#Metal Stamping Partner

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Red Hot

Based on the song ‘Breaking the Girl’ by Red Hot Chilli Peppers. Also, requested by the sweetest nonnie!

Blurb: Eddie has never had a constant in his life. Everyone leaves or he does before he can get hurt. After working up enough courage to ask you on a date, he can’t help the itch to run from you when he sees you talking with another guy.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Light angst with a fluffy ending, miscommunication, reader referred to gal/girl, Eddie’s puppy eyes being teary. Jealousy. I think that’s all….

-

divider by @cafekitsune

It all started in August.

The longing stares, stolen touches, blushing cheeks, sweating palms. Eddie had fallen for you. Hard. And it was incomprehensible to him.

Sure, you guys had been partnered on a few class projects, muttering sweet ‘Hello’s’ to one another as you passed in the hallways. But nothing overly serious. Nothing that could lead to this flutter in his inked chest.

The feeling startled him— like falling asleep, only to dream that you’re falling from a building and then you jolt awake.

You frightened him. You with your shining smile that could light up the whole of New York City, or your bigger than life bubbly personality and your Einstein like brain. You frightened Eddie Munson— and he liked it. Loved it, even.

When he looked at you, he was sure. Surer than he has ever been about anything in his entire life. He wanted you— he needed you in his future. You made him feel… wanted. Normal? Less like than outcast and more like a friend.

And so he asked you out— but not without extreme difficulty. It took him three whole days to pluck up enough cowardly courage to slip a hand written note into your locker, signed from him with a cheesy love heart stamped next to your name on the back.

Eddie was consumed by immense panic after he had posted the note to you. He paced the halls and even contemplated breaking and entering into your locker just to steal the note back. It wasn’t regret, but more like guilt.

He wasn’t brave enough to ask you face to face. He knew he wouldn’t be able to form a coherent sentence in front of you, nevermind ask you out to a diner for milkshakes.

He also couldn’t handle your rejection. It would sour him… it would break his heart.

And so when he seen you bounding over to him and the other guys at lunch like a cheerful bunny rabbit he nearly sunk and hid beneath the table. Terrified of what you might say— of what you might think of him…

Would you take him as he was?

His insides were twisting and turning, his feelings for you burning…

“Hey, Eddie…” you stop a few paces away from his perched frame, your cheeks flushed and your fingers fumbling with your pocket, “Could I please borrow you for a moment?” Your voice is sweet enough to make Eddie’s own cheeks pink and your eyes examine the table, almost as if you are asking for the men’s permission to pinch their friend.

They spare you some friendly and amused smiles, but that is all. They know better than to meddle with the things Eddie cares about.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” He clears his throat in the form of a light cough, his palms slapping against the top of the table as he lunges from his seat and onto his feet to meet you. His movements are so fast that it takes you a moment to register that he is standing inches in front of you.

“Lead the way.” He purrs softly and that’s it for you. Your brain is none responsive. Eddie was great at the art of pretending. He was a pretender— which meant that he was the master at faking his confidence. As he watched your jaw fall slack at his toothy dimpled grin it only spurred him on further. He was adoring the effect he was having on you.

Leading Eddie into the quiet of the corridor you stop against a wall, smiling angelically up at the metal head, “I got your note.” Part of you was hesitant to even approach Eddie, in doubt that you had been brutally pranked by someone but the softness in his eyes and the relaxation of his tense shoulders put your mind at ease.

“What note?” Eddie perks a brow, a massive stretched smile on his lips and you swat at him playfully, pulling the loose piece of crumpled paper from your pocket and waving it in front of his nose, “Okay, okay.” He throws his hands up in surrender before tucking them beneath his armpits; trying to contain his nerves.

“If by chance, I did slip that into your locker… what might you reply to it? Y’know— if it were from me.”

There’s a moment of pause and you purse your lips in false thought, holding the note flat against your chest, “I think I would say yes— but only if it were you.” You sigh, frowning mockingly, “But I guess we shall never know, huh?”

You sway away from the wall, overly slumping your shoulders as you take agonisingly slow steps back toward the cafeteria.

Eddie can’t contain his thrill. You just agreed to go on a date with him. You! You agreed!

