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[bbokicidal]

SKZ + Bulking

Synopsis: In which you figure out/realize your boyfriend is bulking up for whatever reason. And he figures out how much you like it.

Genre: Fluff/Suggestive Pairing: OT8 x GN!Reader Warnings: These scenarios DO talk about body image so if that makes you uncomfortable, do not read this. 18+ because there is sex mentioned. Also Chan's is just fluffy, sorry.

Chan:

"Are you.." Your words fall on nearly-deaf ears as you step into the bedroom, your boyfriend's nose buried in the screen of his laptop as he mixed a beat - silenced to the world by his headphones. He has one of the muffs tucked back behind his ear so he can hear you if you need him, and he peeks over when he realizes you were talking.

"Hm?"

"Are you bigger?" You question, eyes slowly raking over Chris' body which currently adorned nothing more than a black tank top and a pair of his sleeper shorts. The man pauses, smiles, and then giggles.

"No," He peeps through his smile full of teeth, eyes a soft crescent as his hands come up to his shoulders as if hiding away from your curious gaze. "Don't look at me like that!" Chris giggles out soon after, turning away. He wouldn't admit it aloud, but he had been bulking a little bit just to see how his body would take it. He hadn't noticed anything different so far, but you seem to have - which only made him all the more giddy and flustered.

Minho:

Slowly turning his head in your direction, Minho's eyes fall wide and cat-like as he stares over at you in return to feeling your burning gaze searing holes into his poor back. ".... What?" He questions, already knowing you're about to ask him something with the way you look him over.

"Nothing," You hum, approaching to gently hug onto your boyfriend from behind while he prepares to cook dinner. "You just look a little more... broad, is all." Your lips meet his shoulder and Minho hums with a small smile.

He nods, "I've been working out a little more. Trying a routine Changbin told me about." Minho's gaze flickers back to the food, then in your direction even if he can't see you behind him. "... Broad is good, right?"

Your giggles fill his ears and he smiles. "Yes, baby. Broad is good. Broad is sexy."

Minho's brow cocks. He sucks the inside of his cheek in thought. Maybe dinner could wait - Dessert would have to come first tonight.

Changbin:

"You're so soft," Your mumbles are muffled in Changbin's chest, your face buried right between those big ol boobies his pecs. He's been laughing the entire time since you've laid atop him like he was your personal body pillow - which, he kind of was with how warm and soft he was to lay on. "I'm gonna stay here forever."

"I have to get up eventually," Changbin teases with a giggly smile, his arms wrapping over your back before he gently squeezes you into him. The whine that escapes your throat is breathless but content and it makes him laugh yet again. "Like that?"

"Love it," You sigh against him. "You're so warm and I just wanna --" Changbin sucks in a breath when your hands find his sides, fingers gently squeezing and kneading at the warmth of his stomach. He chuckles shortly after, cheeks turning rosy at the contact with his lower half. "Mm."

He peeks down to you, mimicking your hum in question. "... Did -- Uhm. Did you notice?"

"Did I notice you're bigger than before?" You lift your head to peer at your boyfriend and he smiles, cheeks dimpling. "Of course I did. I noticed when you hugged me. Your arms are frickin' huge. Could knock me out in a chokehold with those bad boys."

Changbin's smile falls and he stares down at you in reply, to which you mimic his expression. There seems to be a silent conversation happening when his brow cocks and you just smile at him. Yeah - You'd be getting backshots while being held in a chokehold later.

Hyunjin:

Overworking himself in the practice room wasn't something uncommon for Hyunjin to do. He was always in there, sweating away, practicing hard for new choreography and comebacks. Only this time you were there with him - which was something new, especially because he wasn't used to a shocked and excited gasp coming from behind him when he rolled up the sleeves of his t-shirt to show his upper arms and shoulders.

"Oooh, look at these beauties," Your teasing words meet Hyunjin's ears just as he feels your hands wrap around one of his biceps. He looks over at you in slight surprise - You're touching him when he's dripping sweat from practice without any care in the world. His eyes fall to your hands around his arm before he smiles, a subtle but sweet giggle falling from his lips.

His cheeks dimple deep as he looks into the mirror when you peer at him, squeezing and kneading at the muscle under your hands. And of course your boyfriend flexes just to show off, rolling his sleeve just a little higher for you to get a gander at his guns. "Right? I've been working out more."

"I can tell," You coo beside him and he laughs out again, a bit breathless. His gaze lingers on you a little longer than it probably should have but you don't seem to mind, understanding just from the way he gazed at you that what you had said - and your admiration of his hard work - was a bit of a turn on for him. Nothing you couldn't help him out with later. ~

Jisung:

"You're the size of Chan, look at this! Look at this picture, Ji!"

But Jisung's in a fit of laughter, arms curled around his stomach as he rolls on the couch to face away from you. He can't look at the picture or he's only going to grow more nervous and shy. Jisung gasps out with a laugh as he peeks back at the comparison picture you had pulled up.

He'd been bulking for almost three months now and it was growing more and more obvious day by day. His arms were thick and you had noticed it as time went on - and Jisung was adamant on saying he wasn't that big, he wasn't that strong or bulky -- But you had other plans.

"I'm not as big as him-! Look at that, Look at how veiny he is-!" Jisung points at the picture before looking away again, his ears pink at the tips. "Aaah - Don't make me look again..!"

And you laugh out this time in return, hugging onto your boyfriend to bring him closer. "You're the one working out, Jisung, you're going to have to face the consequences of me being turned on by it." And Jisung pauses, eyes wide as he peeks back at you.

"You like it that much?" He peeps, eyes scanning your face. As you nod in reply, his cheeks burn red at the thought of it all. His gaze averts into the distance and he sighs out, looking more than determined all of a sudden. "I'm going to keep bulking forever..!"

Felix:

"I saw your runway videos. You looked incredible, sweetheart."

"Thank you, angel." Felix smiles from where he sits beside you, his body turned so he could lay in your lap. His shoulders pressed against your thigh and even then you could tell he was gaining more muscle - He didn't feel as thin as he had a few months or so prior. "Could you tell I was working out before I walked? Not right before, but. Before that day. Up until that day." He chuckles, looking up from his phone to peer at you.

When you nod in affirmation, he smiles. "Really?"

"Mhm. Your arms and chest look thicker than I think they ever have. It's a good look on you, Lixie. Are you happy with the results of your hard work?" Your hand brushes down his arm and his smile only grows as he nods against your thigh.

"Mm. I like how I look a lot, actually. I think it suits me."

"I think so too." You hum, eyes softening as you look down at him. Felix can feel the slight shift of energy between the two of you and his smile turns bright, knowing.

"My body turns you on so much you wanna have sex?"

"I wanna have sex."

Seungmin:

"You.. do know I can feel you staring at me, right?"

You blink a few times in slight embarrassment and turn your gaze away. "Sorry.."

"What's wrong?" Seungmin seems to assume something negative had happened as he sits beside you, placing a bowl of popcorn onto the coffee table.

"Eh - What? Nothing. Nothing, just -- The recent SKZCode video, you were wearing that tank top and you looked so..."

Seungmin's chest tightens as he stares over at you. He seems to think you're going to say something bad or say he looked weird and so he braces himself for the words to come from your mouth.

"You looked really sexy, min. It's a good look on you. Your shoulders are so broad and square. I just.." You shrug gently in reply and Seungmin nods, appreciating the compliment. "And you looked kind of.. bigger than I've seen before."

Seungmin blinks at this. Bigger --? His eyes widen, falling on the coffee table. Could you tell he was working out? He hadn't been planning to tell you, he just.. sort of hoped you wouldn't take notice too much and maybe even think he had always been a bit stronger than he was when you first met. "I've been.. bulking," He admits after a moment. "I can stop if it's too much though."

"What?" You look over, quickly shaking your head. "No--! No, oh my God. Do whatever you want, baby, you look incredible. You should do whatever you want with your body -- It's yours, not mine. But," You pause, cheeks rosy. "You do look really good right now."

He chuckles, biting into his lip in thought. "Thank you. Think I'll keep going, then. For me -- and you." He looks over and you have to look away to keep yourself from going insane - especially when he shrugs his flannel off and sits there in a tank top for the entirety of your movie night with his arm over the back of the couch.

Jeongin:

"Oh my GOD."

Jeongin drops off of the bar he had been holding onto to do pull-ups as his gaze shoots over in your direction. He stares, eyes holding a bashful glint at being caught working out. Well, not caught but - you'd never been present for it before.

"Look at you, look at this!" You beam, reaching out to gently hold onto your boyfriend's biceps and give them a teasing squeeze. Even when he wasn't flexing, his muscles were so well defined that it was almost.. picture perfect, really. Aesthetically pleasing from every angle even when relaxed. "You look incredible, baby."

And he smiles, dimples deep in his cheeks as he leans down to press a quick kiss to your lips. "Thank you.~ I've been working hard today so I'm sorry if I'm a little sweaty."

"Mm? No, it's fine. You look good even when you're messy like this." You reassure and Jeongin has to kiss you again just for the compliment. "You know with these arms you might be able to toss me around soon. Just saying."

Jeongin cocks a brow, eyes narrowing as he looks down at you in interest. He wastes little to no time before bending down to pick you up, his arms lacing underneath your thighs to hoist you up against him with ease. He couldn't toss you around in the gym, really, but he could fuck you up against the mirror while holding you the entire time. Just to prove he could carry you, of course. Tossing came later.

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix

[theobservatory]

｡⁠☆Loser Boyfriend｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+⁠ 

☆Cw: one use of "her", Mina calls you girl once, embarrassment, fluff, humor, rookie!prohero!deku

"Izuku, dude, no offense, but how did you land that?"

Izuku turns to Denki, looking just as lost as he does. There's a little flush on his cheeks and a wide eyed expression on his face. The boy looks like a confused baby dear, which truly only adds to Denki's confusion.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"Teach me your ways." Denki says, comically whipping out a notepad from his pants pocket. "Did you grovel? Cry? Feed her a love potion but disguise it as juice so that she would drink it, but have no clue what it was?"

"N-No of course not!... And I'm pretty sure that would be illegal anyway..."

Denki shrugs, "Hey I don't know your life. You could be into some weird shit on the down low, you seem the type!"

Izuku responds with an eye roll. If anyone 'seems the type' it's Mineta and Denki himself. They turn back towards you instead of continuing the conversation. You're still in the same position you were in before; fully leaned over the back of the couch, legs closed with one slightly hanging in the air, while the rest of you is inside Mina's personal space giggling at something she's showing you on her phone.

You're in some cute little outfit that Izuku helped you pick out, a rare case, since Izuku still wears almost exclusively punny t-shirts and sweats. The only reason he helped is because it's your first time meeting his friends and former classmates, you just wanted to make sure the outfit wasn't too little or too much. This is not to say he was much help.

Izuku feels almost entranced by you, and you're not even looking at him. You haven't glanced his way since Mina took your attention, actually. Izuku could start pouting if he wasn't too busy ogling your backside. He's so busy he misses the picture Denki snaps at the enraptured look on his face.

"C'mon man, let's go raid the snacks before Kaachan forces us to leave the kitchen."

Denki's arm around Izuku's shoulder shakes him out of his stupor and he nods in agreement, not really having heard what he said at all. He allows Denki to lead him to the kitchen with only minimal glancing behind his back, just to get a little more time to soak in your image.

But he doesn't expect your eyes to catch. He has no time to prepare for the heat in his pink cheeks to spread to his ears, no time to prepare for your smile to make his heart thump in his chest. It makes him lightly stumble in his steps and turn to face forward again, feeling incredibly embarrassed.

"Oh, Izu! Can you come back for just a sec?"

Izuku breaks out of Denki's hold with not a single lick of hesitation, embarrassment be damned. His world shortens and zooms in when you talk, the feeling of embarrassment, as well as Denki's voice, becomes muffled in the face of it. None of that matters if you're the one who needs him.

"Look at this picture Mina has of you!"

It's the picture All Might took of him before he bulked up. The one where he's dirty and sweating and crying after trying to haul a fridge across a beach. Izuku thinks he might die. Where did she even get that picture?

His face must say a lot, because both you and Mina burst out laughing. You're trying to reassure him, but you're laughing so hard you're struggling to gain a breath to string words together. If the floor swallowed Izuku whole right now, he would be grateful. It was a terrible idea to bring you to meet his classmates, especially a gossip like Mina.

"Oh, baby no, don't look like that!" You gasp, placing a hand on his shoulder. It's not nearly as comforting as you're trying to make it be.

"Izuku you look like a total loser, good thing you gained some muscle there, pipsqueak!" Mina chortles.

"Oh stop it! He doesn't look like a... Loser... I think it's cute!"

"Keep telling yourself that!"

Izuku has never considered the merits of getting hit by a bus before, now is a better time than ever to start.

Your arms wrap around him, and he instinctually hugs you back. You press your still smiling face into his chest, and turn towards Mina, still a little breathless.

"It's okay Izuku, I'll protect you from Mina's mean words." You giggle.

Mina is quick to start booing you, but Izuku doesn't miss the picture of him being sent to an unsaved number in her phone. Oh she's going to get it next time they spare together, and he will make absolutely sure it is soon. She doesn't get to run away from the enemy she has created today.

"Whose side are you even on, girl?" Mina huffs playfully, turning back to her phone and sitting back down on the couch.

The party goes smoothly after that, mostly because Izuku doesn't leave your side for the rest of the night. He refuses to let any of his other classmates show you blackmail. Even when you go to the bathroom he stands right outside the door, waiting for you to come back. At one point during the night Katsuki told him he looks like a stray puppy, and before he could deny it, you responded, "it's cute, part of his charm". He elected to ignore the way it made his chest puff out.

He likes to believe you think of him less as a puppy and more of a guard dog. He will not be confirming or denying this with you.

Before long, the party is over. Despite the little mishap with Mina earlier, he's satisfied. You were both fed well, and you very clearly had a good time with his friends, so he considers the night a success. He knew that you'd been nervous about the whole thing, his reassurances hadn't done much to sway you, but you had a great time. Just like he said you would.

As he's pulling the car out of the driveway, you turn to him, a mischievous smile spread across your face. Izuku hopes you don't notice how heavily he swallows when you look at him, your expression is making him nervous.

"Mina sent me that picture of you."

The car lurches as he slams on the brakes. "She gave you her phone number?! Noo she's gonna show you how much of a loser I am!" He whines, putting his head into the steering wheel.

"Izu, my love, you are a bonafide prohero who's about to hit the top 30 barely two years out of highschool, you are not a loser."

Izuku turns to you with a wobbly smile, forehead still lying on the steering wheel. "U-Uhm no, I totally am. Hero work aside."

You giggle, his heart stutters again.

"Well you're my loser then."

"Yours?" Izuku flushes.

"Mine."

And well, being a loser isn't so bad if it means he gets to be yours. Your boyfriend. Your guard dog. Your puppy. Your loser. Your anything. He can be anything, as long as he's yours.

Love men who are losers and very smitten for their sweethearts, what can I say

｡⁠☆Requests open

[bigification]

Preston's 21st

Inspired by a story from Fattystoriez

"Don't worry babe, Preston is an adult now. He can handle meeting his biological father." Vince reassured his husband, hugging him from behind.

"I know, I know. It's just scary letting him take such a big step, I mean what if meeting his father disappoints him. Based on my conversations with that man, I know I would be disappointed. I mean, does he even have a job?" Brent voiced his worries.

"Preston said he was a trucker or something. And this is something that he needs to do. Besides, you know he still loves us as his adoptive parents even if he wants to have his biological father in his life." Vince responded.

"I know, thanks babe." Brent smiled.

"Preston! You should get going, you're gonna be late." Vince yelled.

"I know pops, I'm just getting dressed." Preston yelled back.

Preston scoured through his dresser, trying to find the clothes to wear for his reunion with his father. His biological parents gave him up for adoption when he was a baby, so this will be the first time meeting his father. How was he supposed to dress for an occasion like this.

He threw on his lucky jockstrap, hoping it would give him as much luck as it does in his rugby games. Then he pulled up some grey jeans, leaving them untied while he decided if it looked good.

He stared at the mirror for a bit, undecided on the jeans. And while staring at the mirror, he brushed his hair and combed his beard, wondering if he should shave.

"Preston, hurry up!" Vince yelled again.

"Just a second!" Preston responded.

