#<- slightly unrelated. i mean to the sugar thing

[boltgunkiller-archive]

i LOVE shake it out. it has my 3 favorite glee singers ohhhh my god they’re just so good they all sound amazing together and MERCEDES’ PART??? chills. i always always always get chills when she sings. and her voice in that song ohhhhh it’s so deep and emotional it’s like the ocean

[xjustakay]

✺ (3/10) ✺ @jegulus-microfic prompt: sugar — 1,146 words (jegulus dads ft. harry; when the five year old is on a sugar high)

Immediately upon getting home from his meeting, Regulus is aware that things have not gone to plan. James was meant to pick up Harry from his mums’, and the two of them were supposed to decide on dinner and their entertainment for the evening. They usually have a movie night together, the three of them, when Harry first comes back to theirs again, but it seems his husband and his son had other plans upon coming home.

Because they’re out in the backyard on the trampoline. 

Regulus hears Harry’s loud laughter carrying from the back screen before he even has to check. Setting his keys aside, he makes his way to the door to the backyard. He stands there inside for a moment, helplessly fond as he watches where Harry sits cross-legged, looking up at James, waiting.

James bounces gently in place a short distance from where the five year old sits before launching himself to land on his feet closer beside him. It flings Harry a few inches off the trampoline’s surface, his little limbs flailing as he shrieks excitedly. He flops flat onto his back afterward, lost in a string of giggles that ends up turning into ‘again, again, again!’

Two peas in a pod, James laughs with him, then reaches with both hands to tow Harry back up in his previous position. Before James can properly send him bouncing as he had moments prior, both of their heads whip in the direction of the sliding screen door when Regulus opens it to step outside.

“Papa!” Harry smiles widely, waving over at him with both hands. “Papa, watch this! Daddy can make me fly.”

“Oh, he can, can he?” Regulus smirks, coming off the patio onto the grass near the trampoline.

Harry nods and looks up at James. “Show him, daddy.”

Despite the fact that he’d just witnessed it moments ago before joining them, Regulus plays along, pretending to be awed by the way James jumps and causes Harry to bounce up off the trampoline. Again, Harry giggles for several seconds, cheeks rosy and smile unrelenting as he rolls from being flopped on his back onto his belly.

“You gotta try it, papa,” Harry tells him. “Daddy’s been doing it for ages now and it’s so fun every time.”

Regulus chuckles with a slow shake of his head. “Where’s all this energy coming from, I wonder?”

“Cookies!” Harry answers immediately, squirming up onto his knees.

One dark brow arches, Regulus’ eyes shifting to James who has the decency to look momentarily sheepish under the questioning look.

“Cookies before dinner?” He asks pointedly.

“I can explain,” James starts.

“Mama was making a whole bunch of them and mum sent me here with a big plate to share with you and daddy,” Harry explains for him.

“So, really, that look should be reserved for Pandora and Lily, my love,” James chimes in.

Regulus smiles tightly, head cocking to the side. “I’m sure you’d prefer that.”

James grimaces faintly and clambers off the trampoline, out through the zip-up mesh opening that keeps the edges screened in, to come to Regulus’ side. A large hand falls at his waist, Regulus still managing to look sternly up at him even when James leans down to kiss his cheek. He clearly has been humoring their son for a while, because he’s flushed and a little sweaty, slightly out of breath and so warm at Regulus’ side.

“You know how hard it is to get him to settle down when he’s had too much sugar,” Regulus points out.

“I know, I’m sorry.” James smooths his hand along his lower back in a continuous motion.

Regulus hums, gaze drifting to where Harry half-runs, half-bounces around the full circle of the trampoline. “How many did you let him have?”

“Just one, I swear.” James follows his line of sight, stepping even nearer to him to curl his arm around his waist. “But he did mention that Pandora had been letting him help in the kitchen, and you know that means—”

“Licking all the spoons.”

“And handfuls of chocolate chips. Ah, and some of them are frosted, even, so uh… icing taste tests, too.”

“Great.” Regulus shakes his head. “This has to be some kind of payback for when we brought him and Luna back to theirs after all that cake and candy at Ron’s birthday party.”

James chuckles and squeezes gently at his side. “He’ll crash soon enough, surely.”

“I assumed that’s why you brought him out here in the first place,” Regulus says.

“It was either that, or his suggestion to build a pillow fort pirate ship in the living room. I felt this was less jarring for you to come home to.”

Regulus watches as Harry does a quick somersault only to spring back to his feet, bounce twice in place, and purposely land on his bum with another bounce. He laughs breathlessly, adjusting glasses knocked askew by the impact, and Regulus can’t help but huff a quiet laugh of his own. Hopped up on sugar as he may be, Harry’s joy is never a thing Regulus takes for granted. Even in the silliest of moments —if not especially then.

“You’re going to sleep like babies tonight,” Regulus comments.

“Probably true.”

“After a solid bath time because you’re both so gross right now.”

James snorts, giving a tilted nod of his head in agreement. “Fair.”

“Have to figure out dinner still, too.”

“We could order a pizza to make things easy?” James suggests. When Regulus nods in reply, he nods, too. “I can stay out here and help him run off some more of the sugar high if you want to go ring it in?”

“No, I’ll watch him. You go inside and get yourself some water before you pass out or something,” Regulus teases.

“I’m fine, thank you. I’m in excellent shape,” James scoffs. Lower, just for him, he murmurs, “A fact you’re very well aware of, my love.”

He punctuates the playful remark by nipping gently at the edge of Regulus’ jaw. Regulus bats him away, lips twitching upward in a smile that couldn’t be held back even if he tried.

“Heathen,” He mutters.

“That’s me. Your heathen husband.” James smacks an overdramatic kiss to Regulus’ cheek this time before separating.

Harry hops up closer to the trampoline’s edge, hands braced carefully on the outside net to ask, “What’s a heathen, papa?”

Regulus hears James laugh loudly behind him on his way inside. 

He shakes his head, grinning fondly as he looks back at Harry. “Don’t worry about that, darling. Why don’t you show me how your cartwheels are coming, hm?”

Harry brightens immediately, nodding and leaping backward. “Okay! Make sure you’re watching the whole time!”

Nothing else in the world seems more worth Regulus’ time than watching their boy be so happy. Riled up on sugar or otherwise.

[lilithlinen]

"Daddy" - Tex Johnson x You

Requested by @sunnythebunny7 ❤️❤️I couldn't sleep last night thinking about your request😂❤️.

WARNING: If you're uncomfortable with the 'Daddy kink' don't proceed.

You're laying on the couch, curled up under a blanket watching tv and holding onto one of your plushies for comfort while Tex is away, he said he is on his way, but he hasn't arrived yet. Then suddenly, you hear footsteps, and you sit up thinking it's Tex. "Tex?" you asked softly. 

The door opens, and to your surprise, it's not Tex. Instead, it's one of his colleagues, laughing and holding a large Sanrio plushie. He tosses it to you, mocking, "Look at our little baby, still holding her stuffed animal!" 

You look stricken, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Your eyes well up with tears, clutching your plushie tightly. Tex's colleague snickers, invoking memories of past incidents where you had been made to feel weak and childlike. 

The colleague continues to tease you, commenting on how you should be embarrassed about your collection. "At your age," he smirks, "you should have outgrown this kind of thing." 

You try to defend yourself, your voice shaking. "They...they help me cope. When things get hard..." you trail off, unable to continue. The hurtful stares and condescending laughter leave you feeling like a small child again - a helpless, vulnerable target for others' amusement. 

Meanwhile, Tex returns from his errand, hearing the commotion. He storms into the room, taking in the scene before him. His face darkens as he fixes the colleague with a cold stare. "You wanna apologize," he growls, making his displeasure known. 

The colleague laughs it off, dismissing Tex's anger. "Calm down, buddy. It was just a joke." 

But Tex isn't backing down. His hands clench into fists, and his voice drips with menace. "This ain't a joke." He steps closer to the man, his eyes never leaving the intruder. "You don't know what kind of pain this young lady has been through, and you have no right to belittle her coping mechanisms. If you don't watch your tongue, I swear I'll break it for you."  

"This," he says through clenched teeth, "is someone I care about." His gaze shifts back to you, softening slightly. A protective fervor burns in his eyes. "You touch her again, and we'll see if you're laughing then." 

The tension in the room hangs thick in the air. The colleague hesitates, sensing Tex's unrelenting aggression. Finally, he relents, offering a begrudging apology, "Alright, alright. Sorry, kid. I didn't mean any harm." 

Tex nods, satisfied if not entirely pleased. "Good. Now get out." 

Once the colleague leaves, Tex turns back to you, offering you a reassuring smile despite the tense situation. Those dark eyes seem to promise safety, a shelter from the harsh world outside. With a hand lightly brushed across your cheek, Tex murmurs, "Don't listen to them, kiddo. They don't know shit." 

He glances at the Sanrio plushie lying forgotten near you, picking it up gently and inspecting it carefully. A playful glint appears in his eyes as he adds, "Besides, I think this one's kinda cute. Reminds me of something." 

You sniffle, wiping away your tears and holding the plushie close. "It's just...embarrassing. They make me feel like I'm weak, or immature." 

Exasperation mixed with fondness colors Tex's deep timbre. "You ain't weak, sugar. Far from it. Just...different than most. Don't let 'em make you doubt who you are." He says, cupping your chin tenderly. 

His fingers trace along your jawline, tracing delicate bone structure. As his thumb strokes over your quivering lip, Tex continues, "You give me head like no other, sweety. So experienced, so skilled. What about that is childish?" 

Your lips tremble, relief washing over you at Tex's defense. You manage a faint smile and blush deeply. 

His fingers trace imaginary patterns on the plushie's fabric, his grin becoming wicked. "Well now, aren't you the lucky one. Daddy's here to protect you. From monsters and rude men alike." 

He lifts an eyebrow, a lascivious gleam entering his eyes as he compares the plushie to its supposed inspiration. "But hey, sweetheart...why stop at cute toys when you got the real item right here?" 

You blush deeply, averting your gaze. But there's a hint of curiosity too, peeking through your embarrassment. "T-...The real item?" 

Tex chuckles, the sound low and throaty. His finger traces a path down your jawline, stopping just below your chin. "That's right," he whispers, leaning closer to whisper in your ear. "The big doggy, waiting to take care of his pup." 

Your heart races, pulse fluttering wildly in your chest. You swallow hard, trying not to betray your nervousness. But Tex's words ignite a strange mix of fear and anticipation within you. 

"What do you say, kiddo? Want some comfort?" He tilts your head up delicately, capturing those wide, anxious eyes. Tex's voice drops to a velvety purr, "Want me to show you what a real daddy can do?" 

You swallow again, hesitating only for a moment. Then, surprisingly, you find courage to meet his gaze boldly. "Show me, daddy..." you breathe out softly, your voice wavering with trepidation. 

A slow, satisfying smile spreads across Tex's face. The corner of his lips curls up as if savoring a juicy secret. He sets the plushie toy aside, replacing it with his warm, calloused hand on yours "Very well," he purrs, leading you toward the bedroom. "Let's get started on your education, darling." 

As you enter the bedroom, Tex strips off his jacket and shirt nonchalantly. He begins undressing slowly, enjoying every second of your breathless gaze. The muscles of his broad shoulders glisten under the dim light, punctuated by the trimmed beard and mustache framing his features. 

He lies on the bed, stretching languidly. A smirk plays at the edges of his lips. "Join me, kiddo." 

You hesitate, swallowing hard against the sudden dryness in your mouth. Despite your apprehension, you feel a surge of desire course through your veins. Nervously, you follow his command, crawling onto the bed beside him. 

Tex reaches out, grasping your waist and pulling you close. His fingertips dance along the curve of your spine, drawing gentle circles that send electric sparks coursing through your body. He nudges you down onto the mattress, positioning himself behind you. 

"Ready for daddy's lesson, little girl?" he asks, his voice husky with lust. His thumb brushes against your sensitive spot, eliciting a gasp from you. "Or do you want me to go easier?" adding, "There's no rush, we've got all night." His voice is velvet-soft, filled with understanding and promises of patience. Slowly, Tex shifts his weight over you, pressing into your back gently. Your naked bodies brush against each other, your pulsing arousal barely hiding beneath the sheets. 

With practiced ease, he reaches around, tracing his fingers down your core. He strokes your clit gently, coaxing out the wetness that already starts to flow freely. A soft, encouraging word escapes his lips: "Remember, no pain, no gain." 

You whimper, arching slightly into his touch. Your eyes squeeze shut as you try to control your breaths, but the building sensation seems too powerful to quell. Tex's fingers slide deeper, massaging your insides tenderly. Each stroke makes you even wetter. 

Slowly, Tex withdraws his fingers from the wet heat between your legs. He leans down, kissing your neck passionately while his erection nestles against your backside. "It's time," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "For your first real taste of daddy's love." 

Despite the apprehension, you can't help but moan softly at his proximity. Your fears seem to fade a little under his touch, replaced by anticipation and need. 

Feeling your discomfort, Tex pauses. A plan forms in his mind, a way to make this less daunting for his 'kiddo'. 

Reaching out, he grabs one of your plushie from the end of the bed and presses it into your hands. "Here," he murmurs, his voice filled with affection. 

As he guides himself towards your entry, his movements are measured and careful, affording you every opportunity to adjust. 

You clutch the plushie tightly, heart pounding in your ears. You feel a pang of relief at his consideration, unexpected tears pricking your eyes. With a shuddering breath, you nod in agreement. 

"All right," Tex murmurs, his voice steady yet laced with tenderness. He pushes forward slowly, the tip of him breaching your tight entrance. A wave of sensations washes over you, mingled with both pleasure and slight discomfort. Your entire focus centers on the feeling of intrusion, the unfamiliar invasion of this intimidating figure. 

He remains still, allowing your body to accommodate him. Tex's breath hitches, waiting patiently for your signal.  

"How does it feel, baby?" he croons softly into your ear, his voice riddled with concern and anticipation. "Can I move?" 

Trembling, you nod slightly, too overwhelmed to speak clearly. Every fiber of your being is focused on handling this new experience, his girth stretching your tissues, filling you in ways unimaginable until now. 

Tex nods, his forehead resting against the curve of your shoulder blade. With a deep breath, he begins to thrust - slow, deliberate strokes designed to acclimatize you to his presence. Each movement claiming you territory after territory. 

As Tex thrusts into you, he whispers encouraging words, urging you to vocalize your feelings. 

"Tell me how it feels, kiddo," he pants heavily, his voice hoarse. "Do you hurt?" 

You gasp, unable to hold back your emotions anymore. You rock against him, struggling to find a comfortable position. The familiar plushie rubbing against you provides small consolation amidst the foreign invasion. 

"I... it burns," you admit hesitantly. "But...it also feels good." 

A satisfied rumble echoes from Tex's chest. His pace quickens, seizing the opportunity to please you despite your apprehensions. "Of course it hurts," he acknowledges, his voice becoming even sexier with raw intensity. "This is how you learn, honey. This is how you become mine." 

His thrusts intensify, deeper now, each strike stoking the fire of passion that had begun to simmer between them. Despite the initial discomfort, warmth blossoms within your core, fueling your desire further. 