He punches the air whilst your back is turned to him before he is prancing behind you like a ballet dancer, “It was me! Did I mention that? Swear I did.” He grabs the note from you and you giggle as he examines his own handwriting, “Yep! See, right here. That’s my name.” His index finger taps on the inked page and you hum in recognition and amusement. Peeking up at him through the thickness of your eyelashes you offer him a sly smile and he is quick to return one to you.

“Okay, well… how about Friday then? You, me and some delicious milkshakes?” You chirp like a song bird, clasping your hands behind your back and rocking on your heels.

Eddie’s heart thunders in his chest and his cheeks ache from the unremovable smile on his face.

“Sounds like a date, Princess.”

-

Eddie couldn’t keep his Bambi eyes closed at night, all he could think about was you. You and the minutes counting down to your date together. He had to fight the urge every single second of every day to smother you with attention in the corridors at school. He wanted to allow you space but fuck— was it challenging.

He would leave rouge flowers and their stems poking out from the vents in your locker— never specifying if it were him or not. But you knew. You knew it was Eddie leaving you little trinkets. Like a trail of rose petals leading right to him.

In between classes he would stare at you from a distance, right through the crowd and you would feel his blazing gaze on the back of your head which, without fail, caused your flesh to flush brightly with colour.

He couldn’t help it. You were stunning and the literal gal of his wildest dreams. His pretty little flower. He just wanted you to be his so badly that he was terrified of suffocating you with his presence.

He hadn’t spoke to you from that day in the hallway; he thought it safer that way. Wait until the date, and then let you decide how you feel about him.

The thought made him antsy and unable to keep still. If he had one wish right now, it would be to read your mind. Just so he knew— so he really knew. So he could please you and make you happy. No matter the cost. No matter the effort. He would do it.

He already felt so strongly about you; and that’s why it bruised his heart so brutally to see you giggling and talking with another bloke. Eddie had never experienced jealousy on this level before, but it felt Hellish. It felt intentional and spiteful and he couldn’t control the envious tears pricking at his waterline as he longed for you from afar.

He wouldn’t let you hurt him. He wouldn’t let you get close enough… not anymore. No matter how badly he wanted a life with you. He decided not to take the risk.

And little by little, the trinkets stopped and you only received one final note that Friday morning.

A cancellation letter.

‘Can’t make it tonight, see you around.’ - Eddie

The excitement you had for the night ahead fizzled out and died— sending your stomach sinking like a plane shot from the sky.

What hurt you most was that there wasn’t even an apology. You could understand being too bashful to ask you out face to face— but to cancel on you through a lousy note? You couldn’t understand that.

You thought you meant more than that to Eddie, you thought that he thought more highly of you. Felt more for you. But you must’ve been mistaken since you had to walk through his blizzard of a mood change.

He wouldn’t look at you anymore. His once warm gaze turned icy and much less frequent than before. You couldn’t think of what you had done to deserve this from him. His cold shoulder and snippy responses.

It was hurting you more than you could have imagined. You liked Eddie— you really liked Eddie, and to have him be so brutish toward you was dizzying. Upsetting. Penetrative; like a knife to your heart. Twisting and turning relentlessly. Unwaveringly. Suffocatingly.

But you weren’t one to back down from confrontation; you were going to get the truth out of him if it were the last thing you do.

-

It’s Monday afternoon and after working yourself up all goddamn morning you decide enough is enough. You can’t take it anymore. You have to know why.

“Hey, Munson!” Eddie’s brain hasn’t time to compute what is happening before you are stomping over to him, your arms flexed by your sides as your fists are balled tightly by your waist.

“What do you want?” His deep voice is rumbly and clipped as it leaves his throat and you scoff at his nonchalant tone.

“I want you to explain this.” The crumpled piece of paper is held slotted between your middle and index finger as you wave it like a white flag in front of his face, “I never pegged you as a coward, Eddie— really, I just don’t understand.”

Eddie’s ‘give no fucks’ attitude falters at your distress and he has to shove his hands into his pockets to keep his composure. He knows he can’t sweep you up into his arms and coddle you the way he wants— so he settles for this. Being a total dickwad toward the one girl that actually makes him feel something.

“What’s not to understand? I saw you with another guy and I took the fucking hint. Plain and simple. You don’t owe me an explanation and I don’t see why I owe you one, Princess.” He shrugs his shoulders in discomfort but to you it seems like utter ignorance.

His nickname for you tastes like battery acid on your tongue. A pill that’s hard to swallow. You don’t like this facade he’s putting up— not one bit.