He quickly buttoned up his jeans and threw on a plain white t-shirt before rushing downstairs. He haphazardly threw on his shoes and a red hat, matching his lucky jockstrap. Just before rushing out the door, his dad's stopped him.

"Be careful, okay?" Brent asked.

"I will, dad." Preston chuckled.

"We love you." Vince added as Preston ran out the door.

"Love you too."

Preston floored it down the road. Luckily his father didn't live far down the road. His brakes screeched as his parked on the side of the road. He was shocked at how run down the neighbourhood looked, each townhome looked old and disheveled. On top of that, every guy he's seen since he entered this neighbourhood has been at least 300 pounds of lard. Preston scoffed at the thought that some people let themselves get to that point.

He squinted as he looked for the address he was given, finally spotting it a few homes down from where he parked. He walked up to the driveway, noticing that the garage door was open. As he got closer, Preston saw a man sitting in the garage, presumably his father. Though his excitement was slightly ruined by the strong smell of beer and cigars coming from the garage. Getting closer, whatever excitement he still had was completely stifled when he got a good look at his father.

The man was laid back on a lawn chair in the middle of the garage, his large frame spilling over the edges of the chair. He was holding a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigar in the other. His button up was undone, letting his exposed gut spill out onto his lap.

"Hey, I think I got the wrong *cough* address, I'm looking for a *cough* man named Travis." Preston asked the man while trying to swat away the smoke.

"Yer' lookin at him, son." Travis said in a thick southern accent.

Preston's stomach dropped when it was confirmed that the slob of a man in front of him was indeed his father. He couldn't believe he was related to a man like that, he had always been active and sporty just like his two dad's. He always figured his biological parents must have been pretty active, but that image of his family was being shattered. I guess it makes sense why he never struggled to bulk for the rugby season.

"C'mon in son, have a beer." Travis pulled out a bottle from the mini fridge behind him.

"I'm okay thanks." Preston politely declined, standing at a healthy distance from his father.

"C'mon in, I don't bite." Travis motioned with his hands. "I was drinkin these when I was half yer age, just try one will ya." He held out the beer.

Preston had never had a beer before. His dad's let him try wine a couple of times, but he hated it so he had interest in drinking alcohol, even if was of age now. But he wanted to at least try to have a relationship with his father, so he took the beer. His hand brushed against Travis' as he took the beer, a strange sensation shot through his hand, almost like an electric shock. He figured it was nothing.

"Good boy, it'll loosen ya up a bit." Travis smiled.

Preston tried twisting the cap off, but it didn't budge.

"Give it here." Travis chuckled as he pulled out a bottle opener. "You need a bottle opener for that, I don't buy any of that twist off sissy bulshit they make nowadays." He continued while popping off the cap with ease. "Here, keep the opener. I got a feeling yer gonna need it."

Preston awkwardly put the bottle opener in his pocket, figuring it would make his dad happy if he just went along for now. Though he could see Travis impatiently waiting for him to have a sip of beer.

He lifted the beer to his lips and tilted the bottle up. The cold liquid slid down his throat. It was a bit weird at first, but it quickly started to taste good. He kept going and going, like his body wouldn't let him pull the bottle away from his mouth. Not like he would want to, this was the best thing he had ever tasted. It kicked in quick too, he started to feel slow and lethargic.

A warm and fuzzy feeling started in Preston's stomach, slowly spreading throughout his body. He instinctively raised his free hand to scratch his belly. It felt round and soft, pressing tightly against his shirt. But for some reason, that felt right to him. In fact, the thought of growing made him feel better, it made him feel strong. His dick started to grow hard as his clothes continued to tighten against his swelling body. His pecs were starting to resemble moobs, and his love handles were beginning to spill over his waist band.

He drank every last drop from the bottle before putting it down. His father looked proud, which further increased that nice warm feeling in his belly. But just before he could say something, a loud burp erupted from the depths of his stomach. As he burped, his modest belly rapidly expanded into a thick ball belly, growing from slightly chubby to extremely overweight in moments.

Preston looked down at his expanding belly. He couldn't see his dick or his feet anymore, he could only see the constant reminder of his gluttony jutting out in front of him.

"Dad... why am I gettin so fat?" Preston asked his father.

"Cuz yer part of the family. Every man in this family becomes a fat slob on their 21st birthday. It's about becomin a man, a real man. Nothing like those skinny liberals you call yer father's." Travis explained.

"But... dad..." Preston tried to talk, but was having trouble thinking.

"Shhhh don't talk son, just have another beer." Travis handed him another bottle.

Preston pulled out his trusty bottle opener and easily popped the cap off the bottle.

"Good boy." Travis said, proud of the man his son was becoming.

Preston started chugging the beer while Travis continued his monologue.

"I was like you when I was just a boy. Skinny, weak, political. My pops made me the strong traditional man I am today, and his father did the same to him. Just like you'll do to your son when he grows up."

Preston's clothes began to strain as his body continued to grow. His gut started to hang over his jeans, sagging under its own immense weight. His love handles also spilled over his jeans, making his silhouette look wide and round. His soft pecs swelled into thick man tits that sagged onto his gut.

The button on his jeans popped off, launching across the garage as fat piled into his juicy ass. And a stain of pre cum started to form in his jeans while he massaged his growing gut.

"I'm so proud of you Preston, yer growin so big already." Travis remarked. "And it's not only our sons we can use this God given ability on. We can turn any weak little man into a big strong man, like they were meant to be. Some men choose to walk down a dark path that leads to communism and dieting instead of traditional values and hearty meals, God gave us this ability to save those men from themselves."

Preston finished his second beer, letting out an even louder burp than last time, being heard throughout the neighborhood. As he did so, his tiny clothes finally gave out, leaving him in nothing but a red hat and his lucky jockstrap which is digging into his soft waist.

"Daddy... *Buuuuuurp* I..." Preston tried to speak.

"You want to get fatter and make yer family proud, right son?" Travis asked.

"Yes..." Preston responded.

"Good boy, now drink up." Travis handed him another beer.

Preston tried to look back towards the street, where multiple men were stood watching. He tried to cover up his fat naked body, but it was no use.

"Don't look at them, son. Look at me. If you want to make yer pops proud, you drink that beer." Travis pulled attention away from the onlookers.

Preston simply nodded and started chugging again.

"All those men out there are proud of the man yer becomin'. They used to be weak, just like yer adoptive daddies, but I fixed them. I fixed every man in this neighborhood. And I can't wait for you to do the same to yer daddies." Travis said.

"You can fix my daddies?" Preston asked, a thick southern accent starting to take over.

"Of course I can, son. And yer gonna help me." Travis said getting up from his chair. "Now let's get'ya in some clothes."

As his father went searching for a set of clothes that would fit him, Preston finally started growing accustomed to his new body. He had to lean back just to balance out the immense weight of his gut, and he had to spread his arms and legs just to stop them from chaffing. A sense of pride washed over his face, once unsure, he was now unwavering in his confidence. His dull smile was now a permanent sign of his blissful ignorance, he was a proud conservative man just like his father. Tasked with saving other men from their weakness.

"Here ya are, son." Travis tossed him a t-shirt and pants, "they'll be a bit tight cuz ya turned out to be bigger than I thought, but that's somethin' to be proud of."

After taking an unusual amount of time getting his clothes on, Preston confidently looked at himself in the mirror. His clothes were right and his gut spilled out of his new shirt, a public reminder of his manliness. He pulled up his shirt, showing off his rotund gut and his thick man tits, and took a picture.

"Alright son, you ready to see yer daddies?" Travis asked while walking to Preston's car.

"Sure am." He responded with a devilish grin.

The two squeezed into Preston's car, both having to adjust their seats as far back as possible. With his gut touching the wheel, and his head nearly touching the ceiling, Preston floored it back to his place. His dick was leaking at the thought of his adoptive dad's becoming like him. It didn't help that his fat jiggled with the slightest bump in the road, making the stain in his pants even larger.

His tires squeeze as he pulls into his driveway.

"You go in the front door, I'll head 'round back to see if I can catch one of 'em off guard." Travis said as he got out of the car.

Preston simply nodded in response. Travis swiftly, or at least as swiftly as he could, made his way around the house to the backyard. Preston struggled for a moment trying to get out of his car before waddling up to his front door. His heart was pounding, both from the walk up to the door and from the thought of seeing his pops.

He braced for a moment before opening the door and walking inside. Vince was by the closet getting ready for work, seemingly unaware of Preston's presence.

Preston watched for a moment as his father contemplated which tie he wanted to wear. He grunted in disapproval at his grey tie and swapped it out for a pink one.

"What a weak little man." Preston thought.

Vince then grabs an expensive looking suit jacket and throws it on.

"Pops always told me that 'the suit makes the man'." Preston continued to think of things about his father he now despised.

Vince adjusted his suit one last time, making sure it was perfect before turning to leave. He flinched when he finally made eye contact with his son. You could see his kind struggling to process the situation. First he flinched because he didn't recognize Preston, but he quickly relaxed when he realized it was his son. Then fear took over his face once again when he saw the 150 pounds of fat that had engulfed Preston's body.

"Preston?" He asked, his voice was trembling. "Is that you?"

"Sure is pops. In all my glory." Preston said confidently as his slapped his gut.

"Oh my god, what happened to you?!" Vince rushed to help his son.

"My father showed me the error of my ways, the error of yer ways."

"What are you talking about?" Vince asked, now full on panicking.

"You'll see, everyone will see." Preston raised his voice, now sporting an unmistakable deep southern accent.

He grabbed Vince's hand, an electric shock surge from his hand into his father's. Almost immediately, Vince froze. His body was motionless and his eyes went blank.

Preston happily watched on as his adoptive father started to rapidly pack on the pounds. It started with his stomach. Once flat, it quickly started to grow rounder and stick out further. It grew larger than a basketball, sticking out of his suit jacket. It swelled until his dress shirt was at its limit and his gut was spilling over his belt. Although it was still much smaller than both Preston's and Travis', he was still left with a sizable pot belly that protruded in front of him.

Next his chest starts to inflate. The once athletic looking man became buried under a layer of fat. His pecs softened and swelled into a thick pair of moobs that showed through his tight shirt. His arms also got covered in a thick layer of fat, filling out the empty space in his sleeves.

Preston smiled when he heard Vince's dress pants start to rip as his ass inflated, becoming wide but still perky, perfectly filling out his pants. He wasn't as lucky with his belt, however, as his waistline expanded by over 8 inches, snapping his belt in the process. The rest of his pants filled out nicely as his legs swelled with fat.

Finally, his blank face started to change. His ragged features became softer as his face fattened. His cheeks widened and his nose grew, his jawline melted away as a double chin formed. Luckily his beard grew out, covering most of the damage. And his hair suddenly became gelled and combed to the side, making him look professional despite barely fitting into his clothes.

"Oh, hello Preston." Vince said, finally coming back to. "Did you put on weight since I last saw you, it looks good on you kid." He said pinching Preston's belly.

"Thanks Vince." Preston responded.

- Meanwhile -

Travis huffed and puffed as he made it around the house and into the backyard. He seems to have caught Brent just as he was getting into the pool. Travis sneered at the image of Brent's shirtless body. Skinny and well toned, especially for his age. A sign of weakness is all Travis saw.

"Who are you!?" Brent jumped as he noticed the stranger in his backyard.

"I'm Travis, Preston's father." Travis said with a fake smile.

"Oh..." Brent paused for a moment, his eyes scanning Travis' enormous body. "Brent." He responded, reaching for a handshake.

"Glad to meet'ya." Travis said, shaking his hand.

It was almost comical to contrast between the two men's hands. Travis' were thick and calloused from years hauling equipment for his trucking company, while Brent's were sleek and elegant. The contrast wouldn't last for long, however, as a spark of electricity quickly shot from Travis' hand into Brent.

Brent flinched and pulled his hand away, but he was too late. His expression went blank and he stopped moving. The hand he made contact with started to swell. His sleek fingers were stuffed with fat as his hand plumped up. The definition in his arm faded under a thick layer of fat, making it sag under its own weight.

The transformation continued up his arm and into his body. Every part of him was starting to expand. His shoulders broadened, pecs softened, and his flat stomach started to round out. Within seconds he had a pot belly larger than Vince's. It seemed to throw him off balance and he started stumbling backward.

He tripped and fell back first into the pool, creating a large splash in the process. Travis watched in satisfaction as Brent's silhouette under the water was growing larger and larger.

As he grew fatter, he started floating back to the surface. Eventually a soft belly was poking out of the water's surface.

Moments later, Brent came to and pulled his head out of the water. His face was visibly fatter, with chubby cheeks that made his face look much wider and a double chin hiding under his beard.

"You see that Travis!" Brent yelled in a thick southern accent. "I must'a made a real big splash." He chuckled.

"I sure did!" Travis laughed. "Now why don't you come on inside so we can talk business."

Brent slowly made his way to the steps at the end of the pool. He took each step carefully, clearly struggling with his new body. And as he did so, more and more of his body was revealed. His pecs had swollen into soft man tits that sagged into his arm pits. His gut was by far the largest in the family, putting Travis' to shame. His love handles spilled over his skin tight speedo, making his body much wider. Speaking of which, his speedo was barely holding on as it tried to hold his fat ass and thick fat pad. And finally his massive thighs that made him spread his legs just to be able to walk.

Brent proudly approached Travis, gut first as always, eager to talk to him about their trucking business. The two squeezed through the back door into the living room where Preston had just finished up with Vince.

"Good job, son." Travis said with pride.

"Thanks dad!"

"Now for business," Travis huddled with the newly transformed Brent and Vince. "Now as you know, your uncle's and I have built this trucking business from nothing..."

Preston looked confused for a moment before it clicked. Vince and Brent weren't his adoptive dad's, why would he need adoptive dad's when he's got a father already. They're his uncles who helped raise him as if he were there own.

"Brent and I as the truckers and Vince as the fancy business man." Travis said while yanking on Vince's expensive looking suit. "But that's besides the point, I'm gettin' off topic. Since you're an adult now, we want to start training you to be a trucker."

"Really?" Preston asked.

"Of course, son. We want you to pass on the family business so it can keep going for generations. Every kid you have can grow up to be big fat truckers just like you and me."

"You would really pass on the business to me." Preston's said excitedly.

"Now don't get too ahead of yer'self son, that won't be anytime soon. But when we're too old and too fat to run the business, that's when you'll take over. By then I'm sure you'll have recruited enough men to do the job, just like I taught ya." Travis monologued. "Now, who's ready for a big meal?"

"I am!"

[brandgurus]

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[fandom-lover2]

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

Miko has a bad day, and Optimus learns what body language is.

Word Count - 3040

-image not mine-

Today was… normal.

As normal as one could get when their guardian is a 20 foot tall metal warrior from another planet, but today hadn’t been any different than the others.

Woke up, got ready for Saturday (Ratchet’s favourite day because we were at the base all day) and hitched a ride with Bee and Raf to base.

We were the first humans here. Ratchet and Optimus were already hard at work at the monitors, scanning for energon and logging reports and doing whatever it was that they continuously did at those computers.

After exchanging greetings and brief conversation, Raf and I settled down while Bee waited for Bulk so patrol routes could be run.

It didn’t take long for the roar of a motorbike’s engine to fill the tunnel and Jack was rolling in on Arcee, Miko and Bulk close behind.

“Thought you had work today?” I called down to Jack, not moving from my spot at the desk with the human monitors where I was preparing to start my history essay on the similarities between Ancient Greek mythology and Shakespear (don’t judge, I find it interesting).

“Schedules got moved around. Apparently I’m ‘Working too much’ and they don’t want to pay me.” Jack replied, beginning up the stairs.

What followed was the sound of two Autobots transforming, and then silence.

I glanced over my shoulder, making sure Bulkhead had actually brought Miko. There she was, walking up the stairs behind Jack. I frowned, but turned back to my papers.

“Where to today, boss?” Bulkhead questioned.

“Once you have restocked your energon, we are going to northern Alaska. Our scanners have sensed an energon signal.”

“If it’s black, fight back.  If it’s brown, lie down. If it’s white, goodnight.” I warned jokingly to Jack and Miko, not looking up from my textbook.

For mid-April, Alaska would be warm enough now that they could go along and maybe not freeze. That also meant the bears would be out and about.

Me personally, as much as I wanted to tag along, this essay would take a while and with spring break around the corner, I didn’t have time to go off on excursions.