In turn, you moan loudly, completely engulfed by the carnal exchange.  

"Does it hurt?" Tex repeats, checking again even though his body tells him otherwise. 

Your response is a fierce shake of your head. "No, it's... it's getting better, daddy," you gasp, your voice trembling. "I think I'm starting to like it." 

His heart swells with pride. Releasing one hand, he trails his fingers up to your nipple, pinching gently. Your eyes fly open wide, your face clenched with pleasurable pain. "That's what I want to hear, sweetheart." 

With renewed vigor, Tex drives into you, more forcefully than before. His dark eyes blaze with hunger, piercing your skin with each percussive thrust. Slowly, rhythmically, you succumb to the dance, matching his movements with growing enthusiasm. 

The plush toy bounces along, an innocent witness to your wild union. Its synthetic fur rustling against your movements. 

"Is it enough, daddy?" You question, your voice thick with need. "Can I touch myself?" 

Tex smiles against your skin, pleased by your submission. "Of course, darling," he responds, his own breathing labored. "Make yourself feel good." 

With trembling hands, you reach your hand down between your legs, your fingers slick with your shared arousal. You rub circles on your clitoris, making the ache more intense. Your hips buck in time with his thrusts. 

The room spins around you, the world narrowing down to just this moment. Your fingertips press harder on your clitoris, matching Tex's increasing intensity. Surrendering to his dominance and your own lust, you meet each surge of his hips eagerly. 

As he nears his climax, Tex cradles you tightly, holding you close as if afraid you might slip away. The tempo increases, driven by pure instinct and desire. 

Finally, he groans loudly, his semen flooding into you. Your inner walls pulse around him, milking him dry of his seed. Even the plushie beneath you vibrates faintly from the force of your orgasm. 

When it's over, Tex collapses onto your back, panting heavily. He holds the stuffed toy against your cheek, murmuring apologies in a voice thick with satisfaction. 

"Sorry, kiddo," he says softly. "Maybe next time we'll use something else." 

You giggle into the embrace, exhausted yet content. Your breathing slows down gradually, your heartbeat synchronizing with his. 

Still, the plushie rests between you both, evidence of your shared adventure. A testament to a night neither of you will soon forget. 

You turn towards him, tilting your head to meet his gaze. Your eyes sparkle with unshed tears of joy, mirrored by the shimmer in his own. 

"I don't mind, Daddy," you confess shyly, tracing the outline of his jawline. "It hurt, but it felt good too." 

His smile softens, his fingers delving into your tousled hair. "That's my brave girl," he coos proudly. "You took everything I gave, just like a good girl." 

Slowly, you unwind from each other, limbs dragging reluctantly apart. He helps you clean up, tenderly wiping away residual fluids. Your gazes lock once more, this time-sharing unspoken promises of future nights ahead. 

"Come here," Tex signals, opening his arms. 

Without hesitation, you crawl up, snuggling against his firm chest. He wraps you both in a warm blanket, your hearts beating harmoniously. 

Sleep takes you both gently, wrapped protectively in his arms. 

[shiftingconfessions]

I have some things to say to shiftdom:

Firstly, for those of you who haven't shifted yet, don't think it automatically gets easier after the first time. I shifted fully once. It wasn't for hours or days it was for months. I'm never going back to that reality, but I haven't been able to shift anywhere since. It was almost a year and a half ago.

Secondly, I think a lot of ya'll are dreaming and thinking its shifting (especially after shifting for a fat period of time). Shifting stories that are definitely vivid dreams and shifting stories that are actual shifting experiences are like night and day. People who dream and claim to shift describe it in a slightly hazey way. They seem pretty emotionally distant to it. The sequences of events don't seem like reality. And the people who say they only spent a few hours in their dr. Yeah, thats a dream. You did not go through all of that effort to go back a few hours later. Not to be mean, but be honest with yourself.

Also, I don't think people take their dr relationships seriously. I don't think they take their dr lives seriously. Why do you have a poll for whos gonna be your significant other? Ya'll over on shifttok especially, writing some wattpad imagines ass scenarios. This is real life. Even if shifting isn't actually going through the multiverse and it isn't real life, then it feels exactly like it.

Adding onto that, I think that all of you cling way to hard onto the idea of traveling an infinite multiverse. I think too many of you are talking about proving shifting exists through proving the existence of other realities. There are literally dozens and dozens of anecdotes of people experiencing things like shifting (that is, living basically a whole other life that feels as real as this one that can be for literal decades at a time and is definitely not a dream) without calling it shifting. But your go to argument for shifting is "some physicists believe in a multiverse!!!" come on.

On an unrelated note, I ate two things of sugar free gummy bears today. Pray for me, ya'll.

.

[tiny-merkitty]

caretaker/dad jonathan crane hcs 𓅨₊˚⊹

ⓘ i do not consent to k!nk interaction! any nsfw account that likes, reblogs, or in any way interacts with this post or my blog will be blocked and reported.

under the cut !

okay to preface, batman begins is set in the mid-2000s therefore these hcs are set in the mid-2000s

whether or not that's important is irrelevant it's for the vibes. its 2005 ok

needless to say Jonathan Crane is on the less outwardly affectionate side,

sterile is a bad word. vapid is a worse one

he definitely tries to ease up around you, initially giving the usual one-off remarks and eyerolls whenever anything went slightly array——

once he realized that was probably not the nicest thing in the world, he tended to keep his tone less flat. sort of.

definitely a learning experience, after awhile you both have to realize that despite him looking like he's trying to set you on fire with his mind, he is genuinely being nice most of the time. or at least neutral.

he takes a big priority in ensuring you're doing well though, while his attachment doesn't show through words or facial expressions he tries to come up through gifts and small acts.

whether it be making you every meal or washing your clothes or doing your hair, his presence is almost always joined by careful hands and a quiet voice,

he did have to teach himself to keep things you actually liked in his office though—

Jonathan learned quickly that sugar free gum and altoids are not an appropriate snack for a kid cooped up in the psychiatric asylum he's busy working at.

he's not clueless with kids though, in all fairness he read about fifty different blog posts. he also got marketed a multitude of sippy cups and blankets and maybe a piece of furniture but that's unrelated

he can come off as a little crass as previously mentioned, he'll word things carefully and speak gently but if he says bedtime at 8pm he means bedtime at 8pm and no later.

maybe a little later if you ask him to make you hot chocolate but 8:30 at the latest.

maybe 8:45

his parenting methods are on the strange and unusual side, given that he himself is on the strange and unusual side—

having nightmares? don't worry, Dr. Crane will make vague threats at the imaginary monsters and claim he can create things five times worse. sleep tight ??

breakfast!! this pancake is shaped like. a rorschach test

don't ask him about work he will keep that as far away as possible from you,

the extent of the last question he got was 'I work with sick people.' and then he continued drinking whatever mixture of too-much-espresso and soy milk was in his mug.

it's not that he doesn't trust you, per say, but he doesn't want you meddling with things that will more than likely harm you.

definitely huge on alot. alot of self care stuff .

have you seen his face there's no way he's not pouring at least a quarter of his paycheck into skincare

this extends to you of course, extremely overly fancy bathtimes with matcha bubble bath and overpriced baby lotion,

candles that are up high enough to not!!! be a fire hazard. little lavender sprays for your pillow,

he'll even do those vaguely scary looking animal themed sheet face masks with you

he's not a sad beige mom. leave him alone he's just pretentious

his favorite activities with you involve staying indoors,

usually crumpled under a pile of blankets with store bought cookies and whatever movie you picked out to watch,

blu ray. obviously. do you take him for someone who does not own a blu ray player (he didn't until last week)

he likes things that are intellectually stimulating for you as well, whether that be numbered blocks or simple puzzles,

he's always around to tell you that you did a good job, or to help if you're stuck on something,

very involved overall -- he doesn't do great with playing pretend but he'll wear colorful band-aids and sit on the floor if you want to play doctor,

Jonathan's life before was somewhat methodical outside of his other ....... escapades

you're a welcome addition and if anything he enjoys having someone to look after.

[lawful-evil-novelist]

What do you think are the biggest vices for each member of the knife polycule? Favorite guilty pleasures?

So an interesting question because one, I feel, is a lot more serious than the other but I'll do my best to answer both.  To me a vice is a flaw or temptation they're particularly susceptible to, but a guilty pleasure is generally harmless. Bit of a long post but here goes.

To be generally Good Vibes First and not get bogged down in a lot of analysis, I’m gonna do guilty pleasures first.

I think Jarlaxle, as much as he is very proud of being “fuck the hierarchy” with his baldness, absolutely misses having hair to style and it is something he enjoys.  He has definitely strongarmed Kimmuriel at minimum into being allowed to brush/braid/style his hair.

It’s probably not canon but I feel like Zaknafein doesn’t actually hate spiders all that much.  He won’t hesitate to kill one but you know they’re fine, cute even.  Of the knife polycule, Zaknafein is probably the most okay with letting a spider walk on him and sometimes when he’s sitting around, he’ll just casually pick one up and start petting it.  Artemis finds this horrific to witness.

Artemis is much fonder of street performers than anyone in the knife polycule.  Yeah, bards are annoying when you have to walk with one for more than an hour, but Artemis isn’t about to deny the simple pleasure of walking along a city street and being drawn in by the tones of a scratchy fiddle or a slightly out of tune lute.

Kimmuriel has a sweet tooth, point blank.  It’s not a well-known aspect of his likes but I’ve always had this amused mental image of Jarlaxle trying to sneak a sip of the tea Kimmuriel’s drinking only to discover, to his horror, it has like 5 cubes of sugar dumped in.  I also think when he’s not feeling well, he tries to subsist off of sweets and it drives literally everyone who notices up a wall.

As for vices:

I think Jarlaxle's biggest vice is his own hubris, and I think he knows this.  I joke about how he surrounds himself exclusively with mean little shits, but what he does is surround himself with people willing to dissent, willing to contradict him when he's letting his pride get the better of him.  The reason his hubris is his biggest vice is that sometimes (often) Jarlaxle intentionally ignores those dissenting voices or tries to actively hamper their ability to dissent.

Zaknafein’s is his own anger or more accurately, how he displaces it.  I’ve delved into this a bit in The Smiling One but Zaknafein has a very well-recorded habit of taking his anger out on unrelated parties, usually whichever acceptable target is available.  He has rules, like all men with a semblance of a moral code, but he still does it.  We already know his preferred target is priestesses but if I’m remembering correctly he also targets Nalfein with his anger, someone who already has to be someone else’s punching bag and spends his scenes in Timeless being meek and quiet.  I don’t think I need to say out loud that taking your anger out on someone weaker than you because no one will stop you is a vice, and it’s one of Zak’s most prominent.

For Artemis, I’d define his biggest vice as his habit of shoving down the emotions that are bothering him.  He’s getting a lot better with this as the books go on, steadily getting comfortable with his own feelings and his past, but it’s been such a prominent part of his personality up until this point that it’s a documented habit.  He spends most of Promise of the Witch-King taking an emotional nosedive and then barrelling headfirst into alcoholism outright because his emotional control up until then was “if I keep all my emotions in this corner where no one can see them, I will never have to deal with them” and when they started kicking him in the teeth he realized that just because he was ignoring his trauma didn’t mean it was gone.

Kimmuriel’s biggest vice…truly his disregard for boundaries.  It’s another thing I delved into in The Smiling One.  House Oblodra definitely did affect this, and he’s probably still used to the social cues of a community where mental privacy doesn’t exist and if it does it can still be easily walked over.  Kimmuriel has functionally been the architect of his own isolation in this way, invading the privacy of people in his circle, until most of them don’t trust him.

Anyway, that's the vibe for me.

[candiid-caniine]

fuuuck you're such a good dumb mutt, I've been distracted all day thinking about you.. unfortunately for you, I even got distracted while I was baking a few times. I thought about making you edge once for every time I almost made a mistake because you distracted me, but I'm not a stupid puppy like you so I was mostly able to focus and keep from screwing up.

so instead, I decided to just blame you for everything that went even slightly wrong. 😈 a little bit of sugar spilled on the counter? your fault. arm hurts from whisking? your fault. utensil that I needed got broken in the dishwasher the other day? definitely your fault, somehow.

Now that I'm done baking, you owe me 15 edges. because the food came out so good tho I'll be nice and let you split it over today and tomorrow if you need to. Don't forget to hydrate! ❤️

I forgot to answer this whn I finished my edging g session today but it was dedicated to you!!

I know this is from before I got my period n things kinda slowed down. I'm sorry I didn't get to it aooner but holy shit being blamed for random mishaps in others' lives and being punished for it x.x my absolute favorite thing,, this ask has been living in my head since the day I got it 💕

since I didn't get to do it whn uou sent it I did all of them in one go today,,,, holy shit coming straight back to edging with mean cock spanks and a thorough 15 edges was intense 😭 I was shaking and whimpering by the end and I felt like such a stupid pup. I did them with my ass in the air and my face in the mattress for a change, and guys. my cunt was drooling, like straight up dripping, which is rare for me x.x

thank u for this hot as balls ask. if anyone would like to use me as a scapegoat for unrelated annoyances,,, please, 🙏 ols pls feel free omg 💕

[captainskylock]

Poem: How to bake a wedding cake.

I get asked to write people poems for their weddings. A lot. I'm starting to struggle to come up with original ideas, since the usual topics of love and commitment are beyond my ability to contribute any sort of original take. However: I can offer unbridled chaos and unrelenting horror. So this is my most recent work, written for my aunt's wedding back in April. Started and finished in the wee hours of that very morning, as is tradition.

So. It has come to this: the grandest mistake Volunteering to concoct a whole wedding cake Overselling my talents, a cuisinier fake And there is no recourse left now but to bake

But how can the unskilled prove they can shine? The same way as experts: just research on-line! I’ll soon find the secret, the day will be fine And all will be pleased when on cake they shall dine

Whole milk, and egg whites, and all-purpose flour Why this is easy, I’ll be done in an hour! Sugar and butter and nothing too sour- Wait, where’s the Wi-Fi? I’ve lost all the power!

I’ve already forgotten everything I just read! The wedding’s tomorrow! I’m filling with dread Show’s over, I’m done, I’m totally dead! The fearsome bride will be after my head!

No! I can manage, a capable man With reason and logic here at my command I have this cake licked, it’s fully in hand I’ll make it up as I go and it will be grand

I think there was… milk? My memory’s rough But I’ve only one pint, will that be enough? Well not to worry, substitution’s not tough I’ll scoop in the mayo, it’s just the right stuff!

Now it needs body, and here’s the corn flour No way that’s enough, so let’s search for more powder Some curry, some chilli, I’m sifting a shower More mustard and matcha! The flavour gets louder!

And… were there eggs? There’s none in the fridge So protein a la proxy shall be my new bid It’s round and it’s white, with a bit of a squidge… Yes that will be perfect! Toss in a few squid!

Which is sugar and salt? I just cannot see These pots are all labelled incompetently! “Pure Food Grade Fine Crystals, Citric Acid Kay-Gee” Well I have no clue, but looks sugary to me!