“What are talking about? What guy?” Genuine confusion wraps itself snuggly around your psyche and it’s now Eddie’s turn to scoff in annoyance.

“Oh, please! Don’t act dumb, Sweetheart. I saw you and Eric together with my own two eyes. Giggling all cutely— showing him extreme interest. It was clear as day that you were into him.”

“Into him?” You echo, “I was simply being polite, Eddie. That’s the type of person that I am! Maybe you should try it sometime instead acting like an asshole!” The words spit from your lips like bullets and Eddie begins spiralling.

Had he got it all wrong? He knew you were a polite and gentle girl. It’s one of the many reasons as to why he liked you. He couldn’t help his mind from going to a dark place after seeing you together with Eric. It came to him as though it were second nature.

He had to run before he got gunned down.

“Wait-“ Eddie calls after you, his voice strangled as he leaves his post to jog behind you, his belt chain jingling with his movements, “Please!” His hand clasps your shoulder softly and you spin around to face him. Your face is flushed with anger and Eddie is taken aback from the look in your eyes.

He had seen it so many time before from his peers.

Distaste. Annoyance. Fear. Fury.

All so familiar to him; but they look so foreign in your kind eyes.

“What?” Meeting him with the same blunt force he displayed earlier has his heart clenching; bracing for impact.

“I… I misunderstood.”

“You think?”

“I just… I’m not good at this.” He gestures between the pair of you. A shaky breath leaves Eddie’s lungs and you soften at the sight of him becoming dishevelled in front of you, “I don’t know how to love. And… and I guess when I saw you with Eric it was my own insecurity eating me alive. I wasn’t mad at you, I was mad at myself.”

The metal head leans against a near by wall for leverage and you move in closer to him, magnetised.

“I saw the life you could have. The life you deserve… and it wasn’t with me.” His bottom lip quivers and you can see the struggle roaring in his eyes as he tries to contain his tears, “I’m afraid. I’m afraid of getting hurt and being the one that hurts you.”

The answer was clear as day to you. You knew how to love unconditionally. You could be the one to teach him. To guide him. Eddie needed reassurance; that’s all he needed and you could offer him that. You could work at this with him.

“You don’t get to decide who gets hurt in this world,” With shaking hands you reach out to touch Eddie’s face, your thumb stroking his cheek to catch a stray tear, “I can show you how to love. And how to be loved.”

You’re smiling like an idiot, your heart pumping hopefulness throughout your entire being.

“Yeah?” Eddie sniffles gently and you nod your head vigorously.

“Yeah.”

Slender ringed fingers curl around your wrist and Eddie holds on tightly to the warmth of your skin against his.

“You feelin’ reckless, Sweet girl?” The teary eyed man is smirking now and you fear for the future of your heart; it might just combust into flames at the sight of him.

“Well, that depends what you mean…” you perk a brow, intrigued and Eddie laughs.

“Let’s ditch next period and grab those milkshakes I promised you.”

And without any further hesitation, you allow Eddie to take your hand into his and lead you out of school grounds and toward the rest of your lives together.

-

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers @rainybloo28 @munson-enthusiast @godcreatoreli @littlefreckles4 @what-the-jams @tlclick73 @ameliapond1995 @thepurplelovewitch @somethingvicked @costellation-hunter @munsonzgf @emxxblog @ingridvasquez @sadbitchfangirl @im-julessssss @munsonburn3r @unclecrunkle @cierra222 @ziggeddie @yarafae @sidthedollface2 @kellsck

[fanaticsnail]

Sweet Baby Boy

Masterlist Here

Word count: 1,200+

Synopsis: Your spouse ripped the arm off a young, enemy captain. You feel sympathy for the baby boy, and ensure to tell him as such.

Themes: Spouse!Benn Beckman x gn!reader, platonic!Eustass Kid x gn!reader, Kid has a praise kink, Kid enjoys being babied, fluff, swearing.

Notes: this is just a silly, crack one-shot based on a follow up to the "You Shot A Baby" dialogue post. It's funny, when I write for Eustass Kid, I always seem to want to write for Benn Beckman.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @vespidphoenix @cinnbar-bun @carrotsunshine

Shanks elevated his spyglass with his right hand, attempting to maneuver it to get the best angle to glance at the deck of the Victoria Punk from his position on the Red-Force. He elevates his right knee, balancing his elbow atop it to anchor his elbow against it.