That’s why I came here to work on it, Ratchet would keep me from getting too distracted. I’d texted last night asking as much.

“Eh, I have some homework to catch up on.” Jack answered, and I heard him pull out the chair at the desk near the couch and get settled. Beside me, Raf was already lost to the world of coding and typing away on his laptop with ferocity.

I waited for three breaths, and then frowned when there wasn’t a reply. I spun in my wheelie chair, and watched as Miko sat down on the couch.

Ok, what was up?

Firstly, she didn’t sit anywhere, she flopped. And secondly, she never took up only one end of the couch. Usually, she dramatically lounged across it while whining that it was taking forever for Bulkhead to get ready so they could head out. And also, what was with the silence. Not even a sarcastic greeting to Ratchet.

Something was up with her. It wasn’t her birthday, wasn’t a Japanese traditional holiday she was missing, wasn’t school related cause yesterday she had a good day.

I glanced over at Jack and he was turned in his seat too, looking just as confused.

He caught my gaze and gave the ‘you see it too?’ look.

‘Yeah. What’s up with her?’ I shrugged subtly.

Jack raised his brows slightly, ‘I don’t know. She didn’t say anything to me.’

 I rubbed my lips together, my go to for thinking.

‘You should talk to her.’ Jack prompted, jerking his chin just a bit.

‘Me? Why me?’ I frowned.

‘Well I can’t. I’m a guy.’ Jack answered, looking down at his chest and then back up to me.

‘Fine.’ I agreed, rolling my eyes. Men are such weirdos.

With a sigh that didn’t need to be that dramatic, I got off my chair and made my way to Miko. On my journey, I happened to glance over and found Optimus watching me with an intense stare.

It was almost enough to make me stumble over my own feet.

I had long since given up trying to understand Optimus, mostly because there wasn’t much to understand. He was a simple guy, someone who carried a lot of weight on his shoulders and had only made it so far in life by concealing his emotions.

If he was pissed, you’d know it in the way he spoke. If he was at ease, he’d hang around a little longer in the common area before heading off to wherever it was he went. If he was stressed, he’d assign himself the longest patrol route so he’d have more time to get away. Easy as that.

This, open and intense studying, was a new one. A part of me wanted to ask, but I was on a mission already. Sky and ocean blue would have to wait.

As I got closer, it was obvious something was wrong. She sat hunched, eyes glued to the floor and hands folded in her lap. Her eyes were puffy and a little red, and she sniffed when I got close.

Crying, hunched over, hands in good posture… oh god. She was going back to Japan.

“Hey Meeks.” I greeted, sitting on the sofa beside her.

There was the long approach, of asking how she was, and then going through all the small talk. Or, I could ask it upfront and get this going. Knowing her, the only way to get it out was to hit her hard.

“What’s wrong?” She looked up at me, and as it always happens when someone asked ‘Are you ok?’ when you already aren’t, the water works started.

“They won’t let me dye my hair.”

Between the beginning to cry breaking her voice and the fact that she lunged at me, I only got some of the words before she was burying herself into my chest and sobbing. My arms wrapped around her, shuffling forward so I could pull her into my chest and cradle her closer.

“What?” I asked, needing to hear that again.

“My host parents.” I could faintly make out. “They won’t let me dye my hair.”

Her outburst had caused everyone to look at us, and Bulkhead was rushing over from the supply station, an adorably confused face that suited a toddler better than all 18 feet of him looking to me for the answers.

Either he didn’t know how to start this conversation, or he’d not seen something was wrong on the ride over. Either way, I was now being watched like the one with the answers.

Miko sobbed into my shirt again and I realized I was supposed to be doing something.

Ok, let’s back up to what she said. Her host parents wouldn’t let her dye her hair. Well, the pink was starting to wash out a little, leaving only the bleach behind. And, her hair had grown out a bit since our first meeting. And, based on what she’d told me about her host family, they did seem very ‘stick up the ass’ about this kinda thing.

Still, not letting her dye her hair. Come on, assholes. It’s part of who she was, her personality. It was just hair dye.

Miko sobbed again, and I continued to hold her close.

It was just hair dye, and yes it made her seem like a delinquent, but in the land of Freedom, let her live. No one was getting hurt.

“So fuck them.” I spoke, plain and simple.

“Kristin!” Jack chastised.

“What?” I demanded.

Miko had released me in her shock and was now sitting upright, wiping her tears.

I turned to Optimus. “Mind if I pull Bulk for a couple hours?”

He didn’t take long to consider it. “You may.”

I smiled back at him in thanks, standing and heading for my bag, which was left by my books. I paused just briefly, but then slammed my textbook closed and slung my bag onto my shoulder. I could do it later.

“Coming?” I asked Miko, making my way to the stairs and skipping down them.

“Where?” Miko asked, hesitant to follow.

“To buy hair dye.” I called over my shoulder.

I heard her gasp, then scramble to rush down behind me. Bulkhead transformed, opening his front doors for us.

Miko reached me as we got to the bottom of the stairs, slamming into me from behind and encasing me in a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she repeated over and over.

“Yeah, yeah. Get in.” I redirected, shrugging her off.

“Bulk, play something awesome!” Miko instructed, rushing to get into his passenger seat. A moment later, something metal and ear assaulting blasted from his speakers.

I regretted this already.

---

I, thankfully, got to choose the music on the ride back, so Elle King announced our arrival back to the base.

Bulk pulled to a stop and we jumped out his cab, me pulling the two plastic bags with us.

Miko took off into the base, not a glance back as she shouted “Come on!”

I had one pit stop to make before we commandeered the bathrooms.

“Jack!” I called, jerking my head for him to meet me halfway as I started up the stairs.

He did, and I handed over the second bag.

“What’s this?” he asked, glancing inside to find soda, candy and some bags of chips.

“Do not disturb tax. We’re having a girl’s day.”

Spinning on my heels, I marched back down the stairs and made my way into the base.

---

I flopped onto the old chair with a groan, my back protesting. Three hours of standing was not easy.

But hey, Miko has bright pink ends and was currently kicking Raf’s ass at Mario Cart, so it was worth it. Kinda.

This shirt had been one of my favorites and now it was bleached to all hell.  And my ears were still ringing from the speaker we’d used.

But hey, karaoke was the bomb. Totally worth it.

I moved my hands to rest on my back, using them to lean backwards and stretch my spine.

Primus, what time was it anyway?

Jack had left a couple hours ago for his shift and said his mom had made us stuff for dinner that’d he bring back. Miko and Raf would be getting ready to head home soon.

Jack and I would probably spend the night. June had nightshift and my parents were out of town again so there wasn’t a reason for either of us to make the trip back.

Spinning the chair around, I opened my textbook again. Interlacing my fingers and giving them a crack, I started up my laptop and got busy.

At first I struggled to find a point to start on, but once finding a cool quote online, the words started flowing and flowing.

I apparently missed Raf and Miko’s goodbye and Jack’s arrival because the next thing I knew, Ratchet was using a digit to cover my screen.

“Oi!’ I turned to glare up at him.

“I understand all the well putting your health aside for a project, but you need food and sleep.”

I glanced down at my phone and tapped the screen, 11:34pm shining back at me.

Oh scrap, I had been here for almost 4 hours. How was that even possible?

I looked around the base. Optimus was watching with just as much concern as the medic, Jack asleep on the couch already. Well that explained why my eyes were burning and why my stomach ached so fiercely.

“Yeah, ok.” I conceded, rubbing my eyes. “Lemme just save this quick.”

Ratchet relented, moving his digit so I could quickly save the document before gently closing my laptop.

Standing, almost every bone and joint in my body cracked. Ratchet cringed, having verbally stated his hate when I did that many times before.

Barely having enough energy to shuffle, I made my way to where ‘dinner’ sat cold. Eh, lasagna was better cold anyway.

Grabbing a plastic fork, I ate straight from the glass dish, barely able to keep my eyes open. Ratchet wished me a goodnight and I returned the sentiment between yawns.

I had just finished all I was going to eat and was preparing to get settled on the smaller sofa when Optimus walked over and held out his servo for me. No need to tell me twice.

I climbed abord and let him carry me to his room. When we got there, he sat on his berth, and then swung his legs over and got settled on his back while I situated myself on his chestplates.

The pillow and blanket that were left in his room for occasions like this were brought up for me and I thanked him, curling in onto him.

Yeah, I slept on his chest when I slept over. And yes, it was extremely dangerous but he was yet to roll over in his sleep and kill me so we’d keep doing it.

“Y/n,” he started.

I hummed in the form of a reply for him to continue, fluffing my pillow.

“You planned to do your school work earlier, but then when Miko confessed her distress, you abandoned your work to help her. Why?”

What kinda question was that?

“She needed me.” I answered simply, shifting slightly so I could look him in the optics. “I could always do the work later. She needed me then.”

Optimus seemed to accept that answer. “How did you know she was in trouble?” I went to answer, but he continued. “And those actions you and Jack exchanged, almost as if you were having a conversation, but without words. How was that possible?”

I huffed a laugh, getting settled once again and closing my eyes. “Body language. We could read each other through our actions, and those translated into words. Same thing with how Miko was acting. She wasn’t talking, sitting by herself, hunched into herself. She was sad. Jack shrugged, meaning he didn’t know why.”

I paused, thinking of how I could possibly explain it any further and found there really wasn’t much more I could say. Body language just was.

Thinking back on it, the bots never really did speak through body language. All conversations were verbal, and I’d never seen them silently gesture to one another before.

There wasn’t really a way to explain it to someone. You could explain some of the actions, but it was so ingrained in human culture, it was never a need explain. It was the universal language, though now I guess it was only the human language.

“I’ll teach you sometime.” I said through a yawn, settling down further into his warm metal.

“Rest well, My Spark.” Optimus agreed, bringing up his servo to settle over me.

I drifted off to sleep moments later, the sound of his spark beating steadily in my ear.  

----

“You are… cold.” Optimus finally settled on his answer, which was so far from the correct answer Miko and Raf dissolved into giggles.

Jack looked wounded. “Am I that bad at acting?” he lamented, giving up and walking away.

The intended action was bored, or uninterested, but to the Cybertronian warrior, somehow sitting with a sigh and resting your head on your fist meant being cold.

These lessons were taking a lot longer than I thought they would, and apparently more coaching than I’d imagined.

Body language was seriously something none of the bots knew. In fact, Ratchet had laughed at the concept until I’d explained to him some of the common actions we did.

He then grumbled about how these pointers would have been helpful when dealing with Agent Fowler, like it was our fault no one debriefed him on human mannerisms.

“Bored. He was bored.” I answered, standing too. This was not going well.

“He is not the only one.” Arcee mumbled.

I turned to glare over at her. “No one asked you to join in.” I muttered even softer than her quip.

“You don’t like Arcee.” Optimus blurted out.

Jack barked out a laugh so hard he missed the chair he was aiming for and hit the floor. Miko and Raf dissolved into more giggles.

“Well that only took 6 months.” I sighed. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea anymore.

The blue and pink stabby stabby femme turned to look at me, her optics narrowed. I looked away to avoid her gaze.

No doubt this would come back to bite me in the ass later on.

“You are embarrassed.” Optimus helpfully decided to test his knowledge.

He wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t too embarrassed. I wasn’t trying to hide my dislike for her. But being called out in front of her by him was a little harsh.

“Good work, Optimus.” I rewarded his observation. The proud little smile he awarded himself was too adorable.

All jokes aside, we were making some progress. And once I’d see the bots use some of our gestures when they’d been sneaking up on ‘Cons and couldn’t talk.

In some ways, us humans were actually helping out there. And teaching these ancient bots something new.

And Optimus was like a little puppy, so excited to learn more and prove his skills, which were still in development but he was getting there.

We still had to work on his ability to read the room, and when to keep his observations to himself.

But we’d get there.

To save everyone from the embarrassment, the tones sounded for energon signals being picked up.

“Time to roll!” Miko cheered, like she going to go anywhere.

“Sit down.”

“You are authoritative.”

“Optimus, just go out… there, somewhere!” I snapped, gesturing to the opening portal.

This was seriously turning into something I regretted.

The Prime walked over to his screen, and made a plan with his team, and then just before slipping through the groundbridge, he turned to me and said, “You are annoyed.”

“Optimus!” I picked up an empty soda can and yeeted it towards him.

I seriously needed to rethink this decision.

[etherael0ne]

Apologies for the out of place text post but I had to ramble about something so if you like KCD2 and enjoy historical garment talk... This is for you:

I recall seeing a post where someone commented about Hans' physique and how it's odd when people depict him skinny with a tiny waist etc despite seemingly having the same body model as Henry, and it suddenly hit me as to WHY we might be seeing this happen:

Because we spend the majority of the time seeing Hans in a pourpoint.

A pourpoint is padded in a way that creates an exaggerated, rounded chest silhouette that was in fashion/aesthetically appealing for the time (especially in France iirc.) The padding is at it's thinnest around the waist and bulks out again towards the bottom of the garment.

Here are two extant pourpoints we have as reference, belonging to Charles de Blois and Charles VI of France with the one in game that Hans wears appearing to be modeled more off the Charles de Blois pourpoint (first image) to an extent

Pairing that with Hans' build (fit with broad shoulders and narrow hips) and his preference for wearing his belt around his hips... It kinda emphasizes this wasp-waisted silhouette that, again, was very much the desired masculine shape at the time. (This is reflected in artwork from the 14th century)

We can see a massive difference in this padding when we compare it to the quilted garment Hans is wearing at the very beginning of the game. This is the "Long pourpoint" item in game (specifically the one with the ID "GambesonLong03_mSamuel" so do with that what you will) however this garment is padded drastically different from the yellow pourpoint, and the padding lies much lower giving the appearance of a pot belly from the side.

Here's our lovely Henry modeling it in game:

Hans' typically yellow pourpoint is completely unique to him. The ID for it is "GambesonLongCapon_m01"

And modeled on Henry:

As you can see, the padding is DRASTICALLY different and makes Henry appear quite slim. You actually can't even wear a standard hood with this as it will clip with the chest, you'd need to equip Hans' unique hood.

Now I could go on about historical quilted garments and how contentious the conversation around the difference between a gambeson, pourpoint, doublet etc is and if there's even any difference at all... But that's no the point.

In short:

Hans is not a skinny legend or snatched queen 😔 He's just stuffing his bra 💔

[gayhoediaz]

im not blind to the fact that oliver’s physique is a result of years and years of hard work especially if he’s natural (which i would assume he is based on what we know about him, and how he’s slowly gotten bigger over the course of several years) and its not necessarily easily attainable unless you’re lucky enough to have a lot of time on your hands. this man is DEDICATED.

that being said, with so much toxicity online and the amount of gymbros with extreme eating disorders, and women referring to relaxed, ripped torsos as “dad bods” and male actors flexing to all high hell in their shirtless scenes when they’re already in great shape (hi tzp ♡) even as a cis-woman, i am just genuinely so thankful for him being a representation (whether he means to be or not) of a jacked as fuck, huge, dedicated man who (as far as i know. you can never know what’s going on with people privately, but) is putting in the work and building himself in a healthy way.

i’m not necessarily sure how to end this or even what i’m saying but as much as we talk about body image relating to femme presenting people (and rightfully so) i still regularly see people who seem to mean well refer to relaxed male torsos as tummies, or men flexing 2% body fat and it’s just fucking sad, man. like please eat.

also bulk is hotter than ed gymbro vanity muscles anyway but that’s another conversation

[writingquestionsanswered]

I feel like I can write pretty good dialogue between characters, and come up with great plots. But my writing lacks depth and character growth because I struggle with writing descriptive internal dialogue. I feel like this prevents my story from moving forward, even though I have a planned plot and character arcs. Do you have any suggestions for exercising my skills in writing internal dialogue?

Writing Internal Dialogue Monologue

Monologue vs Dialogue - First, I think the labeling is important here.

Dialogue = a conversation between two or more people Monologue = one person talking

Most internal thought is going to be monologue... a person's inner voice processing thoughts and observations... rather than a conversation between a person's inner voice and their opposing inner voice.

When you think of it as "internal monologue" instead, it's sometimes easier to understand what types of things belong there.

Not Everyone Has an Inner Voice - Internal monologue can be tricky for some people to write because not everyone has an inner voice. Some people get mental images instead of an inner voice. Luckily, internal voices aren't hard to understand even if you don't have one yourself.