I think there was butter? But look! It is marred! By toast crumbs left strewn by an incautious card Emboldened, I feel that I’m quite avant-garde When I substitute butter with a great block of lard

Is wedding cake pudding? With fruit is it packed? These things one must learn as an auto-didact Well tomatoes are fruit. Now that is a fact! I’ll toss in a can, and that will be that!

And one final thing that will prove my proficience Vanilla to counter the flavour deficience But one bean will surely prove quite inefficient So in goes the bundle, now that is sufficient

And into the oven, scraped into a pile My gusto for baking surpasses this trial Passion means heat! So crank up that dial! Five hundred degrees and leave in a good while

I take up the spoon, I’ve never felt braver And put it to taste-bud to take in the flavour Growing ever light-headed the longer I savour And with cause unrelated my wakefulness wavers

A few hours in, I awake from my coma My culinary skill must be worth two diplomas As I realise that what once was a pungent aroma Has nicely burned off in a blazing corona

And next, to assemble, now the fires have fizzled Though the size of the cake has slightly shrivelled And the tall stacking layers continue to sizzle The shape is perfected and expertly chiselled

It needs decoration, that’s not my concern The family expert will cover the burns As for this challenge and all I have learned I cannot be stopped when the Internet spurns!

And next the wedding, the service, bouquet The drinks and the mingling, twee games of croquet At dinner a slice of my cake comes my way I politely decline, I put down for soufflé!

[fwl22]

Autumn Letter, 2004

Outside the rain falls in sheets, waving in the wind like sails over a blustery ocean, like mist moving over a mountain pass.  It is cold just to look at the steel gray sky and the dark shadows in the forest.  The season seeps into the house through the cracks and spaces around the windows and doors.  We go on fire watch to keep the embers glowing in the salone upstairs.  It’s for the guests we say, but since there are no guests these dark autumn days it is clear that we just want to keep the house warm.

The weather moved through the year like a giant descending stairs.  Summer lingered into October before we dropped off into a mild fall and now we plunge unceremoniously into winter.  Three weeks ago we were in shirt sleeves in the garden and today the winter coats are out and buttoned up against the unrelenting rain. 

The olive oil production is in full swing.  The frantoio has been in motion day and night as the freshly picked olives have to go into the mill as soon as possible.  The 24 hour work will continue for almost another 3 weeks.  There is a good chance that after a break for Christmas the work will continue into the new year.  The olives this year are small but the oil production is normal by weight, and the olives are plentiful, so output is high.  My brother in law Giovanni has had to purchase a number of extra containers to hold the oil.

The grapes this year were beautiful, and the wine also has a lovely color.  We harvested the first Sunday in October and people are drinking the vino novello this week.  The young wine is a traditional thing here, a process probably related somehow to the Beaujolais noveau.  But here at Canneto there is no forced fermentation, just a regular fermentation in a warmer climate, thus the process goes a bit faster than in more northern climes.  And the wine is not a true novello but rather just “new”.  While most wine has an alcohol level of 12.5% to 14% by volume, at Canneto the level is usually around 11% or 12% maximum.  This results, as one guest so aptly put it, in the “reedy” taste – a distinctive thinness and light aroma.  

Last year, when the weather was so hot and dry, the grape harvest was very small, but those grapes were full of natural sugars, and the concentration of the juice produced the best wine ever made at Canneto, with an alcohol level of 13% and slightly higher.  In the end there was probably less than 700 liters of 2003 vintage wine produced, while in 2004 the amount is more than 2000 liters.

There is a wonderful verb in Italian intendere, which in its intransitive form means to be knowledgeable or to be an expert.  So most everyone begins their comments on wine or olive oil here with Non mi intendo…. or I’m not an expert….  Speaking to the straniero (foreigner) though, brings out a lot of the experience and local knowledge of the men and women who grew up on and have worked the land.

So it was on a Sunday a week or so ago that our babysitter Bruna had me pick some mushrooms that were growing under the olive trees.  There were only 3 or 4, but she prepared them for my dinner.  “It would be shame to leave them,” she said, and Paolo and I shared the freshness and the taste of the musty earth (sautéed in delicious olive oil, of course).

The truth is that Canneto has always been a place known for making olive oil while the wine has historically been pretty awful.  Part of this has to do with the geography – Canneto sits on the northeastern slope of the Val Bisenzio and thus get very little morning sun.  The afternoon sun, then, seems more filtered and less direct than the morning light.  Nothing is irrigated here.  If it is a wet year then the vines are over watered, if it is dry they suffer.  (Last year (2003) was so dry that many of the large vineyards and farms had to water their crops to save the plants and the harvest.)

By asking, one discovers that Canneto became the property of Paolo Rucellai, the second son of the first Rucellai owner, Giovanni.  Giovanni’s mother brought the property to the family as part of her wedding dowry in 1759.  Paolo was a gentleman farmer and a bachelor uncle.  Canneto was then a working farm with at least three tenant families.  When Paolo was not hanging out at the seaside, at the palazzo in Florence, he would be with his fattore or foreman dealing with the business of running the large estate.  The villa here, as was the villa in Campi Bisenzio at the time, was not a place to live for long periods of time, and certainly not hospitable in the winter.  It was a summer residence or even a spring and autumn residence, and a kind of hunting lodge.  

When he reached the age when he no longer wanted to take care of the place Paolo announced to the family that he would sell the place.  The property was his retirement fund.  Paolo’s younger brother Cosimo and his wife, Editta, had come to love Canneto, and they arranged to buy the estate with annual installments beginning in 1906.  Paolo, seen in photographs from the time appears as either the slightly unrefined farmer uncle, or a kind of druid old man, in bathrobe with a long beard while at the beach at Forte dei Marmi.

Cosimo and Editta, or Edith as she was christened in Newport, Rhode Island in 1861, began to spend time here in the first decade of the 20th century.  After assuming ownership Edith began to transform the Villa into a more hospitable residence and its gardens into a more modern style, probably something between Edwardian and Tuscan.  

One has to remember that this was a very progressive period, although we don’t commonly think of it as such.  Edith Bronson was the daughter of very wealthy American parents who had spent all of her youth traveling between the US and Europe, settling with her mother in Venice where she really grew up.  Her father died in a sanitarium in France from tuberculosis and other malaties and is recalled as a loving, but somewhat sickly figure that remained at the edges of his wife and daughter’s life.  His family was an important one from New York and his father was a congressman, a US senator, and finally the postmaster general of the state for 25 years.  A Civil War officer, he kept his life and his title of Colonel.  Edith’s mother was Katherine DeKay Bronson, also from an old New York family with close ties back to the old country in Holland.  The Bronson’s had a house at Castle Hill in Newport, Rhode Island and had sold it long before the Vanderbilts and Rockefellers had built their mansions.  A painting of that house in Newport is on the wall in the dining room at Canneto as part of the wall paintings commissioned by Edith.  Katherine De Kay was a Victorian woman, definitely a powerful and well educated woman, and she is perhaps best remembered for having been one of Robert Browning’s closest acquaintances in the years after the death of his wife, Elizabeth Barrett Browning.  She rented a palazzo in Venice where she was part of the expatriate artist social scene of the city, hosting parties and guests with famous names – writers, composers, painters, poets, singers, and the generally famous people who would make the Grand Tour.  As the daughter of an outgoing, social woman, Edith was considered quiet and reserved.

Cosimo Rucellai for his part was the son of Giovanni, the eldest son of the original Rucellai owner of Canneto.  Cosimo was the primary assistant to the admiral in command of the Venetian naval base and met Edith through the intermingling of the high society of Venice with the high society of the American and English society in Venice.  Edith was fluent not only in Italian, French, German and a little Dutch, but she also spoke and wrote in the Venetian dialect which she had learned along with her mother.  The elders on either side of the couple were skeptical of the match, and letters of Henry James to Katherine De Kay reveal the period as the couple convinced everyone that they were in love.  

After the marriage, Cosimo was awarded command of a ship in the Adriatic.  He was first stationed in Taranto in Puglia, and then at Ancona.  Edith stayed, first in Venice and then in Ancona with their daughter, Nannina, born in 1896, and first son Bencivenni, born in 1897. Edith suffered through the mumps in Ancona, and when later she became pregnant with second son Bernardo, they decided to go back to Florence and be together.  Cosimo resigned his commission and turned his attentions to the work of a gentleman farmer. 

Ultimately the family moved into the villa in Campi Bisenzio, at that point a mostly abandoned house on a large farm that Cosimo’s father referred to as “frog infested”.  Cosimo and Edith threw themselves into making the place modern, livable and helping the neighboring contadini, or tenant farmers to improve their lives.  They built a school and a medical clinic and they established a number of workshops for training people in the local arts and crafts, such as basket weaving, tool making and embroidery work.  It is no wonder that the family was instrumental 3 generations later in creating a museum to honor the straw weaving which became so famous – making the original “panama” hat and countless other items in a tight weave – in the neighboring town of Signa.  The Villa was modernized and the family, now with four kids as of 1903, spent most of the year in Campi, just a 40 minute to an hour carriage ride to the Palazzo Rucellai in Florence.

Cosimo studied modern farming methods and worked hard to introduce new ideas to the very traditional contadini at Campi.  With the acquisition of Canneto, he immediately brought his fattore from Campi Bisenzio to help organize the work of the land at Canneto.  This man was an expert in trees and especially fruit trees, and he is responsible for much of the planting of fruit trees on the property.  This man and his son continued to work as fattore for Cosimo’s youngest son (born in 1903) Giangiulio at Canneto and retired here, where his granddaughter still lives, next to the Villa in the village of Canneto.  It is easy to see the signature of their work by comparing the trees at the Villa in Campi Bisenzio to those at Canneto.  The same trees surround both houses.  This is also the reason there are so many pear, cherry, fig, apricot, plum and persimmon trees.

Antonio Mori, the original foreman’s son was not interested in wine or grapes, he was paid to take care of olive trees, and so the small vineyard at Canneto received the minimum care, and the local farmers made the wine in the traditional methods.  My father in law Paolo tells how when he began to come to Canneto in the late 1940s it was well known that one should carry his own wine because the vino locale was undrinkable.

In the late 1970’s Paolo Piqué’s sons Giovanni and Lorenzo began to replant the vineyard, which represents less than an acre of land.  The ancient and sick vines were replaced with two local varietals that tend to do well in the regional climate – Sangiovese, the red or nero grape, and Trebbiano, the white grape.  There is also a small percentage of a vine called Uva fragola, or strawberry grape, a vine that produces both red and white grapes together that have a distinct aroma of strawberry.  The new plantings gained steam after 1985 when a terrible and long freeze destroyed a huge number of vines and olive trees.  Now these 15 to 20 year old vines are beginning to show a great improvement in the quality of the wine produced.

As part of the agricultural association of Prato the farm has access to expert advice and the enologist and vinicultural counselor (my term) upon tasting the 2003 wine (a man who knows the vineyard, this is) recommended to my brothers in law to put the wine away and not drink it.  “This way,” he continued, “if in the future anyone ever wants to know if you can produce good wine here, you can open a bottle of this.”  And, in fact, we put away all of this small production for the family.

Luckily the production for 2004 is normal and the grapes were lovely and healthy.  While we do not thin the fruit in the summer to give room for larger, more robust grapes, Giovanni has been improving the vines and taking better control of the pests (wild boar, deer, hare and pheasants more than bugs) and the quality of the harvest is definitely improving along with the maturity of the plants.  The 2004 wine has aspects that would seem to bode well for improvement over time, a statement in and of itself that seems amazing to make about wine from Canneto.

The fact is that the really awful but large harvest of 2002 (a wet, wet year with lots of ugly grapes) has produced a wine that after 14 months or so is a very mellow and delightful table wine, just perfect for our purposes of drinking everyday with lunch.  I don’t pretend to know anymore than the fact that this was an intolerable wine throughout all of 2003 and most of 2004, but now I actually like it.  Or maybe it has killed my taste buds…  The other fact to note is that Cannetani wine is typically low in alcohol, around 11% by volume.  The 2003 comes in around 12% while the 2002 is about 10.5%.  When you drink a bottle of wine made elsewhere, one must be aware of the consequences.

Tuscany has an area the size of Death Valley National Park, and every little area in Tuscany is full of still very fresh local knowledge of the land, the geography and how nature interacts with weather and season.  Many people have told me this year how traditionally, in the past generation, the time for picking the olives did not begin until the first days of December.  Now the picking can begin as early as the first week of October and the oil making can begin shortly after.  Still the idea is to pick the olives when there is a good mix between the dark, mature olives and the green immature olives in order to produce a well balanced oil.

The terrible freeze of 1985 lasted for three weeks with a low temperature of -22°C during one long overnight that killed hundreds of trees.  The olives all over Tuscany suffered dreadfully, and one can still see where the dead trees have come back to life in the form of three or four new trunks growing out of the “dead” stump.  But many trees were completely lost, and at Canneto hundreds of new trees were planted.  Now there are over 1000 trees on the property, but this is still very small for production standards, and certainly far fewer trees than are encompassed by the confines of what used to make up the estate.

Of the huge estate that Cosimo and Edith purchased almost 100 years ago, only 40 hectares remain, or about 100 acres.  By 1909 they had moved the family to the palazzo in Florence as their principal home, maintaining the villas in Campi and Canneto, and in 1915 bought a house in Forte dei Marmi that they had long rented for the summers.  Cosimo occupied himself with the farms and the farm families and Edith continued in a tireless series of progressive works to create organizations to help pregnant women, educate poor and underprivileged children and provide health care and education to contadini in Canneto and Campi Bisenzio.  Their oldest son died of Spanish fever in 1917 while serving as an ambulance driver in the Italian Army in the Great War.  The property passed to their youngest son, Giovanni Giulio (Giangiulo) (the middle son, Bernardo or Nado, inherited the title of Count and the Villa in Campi).  Nado also served in the Great War and was wounded on the northern front, and most likely forever scarred by the tremendous suffering and cruelty he had witnessed. Giangiulio married Teresa Higginson of Lennox, Massachusetts in 1925.  They eventually moved to Canneto and completed the work begun by Cosimo and Edith of making the house into a home.

Over 1000 olive trees grow on the various terraces of the 4 or so acres that is the orchard or olivetto.  The orchard is divided into sections that are tended by men with whom the family divides the oil produced from the trees in that section.  The oil is measured by weight.  My chemist wife reminds me that oil is lighter than water, therefore 5 liters of oil is less than 5 kilograms.  If a man harvests 40 quintali (20 metric tons, or 20,000 kilos) of olives, and the olives produce oil at a rate of 13% of their weight, the result is 2600 kilos of oil.  In the wet year of 2002, the family’s 50% take of oil was about 4500 kilos, while in 2003, the result was way less than a fourth of that.