“What did you say they were doing, again?” The redhead called to his first-mate over his shoulder, “Where were they going?”

Beckman, who remained stoic in silence as he stamped out his twelfth cigarette in the span of twenty minutes with his boot heel, huffed and exasperated breath as he sauntered over beside Shanks.

“Go on, big guy,” Shanks encouraged him with a small nudge, “What did they say, hm?”

“They said-...” Beckman bit back a snarl through his grimace, “...-that Captain Eustass Kid is a baby, and needs to be coddled and treated as such after I shot him.”

“They said, what?” Shanks' shock had him drop his spyglass, lunging forward to hastily catch the item in his hand, “Don't they know how dangerous he is? How violent and unpredictable he is? How he nearly took apart our crew with his bare hands before you blew the damn thing off-.”

“-I let 'em know,” he growled in fury, “And they simply would not listen to reason.”

A booming voice erupted from the Victoria Punk, prompting Shanks to elevate his spyglass to his face further and seek out its source. There was nothing on the seas that could have prepared him for the sight he was met with.

Dropping his hand from his face, he wordlessly handed over the metal eye-piece to his first mate with a shake of his head. Beckman snatched the object and raised it to his eye, his own shock evident on his face.

There you were, Benn Beckman's spouse and long-time lover, sitting on Eustass Kid’s topdeck throne atop his knee: cradling the large Captain’s head against your chest, with your lips curved upwards in a pout. Beckman was not an avid lip-reader, but he could just imagine the praises and soothing words you were cooing down at the violent captain.

“You've gotta be shittin’ me, Darlin’.” Beckman whispered to himself, noticing the way you were stroking Kid’s right cheek with the back of your hand, pressing your lips in gentle kisses against the sensitive, scarred flesh of his left cheek.

As if sensing a presence, you turned your head to glance down the barrel-end of the augmentative glass within the metal cylinder, promptly extending a crude gesture with your middle finger at your long-time partner.

Beckman rumbled a growl within his chest, handing back the spyglass to his captain before digging in his pocket for another cigarette.

“Still not a baby-,” he grunted, igniting the tip of his cigarettes.

-

“-Such a big, brave boy,” you cooed at the enemy captain, stroking his hair and pressing another chaste kiss against his scarred temple, “Taking on a legendary captain of incredible caliber, only to have such violence be your welcome.”

Eustass Kid was eating up every ounce of affection you were presenting to him, nuzzling into your chest and embracing you with his right arm hooked firmly around your waist.

“So, so strong. Such a beautiful, brave baby boy,” you continued to affirm into him, a small hiccup fleeing from the red-head tinkerer’s lips.

When you showed up on a dinky row boat and bound it to the hull of the Victoria Punk, he had half a mind to order Massacre Soldier Killer to cleave your left arm off. He knew you were the spouse of Shanks' first mate. ‘An eye for an eye, an arm for an arm,’ he rationalized.

What he didn't expect was for you to immediately begin treating him with the worshipful doting praises a parent would give to an injured child.

And he didn't expect to like it.

“What the fuck?” was the first thing uttered from his lips as you began cradling him against yourself with praises of his bravery and skillful hands. As he felt each small touch granted against his skin, his secondary reaction was, “Oh, what the fuck…?”

He was reveling in the warmth presented to him by your hands, the love and soothing motions you were treating him with. He had no idea how to behave himself beneath such a beautiful expression of sympathetic empathy - especially at the hands of someone he assumed was his enemy.

“He will never come near you again, sweet boy,” you whispered to him, soothing circles from the pads of your thumbs drew patterns against his shoulders, “Not mean, old, naughty, violent Benn Beckman. Not any of the Red-Hair Pirates-.”

“-Aren’t you a Red-Hair Pirate?” Killer spoke over your shoulder, prompting Kid to shoot him a look.

“Shut up, Kil. Let me have this,” he growled at his First-Mate, leaning into your arms with a broad grin, “T-Tell me again? Tell me what I am, again?”

“Oh, you poor, sweet baby boy,” you cooed down at him, witnessing as his eyes softened as he looked up at you from his position cradled into your chest, “So brave, so strong.”

“And my arm? What about my arm?” Kid prompted you, basking under the radiance of your unbridled compliments.

