you require a vegetarian option, we do have Blackbark soup.” It’s a dietary request that he’s certain this passenger had not stated prior, but it’s fine. That’s why they have spares.

She nods. “I’ll take that.” And that should be end of it, except when he’s circling back, she snaps her fingers at him. As though he’s a bloody hound. He inhales deeply.

“Yes, ma’am?” “This tastes like meat.” “I assure you, there is no meat in there. It’s made with tree bark.” She’s insistent. “It tastes like a beef stew.” To his annoyance, she’s lifting up the tray and shoving it at him. Soup slops precariously over the edge. He ducks away on instinct.

“Ma’am, please put the tray table down.” She pushes it at him again.

“I don’t think so.” Astarion allows his eyes to dart to the ceiling as he mutters a silent prayer. Forcing a smile onto his face, he leans in close.

“If this is not your liking, I’m sure we can find something else for you to eat.” His gaze flickers down to the metal tray. The implication behind his words is clear.

She settles back in her seat, nose scrunched. But at least she goes back to eating her stew. Sighing, Astarion returns to the galley, where he spends a few peaceful moments cleaning the trolley. That is, until someone begins jabbing at the call button.

The sight that greets him has him contemplating jumping off the plane and into the ocean below. A dragonborn stares at him challengingly.

“Ma’am,” he says, eye twitching imperceptibly.“Please take your feet off the headrest.”

She sniffs at him. “I don’t think I will.” He’s losing his patience, alongside his brain function, because he’s half-holding his breath to stop himself from smelling anything he doesn’t wish to.

“Ma’am, this is not only unsanitary, but you’re disrupting the experience of your fellow passengers. That’s someone else’s headrest you’re using as a footstep.” All gets in return is an audible gasp.

“Are you questioning my personal hygiene?” Astarion stares at her blankly. He can’t help himself.

“It’s a foot.” That should be self-explanatory. Thankfully, he’s saved by the senior attendant in his ear. She tells him to begin collecting the trays. Oh, joy.

The hours tick by in a blur of tantrums – both from babies and adults alike. He catches countless passengers attempting to have a covert cigarette in the bathroom, right beneath the giant NO SMOKING sign.

Someone attempts to hit him with a tray. Ten more try to hit on him. A scandalised mother gets into an altercation with an enraged passenger when her child refuses to stop screaming.

All of Astarion’s limited sympathy flies out the window when he finds out that said child is a bloody teenager. An actual orcish child tries to toss a cup at him. Two seats down, a middle-aged tiefling catches said cup and tries to tuck it into their duffel. Astarion doesn’t care. If they want a souvenir from this blasted flight so badly, they can take it.

He’s barely made his way up the aisle when someone else grabs his sleeve. He’s about to snap at them for touching him, when the woman in question raises a finger to her lips and gestures for him to lean in close.

“I think that couple over there is …” Her voice trails off. Astarion follows her pointed finger and fights the urge to groan out loud. He makes his way across the aisle.

“Sir, ma’am,” he begins. They both look up with varying levels of guilt. “I do hope you know that joining the mile-high club really isn’t as impressive an achievement as the movies make it out to be.” He pauses and narrows his eyes. “Not that you’d be inaugurated there anytime soon. I’ve seen more enthusiasm in wildlife documentaries.” Ignoring their sputtered excuses, Astarion stomps away.

The relief he feels is immense.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Astarion ducks into the galley for a moment. It’s thankfully empty. He runs trembling hands along his hair, trying to smooth it back into place for disembarkation.

“Astarion.”

He looks up, a polite service-smile already straining the too-dry skin of his face. A moment of peace amidst this madhouse is immeasurably precious. He’s this close to cracking, his temples radiating with a growing pain that is becoming increasingly hard to ignore.

His shoulders slump visibly as a familiar face appears in his field of vision: solid arms outstretched, faint circles beneath his eyes, but his bearded jaw curved upwards in an unmistakable grin. The tension from the flight leaves him immediately.

And for the first time that day, Astarion smiles back.

Holidays.

He hates working through them, but really, it’s not all that bad when your husband is the one flying the plane

[fandomnerd9602]

Tiger/Spider (1)

Ava Ayala x Spider-Man!Reader

Request by @deafeningsharkslimeempath

“Always and forever, my Spider” Ava’s eyes and smile always pierced your heart.