The term extra virgin olive oil refers to oil that has less than 0.5% acidity.  Virgin olive oil refers to oil with less than 1% acidity.  Anything else, by the laws in Italy, is referred to as “olive oil”.  In Italy, after olive oil, there is not a large selection of other oils to be found for cooking or dressing foods.  What in the US is labeled as vegetable oil is referred to as “seed oil”.  Sunflower seeds are the main ingredient in seed oil.  In addition, the designation of “first pressing” or “second pressing” seem to be inventions of marketing people as in the frantoio the olives are ground up and then crushed by the big stone wheels (“pressed”) and then a large centrifuge and many filters extract the oil from the “other stuff”.  The other stuff (sansa) is then taken away where if treated with chemicals can produce more oil for industrial purposes.  The two things that damage and spoil the oil are air and heat.  Thus comes the term “cold press” indicating that very little heat is used to improve the amount of oil extracted.  While the press itself is cold, the temperature in the centrifuge is carefully controlled and regulated by law to give certain distinctions and classifications.  In general, in Italy, there is extra virgin olive oil and then there is everything else.  New oil is used for conditioning food, old oil is used for cooking.  Seed oil is used for deep frying.

After the dry year of 2003 the real recovery was in the fruit trees.  The work of the old fattore still goes on in the form of any number of pear, apricot, plum, cherry, fig and lemon trees.  The pears were plentiful this year, and we had to work hard to clean up after the birds.  After we could pick our fill, the birds came and cleared out the rest.  The plums were small buy many this year, and the apricots were delicious after having not produced any last year.  We canned apricot preserves as well as plum and fig.

There was a lot of attention focused on the elections in the US.  The accepted truth here is that the President of the United States is, in effect, president of everyone, or, at least, is the commander-in-chief of the largest and best outfitted military force in the world.  And, as is the case throughout the world, there is a lot of anger and disillusionment about a man and a government that could have so forcefully and precipitously, with bullying, lying, and bravado, led us into a very ugly war in the name of making the world safer, etc.  Many, many times conversations were begun with, “well, after there is a new president….” and I had to correct that Mr. Bush’s re-election would not be based much on foreign policy.  But the vagaries of politics, or the continuing demolition of politics in the United States aside, the strong public opinion remains that this was a referendum on the war.

To the contrary, the vote was a referendum on the United States and its people.  Typically citizens in other lands recognize that our political leaders seldom reflect who we are entirely.  And in a place like Italy, the locals often are able to get a clear impression of what various foreign people are like by being able to meet them and talk with them.  Tourists in Tuscany, while fewer than ever in the past 20 years, are still many, and it is common for the locals to have impressions based on these kinds of interactions.  In general, Americans are known for kindness, generosity and ingenuity.  On a negative side they are often considered to be ignorant of culture and arrogant of customs and insensitive to local ways.  But the point would be that traditionally the Americans have managed to get rid of leaders who are seen to be bad.

This year, however, the worm has turned, and to be American is no longer viewed as a good thing.  The re-election of the President has only confirmed that Europe cannot trust the American people to do what they (Europe) view as the right thing.  While European journalists have long been pointing out to their readers in very popular journals the corrupt nature of the Bush administration, the American press spends far more time on the dangers of the low-carb diet.  While Europeans seem to be able to vote their popular opinions into action, the Americans do not (Mr. Berlusconi notwithstanding).

Therefore it is not too surprising to see institutions and organizations in Europe that have had the name “American” in their title changing their names or removing the offending word.  The American International School of Florence is now called the International School.  The American Language Institute becomes the Foreign Language Institute.

Of course, more worrisome is the decline of the US dollar.  While this remains something that doesn’t affect many in the US itself, it is a source of great concern for the rest of the world.  You have seen gas prices rise.  But does anyone notice how no one is investing in the US?  It is certainly obvious that the President is not worried about this trend, but the negative effects for many sectors of the US economy, not to mention the economies of South America, Europe and parts of Asia are scary.  

But as somebody said the other day, it always seems that the US government can make the markets move like a puppeteer with his puppets, and when they want the dollar to be stronger, when it no longer serves them that it is weak, they will make it rise.  What can one believe?

In the end we will survive this.  Even if the world markets collapse and depression ensues, we will survive.  It won’t be as much fun, and we’ll finally have to give up those sport utility vehicles (perhaps cars altogether), but we’ll make it.  After all we survived eight years of Ronald Reagan and company followed by 4 years of Bush the father.  The “scandals” of Mr. Clinton didn’t ruin us.  Somewhere in history there was a President Taft and a President Harding.  There was a President Grant, too.

Tommaso only complains that he wants to go outside and ride his bike.  No matter that it might be dark and raining and freezing cold.  No matter that the frantoio is busy and the trucks and cars drive the narrow road churning up the gravel and mud.  The steam collects on the window in front of the big pot of water boiling for the pasta.  Perhaps some soup tonight instead for me.  Then a bath for the kids and we can fall asleep to the sound of men’s voices and olives falling by the bushel into the stainless steel scale, a sound like a hard rain on a tin roof, and wake up to the rumble of the stone wheels grinding the pulp and pits into an oily paste.

Canneto, November, 2004

[princepipper]

Do you think Pipper and Gabe have a unique method of communicating? Like how some friends or couples are able to understand each other with just a glance.

Aw that's a pretty cute idea... I mean, I do think in the grand scheme of things, they know each other better than anyone else, and over the years are able to pick up on how the other is feeling based on small details.

I don't know if they could easily communicate without words though. I mean, that's sort of how most of their arguments or conflicts arise- lack of communication. It happens when you have an anti-social introvert paired with a traumatized-self-loather I suppose (don't think too hard about that btw...)

On a slightly unrelated topic, I do think that Pip and Gabe would come up with silly ways to compliment or even insult one another. It'd be for joking purposes really. Like calling each other really weird names haha. I once commented that Pipper also loves to call Gabe pet-names, but he never does it to her.

Pip: Greetings, my darling husband. Handsomest prince. Light of my life. ☺️💕

Gabe: Hi Pip.

...Pipper would also try to use sugar-coated compliments when attempting to inform Gabriel of something Bad she has done.

Gabe: Pip, did you see my keys earlier when you were cleaning?

Pip: Oh, your keys! The keys for your car, that you use to drive to work everyday because you are such a hardworking and amazing person! I love you for that, you're so great. :^)

Gabe: ...you got them stuck in the vacuum again, didn't you?

Pip: 👀💦

[veronica-sawyers-monocle]

☾ toji fushiguro x female reader 

☾ words: 4.1k 

☾ cw: single mention of drug use (cocaine), insecurities, cheating, dirty talk, unprotected sex, body worship (of reader), oral sex, toji calling you angel and pretty girl dkjnfdjhbg

☾ author’s note: how am i supposed to have sex with any real man when i have created the ideal scenario with this dilf, lmk. 

You were better than this. Staying in an unhappy relationship with a shitty finance bro? This wasn’t you at all. He made you feel terrible about yourself every day, constantly berating you about minor things you did “wrong,” while he could do whatever the fuck he wanted with no repercussions. His favorite pastime was staying out with his coworkers late at night, snorting coke at strip clubs. He’d even brag to you about it when he came home high out of his mind, telling you how “I was so-and-so stripper’s favorite, she wanted me so bad.”

That’s her job, dumbass. To make assholes like you feel like hot shit.

You hated when he came home from the clubs, he was always horny and wanted to fuck you. Except he barely fucked you, only lasting about five minutes and not even attempting to make you cum or please you at all. 

Predictably, you were with him for the money he made. Just for now, to survive, until you got your small business up and running. But it was becoming too much to bear, having to rely on him for rides, shelter, food...you didn’t even have a car to live in if you wanted to.

You got through each day by enjoying the simple pleasures. After work you’d walk to the coffee shop in the little plaza close by and get a snack for yourself. Watching people mill around the shopping center, you imagined what their lives were like, picturing a better existence than yours for each person you saw.

There was one man in particular who’d always caught your interest. He was the security guard for the shopping center, and unlike the usual pudgy mall cops you saw, this man was built. Definitely had to be ex-military or something, no way that body was created at the gym. He looked quite a bit older than you, too, like he could be someone’s dad. His black hair was graying a bit at the temples, and his body looked slightly weathered, though his face was handsome. He was nice, too, always smiling and nodding at you when you crossed paths. 

One day, you decided to buy him a drink, hoping to initiate a friendship. Deciding on just a plain black hot coffee (bought with your boyfriend’s credit card), you brought it over to him with a couple packets of sugar. 

“Hey, it looked like you may have needed this,” you told him. Not one to make small talk with strangers, this was a big feat for you. 

“Aw, whatcha tryin’ to say, I look tired or somethin’?” 

“N-no, I just always see you working and I figured it must be pretty boring  watching everyone all day,” you replied. “I’m waiting on someone and I figured I’d just get you something since I have the time.”

He snorted. “You’re fuckin’ right, honestly, it’s boring as hell,” he replied. “You got a name, pretty girl?” 

You introduced yourself, and asked his name in return.

“Toji Fushiguro,” he smiled at you, the scar cutting through his lip bending to accommodate his wide grin.

“So, who are ya waiting for?”

“Oh, just…just my, um, friend,” hesitating and stumbling over your words, you dodged Toji’s intense gaze.

“Your friend, huh?” His brows arched in skepticism. Sighing, you told him the truth. He was your boyfriend, and he was late once again. Toji’s unrelenting gaze made personal details just spill out of your mouth.

“Don’t seem too thrilled to be with him, do ya?” He gnawed on the toothpick at the side of his mouth, still staring at you.

“I mean, he’s my boyfriend, he’s just always late and I feel like he’s never listening to me…that’s why I’m still waiting here for him. I told him I wanted to eat at this coffee shop at 5, but clearly he had other things to do,” With a sigh, you let go of all the complaints you’ve been holding back. Toji’s attentive but casual demeanor made speaking with him more comfortable than you would with another stranger.

“And in bed too, he’s—” you stopped, realizing you were oversharing.

“He’s what? C’mon, you can tell me,” Toji playfully nudged you with his thick arm.

“He’s fucking selfish. He doesn’t give a shit about my pleasure at all. Just wants to get his nut and then ignore me to play his stupid video games. I don’t even know why I’m still with him.”

Toji scoffed. “Sounds like a fuckin’ child to me.” He threw his toothpick in the trash can. “Why are you still with him? Girl like you could have any man worshipping your body,”

You blushed and looked at the ground.

“That’s not true,” you mumbled. “I’m average.”  

“Is he tellin’ you that?”

“No, he doesn’t even comment on how I look.”

Toji could tell how bad this guy made you feel. You needed someone to show you what you were worth, he thought. Needed to have a real, experienced man appreciate and please you. Even though he was nearing 40 years old and you looked to be in your 20s, Toji still fucked like he was in his prime. Even better than that, he’d say. He’d been with many women and never failed to satisfy a single one.

To your disappointment, you noticed that your boyfriend had finally arrived. He was still in his crisp suit and tie from work.

“Hey babe, looks like they’re closed. Why’d you pick somewhere that closed this early, huh?”

“It closed at 6. It’s 7:30 right now, you shouldn’t have been so late,”

He rolled his eyes at your admonishment, while Toji stared at your yuppie boyfriend judgmentally.

“This your boyfriend?” Toji asked you.

“Obviously I’m her boyfriend, who are you, some busboy?”

Toji stepped towards him, folding his arms menacingly. He towered over your paunchy boyfriend, and had about 50 pounds of muscle on him too.

“Yeah, I���m the fuckin’ busboy, little man,” Toji sneered sarcastically.

“Toji-“ you glanced at him in a warning.

“I’m just messin’ with him, angel.”

Angel. So much nicer than “babe,” the generic pet name your boyfriend chose for you.

“Let’s go, babe.” he said curtly, grabbing your wrist to unceremoniously pull you away.

Toji winked at you when you looked back at him, a smile playing at the edge of his lips.

“I can’t believe you were talking to that guy. What a buffoon. A security guard? Pshhh…”

On the car ride home, your boyfriend ranted on and on about Toji, how rude he was, how dumb he seemed.

“The fuck was up with him calling you “angel”, too? I’m going to call the manager of that restaurant and get him fired.” You stayed silent, not telling him how you actually liked the pet name and how you’d rather be in the car with Toji instead of your boyfriend.That night, laying in the bed you shared with your boyfriend, sleep eluded you.

You replayed your conversation with Toji.

“Girl like you could have any man worshipping your body.”

Did “any man” mean Toji himself? He flattered you so much in one short encounter. The cute nickname, the way his big, warm arm felt brushing against your skin. Toji made you feel more special than your boyfriend ever had. He was right, your boyfriend was a child who hadn’t satisfied you in months.

You bet Toji knew his way around a woman. He was a little older, after all, you noted the subtle wrinkles around his mouth and crow’s feet framing his green eyes. That age must come with some experience, especially for a man as attractive as him.

Sighing, you turned over on your side, facing away from your boyfriend, and sleep took you.

You were sitting on a man’s lap, a man wearing tan khakis and a black t-shirt. Toji. You felt his cock hardening underneath you, thrusting up into you. Grinding against you slowly but you were so sensitive there your legs felt weak, your arms wrapping around his strong torso for stability.

Muscular forearms in turn reached around behind you, snaking down your pants and gripping your soft ass, pushing your body harder against his erection. Your face was pressed against his pecs, your mouth open and moaning, drooling on him in your arousal.

Your eyelids cracked open, an uncomfortable and wet sensation awakening you. In your sleep, you’d drooled all over the pillow. You realized your hand was up against your cunt, flattened between your body and the sheets.

Fuck. You must have been touching yourself in your sleep. That dream...fucking Toji…he was stuck inside your brain.

That day after work, you walked to the cafe in the plaza where Toji worked security. Picking up your usual iced coffee and sandwich, you sat outside and watched the passerby.

The warm weather made you feel lazy and relaxed, despite the caffeine in your system. It was Friday, and your boyfriend was gone for the weekend on a business trip. He certainly wouldn’t be missed.

“Hey, angel,” you heard a rough, low voice from behind you. Your stomach dropped in excitement, memories of your dream resurfacing.

Tilting your head back, you saw Toji standing behind you in his usual uniform. Today, his eyes were shaded by a black baseball cap, hair sticking out from the sides in dark spikes. He walked around to the seat across from you where your legs were resting.

“Don’t mind me,” he said. He lifted your legs up gently and sat down, placing your legs back on top of his own.

“Toji! Aren’t you supposed to be working right now?”

“I can work just fine from here. Ya see any threats around?” Toji leaned his elbow on the table, propping his face up with his fist. His eyebrows raised, expecting an answer from you.

“I guess not,” you sighed. “Slacker.”

He squeezed your bare calf at the insult, making you yelp and yank your legs off his lap.

“Aw, c’mon, there’s no way that hurt,” He teased. “Now put your legs back up, I know you wanna rest those tired feet.”

You begrudgingly put your legs back up on his lap.

“Ya waitin’ for your man again today?”

“Nah, he’s on a business trip this weekend.” You noticed him smirk at that, and wondered what kind of thoughts came to his mind.

As if given permission by your answer, Toji began massaging your bare calves. You couldn’t help but sigh at the way his big, rough hands kneaded at your smooth skin, applying the perfect amount of pressure.

“Mmm…that feels nice,” you closed your eyes, forgetting you were in public.

“Yeah, huh. Got any plans for tonight?” Opening your eyes back up, you were met with Toji’s intense green gaze. 

“No, I was just gonna go home and relax.”