“Such a clever boy, too. Using your abilities to create a masterpiece of violent art, which doubles as an artificial limb,” your pouted lips depicted a soft and melodic tone while uttering your praise.

Eustass Kid hummed in thought, squeezing your hip within his right hand that was woven around your waist. He bounced you a little atop his knee, noticing the way you smiled down at him with a small shake of your head.

“You sure you want to go back to your Captain?” he arched his brow up at you, “I'm a red-head with a missing left arm. Wouldn't be that much of a stretch if I were to captain you.”

“Unfortunately, no, sweet baby boy,” you smiled, giving his cheek a gentle tap, “As much as I want to keep giving you praises and sweet gentle kisses-.” You attempted to stand from the young captain's lap, laughing as his hand grasped at your hip to hold you close.

“-I really should be getting back to my wonderful, very angry-.” you began, Eustass Kid's voice covering your own with his gruff tone.

“-Very violent, masochistic, sadistic, terrible spouse who hurt me by ripping my fuckin’ arm off,” he growled, turning his lips to mirror your prior pouted expression, “Me. Your poor, defenseless, sweet-,” he kisses your cheek in an uncharacteristic peck, “-innocent, baby boy.”

He relinquished his hold on your waist, rising with you to your feet and taking your left hand within his right. He ushered you to the small dingy, aiding you as you placed your feet into the boat. Before he allowed you the luxury of leaving the Victoria Punk, he drew you in one final time and whispered in your ear.

“Now, out of respect to you and your doting and worshipful words you offered me,” he raised his right hand, hooking your hair over your ear, “I'm going to allow you the luxury of a twenty minute head start.”

Your eyes widened, glancing at his whisky-tanned gaze which held such playful amusement. Lips opening and closing and flustered, he chuckled at your flabbergasted expression.

“Get paddling, Sunshine.”

[slavghoul]

From December issue of Billboard Magazine: Tobias on why the Grammy recognition matters & the band's "for your consideration" ad.

"When you’re working with art, you normally do not have a whole lot of the sort of moments that you have within sports. In sports, the win is very momentary: Either you win or you lose. Whereas an artistic career is usually over the course of time. Even if you’re somewhat successful as an artist, it’s very, very rarely happening overnight. When you’re nominated for awards, that’s the closest you can get [as an artist] to that “One second ago, I didn’t have it, and now I have it.” [Winning a Grammy] is one of the few moments I’ve had throughout my professional career where I really felt [how things] could have felt very different had I not achieved what happened 10 seconds ago. The rings on the water meant a lot of things professionally in terms of quote-unquote “being taken seriously. Radio, promoters — if you for some reason might be looking for a new label — all of a sudden, when you’re nominated, it’s a stamp of approval that will automatically make potential collaborators, partners, what have you, give you more chances. That is not to say that you can come in and be a dick. You just automatically get a bit more of a gravitas in maneuvering within the different aspects of your career in a way that you might not have, had you not had the stamp of approval of getting a Grammy nomination — or, even better, winning it. But as with most things, what you’re getting is a bag of tools. And you can choose not to use them. Over the course of many, many decades of artists getting awards, there are many that have gotten an accolade and then just faded into nothingness. Because it’s all about momentum. You should see it as a steppingstone. It’s part of your journey, not the end of it."

Kind reminder the Grammy Awards will take place on February 4, 2024 and Ghost is nominated in the Best Metal Performance category with their rendition of 'Phantom of The Opera.' 🫶

[13a07s]

Her Closet

(Daichi Sawamura)

[Artwork is not mine! Credit to Etcetera.art]

Requested by: Myself

Word Count: 3,359

Warnings and/or Pre-Notes:

I fully believe Daichi's wife would call Sugawara by his first name

I also believe Daichi would never get out of the habit of calling him Suga

Daichi is a bit of a horn-dog in the second part :)

———————————————————————

     The door to the station swings open, the old metal squeaking from the movement and catching my attention. I can't see the entrance from my desk, but I sure can hear my sunshine of a wife's laugh, along with my coworker at the front yelling that "Sawamura's old lady is here".

I try my best to keep my smile reasonable but I can't help the huge grin that starts to spread across my face as I approach the front. The whole walk-up is filled with teasing from the other officers but I don't mind, especially when my Sunshine is still giggling at the soft teasing she's receiving. By the time I'm shouldering the door open, my cheeks sting from how big my smile is.