What Does an Inner Voice Do? - Our inner voices are an ongoing, often subconscious, mental commentary there to help us focus, process, and organize our thoughts and feelings related to our experiences. Internal monologue can include observations about the people and places around us, self-reflection, self-criticism, self-praise, self-motivation, planning/strategizing, processing feelings, recalling memories, and daydreaming.

What Does Internal Dialogue Do? - Internal dialogue usually happens when a character has a mental debate with themselves, such as when they're trying to solve a problem, make a decision, or consider more than one perspective.

What Inner Voice and Internal Dialogue REALLY Do - Inner voice and internal dialogue are both used to convey the character's thoughts to the reader. In third-person, the narrator will do the bulk of the expository work--things like describing people and places, relaying character observations, etc., but character thoughts can be added in italics to give the reader a glimpse inside the character's mind.

The house was dappled with shadows and golden light from the setting sun. It was beautiful and haunting, and it was home. Or it will be, as soon as I move my stuff in...

Alternatively, you can skip the italics and leave it to the narrator to tell the reader what the character is thinking...

The house was dappled with shadows and golden light from the setting sun. It was beautiful and haunting, and it was home. Or it would be, as soon as she moved her stuff in.

In first-person, the POV character is doing all the work... describing people and places, relaying observations, processing thoughts and feelings, recalling memories and having flashbacks... anything that happens inside the character's heart and mind.

The house is dappled with shadows and golden light from the setting sun. It is beautiful and haunting, and it is home... or it will be, as soon as I move my stuff in. My heart fluttered with the joy of possibility, and I aimed a hopeful smile toward the house before climbing back into my car and starting down the driveway. In the fading light, the surrounding woods no longer feel enchanting. I drive a little faster to escape the long shadows and reaching branches.

Don't Overthink It - Too often, the thing that stumps writers about writing inner monologue is feeling like, "I don't sound like this in my head. I wouldn't walk into a room and mentally describe it to myself." And that's fair, because even most people who do have internal monologue don't exactly do that. But remember: you're writing a story. Unlike other mediums, you can't rely on visuals to show the reader what a character is seeing or what a character is thinking about. The only method available to you is to use words to describe those things. Again, in third-person you can rely on the narrator to do the bulk of it, so it doesn't feel as awkward. But in first-person, the POV character IS the narrator, so if you want the reader to know what the room looks like, your primary choice is to have the character mentally describe it to themselves. You can also do a little bit of showing... for example, instead of noting that there's a red velvet couch, they could sit on a red velvet couch, which shows the reader it's there. But, again, mostly they'll mentally describe things to themselves, and as weird as it may feel, it's a necessary part of writing fiction.

I hope this gives you some ideas about how you can use internal monologue (and internal dialogue) to explore your character's thoughts, feelings, observations, problems, etc. to go deeper into who they are, what they want, and what they need.

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[gh0ulkitty]

"Thirst"

Negan x Rick Oneshot

Pt 2/2 to "Pulse"

[18+ ONLY]

cw: blood drinking, smut

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Rick hasn't slept in days.

He isn't sure if it's the consistent phantom ache on his neck or if it's just the sheer image of Negan's canines that's the problem. Maybe it's the heavy weight of the Alexandrians who are depending on him, every burden his own to bear.

Either way, he feels like a walker. Directionless and disjointed.

As soon as Negan rounded up the other Saviors on the scavenging hunt that day, he dropped Rick off at Alexandria. He didn't even spare him a glance, opting to make cheerful conversation with the other passengers after throwing them the first aid kit. They looked strewn out and near death, but that didn't seem to deter Negan's relentless chatter.

His jolly behavior almost seemed forced, in a way.

Rick had stumbled through the gates, looking pale, but he waved off help in favor of going home and resting, insisting he was alright. The doctor was busy, anyway, and he didn't need to add to that growing queue of people.

The growing queue of people that could've been helped by the medicine at that overrun urgent care.

Their assurances that he did his best fell on deaf ears; he was an utter failure. A joke of a leader and father, if you ask him.

Alexandria needs antibiotics desperately. Both The Sanctuary and Alexandria are dangerously low on medicinal supplies.

But, unlike the Saviors, the Alexandrians are dealing with a lethal illness that suddenly struck the town with the force of a tsunami. It's flooding the doctors office and plaguing every citizen with a deep sense of unease and despair. It's written on everyone's face.

The town is weak, withering under the pressure of disease, but it's also slowly getting crushed under Negan's heel. Rick is like a lapdog at Negan's beck and call. It's humiliating and helpless.

Their deal is simple: the Saviors would spare their doctor to Alexandria if the Alexandrians worked with Negan to get weapons for the Saviors. And, if they got lucky, they could even take half of any medicine they found on runs ("A very generous fuckin' deal!" as Negan had said).

But only a few are healthy enough and prepared enough to go on these runs. Already, they were running thin. So Rick has been taking the bulk of the responsibility, tirelessly scavenging with his enemies and scraping together valuable weapons to meet quota and keep the deal going.

Rick tosses for the final time in bed before sitting up, grumbling as he rests his head in his hands. He longs for Michonne's presence by his side, but he hasn't risked it. The mark on his shoulder is too obvious; he doesn't want to have any confrontation about it with her. Hell, he hasn't even confronted himself about it.

It's swollen and bruised and bestial with two ragged punctures parallel from the other.

He's still grappling with the idea that Negan is.. not human. It makes sense, given how soulless he is, but he thought it was just metaphorical until now.

It's not the craziest thing he's come across (although it is up there), but it's still deeply disturbing. He doesn't know if he should tell anyone or not, and he's perpetually debating with himself about it. Would it put anyone he told in danger? Negan didn't tell him to keep it quiet, but it's not like he needed to.

Rick knows better than to say anything. When Negan sunk his fangs in and fed from his veins, an unspoken agreement was signed in Rick's blood.

Thinking about it is enough to start a dull ache behind his eyes. The whole thing was so weird and he can't deny how strange he felt from it.

His mind is incessant, constantly pushing unwanted images of that day to the forefront of his memory.

Negan's teeth on his skin, his tongue lapping at the sore flesh. His bloody smirk.

He involuntarily shivers, wrapping the covers around him tighter. This is getting ridiculous.

He swallows dryly, feeling hot.

His skin is too tight, clothes too restricting. He can smell pine and leather and blood, feel muscles pushing him against cold metal, taste the desire.

He shoves the thoughts away, rolling out of bed, the stinging on his shoulder threatening to remind him of what he's trying to forget.

It's late, but he needs a shower. A cold one. One that can wash the heat on his skin down the drain.

The involuntary reactions of his body stir anger and bewilderment in the depths of his chest, colliding together in a sickening swirl of pain. He feels smothered.

He can't stand this, can't stand being at Negan's whims like this even when he's not here. It makes him sick. He runs his hands over his face and staggers to the bathroom.

He exhales sharply through his nostrils, looking into the mirror and leaning over the sink. His face is rosy with humiliation. Tousled curls frame his face messily, and a vein threatens to pop on his forehead.

He shakes his head and turns the shower on, discarding his clothes and stepping into the cold spray. He hisses at the shock, brushing his wet hair out of his eyes. The heat in his stomach and groin dissolves slowly, too slow for his liking.

Negan would be laughing at how pathetic he is.

The thought is unbidden, abrupt, and should've been infuriating. But Rick realizes with growing horror that it was having quite the opposite effect.

He puts his face beneath the cold stream of water and pats his cheeks as if he's trying to wake up from a nightmare.

The sleep deprivation is getting to me. Negan is an actual blood drinking monster, and Alexandria is dying. I'm going crazy.

He breathes out, long and heavy, water running in rivulets down his back. He's being eaten alive by Negan.

He shudders. His fingers find their way down his torso, hesitant, warm despite the cold droplets of water. He pauses just above the crest of his pelvis, breathing heavier than before. The images of him were making it difficult to dissolve the arousal, even in the cold shower.

He moves his hands away with great difficulty and digs his fingertips into the fat of his thighs.

He can't be weak like this. He's already failed in so many ways. He can't let Negan have this above him, too.

He huffs in frustration and finishes the rinse, towel drying his hair as he steps out. He glances at the bruise on his shoulder in the mirror. Feeling too weary to get more gauze, he decides to just go to bed without the dressing.

Negan is coming again tomorrow. He needs to sleep.

His nightmares are filled with the savage gleam of fangs.

•

He stands on his porch with Judith balanced on his hip. The warm afternoon air and sunlight are almost sufficient enough to make him forget what has him anxious.

Judith babbles happily in his arms, and he coos at her, affection in his gaze. He brushes her soft cheek gently.

"Hey, Rick, can we talk?"

Rick looks up to see Michonne at the bottom of the steps, sheathed sword slung lazily across her shoulder. Her thumbs are hooked in her belt loops and she meets Rick's eyes with a concerned line between her brows.

Rick's lips thin into a line, unsurprised. Its not like he can avoid her forever. He knows that. But he wishes he could.

He sighs and nods, gesturing her over, resigned to the inevitable.

She scoops Judith from his arms, caressing her hair and bouncing her idly on her hip. Rick's heart aches at the tender sight.

He wonders what could have been between them--what could still be between them--if Rick could just.. get himself together.

"I know a lot has been weighing on you recently. I just.. want to know if you're okay. Or, at the very least, how I could help," she finally says, looking up from Judith to Rick. Her skin shines with the golden sun beaming down behind her, illuminating her soft features drawn with worry.

He doesn't reply for a minute, content to soak in the domesticity of the noon, stalling only a little. She allows him to.

"I won't lie to you and say I'm alright, Michonne. Things 'round here... they've taken their toll." he confesses, leaning back on the stair railing, weary.

"But it's nothing I can't handle. Nothing we can't handle." he adds, the sharpness of his jaw ticking with resolve.

Michonne regards him carefully, observant and sharp as usual. She purses her lips in a skeptical manner.

"You've been distant patricularly after scavenging the urgent care center." Rick tenses up, pointedly avoiding her eyes at the observation. His throat clicks.

She barely knows half of it.

She continues, eyeing his reactions, "I know you're taking it hard, not being able to get the medicine. But, Rick, these people are looking to you right now. Im looking to you. You need to take care of yourself."

She trails off, voice strained. She distracts herself by tending to a cooing Judith as she waits for his response.

Rick knows he's been off. He knows it's obvious, but it still stings to hear it. He runs his fingers across the coarse hairs of his stubble, a nervous habit.

"I know. I know and I'm.. I'm sorry." he apologizes, earnest. He shifts on his feet, causing her expression to soften.

"I know you're trying. You've stretched yourself thin and you need to rest," Rick opens his mouth to argue, but she silences him with a look.

"Stop it, Rick. You need to rest so you can be your best for the people. For all of us. You're not the only capable person here. You can't seriously believe you can do this all alone." she says firmly.

"Negan won't like that." he reasons, tone bitter, as if Negan's name alone is making him ill. Her lip curls slightly at the mention of him.

"He can learn to live with it." her eyes burn with fiery resolve, and she nods to herself. Rick doesn't know if Negan would buy that.

And it's more than just what Negan says. It's about the fact that Rick can't live with himself if he allows his people get hurt doing something he could do alone.

Any response he might have made is interrupted by the grumbling sounds of vehicles approaching the gate. Michonne and Rick exchange knowing glances. The familiar rumble of the Savior's engines makes his skin crawl.

"I'll go meet him. Just take care of Judith, okay?" she puts her in his arms before Rick can protest and is already hurrying away.

Judith begins fussing, and he has no choice but to take her inside while Michonne handles Negan. His stomach curls as Negan's booming voice begins its tirade at the town entrance. No doubt is he looking for Rick.

He sets Judith in her high seat and begins tending to her. Outside, the voices reduce to muffled, intangible sounds. He feels uneasy.

Will he think I told Michonne?

He wets his lips and wipes his palms on his jeans, casting an occasional glance to the door as if someone was going to break it down any second.

He's in the midst of spoon feeding Judith some applesauce when the door opens, creaking on its hinges. Coiled as tightly as a spring, he has to relax his initial reaction to attack, careful to put the applesauce down as to not spill it on Judith.

"Dad, hey. Negan is- uh, he told me to come get you. I can take Judith." Rick's heart settles at the sound of Carl's familiar voice, only to sink once again at his words.

He expected this.

Carl shuffles inside, looking apprehensive. Rick kisses Judith on her head, softly, before moving away.

"Alright, Carl. Thanks. Make sure she finishes her food." he walks to the door and pats Carl's shoulder affectionately on the way out. Carl relaxes a fraction at his touch, casting him a small smile.

Pride swells in his chest, and he can't help but linger at the door for a moment to watch Carl care for Judith, gentle and sweet. This is what he's fighting for. His children. Alexandria's future.

Reluctantly, knowing he can't procrastinate for long, he pulls away and jogs down the steps, hurrying to the gate entrance.

He hears Negan as he approaches, as vulgar and colorful as usual.

"Whew, this place just warms my soul. I gotta get a damn vacation home here!" he whistles and twirls his bat like a baton, chuckling to himself as he mock admires the houses around him.

When he catches sight of Rick appearing from around the corner, he grins widely, adding, "Preferably, one that looks right into the bathroom window of ol' Ricky." He emphasizes the words by licking his lips hungrily. His eyes glisten with a predatory gleam, pupils dilated, the same look he gave Rick before shoving him against the car.

Rick fixes him with an unamused look, although his thoughts make it difficult to keep his head on straight.

Fishhooks tug in his skin. A deeply rooted primitive instinct shrinks at the full attention of Negan, as if something were innately wrong.

Negan, undeterred as ever, slinks over to Rick with the grace of a cat, dodging any Savior or Alexandrian in his way. Not that he has to do much work for that because everyone gives him a wide berth.

His all-encompassing presence is feverish, threatening to devour Rick in one bite. Rick feels the urge to run.

"Rick, Rick, Rick... it's the man of the hour! I was worried you wouldn't show up and I'd have to come get you myself!" he winks at him and throws an arm over his shoulders. Rick grimaces at the casual contact, tilting his head away from Negan.

The adjustment away from him causes his shirt to slide ever so slightly off his collarbone. Just enough to reveal the bruised flesh. He doesn't notice, but Negan sure as hell does.

A pleased sound rumbles in his throat, akin to a purr. Absently, he swipes his thumb across the exposed mark.

Rick stiffens, eyes widening, shoving Negan back and fixing his shirt back in place before anyone else can see it. Negan doesn't resist, throwing his hands up in a surrender gesture, a wry look on his face.

Rick mentally chastises himself for forgetting to bandage it. If Michonne had seen it...

"Rick, your fine people have told me that you're on break right now. Is that so? Last time I checked..." he looks around, examining every person paying attention, and then continues, "I'm the god damned boss here. Not you, not samurai lady, no one but me."

Rick fights to keep a neutral expression, probably failing as his pride burns his throat.

He waits for Negan to continue, not giving a response.

"Alright. Round up the scavenging groups and get ready to leave." Negan distinguishes the tense moment, ordering his men around and turning away from Rick. Rick swallows his growing irritation and burns holes in Negan's back with his intensity.

Negan's muscles are effortlessly highlighted underneath the gold of the sun, rays licking at the curves of his leather shoulder blades that flex with each spin of Lucille.

Negan suddenly turns to face Ricks direction one again, meeting Rick's steely gaze. A shark-like grin dances across his features. Hungry.

"And as for you, sweetheart, you're coming back with me to The Sanctuary." Negan proposes. He leans back onto his heels, smug, tongue between his teeth.

Rick is slack jawed.

"What?! What are you talking about?" Michonne's explosive voice interjects before he can even register Negan's words. She marches up to Negan, leaving behind the small group of people she was speaking to moments prior.

Negan's eyebrows raise at the outburst, turning his attention on her. His grip on Lucille is ever so slightly tighter than before.

Rick bristles, ready to jump to Michonne's defense if needed, unsure of which reaction he could expect from Negan.

He's about as predictable as a firecracker.

Amusement seems to win out this time, thankfully. His grip relaxes once again, and he shrugs his shoulders. The tension in Rick's muscles dwindle a fraction.

"Wow... you seem real mad that I'm giving you exactly what you asked for. God, I'm way too fuckin' generous to you ungrateful fucks." Negan scoffs, propping himself up on Lucille, running a hand through his gel slicked hair.