“How ‘bout you come relax at my place instead?” He trailed one hand up towards your knee, stroking around it and grazing the bottom of your thighs. Despite the warmth of the sun, goosebumps appeared on your skin at his touch.

His eyes hadn’t strayed from yours.

“Sure, why not,” you smiled at him.

“Well, looks like I’m off work…” he checked his wrist, looking at a nonexistent watch. “…right about now.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “See, you are a slacker.”

“Only in some areas.” He winked at you. 

Toji drove an old, beat up black Honda Civic. Despite its rough exterior, the interior was clean and smelled good, like him. While he drove, his right hand rested on your inner thigh, squeezing and rubbing every so often. You had a feeling about what was going to happen when you got to his place, yet you both said nothing about that topic. The entire way there, your breath felt like it was caught in your throat, trying to hold back sighs of arousal from him touching you in that sensitive area. 

“Can I use your bathroom?” you asked when you arrived at his house. 

“No, I’m gonna make you hold it,” he chuckled, simultaneously pointing you to the restroom.

You washed up and stared at yourself in the mirror, shaking hands fluffing out your hair. Sighing, you rubbed your hands over your face.

How could he want to fuck me? He’s probably had sex with tons of women who are hotter and more experienced than me...it’s not like it’s my fault I don’t have a ton of experience because my boyfriend can only last five minutes. 

Insecure thoughts plagued your mind, but you knew Toji was waiting for you in the living room so you pushed them aside and left the bathroom. You found him sitting on his big sofa, legs spread casually and one of his arms resting across the back of the couch. 

“Toji, I know you brought me here because you want to fuck me,” you said abruptly. 

He cocked his eyebrows at you. “There somethin’ wrong with that, angel?” He didn’t miss a beat. “I gave ya plenty of opportunities to reject me, and I can tell you’re not the type to be oblivious.” Even though you were the one standing, Toji held all the dominance in the room. He was right, he conveyed what he wanted from your first conversation. He didn’t say it outright, but you felt his desire in the way he caressed your calves and groped your inner thighs. 

“You’re right,” you admitted. Your heart was racing, wondering what he’d do next.

“Your man doesn’t make you feel appreciated, that right?” You nodded. 

“I want you to strip for me. Just take your clothes off, nothin’ fancy.” 

You did as he asked, unceremoniously taking off your clothes. Toji watched you with his sultry gaze, his green eyes darkening with every inch of skin you revealed to him. 

“Touch your body for me, angel,” he said, eyes fixated on your naked form. You hesitantly began rubbing your torso, slowly caressing your skin, feeling your heart race beneath your sternum. 

“That’s right, all over.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. 

You grew bolder with your exploration, beginning to squeeze your breasts and pinch your nipples between your fingers, hardening them. Feeling heat grow between your legs, you snaked a hand to your pussy and felt how wet you were down there. Your mouth dropped open when you reached that area and you couldn’t help but sigh in pleasure. Toji hummed in approval. You’d almost forgotten he was there, too busy looking down at yourself, but he was in that same still position. Not even touching himself, but his chest was moving up and down noticeably faster.

“How’s that feel, huh? Ya wet down there yet?” You nodded at him, your wide eyes and vulnerable state making it almost impossible for him to take you right where you stood. But he wanted to savor you. It was what you deserved. 

He patted his spread legs, signaling you to come sit on his lap. “C’mere, pretty girl.” 

You sat on his lap facing him, noticing the large bulge and wet spot on his tan pants. How you made him that aroused by simply standing there and touching yourself a little was lost on you. He grasped your chin roughly with one hand and made you meet his gaze. 

“Why’d you have me do that?” you asked him softly. He brought his face closer to yours. 

“Wanted to make you appreciate yourself.” he said against your lips, moving his hands to rub hungrily at your sides. “Feel how soft your pretty skin is, how nice your tits are.” He moved his hands to your breasts, massaging them and tweaking your nipples with those rough fingers of his. You whined at the intensity of it, when he pulled at them for a little too long you couldn’t help but grind against his pants. It was overwhelming after months of receiving little to no physical affection. Toji’s hands continued worshipping your tits while his mouth was sucking and licking into your neck. After years of experience, Toji could usually last awhile, but the way your body was rubbing against his cock almost had him cumming all over his pants. 

He was quickly falling in love with the soft sounds that fell from your lips as he explored your body, so pliable and warm in his hands. You were needy for him in a way that his past lovers weren’t, experienced enough to know what you like but not used to being treated like your pleasure was the most important thing in your partner’s eyes. 

“Let’s go to my bed, ‘s more comfortable,” Toji easily lifted you by the bottom of your thighs and you wrapped your legs around his waist, clinging on to his solid body. He laid you on the soft mattress gently, making sure your head rested on the pillows.

“I like fuckin’ on the couch, but I’m also lazy and fall asleep afterwards.” 

You giggled, in a daze from the pleasure Toji had been giving you. Your eyes were glossy and your face was flushed. He thought you looked beautiful like this, he couldn’t wait to see you unravel even more.

“Can you take your clothes off?” you asked him shyly. “It’s not fair that I’m naked and you’re not.” 

“”Course,” Toji obliged, stripping off his tight black shirt and pants. His body was impressive, it looked good clothed but naked you could tell he’d had years to sculpt every muscle. You followed the line of salt-and-pepper colored hair down to his cock. Of course it’s big, you thought. He hadn’t even touched it the whole time you’d been at his house and it was fully hard, precum drooling from the tip onto the white sheets. Leaning forward, you collected some of it with your finger and put it in your mouth, tasting him. 

“Fuck, you’re sexy...” Toji knelt between your legs, caging you in with his elbows. “Don’t fuckin’ worry about me, okay? Need you to feel good tonight.” 

He kissed your lips, and it was more filthy than any kiss you’d ever received. His tongue stroked along yours, lips softly sucking on it, making your back arch with how erotic it was. You couldn’t get enough of his warm lips and tongue, moaning into his mouth as you tasted each other. 

His hand, which had been slowly rubbing down your body, had reached your pussy finally. Not able to stop yourself, you bucked your hips hungrily into his palm, moaning out for him to touch you.

“Please, Toji, I want you...”

“What d’you want?” 

“Want your fingers,” you panted. “Inside me.” As soon as you said it, Toji slipped his first two fingers into your sopping wet hole. 

“That’s my girl, don’t be afraid to ask me.” 

He watched your face as he thrust inside you, seeing your reactions change with every shift and curl of his fingers, every difference in the speed of his motions. Wanting you to feel as much sensation as possible, Toji kissed and sucked your neck and chest, making you squirm underneath him. 

“Gonna mark you up, how about that?” He used his mouth to make dark bruises appear on your skin, biting on the delicate flesh of your breast and soothing the pain away with his tongue. Sensing you were getting close to your orgasm from the way you were clenching around his fingers, he focused his mouth on your hard nipples, sucking and licking on them, alternating between using his free hand and his mouth. 

You were about to come, the feeling of his mouth all over you and fingers inside you, thumb rubbing your swollen clit with the perfect amount of pressure all too much. “I’m about to...ahh...” you cried out as you came, fisting Toji’s hair and fucking yourself through your orgasm on his fingers. 

“There you go, angel, cream all over my fingers, that’s it...” 

As you came down, Toji laid between your legs, his face right up against your pussy. “Nice and fuckin’ wet, bet you taste amazing,” His eyes met your own glazed over ones and licked your juices up slowly, warm tongue moving along your soft folds. You twitched, trying to move away from his hot mouth.

“‘S too much, I’m-I’m sensitive...”

“Just relax, alright? Promise it’ll feel good soon.”

He continued his slow licks, gripping your hips with his hands. His nose began to brush your clit and you moaned out for him, the feeling of overstimulation was gone. You just wanted more of his mouth, and Toji willingly gave it to you. The man loved eating your pussy, he made it obvious. Giving it sloppy kisses, licks, biting your inner thighs and leaving you with more bruises and marks, fucking your cunt with his skilled tongue. And moaning into you the whole time.

You noticed Toji’s hips slowly grinding into the mattress, he must be making a mess on the sheets. Knowing the older man was that aroused by giving you pleasure heightened everything so much more. You were longing to feel his cock inside you so that he could feel as good as you were.

“Toji,” 

He raised his head from your thighs, looking at you questioningly.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“You sure? I can make you cum again like this.” He was so eager to please you.

“No, I-I want you inside of me. Wanna feel your cock,” you panted out.

“Yeah?” He sat up, grasping his length in his hand. “Wanna feel this in your little pussy, huh?” Moving towards you, he propped one of your legs against his shoulder. Toji loved this position. He loved being able to see a woman’s face as he fucked them, loved watching their body move with his thrusts. 

He dragged his length up and down your pussy, making you shiver. He circled his tip around your clit, watching intently as your eyebrows contracted and you thrust up into him. 

“Please put it in me, Toji, I need it.” He laughed softly at your desperation for him.

As he slowly entered you and felt your walls adjust around his length, he kissed your calf that was resting on his shoulder.  

He started off at a lazy pace, making sure you felt every inch of him dragging in and out of you, and when he felt you loosen up and become wetter, he sped up. Your leg fell from the movement and he just gripped your hips instead, pulling you towards him over and over. He was panting and groaning, finally allowing himself to feel the pleasure of his cock enveloped inside your warmth. 

“Feel good?” he gasped. You could only nod and moan in response. His pelvis rubbed against your swollen clit with every thrust, causing your pussy to contract around his cock over and over. The two of you were so messy together, your arousal coating your cunt and spreading to your inner thighs, rubbing off on his balls each time you connected.

“God, your pussy’s so good, squeezing my fat cock like this,” he gasped. “Swear you’re gonna make me cum soon.” 

His thumb came down and rubbed on your clit, and you knew at this point you were getting close again. You thrust your hips up to meet his, wanting to feel more friction, more of his cock. 

“Toji I think ‘m gonna cum again!” 

“Yeah? Fuckin’ cum then, cum all over my cock pretty girl.”

As you came and contracted around his cock, Toji couldn’t hold himself back anymore. You felt him release inside you, warmth coating your insides and filling you up. He collapsed from his kneeling position, pressing his sweaty torso to your bruised one and weaving his hands through your hair, stabilizing himself. 

He pressed soft, lazy kisses on your neck, panting into your skin. 

“You were so good for me, angel,” he murmured. You couldn’t help but laugh, you knew he’d done most of the work. 

“No, you were the good one, Toji,” You smiled up at him. “Thank you.” 

“It’s what you deserve,” he mumbled sleepily. “Fuck, I’m already fallin’ asleep on ya without cleaning you up.” 

He went to grab a warm, damp washcloth, rubbing it over your bruised, spent body gently, focusing on soothing the areas he’d bitten or sucked extra hard. He saved your pussy for last, absorbing all of his cum that had spilled out of you with the cloth. Toji placed one last kiss to your sore cunt before coming up to wrap you in his big arms. He stroked your skin for awhile, lulling both of you to sleep. You’d never felt so relaxed with someone, and being with Toji felt like you were finally at home. 

Thanks for reading! <3

taglist: @seindou @lurvelybones

[ireniclacuna]

soft smiles, sharp eyes - affogato cookie x reader

A/N: hiya!! this is (technically my second little ficlet, but never mind that) just a lil thing about affogato cookie x reader! reader is gender neutral in here, and uses they/them pronouns. they're also referred to as baker cookie (totally not yoinked from self aware crk au hahahaha but uh this is more of a isekai case technically in reader's case, not actually self aware.)

tags: affogato cookie x reader, mismash of fluff and angst? not sure how to describe it but its. There., reader is referred to as baker cookie and uses they/them pronouns, hints of readers past, affogato cookie being horribly ooc im pretty sure because i just got him

no cws/tws i think are needed, but feel free to leave a note if they are and i'll add them!

------------------

Affogato is persuasive.

He wouldn't pretend that he isn't- he knows for a fact that he is, which is how he (sometimes) managed to earn the loyalty of the cookie citizens of the Dark Cacao Kingdom. He knows that in order to win, in order to truly get his opponents to submit to sweet-tasting defeat, he has to make his tongue laced with silver, to softly whisper of (perhaps fake) misdeeds. Except.

Except you seem to be the one exception that doesn't seem to believe it. Believe, he means, in the sort of half-truth and sugar-coated words he uses. You always have a soft smile on your face, eyes covered, along with the rest of your face, because of the hood that covers it. You tug it down if you feel threatened, he notices, with narrowed eyes full of wonder. You don't seem to engage in rumors- at least not the ones that he uses, because all of the ones that you say are simply small-talk. Maybe gossip, he muses, if he could stretch it that far, but no. There are no rumors or lies or truths from you. There is simply you, smiling at him, hand tightened on your hood, and beckoning him closer to "-come and sit down, alright, Affogato?"

And whatever he does, even with a hand hiding a snide smile, he complies. He asks you about your day- tells you advice on how you should go on with yourself. Even if he supplies himself with a healthy dosage of truth (the truth, he tells himself, nothing more) is that you want to use him, exactly as he wants to do to you. Except he complies, and sits down at the table peppered with sweets and lovely tasting soda that you drink without a single care. He stares at it longer than he ought to- only watching you drink it all down.

Seems it's not poisoned, at the very least.

"Hiding behind your hood won't exactly help you in any sort of case, Baker."

He says it teasingly, wanting to poke at the fire your oven seems to alight. Except you never do. You simply give him a smile as sharp as whipped cream -which is to say, not sharp at all- and lifts your hood up ever so high that he can see your eyes staring back at him.

Your eyes, unlike his, are wide. They're never in a narrowed position, always wide and so incredibly soft and it makes him sigh -in fondness, he realizes one day- as he offers up a smile of his own that is neither sharp nor soft, neither snide or welcome. He curves his lips up ever so slightly, letting his hand down from his face, and your smile digs even deeper into your cheeks.

---

Sometimes, he trails behind you. Or beside you, whichever of the which. He walks with you, never truly laughing, as he goads you into letting spill some rumors you've most likely heard from the other cookies of this Kingdom. You never do, though- you never have and he figures that you never will. You simply respond with something unrelated, something that he is definitely not interested in, as you speak of new relationship developments with certain cookies. Nothing pertaining to the rumors that he uses. Perhaps one day they might come of use, he muses, as he walks alongside you.

Sometimes, he doesn't say anything about rumors. Doesn't try to push you into doing something. Doesn't try to persuade you into saying. He simply watches you, hand ever raised to cover his mouth, staring at your interactions with others. He looks on lazily, eyes opened in interest as you instruct several cookies on what to do. He expects most of them to groan, to shuffle about.

Except they don't. Gingerbrave, ever intent on proving himself, smiles and grabs Wizard Cookie's hand, while the other yelps, and runs off to the Jammery. Sea Fairy Cookie sighs softly, eyes always in that haze, but she does so with nothing to protest. He wonders if this was something you were natural at- a natural born leader, despite your general demeanor. You've always been the one that seems to order everyone around, and everyone complies, and Affogato has long since associated that with the weak obeying the strong. With them obeying you. Except you never call yourself the leader of this Kingdom. The Grand Majesty, he thinks. You always smile, whenever he asks.

He asks you, voice questioning and curious, why do you not call yourself the Majesty of this Kingdom?

You always smile and say this in response- Am I really one?