     The door easily gives in, being pushed open just enough for me to peak out. My grin somehow grows at the sight of Sunshine, seeing her swimming in my hoodie and making my heart flutter. It's my work hoodie, MPPF in bold letters over her chest, an outline of a badge in the middle of her stomach, and Miyagi Prefecture Police Force in small letters below it. I know our pledge is stamped into the back of it without having to look.

     "You know those hoodies are for officers only, I could give you a ticket for impersonating," the guy at the desk teases, making my Sunshine laugh again as she shakes her head.

     "I assure you I have impersonated an officer in a lot worse ways than this," she jokes, quickly rushing my thoughts back to the last costume party Asahi hosted. My Sunshine sure did impersonate an office, in a lot worse ways, but I enjoyed every second of it.

     "Sunshine," I quickly call, trying to blink away the memories of the 'after party' we had together.

     "Officer Sawamura," she teases, her eyes and smile pointed at me now. "I was out and about so I grabbed you lunch," she tells me, holding up a take-out bag.

     "Thank you," I mutter, pushing the door open the rest of the way before motioning her forward. "I appreciate it," I add when she gets closer, taking a moment to kiss her cheek as she walks past.

Wolf whistles, pickup lines, and compliments are shot at her by the station as we make our way back to my desk. The light-hearted play only makes me shake my head, giddiness filling my chest the whole of the short walk.

When we get to my desk, I take a moment to pull out one of the chairs from their opposite spot across from mine. Instinctively my hand goes out, waiting for my Sunshine to take it so I can help ease her into the chair. As expected, her hand finds mine, gently holding it as she sinks into the cushions. I keep a hold of her as I push her in, pecking her hand before letting it go.

"Oh, oh, oh, we have a gentleman amongst us men," my senior partner teases, a smug grin on his face as he pokes at me.

"Seems like Officer Sawamura's old lady has him by the balls," one of the younger officers adds.

I ignore the eruption of teasing that follows, sliding across the desk to settle in my chair. "I got you a sandwich," my Sunshine starts the unneeded explanation, slowly unpacking my lunch for me. "And a bag of chips, of course, and a water bottle which I probably didn't need to get but I did anyway."

"Thank you," I repeat, leaning forward to start unwrapping my sandwich. "You didn't get yourself anything?" I ask, looking at her for an answer as I start raising my sandwich to eat. Thoughts of telling her I'm too full to eat my chips are already brewing in the back of my mind.

"I ate while I was out with the girls. There was a sale on those energy drinks you like so I made sure to stock up on them. Oh! And I got new curtains for the kitchen window if you could hang those when you get the chance," she rattles on, moving in her seat to curl up in a lazy, comfy ball.

I swear, everything about this moment makes me fall in love with her all over again. Her mind always thinking about what she can do for others, more specifically me. I could listen to her voice all day long. Plus her excitement over such mundane things is adorable. Add on her inability to sit in a chair like a normal person and I'm back to being the lovestruck high schooler I was when I met her.

"I'll add it to my to-do list," I tell her before taking another bite of my sandwich. If she hadn't caught lunch with her little housewife group I would have given her my chips in a heartbeat, but I'm excited I get to enjoy them myself.

"Whipped," another officer teases, covering up the word with a fake cough. Again, the comment rolls off of me. I don't mind the teasing or the 'hot wife' jokes because I know it's true. I am whipped, at her mercy, willing to do anything she asks.

I also know my Sunshine is a beautiful woman, one who's swimming in my hoodie. It's my hoodie string she's twirling. My hoodie that her hand is shoved under to rest on her stomach. My hoodie she's going to nap in once she gets home. My hoodie everyone has seen her in today, and finally, my hoodie she's going to be wearing when I get my pay back for her costume party reminder.

Seeing her wearing my clothes always brings me back to high school, specifically the first game I invited her to. My Sunshine went all out, tacky but cute pom-poms waving around from the bleachers, tinsel tied into her hair, and my alternate jersey wrapping her fully in orange. We lost, no surprise there seeing how the team didn't start winning any games until my third year, but I was still prideful seeing her so excited to watch me play.

Getting to see my Sunshine support my career brings me the same kind of pride. Seeing her in my work hoodie, at work events, and hearing her say 'My husband, Officer Sawamura,' are the signs in my life that I made it.