Michonne balks. "You're taking him hostage! You can't do this, we have a deal." she argues, standing protectively near Rick. She's buzzing with energy and barely restrained fury.

Negan shakes his head in over-exaggerated exasperation, looking around with wide eyes as if to say, "This chick is crazy!"

"No, darlin', quite the damn opposite, actually. I'm giving him a once-in-a-lifetime ticket to luxury for the duration of his break. You should be thanking me right now." he sidles up next to Rick, much to Michonne's chagrin, and Rick decides to speak up. He doesn't want Michonne to have to speak for him.

"It's fine, Negan. Let's just go scavenging. I'll go grab my things-" he begins, trying to move away. Lucille promptly blocks his path, barbs hooking the front of his shirt.

"Nope! I've already fuckin' decided and I'm not changing my mind. Your little girlfriend was insistent that I let you get some rest, and who the hell am I to deny the samurai lady her request?" he wiggles his brows at her, teeth flashing with menace. Rick watches the canines with growing caution, anticipating a deadly protrusion through the gums.

Michonne is positively fuming, opening her mouth to speak again when Rick puts a hand on her arm to stop her. She glares daggers at the man before them, but complies with Rick's silent command.

Rick meets Negan's look unflinchingly, expression carefully composed. He weighs his options, subtly gnawing on the inside of his lip as he does so.

Negan waits patiently, whistling a nonchalant tune and surveying his men bustling about.

"How long?" is all Rick asks, feigning ease. With great difficulty, he relaxes his tense posture, rolling out the muscles. Negan glances at the movement.

Negan wants him to react. It's all apart of their special game of cat-and-mouse.

He has no idea what Negan is trying to get at with all of this. A small part of him is curious. How far is Negan going to take it?

"Don't entertain him, Rick." Michonne steps in once again, but Negan ignores her.

"Two days, how 'bout that? A weekend getaway with your ol' pal Negan." to give credit where its due, he really does look like he's greeting an old friend at some kind of demented high-school reunion.

Rick has to make a conscious effort to remain visibly unaffected. But the questions in his mind make it increasingly difficult.

Two days, doing what? Sitting around at The Sanctuary while his people waste away in Alexandria? He boils at the notion. But what choice does he have?

Negan observes him for a few seconds longer, evidently waiting for a reaction. Rick gives him none. Somehow, this still pleases Negan.

"Rick, can we talk about this?" Michonne pleads, placing herself in the middle of the two men. Negan rolls his eyes.

"No. Like I said, I've already made up my damn mind. You two have got five fuckin' seconds to say your heartfelt goodbyes and then we're hittin' the road." he pouts his lower lip in a dramatic pantomime of tragedy, twirling Lucille dangerously close to Rick's face.

Rick doesn't waste any time. "Take charge while I'm gone. Please take care of Judith and Carl, and don't let Carl do anything stupid." he rushes the words out. He has so much to say to her, unable to make it count.

"I'll be here." she promises, voice firm. Loyal in spite of her qualms with the situation. Steadfast in her faith in him. He chokes down a sudden swell of emotion. He is so immensely grateful for her and has no idea what he did to deserve her support.

She must see it in his expression because she reaches forward to squeeze his bicep in reassurance. They share a meaningful look.

It's only two days, but in an apocalypse, it might as well be years. There's no guarantee in this world anymore.

Their moment is promptly disrupted by a suffocating weight being thrown across his shoulders once again. He stamps down a snarl.

"Alright, pity party over. Let's go." Negan manhandles Rick away from Michonne with more force than necessary. He bears with it.

Michonne gives him one last nod, brows set in conviction. Rick knows the Alexandrians are in good hands. But it doesn't make it easier to leave.

Once they're out of earshot, Negan leans in real close to his ear and whispers conspiratorially, "You two knockin' boots?"

Despite the blatantly inappropriate question, the hairs on the back of his neck raise at the proximity, tingling.

Rick sneers at the inquiry, bristling more so at his bodily reactions than at Negan's quip itself.

Negan chuckles heartily, but his fingers subtly tighten their grip and find their way to the tender spot on Ricks shoulder, applying pressure. Pinpricks of pain intertwine with pleasure. Rick hisses at the sensation, a fire lighting in his stomach.

At the gate, Negan releases Rick, much to his relief. The relief is short-lived, however, because moments later, a featherlight touch on the small of his back is coaxing him outside. Rick almost jumps at the unexpected touch. Tingles surge up his vertebrae.

Negan simply nods to Eugene, who is currently manning the gate, and strolls his way out, side by side with Rick as if he didn't do anything.

Rick seethes and focuses on the crunch of gravel beneath his boots to ground his unwinding composure.

If there's one thing hes good at, it's looking composed when he isn't.

"Head out." Negan commands the scavenging groups awaiting his orders, resting Lucille on his shoulder as he watches them depart.

Then, with a chivalry like demeanor, he guides Rick to the remaining vehicle. His gait is confident and borderline cocky.

Rick, by contrast, is stalking around like a paranoid veteran. Negan follows his movements with growing amusement, much to Rick's dismay.

"What's on your mind, Rick?" Negan asks once they're both situated in the car. He not-so-subtly glances at the concealed bite on Rick's shoulder.

Rick burns as if kissed by embers at the bold implication. He wonders if Negan can hear his heart rate spike, or if he can somehow taste the endorphins rippling like a current in his bloodstream. A monster like him probably could.

Maybe it's his imagination, but he can see Negan's nostrils flare when his heart thumps harder on his chest.

He shakes the ridiculous thoughts away before answering as concisely as possible. No need to get friendly.

"Nothin'."

Negan huffs. "I get that you're not much of a conversationalist, Rick, but God damn. You're on vacation for cryin' out loud, when's the last time you could say that?" Negan gestures wildly as he says so.

Rick only grunts, resting his head on the cool glass of the window, watching as the birds scatter to the treetops, startled at the sound of a running engine.

Negan's knuckles turn white on the wheel, and Rick braces himself for the inevitable burnout of Negan's short fuse. But, mercifully, Negan seems to reign his control back in.

"Answer me when I talk to you." Negan says. His tone leaves no room for questioning.

Is this the hill I'm going to die on?

He can taste the bitter tang of resentment on the back of his tongue like bile. Everything is a power struggle when it comes to Negan.

"Sorry." he manages to say through clenched teeth, fingertips digging into his palms.

Negan only responds with a simple "hmph" and a long, uncomfortable silence ensues.

For a long time, Rick can only adjust himself in his seat over and over again as his mind hurtles through topics at a break-neck speed he can't keep up with. From Alexandria to The Sanctuary. From the Saviors to Alexandrians. From Michonne to Negan. From the deadly disease to the doctors. From his home to his impromptu 'vacation'.

To Negan again. To his teeth, to his fangs, to the blood on his mouth, to his lips on Rick's throat-- Rick halts himself right there, not daring to move. What if Negan can read minds?

He sucks in a sharp breath, shame and other more foreign feelings swirling in his head.

He swears he can see a knowing smirk on Negan's face in his peripherals. But maybe that's just his face all the time.

He shifts his attention to the twinkling spikes on Lucille, counting each one, visualizing in painstaking detail the blood on every point. To remind himself of the monster he's sitting beside. To remember why these strange feelings are completely and utterly wrong.

And it works. Revulsion roils through him in waves, and Rick has to fight back nausea.

It has to be the exhaustion getting to his head. He's taking this too seriously. He's just stressed and exhausted. The way he feels right now doesn't mean anything..

Warmth on his thigh snaps him back to reality, and he glances sideways, startled.

"Earth to Rick! We're home." Negan squeezes, quickly but bruisingly, and releases him when he has Rick's attention. The ghost of his fingertips singe where he touched.

He gauges Rick's reaction to the intimate action, visibly satisfied with whatever he sees. Heat threatens to climb the back of Rick's neck.

Rick swings the door open, a little too quickly, desperate to put some distance between them. He stumbles out less than gracefully. How long had he been zoned out?

He can hear the beginnings of a chuckle from Negan, but he cuts it off by slamming the door shut.

He opts to scans his surroundings.

The Sanctuary is a blight on Earth. It's industrial and angular and far from anything welcoming. A complete eyesore.

Of course, that's the point.

Chain-link fence secures the perimeter, decorated with tethered walkers to ward off the dead and intimidate the living. Spikes coated in rotted flesh and viscera guard the weaker blind-spots where the look-outs can't see and tired looking workers scatter about like ants.

The smell of metal and death accompanies the sight.

Rick already can't wait for this all to be over.

"Not as pretty as Alexandria, but twice as efficient," Negan brags as he slithers next to him, Lucille at his leather flank.

"What are you expecting me to do here, Negan? What are you getting at with this?" Rick at last sounds the questions plaguing him. He feels helpless here, angry at being torn away from his people. His people who need him right now.

He looks at Negan expectantly, impatient.

Before Negan can answer, a man with a scarred face appears around a corner and begins speaking to him. Rick vaguely recognizes him as one of the men he's scavenged with before. Rick listens curiously.

"A fight broke out during one of Simon's pickups. One of his men killed a boy." The man briefs Negan on the situation, pointedly avoiding saying anything that might be advantageous to Alexandria, to Rick's displeasure.

Rick waits in silence, arms crossed. Idly, he studies the creases in Negan's leather jacket, the alluring sharp lines of muscle undulating beneath it. He has just enough presence of mind to look elsewhere.

Negan pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration at the news. He pulls the other man aside and they speak in lowered tones for a few moments. Rick strains to overhear, but only catches irrelevant pieces of the conversation.

Negan then claps his back and says, "Thank you, Dwighty-boy. I can always count on you."

Dismissed, the man--Dwight--only glances at Rick before walking off to tend to whatever Negan wanted him to.

"As you were saying, Rick?" Negan prompts. He leans onto his bat lazily.

"Why am I here?" he reiterates, annoyed. He thinks back to Carl and Judith, restless at the idea of them alone.

"Jesus, haven't we already been over this? You're here to relax, of course." Negan disguises his growing irritation with a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes and then gestures Rick to follow him.

Rick knew he wasn't going to get an answer out of him just by asking. He's just going to have to go along with whatever messed up game Negan is playing.

He reluctantly trails after Negan, stopping at a railing that overlooks a mass of people and stalls, rustling and clattering about like a beehive.

Negan quirks a brow at Rick in a "watch this" kind of way, then bangs Lucille against the metal bars.

In a domino effect, everyone who looks up and notices Negan get down on their knees. The people who didn't see Negan watch their peers kneel and follow their example.

Soon, the once bustling room is silent and on its knees. Rick is disgusted.

Negan, on the other hand, is basking in it. He prods Rick with a huge smile on his face, catching his lower lip with his teeth.

For a split second, the arc of Negan's canines looked unnatural. He isn't sure if he's seeing things or not, but before he can think any further on it, Negan is speaking to the crowd.

"I'm here to announce that we have a very special fuckin' guest here for the next two days and if you see him, you better treat him like he's my god damn second hand man." his voice rings clear throughout the warehouse, echoing off the bare walls and reverberating.

Rick doesn't react to the blatant humiliation attempt, but internally, he's shrinking. The people kneeling don't even look up.

Negan purses his lips, letting the silence permeate. His shoulder brushes Rick's, just enough for Rick to notice. Rick glances sideways, but Negan is still looking to the crowd.

"Get a good look at him and then get back to work." he orders, brief and to the point but nonetheless intimidating.

Rick grits his teeth and bears with the heat of dozens of eyes on him. The people are back up and moving again.

"Get used to living like a fuckin' God."

Rick despises how Negan puts himself on such a pedestal, and he sneers at his words. It's arrogant and oppressive. A monument of his hubris. His Achilles heel.

"Seems more like living like a dictator." Rick observes boldly. He has to call it like he sees it.

Negan quirks a brow and then laughs heartily as if Rick were his personal jester, causing Rick to scowl.

Negan squeezes his shoulder, brushing against his goosebumps; he lingers for just a moment too long before he ultimately pulls away. His fingertips graze his collarbone on the way down.

Rick knows he's doing it on purpose at this point.

Negan knows what he's doing to Rick. Something beyond plain teasing. Whittling away at his sanity with a chisel.

Negan sighs and stretches, arms above his head, his shirt riding up and revealing a sliver of skin with a tantalizing happy trail leading to the waistband of his jeans. He catches Rick's line of sight and winks.

Rick has the decency to look embarrassed.

"Take a picture and it might last longer, darlin'," he slides a tongue in his teeth in a cheeky grin. The pet name makes Rick cringe, stomach flopping from being caught ogling. He swears that he didn't mean to look, honestly, but it's not like Negan will let him explain anyway.

God, is Negan always this insufferable? His lip curls with scorn and disgust and he shakes his head.

"Let me give you the grand tour. You're quite the lucky man, Rick, being shown around by the boss himself." he says with flourish, gesturing to himself. Rick remains unimpressed. Negan, of course, doesn't care.

After trailing Negan like a lost puppy for the better part of an hour or so, the novelty is growing old on Rick. Not that there was much novelty in the first place.

The entire time, Negan showers him with innuendo and vulgarity, throwing in the occasional physical contact that somehow always manages to throw Rick off guard.

At some point, Rick had to start tuning out his endless babble to preserve his own state of mind. He had tried to memorize the layout of The Sanctuary for strategic purposes, but quickly realized after one too many turns that The Sanctuary is a neverending maze.

He tunes back in when he finds himself at the entrance of a fancier room furnished with couches, a bar, and a TV. The room is lit by incandescent bulbs, the atmosphere bordering on cozy if it weren't in an industrial hellscape.

It's a striking distinction from the majority of the compound. If Rick has to guess, he's reaching the part of the tour that only a few get to experience.

Lucky me. he thinks sardonically.

The room isn't void of people, however. A group of women are dispersed throughout the room, lounging in short dresses with wine in their palms. He takes in the scene with a questioning purse of the lips.

Is this a harem or something?

His suspicions are, unfortunately, confirmed as he has to stand witness to Negan drawing a brunette woman into his arms. He plants an obscene kiss to her mouth.

Even worse, he has the gall to cast Rick a wry smile as he does so, eyes on him despite the woman in his embrace.

Rick stands uncomfortably, sucking his teeth and hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. His mind conjures the image of Negan when he had him pressed to the car, his lips brushing against his neck. He bites his tongue, fighting the urge to turn away.

They draw away from each other after a needlessly long kiss that almost makes Rick roll his eyes.

"Ladies, this is Rick." he motions to Rick unceremoniously. "He's my extra special guest. Rick, these are my beautiful wives."

Wives? His nose scrunches in disgust briefly, which he schools into a neutral expression.

Negan draws away from the woman, and all of the eyes in the room are on Rick now. They seem faintly curious, but don't ask any questions. They just nod politely and continue what they were doing before, much to his relief.

The brunette woman approaches Rick as Negan grabs a bottle of wine and pours himself a gracious serving. The red liquid fills the glass, disturbingly close to the image of blood in Rick's mind.

He has to blink the thoughts away.

"My name is Sherry. It's nice to finally meet you, Rick." The woman introduces herself with a small smile. Her cheeks are touched with blush, and her eyelashes are darkened with mascara. She smells like shampoo and light perfume.

Rick nods in greeting to her. He can't help but feel sympathy for her situation. Is Negan forcing these women to be his wives?

The notion is repulsive.

He elects to ask Negan later, giving him the tiniest benefit of the doubt. It's not like he can just ask in front of all the women outright. Causing a confrontation is a good way to get killed.

"It's nice to meet you, too." he replies, curt but polite nonetheless. Negan is sipping on the wine as he maneuvers back to them.

"Mind holding this for me, darlin'?" he asks Sherry, handing her the glass. She nods and takes it from him.

Negan smiles gratefully and begins to strip off his jacket.

As he does so, Rick swallows hard and looks down at his shoes. He doesn't want his eyes to wander more than they already have; he's embarrassed himself enough.

He soothes himself by focusing on the fact that one day, he's going to kill Negan. And none of this humiliaton will have mattered; none of these thoughts or feelings will have any merit because Negan will be gone, wiped away like the nasty stain he is.

This unwanted lust is a product of his hatred, he decides. There's a dangerously thin line between hatred and lust, after all. He's only a man at the end of the day, driven by carnal desires and unable to distinguish between two passionate emotions.

It doesn't have to be anything more than that.