He is almost about to say yes, yes with all of his heart, except. He catches himself with ease, and simply gives a snide smile in return instead of a simple word that he would have undoubtedly meant with all of his heart. He barks out a vicious laugh.

"Are you trying to get me to compliment you, Baker?" He sneers, snide smile growing even wider.

You look despondent for a moment. He wonders, in that singular moment, if he's gone too far.

You tug your hood down even further, nodding, and hiding that smile he's grown to see on your face these days.

"I have to go now," is what you say, breaking into a sprint and running into an oblivious Pure Vanilla Cookie near the castle.

He frowns, covered by a hand- he needn't partake in such flattery, except a single part of him does want to. It wants to tell you that you are a strong leader in your own right, and to say it honestly. Not coated with the sugary sweet tone he uses for persuasion. To say it with his own voice.

He narrows his eyes, as Pure Vanilla Cookie seemed to fret over your well-being, asking if you're alright, as you let out a soft puff of laughter, telling the worried Ancient Cookie that you're perfectly fine.

---

Affogato thinks that he's usually above the flattery you spoil him with. To spare him from it, because he usually sighs and tells you to stop. You never do. You always grin, hood riding up your face just a bit to show your scarily (mystifying) eyes, lightened with joy. He smiles, always snide- "you certainly have better things to do, Baker. But I'm pleased to see that you seem to use it all with myself."

You simply grin.

And something inside of him seems to churn at it, moving quicker than coffee and ice cream alike. He looks away, hand gripped onto his staff, as you walk alongside with him.

"Say, Baker Cookie." You hum in response- what's up?

"Where exactly do you come from?"

You still, suddenly, before shrugging it off. "Where do you come from," you counter, sighing.

He smiles sharply- "In exchange of coins, I'd be glad to say." You huff.

"I come from the sky," is what you say. He narrows his eyes, before letting out a soft laugh. It's soft. It's soft and doesn't quite fit him, he realizes.

"I didn't know you had a sense of humor, Baker- almost as comparable to how existent, as others have said, to me actually smiling."

You still for another moment, shoulders sagging.

You look up, and for the first time, he sees your eyes are tired. Bags under them, the smile he's come to associate with you threatening to unfurl into a low frown.

Affogato looks away just a moment, and suddenly, you're back to the Baker Cookie he's come to know you for. He wonders if there's something else, and wonders.

---

He settles down, across from the ever reckless Gingerbrave Cookie, as Gingerbrave seems to drink the soda he had painstakingly poured out with glug after glug.

"So! Affogato Cookie! What did ya need me for?" He chirps out the question, face already in determination.

Affogato smiles at him, all bite, and tentatively sips at his own drink. "I wanted to ask, where exactly did you meet Baker Cookie? I've coin as well, if you must."

Gingerbrave tilts his head- before suddenly realizing what exactly he wanted.

He lets out a ooooh, drinking his cup faster. He ponders it for a bit, face scrunched up in thought, before responding.

"Wellll... I met them when I was getting chased by a cake-hound. Was actually the first cookie I met back in that forest, before all the Kingdom stuff started. They were coming out of a clearing, I think, and they must have heard me scream out, because they immediately ran over to me and tried to help. Tried to, because that's when I found they couldn't do anything to it."

Tried. They both know (well, every cookie in the Kingdom knew) that you can't really fight. Can't really fight other than do various tasks in the Kingdom, and wish up new cookies to arrive.

Gingerbrave adds on suddenly- "They seemed pretty outta it, though. Was pretty confused and scared. Still, they tried coming to my help! That's when I knew they couldn't possibly be a bad guy!"

Affogato nods, smiling. "I see." He sips again at his drink, taking a bite of the pastry.

And then it's over like it had never started in the first place.

---

Affogato Cookie has always been persuasive. It's something he's sure that he'll never be able to let go of. Lately, however, he thinks he's the one being persuaded. By you. Even if you're doing so unintentionally, with the mystery that seems to surround you like the milky-white robe that covers you, with your soft smiles and eyes wide and bright. You call for him, usually a day, as you both chatter over small-talk, rumors, and his own pastimes. He finds himself blooming like a bloodied flower, watered with soft smiles, jabs at himself, and a hint of tragedy. It's so truly hard to let down a single barrier. Especially for you. So hard to not scan each word that's been told countless times for the real meaning. So hard to not send back sugar-coated lies and misdeeds and truths.

You smile at him, again, and again, and he thinks that maybe he can let down a single barrier. To not respond with urge, with attentiveness, and to simply speak like two reasonable cookies sharing tea and snacks.

He wonders if he's ever thought to truly love, to not use promises of I love you for persuasion, but with actual intent and meaning. So he keeps the thought locked away, and lets himself relax and think of soft memories made in a tea party.

And for the first time, other than the need for power and control and to ride up to the top, he finds himself wanting something entirely else that has a soft smile and full of quite oblivious (yet sickening all the same) sweet intentions.

[orange-waterfalls]

Unnecessary Feelings

The Host x gn!reader

ty anon for the request

A/N: BRO. Bro. Bro I. I am so proud of this one don’t even look at me. Also happy spooky month! Might do something with that, idk though. This is more of another character study with the Host, I’ll be honest. I still think it’s pretty cute, though. I didn’t read back through this, lmk about any mistakes. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2.4k

Unnecessary Feelings

Host isn’t particularly looking for a relationship, of any sort. Not necessarily. It would be nice, but it isn’t at the forefront of his mind. It’s not that important. Change is weird. He’s been in his same office, writing the same kind of stories, with the same kind of people. That’s fine. He likes that. He likes his novels, his protagonists, and his office.

He explained all of these things to Wilford and Darkiplier, but neither was having it. That’s how he ended up staying at the manor for a while, while his place was being “renovated”. He didn’t know how much he trusted Wilford to “renovate” correctly. 

Wilford likes pink. A lot. Host doesn’t. He can't see it, but he knows it. Pink was loud. Pink smelled like raspberries and icing and cherry blossoms and shrimp. It sounded like fair music and joyful screaming and chalk scraping on the ground. It felt smooth and soft and squishy. It tasted like sugar, sugar, sugar, too much to be healthy. Pink made his brain hurt. He doesn’t like pink. Wilford likes pink. Wilford… Wilford fucking loves pink. And Wilford will say it’s pink, and Host will know it’s pink, and even though he can’t see it, he’ll be upset that it’s pink. He doesn’t like pink. He doesn’t know how to say it. So he doesn’t. And he copes.

He takes the opportunity to talk to the others staying at the manor, which was pretty much just Dr. Iplier and… you. Dr. Iplier was a… reasonable man. He was boring. Very boring, really. He directed every conversation to discuss your health or a weird patient he had recently, neither of which really interested the Host. He didn’t enjoy talking to Dr. Iplier too much. 

You, however…

Were also kind of boring?

Well, you mostly just wandered around, reading, cleaning, sleeping, not doing much else. He didn’t initiate conversation and neither did you. If you sat next to him on the couch and he sat a little straighter and breathed a little faster, that was simply a coincidence. And the urge to talk to you about his novel for hours was simply boredom. And the desire to listen to you talk for hours was… it was none of your goddamn business is what it was. He didn’t like you, but he didn’t dislike you either. He felt nothing. You made him feel nothing. This didn’t mean anything.

Really. 

It didn’t.

But, entirely too fast, Dark and Wil were done. Or rather, whoever they hired was done. Which was good. Host bid you two goodbye. Dr. Iplier told him to drink plenty of water but not too much, and you told him you’d keep an eye out for his newest novel. He felt like he should be blushing right now, he felt it in his face. Nobody commented, so he assumed he didn’t. He felt a thing happen in his chest as he looked at the two of you. 

He didn’t like either of you, and if he kept telling himself that, maybe it would come true.

He received a new office. It was much cleaner and brighter, and he actually had room to think. There was an espresso machine in the corner atop a pink table, a “dandelion” yellow couch next to it, a pastel pink desk against the opposite wall, and a few “motivational” posters on the baby blue walls. At least from what he’d heard. Wilford did his best to explain the room. He appreciated that the walls were not, in fact, pink like he expected.

He had to walk around a few times, keep track of his steps, and get used to the new layout. It’s a good room. Clean. No nails sticking out of the floor, no rats scurrying around, no cobwebs, no holes, no nothing. Clean and quiet. Clean. And. Quiet.

… 

He fucking hates the goddamn room.

Who likes silence? Who enjoys that? Who wants to be stuck in a suffocatingly clean office with nothing but their thoughts for hours at a time? Homicidal people, that’s who.

Ignore the fact that he has homicidal tendencies and has almost killed/has killed several people, that doesn’t matter right now.

He can just sit and deal. He can take the office, try to coax the rats into coming back, buy some spiders, and write. No big deal.

Except what if he didn’t deal? What if he told them he hated it and couldn’t work in these conditions? What if he was forced to stay at the manor again? What if he could… talk… and interact with people? Without anything barring him from doing so?

He’s… not lonely. 

He’s not lonely. 

He’s not.

But if he stays in the manor again while Wilford talks about how he has no taste and Darkiplier decides to be in charge of the renovation now, that’s not his fault.

Bim, Eric, and you were staying at the manor when he had to. For the second time. Bim had a thing for rom-coms and dramedy movies, and Eric had started to pick that thing up. You and Host also watched the movies, but whether you actually liked them was beyond him. Usually, you made fun of them together. He couldn’t see them, but he could hear a lot of the ridiculous dialogue. He could drop two random people in a closed-off room together and they’d have more chemistry than half of these Hallmark Christmas Movie couples. You were very quiet during “To All The Boys I Loved Before”, however, so either you loved it or you hated it. He couldn’t really tell.

You two talked a little less than before, you being preoccupied with Eric. Host was fine with that. He could just… talk to you whenever you were done. But you apparently had a low social battery and trapped yourself in a room whenever you were done talking to Eric. That was fine. Host didn’t need to be happy anyways. 

He may or may not have showed up at your door first thing in the morning sometimes to get the chance to talk to you. You didn’t know, so it was fine.

But Eric and Bim were smart. They picked up on the Host’s… “feelings” and desire to talk to you. If either were in a room with you and Host, they immediately left so that you could talk. It worked, and Host was happy, but he felt kind of bad.

No. No he didn’t. He felt no emotion towards anyone or anything. The suit he bought for Bim and the journal he bought for Eric meant absolutely nothing. It was a business transaction. You can’t prove anything.

Somehow quicker than before, the room was fixed. Again. And you, Eric, and Bim saw him off. Eric’s voice sounded wet and Bim sounded a little sad as well. You sounded… fine. But he had a suspicion that you knew you were going to see him again soon. And Host was not upset, of course not. And if he was thankful his eyes weren’t exactly working properly because otherwise he might have shed a few tears, it was completely unrelated. You can’t prove anything.

The new room was completely black and white. Black laptop and a white desk with a black chair. White walls and a black floor. A white couch against the wall. No espresso machine this time, which slightly disappointed the Host. 

Darkiplier sounded proud when he explained the room. Host could see why, it sounded very pretty. Which he tried to say when he turned to Darkiplier. But his traitorous mouth instead said:

“Host asks if this room is meant for the Host or you?”

The Host was teleported back to the manor this time. Wilford was standing out in front, Host knew because he heard the man’s distinct yell of surprise. He also smelled gunsmoke and wine.

“Wilford.”

“Host. What are you doing here?”

“The Host asks what you are doing here?”

“... I asked you first.”

“The Host asked you second.”

“... business. You?”

“... business.”

“Ah… well, cheers.” Quick footsteps get quieter as Wilford runs away. Host stood for a moment,  debating whether or not to apologize to Dark. Before he could decide, the door opened.

“Host?” You asked. Host instantly felt himself straighten up and ball his fists.

“Hello.” He said stiffly.

“Another renovation?” He heard the smile in your voice and forced himself not to smile back.

“Host assumes so.” He nodded.

“So…” You sighed.

“So?” He tilted his head.

“Are you coming in?” You asked. Host let himself smile as he walked into the manor.

He didn’t see you all too much for the rest of the week, and he was severely disappointed. There wasn’t really anybody staying there, just a few people visiting over a few days. Yancy, Illinois, and maybe Bing, if the sound of a skateboard at 3 in the morning was any clue. He was pretty much alone. And that was fine. He was usually alone. He was used to it. This was fine.

Maybe he should stop lying to himself so often.

All too soon, he was on his way back. Again. You were the only one to see him off this time.

“Well… um…” You started. The tension between you two was like a punch to the gut. You were perfectly fine before. What happened?

“Host bids you farewell,” He nodded politely and turned around. Maybe if he left quickly, it wouldn’t hurt as much.

“Wait, Host!” You called. He froze. “I’m, uh… I’m coming with you.” He spun around to face you.

“Host… asks what you mean?”

“I wanna… see your office. I mean, if I’m… allowed to visit?” You said meekly. Host felt his heart quicken.

“The Host would love-like that,” He coughed as he corrected himself. 

“Ok, good,” He could hear the smug smile in your voice. Damn him and his… feelings.

The commute to his thrice-new office was almost silent. Neither of you said anything. You most likely wanted to wait for the Host to start the conversation, but he didn’t want to bother you if you didn’t want to talk. It was a little awkward. But after a while, it became comfortable. He liked just being in your presence.

He thought that was what he would miss most about the manor.

You both stood outside of his office door when you arrived.

“Well… here we are.” You whispered. Host nodded solemnly. “Do you want to do the honors.” Host lifted his hand to the doorknob, feeling himself shake. He clutched the doorknob, not moving an inch. He could feel your eyes on him. You were worried. This was fine. 

You could visit. But what if you didn’t want to? What if you saw his stories? What if you thought he was cruel? He was, but not to you. He would never be to you. He could stop. He could write different stories. He could write a romance! It would still affect people’s lives, but for the better? At least until the story ended and he had no control over it. What if you wanted him to stop? He couldn’t just stop. Would you give him an ultimatum? You wouldn’t… would you?

“Host--” You started. He whipped around to face you.

“The Host does not want to enter the room.” He said, voice wavering a little. He cleared his throat. Embarrassing.

“What? Ho-”

“The Host wants to talk to people. The Host… wants friends. The Host wants to stay with you and the others.” He grits out. God, this was pathetic. Was he begging? 

“Host, open the door.” You sighed. The Host froze. What? Why were you… what?

Oh. So that was it. You were seeing him off… for the last time. You didn’t… you… didn’t like… 

Right. Yeah. You were a polite person. He should’ve known.

“But…” He trailed off and faced the floor.

“Host, I really think you should open the door,” You said, the smile clear in your voice. His eyebrows furrowed. Well, you didn’t have to be so eager about it, Jesus.

The Host grabbed the doorknob and threw the door open with a crack against the wall.

“Jesus, man!” Bim’s distinct game show voice sounded from inside the room. Left front corner. “What’s got your boxers in a bunch?”

“I always thought he was a boxer-briefs man.” Dr. Iplier said from the opposite side.

“I can confirm that he is, in fact, a boxer-briefs man.” Google said from the same place as Dr. Iplier.

“I honestly would’ve thought commando.” Eric’s voice was muffled, as if he was facing away from everyone else.