     "Koshi called this morning," she utters, eyeing my chip bag. So much for enjoying them myself.

     "Ya? What did you two talk about?" I ask, popping the bag open before giving it to her.

     My Sunshine's eyes lighten up at the gesture, happily taking the chips from me. "He said he's going to go watch the Sendai Frogs play tonight and asked if we were coming too. I told him I'd talk to you and call back with an answer," she explains, slightly shifting in her chair as she eats. It's cute that she squirms when she's enjoying a snack; it's even cuter that she doesn't notice it most of the time.

     "Where's their game at?"

     "Koshi just said it was a home game so I don't know. I can text him and ask," she mumbles, tilting the bag toward me.

     "Their team is stationed here in Miyagi. You can tell Suga we're going," I answer for her, saving my old setter a question. I take a chip from the bag as well, enjoying the excitement melting into her eyes. My Sunshine doesn't know much about volleyball - or any sport, really - but she 'enjoys the environment of a game' which is good enough for the both of us.

     "I'll have to call him back and tell him then. I'll have to go through my - "

     "Our," I interrupt, shaking my head at her excitement.

     "My closet. My clothes are my clothes. Your clothes are my clothes too," she 'corrects' me without missing a beat. Again, I shake my head, this time because I guess my Sunshine is right; she wears my clothes more than I do, so it's her closet. "Anyway, I have to figure out something to wear. It's a volleyball game, right? Koshi invited us to a volleyball game?"

     "Ya," I hum, throwing my trash away before settling back in my chair. My elbow is propped up, my head on my fist as I admire my beautiful wife. The way her hair bounces and catches the sun as she talks, the sparkle of joy in her eyes, and her curled up form on the chair, my hoodie big enough for her to tuck her knees under it in her new position.

     "Oh, good! Do I get to see another one of your old teammates play this time?" My Sunshine asks, sparkly eyes caught on me, her beautiful hair water fully over her knees because of her head resting on her knees now.

     "Tsukishima plays for Sendai," I answer, letting my eyes fall closed for a second. I have four more hours of work, I can't get caught up in my Sunshine's... well, sunshine.

     "Which one is he? I don't remember."

     Slowly, I let my eyes peel open again, her smile being the first thing to catch my attention. "Tall, thin, blonde, glasses," I mutter, glancing around the station. My work mind set is ruined for the day.

     She explodes in a ball of excitement, feet back on the ground as she gushes over my old teammate. "Now I remember! He was one of your baby crows. It was always so fun bantering with him. Always so quick to have a smart mouth."

     I nod my head in agreement, eyes back closed as I run through the information on my newest case, trying to push out everything having to do with my Sunshine.

Lips against mine pull me out of my thoughts, eyes instantly snapping up to be met with her leaning over the desk. She pulls away, a loose smile back on her lips. "I should get going. You have work to do and your partner is itching to talk to you. I'll send you a picture of the outfit I choose. Bye, baby!" My Sunshine chirps, pecking my lips again before she almost skips out of the station.

"'Bye baby'," some of the guys repeat, voices pitched and teasing. Others make kissy noises for a few minutes before it all melts into soft laughter. Despite the joking, all I can think about is what cute outfit my Sunshine is going to pick.

                     ———————————

     My footsteps thunder as I race down the block, my watch weighing on my wrist a constant reminder of the time crunch I'm under. Why does the Sendai's match have to start so soon after my shift? Why did my Sunshine have to find my old jersey? Why does she have to wear it to the match? Why did she have to send me a picture of herself in it?

It's been killing me the past few hours, knowing what she's wearing. Knowing she's alone at home. Knowing I have to wait to see her in it. Enjoy her in it. It's been years since she's worn it. Dear lord did all the 'comforting' after my matches and the victory 'celebration' of my third year come rushing back. All because she had to find it hidden away in our closet. In her closet.

     I don't slow down when our house comes into view, if anything I move faster to get inside as soon as possible. When I get to the porch, I struggle with the doorknob for a moment, unable to get it open.

     I can't help the excitement that bubbles in my chest when I do finally manage to get the door open. "My Sunshine?" I yell once I'm through the door, wrestling to kick off my shoes and undo my work vest.

     "Welcome home," she greets, her head poking out from the sitting room. "How was work?"