Negan discards the jacket onto the bar table and settles into the couch, patting the spot beside him. Assuming he's waiting for Sherry, Rick settles on leaning back into the wall, resigned to dealing with whatever awkward shit Negan is about to make him see.

Negan snickers and spreads his arms out on the top of the couch, his biceps flexing in the process, pale skin reflecting the warm glow of light.

"Rick, come have a seat. You're as wound up as a fuckin' virgin on prom night." Sherry takes a seat next to Negan, the opposite side that he patted, and gives him his wine back.

Rick's eyes widen a fraction before narrowing, clocking Negan's intentions and dreading them. Hesitantly, he trudges over to him, stiffly taking the spot on Negan's left side. He perches himself as far away from Negan as he can be on the modest sized couch.

The other women chatter amongst themselves casually. Rick is thankful he doesn't need to interact with more people than he needs to, at least.

On Negan's part, he's undressing every woman in the room with his gaze shamelessly, catching their eyes and winking like some kind of cheesy rom com protagonist. If Rick wasn't so uncomfortable, he would laugh.

Sensing his eyes on him, Negan abruptly stops his ogling to frown at Rick.

"Jesus, can't even wind down in a room full of my beautiful wives? Y'know, Rick, I'm startin' to think you're battin' for the other team." he looks sly, tone dropping an octave toward the end of the sentence, his left leg pressing against Rick's.

The suggestion makes Rick fully blush for the first time that afternoon. He has to fight to not hide his face in his hands, the tips of his ears burning red.

Rick has never really thought about his sexuality. He's never needed to. He's just.. always been attracted to women.

But obviously, things have been different recently. He would die before admitting that to Negan, though.

He isn't sure if the exhaustion excuse cuts it anymore.

Rick splutters and shakes his head adamantly, trying to scoot further away but failing.

At this reaction, Negan's face lights up like a kid in a candy shop to Rick's horror. Negan chuckles lowly and raises his brows.

"I'm just messin' with you, Rick." he taunts as Sherry leans into him. He strokes the locs of her hair and catches it in his fingers. He gives Rick a meaningful look, knowing.

Rick feels sick at the sight of it, wanting to snarl and lash out at him for being so fucking arrogant.

"I can't stay for long, Sherry, I've gotta show Rick to his room. But if you want to see me tonight, you know where to find me." he talks to her with a velvety voice, a voice meant for her ears only.

But Rick is in earshot, and Rick suspects Negan is fully aware of that fact. He shivers, unsure if it's from irritation or something else.

Negan glances back at Rick only briefly as he and Sherry finish having their hushed conversation. Negan's leg brushes Rick's occasionally, which Rick pointedly ignores, even though it makes his muscles jump every time.

Rick decides to watch one of the women read a book while he waits, uninterested in whatever else the two were talking about and wanting to focus on anything except the warmth on the side of his thigh.

A few minutes later, Negan is standing up and snatching his leather jacket and Lucille from the bar. He motions for Rick to follow and says his goodbyes to his "wives".

When the door shuts behind them, the majority of the light filtering through the hall is cut off, engulfing the two men in relative darkness. The air is colder somehow, more restricting in the darkness than the light. More intimate.

Rick can't bite his tongue for long.

"What's the deal with that?" he accuses. He tilts his head questioningly, fixing Negan with narrowed eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Negan plays dumb, strolling along with Rick. He looks momentarily surprised that the usually silent man is finally talking, regarding him with a shrewd eyebrow raise.

Rick suffocates in the silence before finding his words.

"Your... 'wives'. How does that work?" he treads the topic mindfully, not wanting to set Negan off.

He's too tired to fight if he needs to, and he can't afford to be reckless. Not when his people are waiting.

"Why? Are you interested?" he wiggles his brows and sways into Rick's personal space, unable to resist making him squirm.

Rick leans away, his mouth set in a firm line as he crosses his arms as a physical barrier. "I'm serious."

Negan sighs, backing up, evidently following Rick's train of thought.

"Not that it's any of your god damned business, but I'll tell you because I don't want you to get the wrong idea." he prefaces. Rick waits, expectant. The echo of their boots bounce off the barren walls, resonating around their isolated silhouettes, reminding Rick of how utterly alone the two are right now.

"They give me blood in exchange for awesome fucking privileges. Simple as that." he states, not breaking his stride.

"The sex is just a bonus; they choose it. Turns out, fangs are lady killers." he remarks, flashing a winning smile at Rick, which Rick deflects with a glower. "Not that the general Savior knows this, of course. To them, it's just prostitution. Sex in exchange for privilege."

He shrugs nonchalantly. The stray light bulbs flickering above them cast a menacing shadow behind Negan, long and dark, reaching out to Rick with outstretched claws. Rick subtly shifts farther away from him.

Admittedly, Negan's sound reasoning is a relief to Rick. At least there's one line that Negan won't cross. He chews on the idea for a moment longer until Negan speaks up again, voice startlingly clear in the silence.

"Well, did my elevator pitch convince ya?" Negan bats his eyelashes in Rick's direction, once again trying to close the space Rick very deliberately put between them.

"Convince me of what?" Rick scowls, scratching his stubble, meeting Negan's manic gaze.

"Becoming one of my wives." Negan deadpans, without missing a beat.

Rick almost trips over his own boots, coughing into a fist to compose himself from the slip-up.

They both halt their steps. Rick straightens, coming face to face with him, holding his breath.

They're so close that Rick's brain stutters in place, unsure of how to function. This close, the idea of killing Negan is suddenly not so appealing anymore, replaced by a need for something just as passionate, but much different.

"Judging by the way your heart just started racing, I'd say it did." Negan's grin splits his face hungrily, the curve of his smile sharp as a knife point. "But I'm patient enough to wait for you to admit it."

Rick gapes at the presumption, unable to believe what he's hearing and also subconsciously trying to make his heart go silent.

This arrogant bastard.

"What-"

"Here's your room, darlin'. You know where to find me." he cuts Rick off, echoing his earlier words to Sherry. Rick has a distinct feeling, though, that they were never meant for her in the first place.

He's so close, Rick can almost taste the sultry words from his mouth.

Negan then turns on his heel, sparing Rick one last wink. The sound of whistling disappears down the hall, and a whoosh of air fills the empty space Negan leaves behind.

Rick stands in stunned silence for a few seconds, blinking dumbly.

Did Negan just come onto me?

He opens the door to his room and slams it shut behind him, not even bothering to look around as he finds the bathroom.

He doesn't dare look at himself in the mirror. He doesn't want to see what he looks like while he's seriously considering Negan's blatant offer.

He splashes his face with cold water, a frantic tremble in his hands. Maybe this will wake him up from whatever nightmare he's dug himself into.

But not even the cold is enough to shock away the temptation, heat tingling where Negan's words fanned across his face.

He sighs sharply, barely drying his face off before kicking the door open and collapsing onto the bed. Cold droplets cling to the edges of the curls framing his jaw.

He groans, shucking his clothes off and tossing them on the floor. When he's down to his boxers, he slips under the covers.

He just needs to sleep this off. Whatever this is will pass. He just needs to get through tonight and tomorrow so he can go home and lead his people again.

He twists under the covers and closes his eyes, resolute.

.....

....

...

..

He turns, unable to escape the growing heat pooling in his groin. He bites his lower lip, hard, hands twitching. He holds the sheets to steady them.

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, thinking. He tries to focus on anything else. His breathing, the weight of his body on the mattress, anything. But he keeps getting dragged by the ankle right back into his wild current of thoughts, choking and drowning in them.

...Maybe he just needs to get this out of his system.

It's wrong, he knows that, but a selfish part of him just wants this neverending burning to finally go away. He just wants to be able to sleep.

He tries to justify the allure of the other man with useless, selfish excuses. All he can think about is the grace with which Negan moves, every step confident, always taking what he wants. The confidence of a predator stalking its prey.

The gouges on his neck burn.

Rick is disturbed to find that his inhibitions have slowly been whittled down into nothing with every touch and jab and innuendo Negan has thrown his way. Every justification has become easier to accept. Every fantasy easier to justify.

Whatever it is that is so intoxicating to Rick about Negan doesn't matter. All that matters is that it's enough that he's willing to throw away his reservations to taste more of it.

He wants to taste Negan's impulsivity on his tongue, feel the flex of his muscles, smell the heat of sex. He wants to tear Negan apart, pull him to pieces, and see his own fury reflected in Negan's pupils. Two opposite ends, united in their pride, united in their fury. Not as different as Rick may like to believe.

His hand has trailed its way down his torso, achingly slow. His breath is labored, chest heaving, head tilted back, spine arched. He slips beneath the waistband of his boxers, setting his jaw, and he traces the hard length of his erection.

He takes himself in his calloused hand and squeezes. He groans through his teeth, dizzy, imagining a certain set of canines...

He strokes steadily at first, but his movements get more desperate within seconds.

He tries, fruitlessly, to keep Negan out of his head. But he's invading every bit of Rick, exactly the way Negan intended. All consuming and bloody, hovering over him with claws and teeth.

He thinks about the brushes of contact between them. The electricity crackling between them when they're angry, neither man willing to swallow their wrath. He thinks of the day that Negan fed from his vein and shoved him against a cardoor, reckless and frenzied.

The vulnerability they both unwittingly found themselves trapped in, at the others whim.

His voice in his ear and the tight, bruising grips he subjects Rick to. Rough.

The friction doesn't feel like enough. His hand doesn't feel like enough. He keeps chasing his peak but it's always just ahead of him, teasing him with a familiar wolf-like grin.

Fuck. He aches and throbs, sweat trickling down the nape of his neck, following the phantom touches of Negan's fingers.

He whines in frustration, letting go of his swollen cock. It twitches against his stomach at the loss of contact.

He runs a hand over his face, flushed. He writhes uncomfortably, hips grinding the air, his stomach rolling with unreleased pleasure.

Defeated, he pulls his boxers back on. He sits for a long minute with a throbbing, insistent boner. He knows he's on a knifes edge right now, about to make a decision he's going to regret, as fragile as glass.

He crosses the threshold as soon as he begins putting on his clothes again, tugging the denim up his thighs.

Thrumming with anticipation, he gets up and trudges out of his room, leaving his shame behind as he shuts the door.

●

All day, Negan has been completely blue balling himself. Every hint he threw at Rick was like talking to a brick wall. Gaze always fixed ahead, unflinching. Carved in marble, perfect but indifferent.

But Negan knows better than to take him at face value.

The brushes of contact made Rick's heart flutter like a trapped butterfly. Hints of blush would crawl up his throat temptingly with each innuendo. And God damn, the look on his face when he implied Rick was gay is unforgettable.

He wishes he could print it out and hang it on his wall.

Negan is a patient man, despite what it may seem like. He's content to chip away at Rick's resolve with sweet talk and touching. Having Rick in his arms is worth waiting for, he decides.

He licks his canines, feeling their sharpness. Theyre protruding with arousal. Damn, thinking about Rick like this is gonna make it hard to sleep.

He wonders if his offer to Rick was a step too far. He's afraid he came off too strongly, breaking the fragile attraction Rick was building toward.

But he was getting antsy after a whole day of having the stoic man trail behind him, subtly blushing like a shy girl. Can you blame him?

He imagines the curve of Rick's throat and the steely eyes he always fixes him with. Like Rick can't tell whether he wants to kill him or fuck him. He hopes it's the latter.

Jesus, he's hard as diamonds now.

Groaning with annoyance, he flops onto his mattress. He's hungry.

He's always hungry for blood, of course. It's a constant in the back of his mind, always aware of beating hearts in his vicinity, always aware of the crimson rushing through the human veins surrounding him. It's icy and hot all at once.

It takes enormous self-control to be a monster. He can understand the walkers to an extent.

But it's not just blood he's hungry for right now. He wants so, so much more than that. Something darker and sicker.

He wants Rick. Hes wanted him since he had him on his knees before him and hes wanted him even more since he sucked the blood from his veins, vivid and brilliant.

He couldn't believe his luck when he was presented with a perfect opportunity to bring him to The Sanctuary, although he knows the decision was mostly malicious.

Still, he's never claimed to be a saint.

He just wants to grab his pretty fucking curls and force his--

Negan pauses suddenly, sitting up.

Thump, thump-thump, thump...

Negan's breathing slows to a halt as he listens.

Am I imagining things right now?

A very familiar heartbeat is wandering down the hall. Closer to his door. He can practically taste arousal in the air, and he's (almost) positive it's not coming from himself.

A crooked grin forms on Negan's face once the shock wanes. He can't believe this. He's on the edge of his bed now, coiled up and ready to pounce. His senses cast outwards and encircle Rick's presence, teasing him.

When a hesitant knock finally sounds at his door, Negan has to force himself to not look too excited. He saunters to his door, takes a breath, and opens it with a devilish smirk.

Unsurprisingly, there Rick stands. He's giving him those intense fucking eyes that he loves and it takes serious control not to grab him and sink his teeth in right then and there. His throat constricts, fingers itching to take and take and take.

"Well, hello there, cowboy, what brings you her--" his arrogant welcome is abruptly cut off as Rick shoves him backwards, kicking the door shut behind him. Negan's brows shoot up to his hairline, his hands instinctively flying to his belt where he usually keeps a dagger.

His surprise and instinctual attack is muffled by Rick's mouth on his own, his hands roughly gripping the front of his leather jacket and tugging him forward to deepen the kiss.

Pure, raw electricity surges through Negan. Rick's bold, overzealous heat clutches onto him with want and need, dizzying in its intensity. He groans into the kiss, grinning, fangs hooking Rick's lip. Rick shudders and opens his mouth in invitation, which Negan doesn't hesitate to take.

Negan is always taking. He takes and takes until there's nothing left, still never quite satisfied. He has every intention to do the same with Rick.

Just like he imagined earlier, he tugs at Rick's curls with reckless abandon, relishing the way Rick comes undone in his hands. His throat tingles with the taste of Rick, the heady, masculine scent of him. They pull away briefly and Negan devours the sight of his dilated pupils and messy hair and blushed cheeks, inhaling the warmth he exudes.

Bloodthirst and lust battle in a frenzy. He finds the same battle mirrored in Rick, albeit his bloodthirst is obviously different. He wonders if Rick is going to fuck with as much intensity as he fights, and the idea lights him up like a firework.

"Fuck, Negan, you did this all on purpose." Rick growls, breathless, pinning Negan up against the wall with his chest pressed tightly against his own. His touch is none too gentle beneath Negan's shirt, feeling up his muscles, groping and squeezing. His calloused fingers leave goosebumps in their wake.

Negan slides his leg between Rick's and takes advantage of Rick's momentary fluster at the sensation to switch their positions.

"Maybe I did." he murmurs into Rick's throat. His lips, being so close to the arteries of his neck, have his fingers trembling in Rick's hair. The rush of arousal makes it hard to stay in control of the more predatory instincts driving his actions. The tips of his fangs tingle at the proximity.

Rick's pulse is pumping hard under his touch, much to Negan's pleasure. His mouth waters, craving more. He grinds his knee against Rick's groin again, swallowing up his moans with his mouth. Rick's tongue grazes the points of his fangs and he shivers.

Rick forces them apart and begins desperately pulling off his shirt, which Negan gladly helps him with, eager and restless. As soon as it's off, Negan is all over his bare chest, nipping at it and sucking, not quite breaking skin, too manic to stop and admire.

His fingers find the bite on Rick's shoulder, and he swipes his index across it, causing Rick's muscles to jump against his lips deliciously. Negan chuckles, the sound growling and dark.

He harshly manhandles him to the bedroom as he parts from his chest to kiss him again.

He can't get enough. His entire being is encompassed by Rick, making it hard to keep a grasp on himself, making it hard to even remember where he is. Rick bites at Negan's lips, nipping at the swollen flesh and clutching Negan's thighs. Negan trails his fingers up each rib, taking pleasure in every gasp it draws from him.

Rick ends up on his back on the mattress, hair framing his head like a halo, his heart stuttering with Negan's scrutiny.

"Take your shirt off." Rick orders, pulling Negan out of his admiring by yanking him forward and on top of him. Negan feels hot at the command, head rushing, still reeling from the shock of the situation.

He allows Rick to help him shuck his shirt off, discarding it on the floor. Rick's hands are all over the bare expanse of skin. Negan's breath hitches in his throat as he grazes the scar on his stomach, warming the cold skin with his touch.