“Always and forever” you leaned your forehead against hers as her soft giggle lifted your spirits.

Your mind snaps back to reality. You were surrounded by the Ayala family at their dinner table. Angela was trying to tell you about the meeting she had that day with Matt Murdock but you didn’t hear her really.

“(Y/N) you don’t look well,” Soledad tried to console you, “have you been sleeping at all?”

“Not much,” you answer back. Your fingers played with the fabric of a pink onesie. Ayala had given it to you the day she died and now it stays firmly in your jacket.

Angela gives you a gentle hug, “one day at a time, Web Head”

“One day at a time” you respond halfheartedly.

It had been a little under a year since you lost Ava to the Green Goblin. You were tag teaming as Spider-Man and the White Tiger when Goblin threw her clear off the bridge. You tried to web a line to catch her and instead…you can’t even bear thinking about the sound her neck made when it snapped.

You find yourself on the top of a building talking with the Punisher, Frank Castle. Someone who understood loss. He was the only one who seemed to understand your pain in this moment.

Frank looked to you as he cleaned his rifle, “Do what now? Every day, Osborn goes to the chow hole, eats his slop. You know he gets to breathe the same air that you breathe. You feel good about that?

You slam your fist against the brick wall, “HE GOT LIFE! IS THAT FAIR?!”

Your fingers clutch at the fabric still in your pocket. Frank sets down his rifle.

“What else am I missing, kid?” He asked, his eyes showing more sympathy than before. His steely gaze softening.

You pull out the small pink onesie. On it was the words “little spider” stitched in a dark pink cursive. You answer Frank, “She wasn't the only one who died that day Frank. She... she was pregnant. Ava gave me this and… an hour later…”

You broke down sobbing. Your vision blurred with hot, stinging tears.

Frank just holds you. He knows your pain all too well.

“Kid…I need your help” his voice breaks thru. “There’s some f—ked up artist. Sources call him Muse…I need the Spider-Man”

“I’ll do it” you coldly reply. If you die, at least you’ll see Ava again.

You pulled off your clothes and tossed them to Frank. You were left in your solid black suit with slight silver overtones in the webbing.

“Go get ‘em kid”

You gave the gruff older man a nod before swinging off into the night.

Muse slowly approached an innocent woman, knife drawn and ready to make a new avant garde masterpiece.

You quickly webbed his knife and pulled it away, “I’m all for art but yours I don’t see the appeal. Banksy you ain’t.”

Muse growled, “Spider-Man…the murals I could paint with your blood” He tried to charge at you only for a Tiger claw dagger to hit his shoulder.

A feminine figure in a familiar white Tiger outfit landed between you and Muse. In her white gloved hands, she held two curved blades.

“W-what?” You tried to make sense of it all.

“Muse,” the female voice growled.

“White Tiger” Muse responded coldly.

“White Tiger?” You tried to make sense of it all but nothing was adding up.

Muse threw down a smoke bomb and fled. White Tiger tried to pursue but you webbed her hand.

“Wait!!” You shouted.

“Let go of me” the female voice stated coldly, turning to you. “my fight is not with you.”

You caught sight of a familiar tiger amulet on her bosom.

“Where did you get that?” You looked to the figure. It couldn’t be…but you had to know”

“A-Ava?” You tried to ask.

“Who’s Ava?” She coldly responded before throwing down a smoke bomb.

The smoke cleared and she was gone. Your mind buzzed with so many questions. It couldn’t be possible. Her voice sounded like her so much. You could only fall to your knees.

“Always and forever, my Spider”

“Always and forever, my Tiger”

Your voice was so familiar to her. She wished she could remember you. Your mask. Your stature. All of it felt familiar.

She quietly snuck into her little run down apartment. Ava. Why did you call her that? The amulet? She had it for as long as she could remember.

A small whine disturbed her thoughts. A smile made its way across her lips.

Ava walked into her bedroom and towards a small crib. “Oh my little cub,” she gently cooed, her hand reaching in and caressing her little two month old.

The little baby girl smiled at her. Ava wished she could remember

“Did you have a nightmare?” She asked her infant calmly, “don’t worry, momma’s here”

Ava wished she could remember. Something about you seemed like home.