What… What the fuck?

“What. The fuck.” He said loudly. You clapped a hand on his shoulder, making him jump.

“Surprise! We’re invading your office. Please don’t resist.” He could, again, hear the smirk on your face. He almost wanted to be mad. Almost.

“What?” He turned to you. You let go of him and stepped in.

“We fixed your room! You got your bland-ass beige walls, your hardwood floor, cobwebs, dust, and I think there’s a rat somewhere in the walls…”

“His name is Remy!” Eric said happily.

“Sorry, Remy is somewhere in the walls.” Host didn’t move, still processing this whole situation.

“The Host… doesn’t understand…” He rubbed his temples.

“Well, you seemed… lonely. And we like spending time with you. So… we’re gonna spend time with you!” Bim explained.

“You don’t have to do things alone anymore. Just… call someone up and we’ll come hang out.” Dr. Iplier said.

“Only if you ask, though.” Eric added softly. Host didn’t move for a long while.

The others began to fidget, thinking they did something wrong. Eventually, he took a breath, and everyone else held theirs.

“Is… is the Host’s equipment still here?” He asked.

“Your writing stuff? Yeah, it’s on the desk.” You answered. Host went quiet again, thinking.

“Do… You guys want to help the Host write something?” He mumbled.

“Hell yeah we do!” You clapped your hands once. Host made his way over to his desk. All the others, including you, crowded around him as soon as he sat down, pushing each other to get a good look.

This was slightly claustrophobic and pretty uncomfortable… 

…

It was perfect.

[sometipsygnostalgic]

Adventure Time and discovering things about yourself when you’re older

Jake’s mutant powers and Bubblegum’s elemental powers aren’t just “oh cool, new power”, I love how the show cleverly used them to deconstruct how these characters think about themselves, and presented it as a challenge, in “Abstract” and “Jellybeans Have Power” respectively.

If you are an older person, and you have led your life one way, and you discover something about yourself - about your body, your identity, your history - that could have led to you having a very different life, how would you process it?

Basically, they have a mid-life crisis.

Jake tries to deny his heritage and go back to how things were, but he’s unable to. The more he ignores the new truth about himself, the harder it is to keep down. So he talks to his brother, and found that Jermaine has changed - he used to only draw landscapes, but got bored, and draws abstract art now. In understanding that while Jermaine has changed slightly, he’s still the same person, Jake also understands that as long as he knows the shape of his own soul, he’ll still be himself. Jake regains control of his form, for the time being. 

Bubblegum is blown away by her new truth and can’t ignore it. She can’t go back to the way things were, because she’s done so much in her life that banked on her self-identity, but now something is challenging it. If she couldn’t discover a simple fact about herself, what does this mean for how she’s been running her kingdom the whole time? Bubblegum’s new ability is even embarrassing - the jellybeans fart out of her hands, she can’t use it at all - but in seeing Chatsberry, someone more at home with his identity, she sees what she could become. Instead of continuing to chase whatever perception she has of Chatsberry, or of magic Bubblegum has to change the way she thinks about magic and apply it to herself in a way that is logical to her mindset, even if it still doesn’t make much sense. By doing this, she’s able to tap into some of that potential. Unfortunately, because of the damage she did, she’s still really uncomfortable with the new truth, and represses it at the end, like Jake before. 

 In the finale, both characters are gradually accepting who they are, without seeing it as something that removes their former identity. During the battle, Jake uses his transformative powers by himself for the first time since Abstract. In the final montage, he’s seen flying through the blood dimension (we’ll calll it that) with Lady - this implies Jake’s powers have advanced to such a rate that he’s learned how to open portals.      Bubblegum, meanwhile, went into battle thinking she’d be winning with her soldiers and science, but ends up using jellybeans to fend off the owls and protect the banana guards. This was the first time she used magic since Elements scared her away from it.  In the episode Obsidian she even unlocks a new ability when protecting herself and See-thru while trying to do science, and Bubblegum considers her use of root beer to stop the dragon a scientific discovery, not a magical endeavour. She’s still applying her scientific way of thinking to her life, but far more openmindedly, and is able to fill everybody’s heads with root beer for the experiment.  

These two characters may be older, but they have plenty of life in them yet, and it’s up to them how they’ll lead it with this new self acceptance.  

What particularly gets me is that Oliver Sava, when reviewing “Jellybeans Have Power” (the first of these eps to air), talked about how it hit home with him when he was coming to terms with his sexuality. 

It’s also one that I think kids need to learn, because identity isn’t something set in stone. People change dramatically over time, and it can be a real challenge to understand those changes and accept the person you’re growing into. This episode made me think a lot about my personal coming out process and how difficult it was to accept that I was gay even though it was clearly a huge part of who I was. The foundation of who I thought I was had been completely upended, and it took years for me to embrace that part of myself instead of being afraid of it. And when that acceptance finally did occur, there was a wave of regret that it didn’t happen sooner. Like PB being angry at herself that the scientist within her didn’t see the data, I was angry at myself for not seeing the obvious signs that I was trying to contain an essential part of my identity. But there’s no use in wallowing in the past. Those lost years were gone, and the only way to be a better person was to not make the same mistakes in the future.

..I’ve been thinking a lot recently about Rebecca Sugar’s interview with Paper Magazine, how she said people were able to relate to Marceline and Bubblegum as queer characters, not just because it was implied they were dating, but also because of how they see themselves, especially with Marceline being bisexual, and so many bisexual people connecting to her for elements OUTSIDE of the fact she likes girls.

It’s interesting, then, that Oliver was able to connect his struggles with his sexuality to Bubblegum - who is canonically queer - through something completely unrelated to her sexuality, but strongly related to how she sees herself. 

[juno-of-the-sky]

pink in the night / tetsurou kuroo

eleven times you and tetsurou kissed throughout your lives.  [based off of mitski’s pink in the night, i strongly recommend you listen to that while reading]

tags: lots of kisses (no duh), traditional couple things, gender-neutral reader word count: 3,092k my hand slipped a/n: wow look my first work! obviously i made it about kuroo because he’s one of the easiest ones for me to write LOL— anyway i hope you enjoy! requests will be open soon as well in case there’s anything specific you’d like to see <3

Kuroo’s lips were chapped.

There were a lot of things you could’ve been focusing on at that moment, but his lips were chapped against yours, and that was the main thing. Or, it was the main thing until the weight of what you were doing — kissing Tetsurou Kuroo — really sunk in, and then it was everything. It was his chapped lips; his palms, resting so gently on your cheeks, his thumb rubbing circles into the apples of them; the pitter patter of the rain hitting the puddles on the concrete and the umbrella above the both of you that you were holding.

In only a moment, you’d managed to notice so much and so little at the same time.

Kuroo was the one to break the kiss — you had to hold back from dropping the umbrella and pressing your hands against his neck and pushing him into your lips because you just had to have him again.

“Ah, sorry,” The messy-haired boy muttered. When you opened your eyes with a confused, incoherent murmur, he was staring down at the ground, his cheeks dusted with pink. “That was… impulsive, my bad—” “Kuroo,” You breathed. “That was amazing.” He was silent for a second, before a slightly shocked, “Really?” “Do it again.”

He chuckled, putting his loving gaze on you again for only a second before stealing another kiss. This time, you took note of every detail.

And I know I’ve kissed you before, but I didn’t do it right

“Oh, come on, that was a lame kiss,” Kuroo rolled his eyes, slipping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer to him. The sudden force knocked you off of your feet slightly, but you were happy to be close. 

“It was not,” You insisted, squinting your eyes in the sun to see him accurately. Upon your declaration that the kiss of the night before — your first kiss with him, no less — had been the best in the world, Kuroo was annoyingly set on proving you wrong. “It was a great kiss.” “My lips weren’t even moisturized,” He said, shaking his head. “You have meager standards, (Y/N).” “If it was so bad, then kiss me again to make up for it.”

Kuroo was silent, unmoving for a second before slipping his arms around your waist and lifting you ‘till you were level with his lips and kissing you.

If last night, someone had told you that the next day you would have a kiss that was even more amazing than the one you shared with Kuroo in the rain, you wouldn’t have believed them.

Now, kissing him in the sun with your arms around his neck and his arms around your waist, you definitely would’ve.

Can I try again

“Do you wanna be my partner?” The bouquet of pink roses in your hand seemed to glow a million times brighter as Kuroo stared at you with that smile on his face — confident, mostly, but with undertones of a sort of innocent shyness.

“Y—You mean to ask me?” You squeaked.

“Obviously. Who else would I ask?” He responded with a light chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re the one who… y’know.”

It all seemed so impossible — how in the world did Tetsurou Kuroo fall for this next-door-neighbor-type person? Yet, you felt like you were glowing pink, pink with adoration and affection and…

“Yeah,” was your final, whispered response. “I’ll be your partner.”

Kuroo smiled even wider, reaching out his arms — but before he could do anything, you went in for the kiss you knew he was planning. He hummed, surprised, which made you pull away momentarily.

“What are you doing?” He said, eyes closed and forehead pressed against yours. His hand was tracing up the back of your neck. “C’mon. Stop being a tease.” And his hand pushed against your neck, and then you were in your favorite place in the world — with your lips pressed to Kuroo’s. The serene hill the two of you had been sitting on, watching the clouds go by, was a lovely backdrop for this romance, this early love that was starting to form between the two of you.

You weren’t just glowing pink — the whole world was.

Try again

Kuroo had his head pressed against the wall when you found him, tears pouring down his cheeks in unrelenting streams. You didn’t know what was wrong, but there was something — Kuroo didn’t just cry like this. He’d never cried. It was such a strange sight to behold, but it wasn’t a bad one.

You sank down on the brick wall beside him, placing your hand on his knee. Through all of the tears, he gave you a side-glare that could’ve been full of a lot of different emotions.

“Hey, Kuroo, it’s okay,” You said, squeezing his knee. “It’s gonna be okay, alright? You’re not alone.”

He spat out something incoherent, his voice sounding nasally and hoarse like he had to force the words off of the tip of his tongue. 

Gently, you slipped your hand under his chin and lifted his head slightly to face you. He stared impassively at you, despite the tears still rolling down his cheeks before the tiniest glimmer of a smile appeared on his chapped, broken lips.

Your hand ran through his uncombed hair like clockwork; your other hand fit in the spaces between his fingers perfectly. You kissed him, but this kiss was different than your previous ones. It was gentle, full of affection and attention and warmth and love; that was the strange, fluttering feeling you felt in your chest every time you kissed Kuroo. It was love.

And as you pulled away from each other, you couldn’t help noticing that against this wall was where you had your first kiss.

You figured it was a good enough wall to say something else noteworthy.

“I love you,” You whispered, the three beautiful words rolling off your tongue like marbles from the depths of your heart.

Kuroo was silent, and for a second, you thought you’d messed up. You were assembling an apology in your head before, so quietly you almost missed it, a chuckle.

“I love you, too.”

Try again

“Well, babe, we did it.”

The air had a chill to it, despite the June evening — you nodded, teeth clattering together, and pulled your jacket tighter around you. Kuroo noticed this and turned to you, chuckling. “Are you that cold?” “It’s freezing out here,” You said, nodding frantically. “The memories here are good, but I’m starting to think it wasn’t worth it.”

“Here,” He said, pulling off his jacket and handing it to you. “‘m not cold.”

“Aw, Kuroo, you’re too nice.” “What can I say,” The boy grinned, already looking older despite high school graduation having been only a few hours ago. “Only the best for my babe.” “Maybe we should come up with a better pet name. That’s kind of basic, isn’t it?” He shrugged. “I guess it is. What are your ideas?”

To this, you didn’t have an answer. Kuroo had been calling you Babe for… a while — there wasn’t anything else you wanted to hear from him. Just not Babe.

And before you could convey any of this, Kuroo’s face was only inches away from yours, his hand on the back of your neck. “Maybe if I kiss you,” He suggested with a mischievous smile on his face, “You’ll come up with an idea.” “Bring it on—” Your proposition was interrupted by lips on yours, and for the millionth time, you were in your favorite place in the world. This was the beginning of the rest of your lives, wasn’t it?

And as you kissed Tetsurou Kuroo, you wondered how many more times you would kiss him. 

No matter how many times those lips connected, you were confident that you would never, ever get tired of it.

Try again

“Ew! Don’t kiss me!” You laughed, faking more disgust than you held for him. Kuroo sighed dramatically, holding his hand to his head like a Shakespeare character. “What do you mean you don’t want kisses from your boyfriend?” He asked broken-heartedly, shutting his eyes tightly. “How rude, Sugar.”

“It’s because you’re all sweaty and gross,” You said, still laughing and taking a seat against an empty box to drink some water. Moving into your new house had been a task, to say the least, but Kuroo’s presence made it a lot more tolerable. You couldn’t wait to have that comforting presence with you every day in this new beautiful home. “I’ll be happy to kiss you once you take a shower.”

“That’s too long,” Kuroo pouted like a five-year-old, drawing out his vowels and sitting next to you, leaning against the same old cardboard box. “I wanna kiss you now.”

He was too cute when he was all whiny like this — despite the sweat covering every inch of exposed skin on his tall frame, you leaned in and pecked his lips. They were more moisturized than they’d been in high school, you noticed.

“Thank ya’, Sugar,” He said, beaming at you. “Love you.”

“Yeah, I love you too. Now, let’s finish this up so we can go take a shower.”

And again

Kuroo was crying, you were crying — but instead of waves of sadness and grief that you would usually feel in this situation, it was only warmth and happiness and love.

His sliding of the ring onto your left hand was sloppy because he was too excited to look at your face and kiss you. And as you kissed, his arm slipping around your waist to pull you closer to him, he couldn’t help his face breaking into a smile even though your lips were still firmly connected.

You were his.

He was yours.

And there, holding you in his arms kissing you — his fiance — like there was no tomorrow, he had never been prouder of the fact. You broke away the messy kiss — not because of the kiss itself, but more of the fact your tears had somewhat merged to create a weird flow of engaged couple tears that were now streaming down both of your faces. You looked at Kuroo — your fiance — and beamed.

“Tetsurou, I love you.”

“I love you, too, (Y/N).” Even though you had heard those words a million times, hearing Kuroo say them at that moment was the most beautiful sound ever to grace your ears. You couldn’t wait to have him say it to you a million more times, now that you had an engagement ring around your fingers.

And again

“You may now kiss the—” “C’mere!” Kuroo, the eager boy, was apparently too good to hear the officiant declare you officially his spouse and launched into you in a passionate, loving kiss. You squealed his name a few times, caught off-guard, but that died out into soft hums of satisfaction as you melted into the kiss. Kisses had always been something so unique, so sacred to your relationship — and now you were married. How was one to believe it?

“I love you,” He declared as soon as he pulled away, taking your wrist and holding it up like you were a wrestling champion. And to the whole room, he declared like it was a judge’s ruling, “(Y/N) and I are officially married, and I’m proud to call myself (Y/N)’s husband! I love (Y/N)!” “Tetsurou, you’re embarrassing me,” You laughed, feeling your cheeks heat up slightly. “Oh, grow up,” He rolled his eyes, collecting you into his arms and kissing you again. Then, before you could say anything at all, he took your hand and nearly yanked you down the aisle with him in a sort of dance.