"Who's the boss here, darlin'?" Negan teases, but he likes the push and pull that is Rick, his strength that rivals his own. He likes the impatience he's seeing, such a stark difference to his typical iron demeanor. Always content to wait. Until now.

Rick scoffs, "You'd have to kill me to make me submit to you." he challenges, fingers already working on Negan's belt. His heart rate betrays his nerves. Negan tastes it.

Negan grins and grabs his wrists, pinning them above Rick's head and halting his progress on his belt. Rick struggles against him helplessly, unable to do much with Negan's weight on top of him. Like a trapped rabbit in the jaws of a fox. Negan purrs.

"You already have." Negan whispers, making him squirm, gasping when Negan's fang grazes the sensitive area between his neck and ear. He kisses down the column of his throat, trailing past his collarbones, making the threat of his teeth known.

Rick groans, grinding his hips up against Negan's, seeking friction. The blood rushes through Rick's body with fierce heat, his face pink with the exertion. Unable to resist much longer when the blood is so freely rushing, Negan tests the water, fangs snagging the surface of Rick's chest.

Negan's throat catches with the feeling, his grip on Rick's wrists suffocatingly tight. Rick's heart is beating faster, internally struggling against his base instincts to make it all stop. To fight or to run.

Even though it takes every fiber of his being, he waits for Rick's approval, breath fanning across his chest.

It's a bad idea to feed when you're in the throes of passion like this, but it's not like he's thinking straight right now. Rick's breath stutters.

Echoing his words that feel like they were said so long ago, "Bite me."

Negan doesn't have to be told twice.

He sinks his teeth in, head spinning as blood gushes onto his tongue. The taste is just as rich as he remembered, a satisfied groan leaving his lips. It invades every tastebud with a frightening ferocity. He can't help but gulp it down like a starving dog.

He feels like he's hurtling off a cliff, like air is rushing past his ears and he's plummeting closer and closer to the ground.

Rick bucks up into Negan again. The pleasure sends tingles through Negan's legs, and paired with the high of blood, it could be enough to make him faint. He loses himself in the frenzy, lapping, latching, drawing more blood from the vein.

There's a reason why he doesn't feed when he's having sex. He can't control himself.

His grip on Rick's wrists must've loosened from the euphoria because Rick is wrenching him away by the jaw now, his hold unyielding and abrasive.

That's the difference here. Rick's strength. His ability to manhandle Negan when he gets out of control. Negan's head buzzes, and they're clashing teeth again, Rick's tongue swiping the blood off his lips, following the trickle of blood down his chin.

Negan doesn't even register that he's on his back now. He's kicking off his boots with Rick, neither of them letting up on their desperate grabbing and kisses.

Rick has a handful of Negan's hair, tugging it similarly to how Negan tugged his own as he sits up. Red stains his chest and chin, a feral look in his eye.

Negan decides he likes this look on him.

He pauses his frantic groping and looks down at Negan, appraising him, painstakingly analyzing him inch by fucking inch. Negan is tracing up Rick's vertebrae in the meantime, flexing his shoulders and licking the residual blood on his chin.

"Like what you see, sweetheart?" Negan looks up at him through his lashes, the beginnings of a smirk on his face. His voice is velvet, unsteady as he comes down from bliss.

"I wish you didn't have to look so fucking good." Rick finally says, borderline pained to admit it. Negan quirks a brow, unapologetic, pleased at Rick's reluctant praise.

Rick shakes his head as if banishing any doubts and he resumes his work on Negan's belt. Negan catches a nipple in his fingers, savoring Rick's shiver and gasp from the action. He's like putty in Negan's hands, involuntarily arching into his touch.

He finally pulls the belt free, throwing it to the side with a clatter. Negan sits himself up, interrupting Rick again, connecting their lips as he starts working on Rick's belt.

Rick's hands impatiently try to find the buttons on Negan's jeans while he does so.

Negan can hardly keep himself up straight, still reeling from the arousal and blood. Rick takes advantage of this and pushes him down again, running his hands down Negan's chest. His jaw is set, and his brows are furrowed in concentration.

Negan chokes down a whine, simultaneously turned on by Rick's dominance and annoyed by it.

He finishes taking off his belt for Negan and tosses it aside. The anticipation shared between them coats the air with enticing thrill, difficult to breathe under.

"Fuck, Rick.." Negan mumbles, eyes lidded as Rick leans forward and kisses down Negan's chest, leaving bites along the way, as if mimicking the touch of Negan's fangs. Negan's hands find purchase on Rick's ass, and he squeezes the firmness of it, causing Rick to curse against his stomach.

Rick's kisses lead him to the waistband of Negan's jeans and Negan's hands have found their way up to Rick's hair once again, tugging.

Rick looks up at Negan through his lashes and he keeps eye contact as he kisses his V-line and slowly starts pulling down the denim. Negan's mouth feels heavy, his tongue swiping his teeth, dick throbbing in his jeans.

Negan's hips jerk involuntarily. Rick smirks at him, the rare sight breaking Negan's skin into goosebumps.

"Shit..." is all he manages to say as his pants are yanked off in one smooth motion. Exposed to the air, he exhales sharply, his cock twitching against his stomach.

A blush crawls up Rick's face as he takes in the sight of it, as if he didn't expect it. Negan's stomach quivers at the sight.

"Come on, Rick. Show me what that mouth is good for." Rick's face burns red to the tips of his ears, his heart rate spiking. Negan revels in it, twisting a curl in his finger, lazily pulling it and watching it bounce.

"First time?" he prompts, grinning.

"Just shut your mouth, Negan." Rick snarls, but it has no bite. Something tells Negan that Rick likes the sound of his voice.

That's good, because Negan does, too.

The idea of being the first cock in Rick's mouth is undeniably hot to him. Judging by the way Rick eyes him, suddenly unsure despite his previous confidence, it definitely is the first time.

Negan's crooked smile lengthens, and he takes a hand full of Rick's curls and guides him to the tip of his swollen erection. He watches, hungrily, as Rick takes it into his mouth, hesitant and shy.

He grits his teeth to prevent shoving his face all the way down, anxious to feel his mouth. But, as it turns out, he doesn't need to push Rick's head around after all.

"Rick, fuck..." he manages to gasp out as Rick eagerly swallows down to the root. The tight, wet mouth around his cock, throat constricting the tip, has his muscles jerking and his head tilting backward. Rick chokes, gagging, eyes watering as his fingertips dig into the flesh of Negan's thighs.

Negan barely has the presence of mind to pull him back up to let him breathe. He splutters as he surfaces, hot breath fanning across Negan's groin. Negan can't wait for long, impatient, gripping Rick's hair and forcing him back down. He looks down at Rick's teary-eyed face, pleasure radiating down his cock, throbbing in his throat.

Rick doesn't resist. He moans as he's forced down, choking again, and the vibrations have pre-cum already beading at the tip of Negan's cock. His thighs clench beneath Rick's fingers, his vision zeroed in on Rick and Rick only. The tears on his face. His glistening curls. Negan's spine arches.

"Rick... Jesus christ, fuck. You're doing great, just... just like that, Rick." he encourages him, voice a trembling mess. Rick's unpracticed tongue only makes it feel that much better.

He gradually finds his rhythm, bobbing his head in time with Negan's thrusts, his choking subdued. Negan isn't gentle, even though he tries to be. It's just so difficult when it feels so fucking good.

Just as he's cresting his finishing point, he forces Rick off of him, saliva dribbling down Rick's lips. He shivers, cock jumping, begging to be finished off. He bites his lip hard enough to draw his own cold, dead blood.

He's not done yet.

He has to make a conscious effort to not finish on Rick's pretty face when he looks up at him.

Rick, dazed from loss of breath, doesn't protest when he's pushed to the side.

"Take off your jeans, darlin'." he demands, reaching to his nightstand and yanking open a drawer. He fumbles around and grabs a bottle of lube, drawing himself up onto his knees.

Rick's jeans are on the floor beside Negan's. He's panting from the blowjob, mouth open temptingly, wiping the saliva from his chin. Negan takes in the sight of the bare man laid out next to him, momentarily forgetting whatever he was doing.

Holy fuck.

His skin is glistening with sweat, flushed chest rising and falling heavily in time with his pants. His torso is muscular, every curve and angular line a testament to his power. Old scars litter the surface of his skin in tantalizing lines, and Negan finds that they get him going. Who doesn't love a man with scars?

His neglected cock bounces in the air, the tip blushed, leaking slightly. Negan sucks his teeth at the image.

Rick goes red from the scrutiny. Cute.

Suddenly starved, he's situated between Rick's legs and gripping the meat of his thighs, running his hands up the sides of his body and tracing every scar. He's fucking beautiful. Every God damn bit of him.

Rick trembles from his touch and he returns the favor by sliding his hands up Negan's back and shoulders.

"I'm gonna fuck you, Rick." Negan says plainly, throaty voice in Rick's ear, tickling the hair around it. Rick hums in approval, heartbeat ever present in the back of Negan's mind, spurring him on.

He presses a chaste kiss to Rick's temple and leans back, applying a generous amount of lube to his fingers. Rick watches, cautious, vulnerable at Negan's disposal. Negan's heart clenches in his chest.

Negan gently applies pressure to Rick's entrance. Warmth encompasses his finger as he pushes in slowly, patiently. Rick squeezes the sheets beside him and sets his teeth, squirming.

Negan hovers above him, faces close, and he kisses the corner of Rick's lips with unprecedented gentleness. A small part of him chastises himself for being so intimate with a quick fuck like this, but something about the way Rick whines makes it hard not to feel a little soft.

Thankfully, Rick is too busy taking a finger up the ass to read into any of Negan's tender behavior.

"Relax, baby." Negan whispers against his mouth. Rick shudders at his words, obediently relaxing around Negan's finger. Steadily, Negan curls his finger, quivering with arousal at Rick's soft whimper.

Rick nods, which Negan takes as a signal to add another finger. He does, stretching the man below him at an aching pace.

His fangs are heavy in his mouth, his cravings for Rick's pierced flesh as urgent as ever. He forces himself to be patient, even though he's practically scorching with the desire to rut into Rick like a crazy animal.

Rick must see it written all over his face.

"Hurry up." is all he says, sliding down onto Negan's fingers, panting. He clenches around Negan eagerly, and he fixes him with a desperate look.

Negan hums, granting his request and slipping in a third. He picks up his pace now, pumping in time with Rick's movements. Rick's hips jerk upward, seeking friction pathetically, cock barely grazing Negan's stomach.

Negan's own cock is throbbing with anticipation, brushing against Rick's. He pulls his fingers out as Rick's movements become more hurried and desperate. A whine reverberates through his chest.

"Hah... fuck. Hurry up and fuck me, Negan." Rick growls, head tilted back into the pillows. Negan practically purrs.

"Gladly, darlin'."

He squeezes more lube into his palm, and Rick grips his thigh relentlessly. Negan moans shamelessly, cursing under his breath as he strokes himself from root to tip. He shudders and can feel Rick's eyes on him, hungry, wanting.

He doesn't keep him waiting.

He presses his tip to Rick's ass, his cock pulsing at the contact. He intends to go slow and give Rick time to adjust, but is interrupted with a sharp peak of pleasure as Rick wraps his legs around Negan's torso and forces him inside.

Both men cry out, holding the other with enough force to leave marks. The pure bliss of the warmth around his cock, of Rick clenching tightly around it, has Negan shaking like a leaf. His curses are swallowed up by Rick's mouth.

Roughly, he begins to thrust up into Rick, who is gasping out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, stretched wide for the man inside him. He bites down on Negan's shoulder to cope with the intensity, and Negan grabs his jaw and forces his head back down into the pillows, maintaining eye contact.

"I wanna watch.. wanna watch you while I fuck you." he huffs between groans, his hold on Rick's face iron-like. Rick nods, unable to speak, breathing hard and flushing a deep red.

They grind into each other wildly, Rick fucking himself onto Negan in time with his strokes. Negan clumsily takes Rick's neglected cock into his free hand once he has the composure to think, thumb swiping the tip. Rick's mouth hangs open with quick breaths, hips grinding into his palm.

He finds purchase on Negan's back, and he rips at the skin beneath his nails, enjoying the way Negan hisses in pain and squeezes his jaw tighter.

It's not pretty by any means.

It's harsh and desperate and a constant push and pull like opposite ends of a magnet trying to connect. Their sex is angry and frantic and passionate, each trying to get one over the other, trying to take more than the other.

Hands tug and squeeze and tear, teeth leave marks and bruises, and muscles strain.

Negan is rapidly approaching his orgasm, movements sloppy and disjointed. The only thing he can focus on is Rick's baby blues, rolling into his head with dilated pupils. His senses are overrided with every gasp of the man below him.

All he can feel is the heat of Rick wrapped around his cock, all he can hear are his breathless moans, all he can taste is his blood and skin, all he can smell is sex.

Rick isn't faring much better. In fact, he seems to be reaching his peak much faster than Negan.

"Fuck, Rick, I want you to cum for me, baby." Negan manages to gasp out. He strokes the cock in his fist, encouraging Rick with praises that make his dick throb in Negan's hand.

"Be good for me, Rick."

Rick's eyes widen a fraction before squeezing shut, brows furrowing and his head tilting backward, exposing the swollen marks on his throat. He clenches around Negan's cock and his muscles tense, nails clawing down Negan's back.

Negan's breath is labored. He thrusts up into Rick, pouring out borderline nonsensical praises as he does so.

"Shit, Negan--" he spills over Negan's fist, cum spurting over his stomach and managing to reach his chest. His cock pulses and the muscles in his stomach jump as he rides out his high, crying out.

Negan only lasts a few more seconds after that. The image of Rick coming undone is so immensely hot to him that he couldn't possibly last any longer.

His vision blots out, heat surging through his body like lightning, and he's suddenly biting down, hard, rich iron rushing into his mouth.

Holy fucking fuck fucking shit.

High doesn't even come close to describing the cloud nine Negan is on. Every muscle in his body is scalding, his brain hums in time with the pump of Rick's vein, his flesh vibrates with startling electricity. He doesn't even know his own God damned name. Euphoria is a burning hot bliss in the depths of his stomach, churning, begging him for more. He's a slave to himself, a slave to blood, a slave to Rick.

He doesn't feel it when Rick tears him off.

When he comes to, he's slumped on top of him with blood trickling down his chin, heaving. The heat of Rick's body and the rapid heartbeat in his chest reassures him that he didn't kill him during his frenzy.

He drunkenly props himself up to get a look at the man he's crushing and notices that Rick was--and still is-- stroking his back in soothing circles while he rode out his orgasm.

They look at each other through half-lidded eyes. Rick seems to hesitate for a moment, as if contemplating something, before briskly brushing his lips against Negan's. The timid contact is just as thrilling as the intense fucking, if you ask Negan.

Jesus, he didn't know Rick was such a romantic. He finds that he doesn't mind it, though.

He takes Rick's face in his hands, caressing the stubble, returning the tender gestures. Rick noticeably tenses up, and Negan almost stops, worried he might scare him off during the afterglow. But, to his relief, he relaxes into the touch again.

Reluctantly, Negan tears himself away from Rick to grab a couple of tissues. They're silent as he cleans them both up, Rick settling into the mattress, basking comfortably. He dabs at the sore bite wounds on Rick's chest, gentle, but Rick still hisses at the stinging.

Negan opts to put his boxers back on, as does Rick, and he shuffles to the bathroom to grab a first-aid kit.

When he comes back to his room, he finds Rick half asleep under the covers, eyelashes fluttering when he enters. The sight is so... domestic. Negan's throat feels tight, and he coughs it away.

"Get up, darlin', you don't want those getting infected." he warns, pulling the covers away, even though he wishes he could slide underneath them and hold Rick instead.

He must be tired out of his mind to be so soft.

Anyway, he can't let his favorite leader die on him because of a couple of bites. That would be an embarrassing way for Mr. Badass to go out, he thinks.

Rick huffs in annoyance but doesn't protest when he begins to disinfect the bites, evidently too tired to really care.

He just bears with it, like with most things.

Negan observes Rick, knowing this is a rare, vulnerable moment that he will probably never have with him again. He wants to cherish it, fleeting and sweet, hold it close to his chest.

He never knows if the next time they meet will end with the other dead or not.

He notices that Rick is doing much of the same as him, observant.

"What're you thinking?" he asks as he finishes patching him up. He stretches tiredly, leaning back onto the mattress and slithering under the covers. Rick purses his swollen lips, quiet for a long moment.