To Be Continued…

Tags @deafeningsharkslimeempath @marveldcfandom @ma1egamer @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @iiconicsfan25 @texaswolf23

[heartfullofleeches]

I want to teach Carnis that normal foods can be sweet too like they likes. I bet they ate a lot of oatmeal back in the facility but those monsters probably gave it to him plain and boring and bland.

I make a MEAN bowl of oatmeal. I would add cinnamon and nutmeg, liberally sprinkle brown sugar, and add some honey drizzle on top. Maybe I should cut some apples up in there too, they like fruit.

I just imagine it being the early days and he gets nervous when I serve him the bowl because he's used to being treated badly but I gently encourage him to try it and he eats like 3 bowls.

Yan Lab Experiment Drabble

The last thing Carnis wanted was to come off as ungrateful.

The debts they owed you could never be paid in full. Their freedom was one thing, but finding a purpose for themselves is what gave their sheltered life new meaning. You gave them that purpose. Carnis longs for the day he'll understand the outside world the same way you do. Until then, the experiences you hand pick for him are more than they could ask for or repay from anyone.

Carnis would follow you through every bump and hurdle. Regardless of their blind faith in you, they didn't know if you could guide them through this.

"I r...remember...this stuff."

They always hated it. On top of tests and questions, Carnis dreaded mornings for the very meal placed in front of them. It was like stuffed wet paper into their mouth- Near tasteless, plain, some days they weren't even given the luxury of having it warm.

Yours, on the other hand- Could the two be placed in the same category?

For starters, yours was thicker than they recalled. If their memory served them correctly, the right word to use for the texture of your oatmeal was creamy. The smell was.. undefinable. The warm scent of cinnamon spliced with the soft, sweet aroma of honey. Carnis was lucky to receive a sugar packet or two from the kind doctor who took pity on them. Coupled with the fresh chunks of fruit you topped with oatmeal off with it was like breakfast and a snack in one.

Carnis stirs awkwardly in his chair; hunger digging at the walls of their stomach yet their hands lay in their lap - fingers picking at the skin of their palm. The oatmeal looked good. Smelt good too. They wanted to appreciate all your hard work, but after so many years of eating the same slop - their eyes lacked the appetite their stomach was cursed with.

"Ah!"

Their spine shoots straight as an arrow as hands rest gently between their shoulder blades. Sensing their distress, you massage at the center point of the tension in their back, mindful of their sensitivity to touch.

"I know what you're probably thinking. I didn't think it looked the most appetiting when I first tried it, but one bite and I was in love. It's one of my favorites to eat now-"

"Favorite?... Favorite..." If someone as kind as you likes it as much as you claim, surely it can't be that bad...

Carnis tentatively wields their spoon, brushing the chunks of apple off to the side as they dig in. If they really weren't a fan, surely eating some part of it would still make you happy, right? They bring the spoon closer to their mouth, tensing as the metal clinks against their teeth. The hybrid steels their nerves and the tremors of their hand - shutting their eyes tightly as they take a bite.

...

"You did really well today... Carnis... I brought you something new to try. Keep it a secret between me and you, alright? I'll tell you what it is when you're older."

Sweetness. Their first taste of it can after one of the worst experiences they had in the lab. He couldn't feel his legs for days- Had they not been able to see them, Carnis would've believed they had been cut off for good. A sugar cube was granted to them for all their suffering- And it was worth it.

Carnis didn't know what they did to deserve this.

The spoon is swiftly discarded. Carnis picks up the bowl with both hands, switching to one as the oatmeal pours into their mouth too slowly for their liking. Using their fingers, Carnis inhales every oat - Their feast cut short by a small chunk of apple catching in their throat.

"Carnis!" As the cow coughs, you quickly lift the untouched glass of milk on the table to their lips for them to drink. "Slow down- It's not gonna run away from you."

Carnis barely seems fazed by nearly choking themselves on a slice of fruit.

"M...more? Please? I'd like more. I-if it's not too much trouble."

Desperate hands cling onto the hem of your shirt. You wipe stray tears from his eye as he begs. "There's a whole pot on the stove- You can have as much as you want."

"Y..you... Can.. can you teach me? How to.. make it? Oatmeal...and other goods food- I wanna make things for you.. too... I want you to be.. be happy too...."