“Tetsurou!” You started to scold, but he cut you off with another kiss on the lips, easily a few seconds.

“Can’t complain if I’m kissing you,” He said with a smirk. “Congratulations on having the best husband in the world.”

“You’re the worst,” You laughed as you caught up with his pace to sprint outside. “I love you!” “Happy wedding day, Sugar!”

And again

“(Y/N),” Kuroo said groggily, tugging on the leg of your sweatpants as you tried to slip out of bed without him noticing. The morning was new, sunlight casting an ethereal glow through the thin curtains of your bedroom you’d shared for years. Today was the fourth week you got to call Kuroo your husband, and you adored every single second of it.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” You said tiredly, rubbing your eyes. “Can you let go of my pants?” “No. Stay a little longer.” “I have to go to work, Tetsurou.”

It was a fact you didn’t like, but a fact that was true nonetheless — work was taking you away from your poor husband. But work was pretty significant, you’d say.

“Please?” Kuroo pleaded, using his puppy dog eyes that he wasn’t that good at, but you always melted for regardless. It was like an A for effort sort of thing. “Just a few more minutes, Sugar.” “Sorry,” You shook your head. “Gotta go to work.”

“Give me a goodbye kiss, then.” With no hesitation, you pinned his arms to the headboard and planted a kiss on his cracked, dry lips. 

“Happy?” You asked, already pulling away before his strong arms broke your grip and wrapped around your back, pulling you onto his chest and making you collapse on it.

“Another one,” He demanded in a whisper. Rolling your eyes, you complied. “One more?” He asked. “Just for good measure.” “Tetsurou,” You whined irritably but kissed him again — a long kiss to keep him satisfied. This seemed to satisfy his need, and he leaned back as he watched you leave the room.

About an hour later, you were about to leave the house when you heard his tired voice from your bedroom, “Love you, Sugar. Have a good day at work.”

“Love you too, sweetheart!” 

This was an excellent start to your day; you thought as you closed the front door behind you, the cold air embracing the skin that wasn’t covered by your work clothes. A perfect start.

And again

Kuroo was up in front of you like a puppy called to attention as soon as you entered the house, and he was quick to notice the muffle on your mood as you said a tired hello to him and collapsed on the couch, kicking off your work shoes.

“How was your day?” He inquired, sitting next to you and slipping an arm around your shoulders. His hand smelled like disinfectant wipes, you noticed. You sighed, shaking your head slowly. “Long.” “I can tell.” Affectionately, he lifted your arm to slip into your embrace and nuzzled into your shoulder. It had been years since you’d gotten to call Kuroo your husband for the first time, but you had never, ever gotten tired of the little things in your marriage — doting cuddles and tender kisses being high on the list of little things.

You were proud of your marriage and your relationship — not a day was boring with Kuroo, even after the initial stages of newlywed wore off. Every time you looked at his smile, or even just his face that was beginning to differ with age, you were reminded of how much you’d stuck on the line for this man. Honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Sorry you had a rough day, Sugar,” He murmured, planting kisses on your collarbone. “Wanna talk about it?”

“There wasn’t anything in particular. It was just… long, you know?” “Yeah. You’re probably tired, aren’t you?” “Super.” “Well, I made dinner for you,” He smiled. “I got hungry early, but you know I like to eat with you. So, when you want to eat, it’s ready.”

Silently you closed your eyes and thanked whatever deity had blessed you with this angel of a husband, of a person named Tetsurou Kuroo. And while your eyes were closed, he took the opportunity to kiss you.

Kuroo’s kisses tended to be hungry, full of need and want — this one was gentle, giving you the comfort you so desperately wanted. And, as he kissed you, you melted into his embrace.

You loved Tetsurou Kuroo so, so much. And, there, on that couch, you got a feeling that you hadn’t gotten since high school.

The world felt as if it was glowing pink.

And again…

Kuroo was still asleep next to you. As he breathed softly, you took note of his bedhead — all these years of marriage, and you’d never even seen him touch a comb.

You couldn’t fall asleep — insomnia had become a sad commonality for you, and tonight was another one of those sleepless nights. However, you were more than content just to watch your beautiful husband sleep the night away.

He was so perfect, and you loved him so much. You’d always loved him from the second you laid your eyes on him. Even if he hadn’t kissed you that one rainy evening, you’d still love him; even if he hadn’t given you that bouquet of pink roses and asked you to be his partner, you’d still love him; even if he hadn’t let you comfort him that night, you’d still love him; even if you hadn’t graduated high school together, you’d still love him; even if you hadn’t moved in together, you’d still love him; even if he hadn’t proposed to you, you’d still love him; even if he wasn’t as much as a devoted husband as he was, you’d still love him.

You loved Tetsurou Kuroo with your entire heart, and there was nothing in the universe that could change that. 

“Tetsurou, I love you,” You whispered, running your hand along the cheek that wasn’t pressed against the pillow. “You’re perfect.”

His aged face twitched a little, which made you smile. And then, whispered, an almost inaudible, “I love you, (Y/N).”

That ever familiar warm glow filled your heart — pink. You were glowing pink; he was glowing pink; the whole world was glowing pink.

Like it was a prayer, you whispered, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” over and over again — you counted in your head. Nine times over.

And there, holding Tetsurou Kuroo, your husband, your soulmate, the love of your life, in your arms — the pink world felt perfect.

[bluemusickid]

𝓕𝓮𝓶𝓶𝓮 𝓕𝓪𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓮

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Conwoman!Reader

Warnings: smut, 18+, unprotected sex (do not recommend, pls be wise) Ransom's hurt ego/pride.

A/N: I love Ransom so much. I'd probably let him get away with murder, which is probs wrong since I'm a law student. Anyways, hope you enjoy!! Also the writing is crap and not at all intelligent, I just needed to let off some Ransom steam. ^_^

I post my stuff here and on AO3, nowhere else. 

You took a sip of your martini. Perfect. The one thing about these high end resto-bars was that they never went wrong with their martinis. Always the right balance of sweet and intoxication. If only you could always afford these places.

You didn't mean to sound bitter, oh no no. Life has worked out better than expected. Your way of life got lonely sometimes, but survival of the fittest was the way of life, right?

In your experience, doing what you did, you realised that men were very literal creatures, always thinking linearly. Most of them lacked any depth to their thoughts, their way of life. The rich ones? They were as deep as an above ground pool. Throwing money every chance they got, flaunting their first row seats at the operas, trips to their villas in the French Riviera and what not. Their wives had no idea, always doting after their perfect husbands, with their Himalayan Birkins.

Imagine the surprise these men felt when you took what was most precious to them; no, not their families or children, but their money. A woman, no less. A woman who they had considered a damsel, in need of pearls and diamonds, and their strong strapping arms and care. And they didn’t dare report this. How could they? As far as their wives were concerned, you didn’t exist. You snorted. Good riddance, and all that. 

That’s why you chose him.

Hugh Ransom Drysdale.

He wasn’t a different one, that's for sure. A pretty boy with arrogance dripping off of him like he had just stepped out of a swanky prep school. He screamed rich kid, with his perfectly coiffed hair, right to his buffed fingernails. 

This should be easy, you thought to yourself.

You walked passed him, swaying your hips ever so slightly. Your look for tonight was carefully calculated: bait for a good, prize catch. There were many men there, sure, ordering crates of champagne for their "business associates".

But this one was different. He didn't pay heed to you as you made your way towards him, placing yourself next to him at the bar, nor did he check you out like most men did. He simply took a swig of his drink, focusing hard at something in his phone. Weird. You chose to give him the benefit of the doubt, calculating his next move. Surely, he'd ask to buy you a drink. He was just playing hard to get, you were sure. His next move stunned you, however.

He got up, slid a 100 dollar bill on the counter, and walked away, his jacket slung over his arm. You blinked, not really understanding what had happened. You ordered a red wine, quite perplexed. This was perhaps the first time something like this had happened, and it quite perturbed you.

You didn’t have time to dwell on your thoughts, however, as the bartender slid a coaster towards you.

“Mr. Drysdale sends his regards.”

You frowned. Drysdale? The famous real estate mogul? Man oh man, this was gonna be good.

You smirked as you read the scribbles on the coaster. To think you thought that he was gonna be different. Oh well. Room 537 it is, then.

You made your way to the room, checking your makeup and spritzing on a bit of perfume on the way. Standing outside his room, you knocked three times before the door swung open to reveal a treat.

Mr. Drysdale, sans shirt and his tight dress pants. Yum.

You composed yourself and entered the room, remembering the fact that you had a job to complete.

“So, that’s your game?” you asked, setting yourself down on the settee by the minibar.

“I don’t play games.” he said, pouring an amber liquid from the crystal cut decanter.

“Then why bother giving me your room number?” you drawled, accepting the glass.

“I know you wanted me to chase you. Knew it from the moment you entered. But that’s not how I work. I get what I want, and I wanted you.”

“A real charmer, aren’t ya?” you said dryly.

“Let’s cut to the chase sweetheart. You want me, I want you. Simple.”

“How can you be so sure that I want you? I could have just come up to confront you or something.”

“Yea, right. That dress says differently. You know what you want and you were going after it. I just skipped a few steps along the way. You’re welcome.” he smirked, raising his perfectly shaped eyebrow at you.

“So now that your plan has come into play, what do you suggest we do?”

He grinned and took a swig of his drink. Placing his drink on the counter, he took your hand in his and pulled you up, pulling you tightly to him.

Leaning towards your ear, he rasped, “I’m gonna fuck you till you can’t walk.”

With that, Ransom didn’t waste any more time. He picked you up bridal style and tossed you on the bed, without any preamble.

“Last chance to leave, kitten. Whaddaya want?”

You gulped. You wanted this, you needed this. You didn’t bother answering him as you pulled him down by his tie, lips melding against his as you held onto his collar. He was surprised by your sudden attack, but reciprocated equally, if not with more ferocity.

Lowering you onto the bed, he yanked the thin straps of your dress down, sucking at your pulse point, his hands caressing your body. You moaned, feeling his actions go straight to your core, lighting you up from within. He pulled the dress down with urgency, freeing your breasts from their confines.

Taking a hardened nub in his mouth, he swirled it around his tongue as his hands wandered lower. He was about to pull your dress up, when you stopped his wandering hands, pushing him off you, as he looked at you, bewildered.

“What the-!” he began but you quickly silenced him with your lips, your hands working double time to undo the buttons of his shirt. You deepened the kiss pulling him by his tie, while grinding against him ever so slightly. He broke away from the kiss, panting; his eyes wide, an unknown emotion swirling in the midst.

“Oh sweetheart.”he growled, “You’ve awoken the beast, now.”

With that, you were lost in a frenzy of movements. He nearly ripped your dress off, throwing you on the bed, caging you underneath his body. Lowering himself, he nipped and sucked at your neck, your collarbone, your breastbone, his voracious tongue leaving fire in its wake. You gasped, fingers making their way to his messy locks. What had started off as a game, a new target, was quickly becoming something more, and that thought scared you.

Eyes on the prize, sugar. Let him lead.

His tongue was drawing circles on the tattoo at your abdomen, while his fingers were at your core, his thumb lightly nudging your clit. Jesus. Your hips moved of their own accord, tugging at his hair in silent plea. Looking up, he saw your need and whispered lasciviously, 

“I’m gonna make you scream till all the other floors know my name, sweetheart. Just need to get you nice and ready for me. Wouldn’t want to break my promise now, would I?”

With that, you felt your entire focus shift to your core, as his intrepid tongue drew patterns on your clit, his digits moving within your wet channel. You groaned, tugging on his hair, bringing him closer to where you wanted him. You felt your walls tightening, the coil in your belly ready to unwind. He withdrew his fingers, moving up swiftly, gazing into your indignant eyes.

“Only time you’re gonna come is on my cock, sweetheart.”

With that, he thrust himself inside you, your walls engulfing him. Luckily for you, Ransom didn’t do sweet, slow thrusts. He set up an unrelenting pace, spearing into you, his shaft reaching places which no man had been able to reach before. You groaned, closing your eyes, your head jerking to the side, unable to handle all the sensations he was invoking.

Grasping your chin, he turned you to face him. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. I wanna see how good you feel while I’m taking you apart.” he rasped.

Something in his voice made you break; making you almost feral. You pushed on his shoulders, catching him off-guard for a minute, enough to push him on his back and straddle him.

Leaning down and catching his lips for a kiss, you whispered, “You should have the best view for a show like that, then.”

You sunk down on him, moaning loudly as you engulfed him to the hilt. Holding onto his hands for support, you began riding him for all your worth. Ransom watched on with awe, his eyes mesmerised by the sight of you; your eyes closed, mouth slack with arousal and your breasts bouncing with each bob. 

You were quickly reaching your peak and Ransom could feel that too. He planted his feet down on the mattress, thrusting upward, meeting you thrust for thrust. Your thighs started quivering, an intense pressure building up with each thrust.

“Come on, come for me, kitten.” muttered Ransom, through gritted teeth.

You threw your head back, screaming as you reached your peak, raking your fingernails across Ransom’s chest. As your walls clenched around him tightly,  Ransom grasped your waist, holding onto you as he thrust upwards, chasing his end. 

Leaning down, you took one of his buds into your mouth, swirling your tongue around as you met his eyes.

“Come for me, tiger.” you said huskily, tugging on his lower lip.

Ransom grunted and cussed loudly as he poured himself into you, his grip on your waist tight as he held you in place till he filled you with every last drop. Rolling off him, you watched him catch his breath, slowly drifting off, his arm encircling your waist as he went deeper into slumber.

After a few minutes, you checked on him, just to be sure. He was out cold.

You smirked. Alright. 

Time to start Part 2 of the Plan.

--------

Ransom woke up, feeling satisfied and smug. Yet another conquest down. He didn’t understand why women played these games women loved to play with him. Smirking, he looked over to look at you, but was surprised to see your side empty.

He frowned. Getting up, he checked the bathroom. Empty. 

She left without even giving her name. Ahh, well, not the first time this had happened. Moving to check his phone, he noticed his wallet open, with all the cash missing.

Oh, so that’s why she left. Wow, what a surprise, he thought. Good thing she didn’t leave a name, for she was no more than a common whore, he thought, puling on his pants. 

He was sorely mistaken though.

As he walked past the attached common area, he saw something which made him stop in his tracks.

The safe was wide open, with all of its contents gone. Every last thing.

He stormed into the area, his anger surging with each passing second. He couldn’t give less of a fuck about the goddamn valuables that were missing. But she had taken something which had taken him 3 fucking years to get. 

She had stolen the documents; not just any documents, but the very ones which would have bought the Langleys’ silence and their company, making Ransom a very, very rich man. All gone, because of a quick fuck.

The bitch had stolen his ace of spades. And he would make sure that she would suffer. 

Ransom would make her pay. By hook or by crook.

-----

A/N: Eeeeek, I was too nervous to put this out ughhhhh. Also, I have a taglist now, if you’re into that sort of thing. 😅  (link is also available in my bio)

Tags: @donutloverxo​ @ozarkthedog​ @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​ @readermia​