"I'm thinkimg about sleep." he answers, yawning, clearly dodging the actual question. Negan considers pressing it but ultimately decides to let it slide. He's too tired to do any prodding right now.

He opens an eye and waits to see if Rick is going to get up and leave, expectant.

But, surprisingly, after seemingly battling with himself for a tense minute or so, Rick settles back beneath the covers and rolls over.

Negan has to resist taunting him over it, knowing his big mouth will ruin this rare opportunity. He elects to draw him into his chest instead, cautious.

Rick's muscles tense up, but he doesn't move away. Instead, he presses himself into him, his heart skipping a beat. Negan hums with satisfaction into his curls, grinning, and Rick responds with a sigh.

Rick sleeps the full night for the first time since Negan shoved him up against that car.

Nothing will ever be the same.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

a/n: wow, that ended up being a lot longer than I expected... I just had so many things I wanted to address and get out into the open. I hope this didn't disappoint :)

[novankenn]

A Different Kind of Bunny-Suit (Back-Up Arrives)

Pyrrha and Ruby were a little hesitant with the obviously unoccupied suit of battle armor following them as Jaune and Weiss continued to chat, during the slow trip back to Beacon. Now it wasn't the movement of the suit itself, but more the fact that the AI currently in control... by an entity Jaune called FailSafe was trying its best... her best... to converse with them in a casual way.

The pair tried their best, but it was hard to reply to not only the rapid questions and out of the blue casual observations... but when FailSafe made them aware of upcoming... female "issues" with in their own bodies... all with a cheery upbeat tone... their faces grew cherry red.

Be that as it may, the quartet plus one finally made it to the cliffs overlooking the Emerald Forest, and under the watchful eye of Professor Goodwitch immediately took Jaune to the infirmary for a complete medical. Due to that they missed the team naming ceremony, which wasn't much as pretty much everyone was more interested in the strange suit of armor hanging out in the main courtyard over the ridiculous names the staff tried to impose on each quartet.

After being cleared of serious injury, and being told to take it easy for the next week or so, Jaune, Weiss, Ruby and Pyrrha met with Headmaster Ozpin and Professor Goodwitch, with FailSafe overseeing the entire interaction.

"So seeing as you four are the only ones not assigned a team, I have decided, in part due to the retrieval of your artifacts that you..."

"Warning!" FailSafe interrupted the proceedings, as she moved her armored bulk between Jaune and the main entrance. "Rapidly encroaching individuals. Potential Friend or Foe situation... correction... they are Friend."

"Excuse me?" Ozpin asked seconds before the entirety of the main entrance and flanking floor to ceiling windows exploded.

"JAUNE!" came a chorus of three feminine voices.

"Ah come on! Guys you promised!" Jaune shouted between coughs caused by the cloud of dirt and cement dust that flooded the space.

"But we MISSED you!"

Ozpin, Glynda, Ruby, and Pyrrha stood in utter shock at the reveal of three more potential combat armor suits...

"Greetings Weiss!" the trio announced as them moved into the now trashed entrance to Beacon.

(Images sourced via Google. No rights implied.)

"Angelic, Kitana, Zelda... nice to see you all again." Weiss replied.

[ One / Two / ???? ]

[homestuckreplay]

[CG, lying] 'I’M NOT FALLING FOR ANY MORE OF YOUR HUMAN PRANKS.'

(page 1658-1667)

^ gonna play favorites among daves and I’m not even sorry.

Davesprite and Dave have an actual conversation! Davesprite discusses the role of a sprite, how he’s supposed to give Dave information in riddles, and then says ‘ask me anything go ahead ill give you a straight answer’ (p.1658). He doesn’t really give straight answers to either of Dave’s questions; he does give information, but selectively. In the same way that it’s hard to tell where prankster Nanna ends and harlequin doll prototyping begins, it’s hard to say where Dave’s generally roundabout talking style ends and cryptic sprite behavior begins. I’m curious what would happen if Davesprite tried to fight against his own programming and directly reveal something to Dave that he isn’t supposed to, later or ever.

Anyway, I’d say Davesprite deserves a break, but he makes it clear he’s still been drawing Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff comics while exploring his land for months, probably just for Rose as there’s nobody else around to read them. At least this time around he’ll have a couple more readers, maybe a dozen more if he can get the trolls invested in the Nancho Party only to cancel the arc. It’s kinda fun to think of the two Daves collaborating on comic ideas, but it’s also a little heartbreaking to realize that Dave’s only in person friend is himself (and in Davesprite’s case, a version of himself that’ll never fully understand his experiences).

Then, we cut to a recap of John opening his gift from Dave, first seen way back in Act 1 before John even started playing Sburb. Inside the box is a certificate of authenticity and a note from Dave (p.132, 1661). The images are identical, with both showing two pieces of paper on the bed, and there’s no suggestion that Dave can or did travel back in time to pre-Sburb – so my understanding is that in-universe, Dave sent this note originally, it’s just that in this revised/fixed timeline, he and John both remembered it at a critical moment. From Hussie’s perspective, the note likely wasn’t planned until now, or at least not intended as plot critical. I think this is why a story that jumps around in time works so well with the serial update format; it lets an author edit things into the early story while making internal sense, while in a fully linear story this would be much harder.

The note itself is very good, but I have some other thoughts about how Dave sees John, so I’ll post about that separately in the next couple days. The important thing for now is that John almost makes it to the gate, remembers the note, and then reconsiders. Given upcoming conversations I really like how John’s trail of fire makes him look like a tiny meteor as he rocketblasts through the sky.

I’m gonna need Jade to wake up and take some screenshots real quick because it’s ridiculous that John still doesn’t believe Dave about his future self. John actually comes off as sillier and more oblivious than usual in this conversation (p.1666), but he’s going through what CG is about to call ‘STRIKING POCKETS OF FOOLISHNESS’ (p.1667) and is probably a little embarrassed about trusting GC over Dave, even temporarily. I would just call them moments of being a person, who isn’t always perfectly rational. His failure to notice Dave’s sarcasm in ‘talking to those dbags should be priority number one’ is also really relatable.

John’s pesterlog with carcinoGeneticist is really the bulk of this update – it’s the longest chatlog in the comic so far at 1498 words, and second longest page overall, with ‘YOU THERE. BOY.’ (p.253) still the longest with 1579. I did some preliminary stats on Act 4 for curiosity’s sake, and it’s been REALLY light on narrative text, with fewer words than Act 1 despite already having more pages. But, Act 4 has far more Pesterlogs than any other act, and they’re longer on average, with troll Pesterlogs being the longest of all. So this has really become the primary way of conveying information in the narrative.

As CG points out, this is a ‘GAME OF A MILLION GUIDES’ (p.1667), although what he doesn’t mention is that the in-game guides are often unhelpful, and are likely biased or unreliable, as they won’t say anything that undermines the purpose of Sburb. The trolls have their own agenda for sure, but they don’t have that restriction, so this is a good contrast to the earlier Davesprite conversation.

This chatlog has a bunch of lore, characterization, and just some really fun lines. John is coming into his own with the pranks! By trolling him backwards, present CG keeps accidentally giving John great material for pranking past CG, and John is taking it and running. He assures CG that friendship is an emotion, despite knowing full well he told future CG that ‘friendship isn't an emotion fucknuts’ (p.1394), and gets the idea to invent other weird facts about human biology. And then he calls himself and CG ‘reverse anti-mutual friends’ (p.1667) which is one of my favorite phrases in the comic so far.

CG says ‘I GUESS IT'S HARD TO SEE HOW WE BECOME FRIENDS’, but from an external position it’s pretty simple. As John goes further into the future, he gets confident in his abilities to respond to trolling, pranking CG and meeting him as an equal. And as CG goes back along John’s timeline, he sees John’s witty responses and playful antagonism, which are things he respects a lot more than John’s actions in the game. It’s really kind of beautiful.

CG: AND EVEN THEN YOU DIDN'T EVEN MIND [MY TROLLING] MUCH, ALMOST LIKE YOU WERE DELIGHTED TO HEAR IT. CG: KIND OF PERVERSE REALLY, WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU? (p.1667)

Shouting this out as another favorite line that really captures their reverse anti-mutual friends dynamic. ‘SCHOOLHIVE RUMPUS RESPITE’ is similarly great and if I still had recess I would start calling it this. And CG’s description of John ‘RIDING [HIS] LITTLE RED ROCKET’ makes me imagine John as Little Red Riding Hood, which is silly, because John is clearly more of a Rapunzel or perhaps even a Thumbelina.

The general Sburb lore revealed here is some confirmation of the Incipisphere geography, including the existence of the Veil full of meteors and laboratories (where John will soon visit, somehow!), information on how the chess game typically ends, where Derse sends thousands of meteors towards Skaia in an event called ‘The Reckoning’, and the fact that Sburb constructs aren’t computer programmed but have genetic code. I’m even more concerned about killing imps if they are essentially lab-grown animals, so I’m really intrigued by these meteor facilities and what John could learn from exploring them.

The lore specific to the kids’ Sburb session is even better. While usually, the Reckoning would happen in the lategame, the kids have fucked up and caused a much earlier Reckoning. John’s in the dark on how, but surely this is because of PM’s actions. By seriously accepting Jack’s regisword and hitlist, she caused the White Queen to abdicate, meaning Black wins and takes control of the Veil sooner. PM only did this because she was chasing Jade’s package to John, so this must be why the trolls focused their efforts on Jade, trolling her ‘for years’ (p.1000) back in her timeline, but only trolling the other kids closer to their session. Jade has also been working on John’s birthday present ‘for years’ (p.442) so I’d bet these things line up, and the trolls tried to stop her from ever making and sending the gift.

Jade’s been working on this gift with her pen-pal (p.1527), a reference which felt like it came from nowhere at the time, but must be someone important if this package was so critical. Not one of the trolls, but an antagonist to them – possibly someone from their planet who didn’t play in their session, but otherwise caused problems for them? Or possibly even someone inside Sburb, like the White King contributing to his own downfall? Or Grandpa Harley, who we know is alive in the Incipisphere while John is playing (p.1471), helping her from the inside and better explaining why Jade talks like he’s alive?

So, a lot makes more sense, but one big question is still up in the air. John asks ‘what's the point of the game’ (p.1667) and CG blows him off, saying they’ve already discussed this. I obviously want the answer to this, but I’m not sure I want it in a Pesterlog – how it’ll be revealed is just as exciting to me as the reveal itself.

John is really cute when he’s asking CG about his location. He’s like, I wanna know where you are and what you look like, also what posters do you have in your bedroom and what are you wearing and do you have big beautiful eyes. Am I misinterpreting this???? For what it’s worth, we’re still early on in exploring these dynamics, but if I had to give my current shipping opinions? I really like John/CG, Rose/GA, and Dave/Jade, although I think Dave should also try kissing boys and see how that goes.

[smallestgalaxylemon]

Omniscient reader's viewpoint? More like... um... [please insert your own funny caption]

[More]

ID by the wonderful @princess-of-purple-prose under the cut

[ID: A collection of text posts (all but the last from Tumblr, and the last one from Mastadon) with characters from Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint edited over.

(Yoo Joonghyuk and Kim Dokja) First base is beating the shit out of each other second base is having a civil conversation (Han Sooyoung) Third base is dying for each other fourth base is marriage

(Han Sooyoung, Kik Dokja, and Yop Joonghyuk) theyre madly in love they want each other dead theyre trapped together in an endless cycle theyre divorced theyve been married for 25 years they know nothing about each other theyre each the only one who truly understands the other. i didnt say their name but they popped into your head didnt they

(Han Sooyoung, Kim Dokja, and Yoo Joonghyuk) no one ever talks about the 6th love language (being annoying)

(Sword saint, who isn't in the image, about Kyrgios) ah, an opponent arrives… [draws my sword and turns around] hm. your footsteps made you sound taller… [sheathes my sword and draws a second, smaller sword]

(Kim Dokja) i do love stories that start out with the protagonist going "hi! 👋😃 i am such a normal guy. the most average person ever. 😄 an average joe even. i have no friends or enemies. i spend my time reading books and sing to myself on occasions. nothing to see here! ^^" and it turns out that not only are they a liar but also the most fucked up person ever. and a cunt

(Han Sooyoung) apparently this morning my wife heard me make a noise in my sleep and she asked me if i was okay and i just responded with "yeah, i'm just pissed off" and promptly fell asleep again. like I was dead asleep and Just tucking hating still i guess. the grind never stop

(Kim Dokja with Shin Yoosung and Lee Gilyoung) ordered a bunch of sardines in bulk and my kids found them and have started saying to each other "i swear it on father's sardines" and i dunno it just doesnt feel like i'm coming back from this one. End ID]

[bubblef1zz]

Hey, and welcome to a bubblef1zz post. Let's talk about ways you can cope or try to heighten communication between your parts. A lot of these are commonly said, so sorry about that!!

Leaving notes

Leaving notes around! I personally bought a bulk load of flashcards to jot down important information. For example, a flashcard of mine can say ‘my turn to do the dishes’ with the date written on it. Or it can say ‘had to throw out chicken; it went bad’. I've also found affirmation cards, parts making themselves known to me, and such! These notes can also be done virtually in note apps.

Adding on!! There's also whiteboards and corkboards if you want to leave more external notes that aren't on flashcards. That way, you can simply erase something when it's over with.

Using chat apps

What do I mean by this? Many of you may know that Simply Plural (an app for system tracking) also has the option of a chat space, where alters can communicate. Of course, you're not limited to SP! I know many use Discord (private servers that may or may not have proxy bots), fake text conversation apps, ANTAR, and so, so many more like it! I'll be putting this here under this category, but I've found that my blogs have helped me understand the views my parts have and even what they seem to like to talk about.

Art/Images

This may be a strange one, but pictures! Communication through pictures can be helpful. For example, sometimes to show what I've eaten I'll take a picture and upload it privately somewhere so the time and date is noted clearly.

Journaling

Similar to taking notes; journaling! Starting a journal to jot down how your day has been, what happened, and such is a great way to help with amnesia and communication.

Thank you for reading — 𐔌 💌🫧 𐦯

I hope this helps!!

[stillness-in-green]

current feelings on the state of the manga (in general), predictions, worries, fears? Is there anything about the final war arc and those first few epilogue chapters that you liked?

Current feelings on the state of the manga:

Image macro reactions aside, it's not like there's nothing? In the epilogue thus far, I like the single panel we get of Gentle and La Brava reuniting. I really like Spinner calling Deku a murderer and Deku not arguing the label. I like the first half of Spinner's breakdown. And in the last war arc, I’m sure there was stuff I liked; you could probably find any number of things in my chapter posts for such time as I was doing them.

The trouble is that the stuff I liked by and large didn’t go anywhere, or actively got shitted up in the long run.

To pick the example that springs most readily to mind, I loved the bit in Chapter 379, where Shigaraki devours Vestige!AFO from the inside out.  It was satisfying, vindicating, and perfect on basically every level—and then it went nearly nowhere for forty chapters until it got undone anyway.  That latter point is the big issue, of course: VFO wound up coming back anyway, one last sucker punch from the fucking possession plot that scuttled the ending more generally.

But it’s not even just the possession plot’s return.  It’s the way the story and Deku just adamantly refused to engage with Shigaraki on his own terms and as his own person.  He was still chatty as hell, but, as @codenamesazanka outlined here, Deku just didn’t talk to him in return.  Deku has only one solution for Shigaraki—punching him into submission—and so the narrative never even bothered making him try to engage Shigaraki in conversation.  Instead, Shigaraki had to be reduced to a problem that punching could solve.

There are even a bevy of smaller annoyances like Shigaraki’s writing sometimes veering into cartoon supervillain caricature, as when he gloats that Deku and the world are about to watch All Might die in Chapter 404, only for the narrative to show why he's wrong literally a single page later by starting to explain the metaphysical but still sharply literal power of Wishing Energy, undermining both Shigaraki's character writing and the threat he poses when the bulk of Deku’s fight with him still lay ahead!

To me, that’s the story of the whole endgame.  Even the things I like—Shigaraki’s return, the PLF advisor’s fiery speech at the hospital, Ochako vindicating Toga’s pain, Monoma in general, Kurogiri choosing Tomura in the end—just don’t go anywhere that’s ultimately satisfying.  It’s hard to really call them “things I liked” when they were so squandered.