     "Fine, good, great, work," I mutter, my eyes snagging on the parts of my jersey I can see.

     Sunshine fully rounds the corner, giving me a full view of my clothes on her. The sight makes my hands fumble worse, making it seem impossible to snap my work belt off. "Calm down, baby. It's not going to hurt anyone if we're a few minutes late," she coos, settling in front of me before she helps to snap my belt off. "Guess what? Koshi invited - "

     I cut her off, burying my hand in her hair to pull her into a kiss. A soft him escapes her because of my sudden nice, but the surprise washed away soon after. My Sunshine's hands settle on my chest as she joins the kiss, adding a bit of pressure to counter mine.

     As our kiss carries on, my free hand works on unbuttoning my shirt, fully prepared to leave it on the growing pile of work clothes on the ground. My Sunshine pulls away, sucking in a breath before opening her mouth to speak again. "Daichi, Koshi and - "

     Again, I cut her off, taking a step forward to kiss her. This time she kisses me back right away, gripping the open flaps of my shirt as I finish undoing the last few buttons. "You look beautiful," I murmur when we part, my lips falling to kiss along her jaw as I shrug my shirt off.

     "Thank you, baby, but we have plans and your friends - "

     "I know, it'll be fine. You said it yourself it's not going to hurt if we're a few minutes late," I interrupt, letting my hands start slithering under her shirt. "You look amazing," I repeat, slowly guiding us down the hallway, toward the sitting room.

     "Will you let talk?" She giggles, her arms around my neck now as her body arches in response to my feathery touches.

     "Go ahead," I hum, letting one hand rest on top of her bra, gently squeezing the material and her breast. My other hand starts sliding backward, soaking in as much of my Sunshine's soft skin as it can during its trip towards her ass. I've made quick work of kissing her, slowing down as I start trailing over the dip from her jaw to her neck.

     My mind is a bit preoccupied, set on touching every inch of her and continuing to lead her towards the couch so I can enjoy my beautiful Sunshine and relive some memories from my volleyball days. "Koshi brought Ennoshita to watch the game with us. They got here like ten minutes ago and have been waiting with me for you to get home."

     My mind is no longer preoccupied. My head snaps up, pulling my lips off my wife, so I can scan the room. As promised, Suga and Ennoshita are sitting on the couch, my best friend looking amused and my old underling looking shocked. "Guys," I mutter, after forcing out an awkward cough. I help my Sunshine stand up straight again, fixing my jersey before letting her go. "I was not expecting you."

     "I can see that," Suga teases, a huge grin on his face.

     "I texted you," Ennoshita mutters softly, barely loud enough to hear. He waves his phone around, our messages open as proof. "Apparently you didn't get it."

     "I probably did," I murmur, scratching the back of my head as I look away from my friends. My eyes settle on my Sunshine. Her teeth are messing with her bottom lip, cheeks fleshed as she looks at the wall. "I'm going to go change. I'll be right back," I grumble, pecking her cheek before I walk out of the room.

     "I'm surprised you're not taking your wife with you!" Suga yells after me, a chuckle following his teasing. Sunshine scolds him, the sound of her lecture being cut off when I close our bedroom door.

     I lean against the closed door, hands jumping up to my face as if they could rub the embarrassment off. When my hands fall away, my eyes end up landing on our - her - closet. As expected, clothes are littered around the room, my Sunshine's inability to decide on an outfit being evident. "I can't believe I did that," I whisper to the emptiness, shaking my head before I jump into action. I need to change so we can get going. My Sunshine, me, and our friends I just embarrassed us in front of.

                   ———————————

     "Tsuki!" Yamaguchi and my Sunshine both scream, the two of them leaning over the rails as they cheer for him. Suga and I both shake our heads at them.

Yamaguchi notices the joking disapproval, his cheeks fleshing as easily as they did in high school. My Sunshine doesn't though, she's in her universe, shaking the green and yellow pom poms she bought as she cheers for the middle blocker.

I love seeing her at games. Seeing her so energized, so excited, so happy to support someone she knows. I haven't decided what I enjoy more; having her cheer for me or getting to watch her cheer for someone else. Probably the latter, since I get to enjoy it instead of having to focus on the game I'm playing.

"Baby!" She chirps, lunging at me. Her hands land on my knees, pom poms and all, as she looks up at me, the usual excited spark in her eye.

"Sunshine?" I hum, sliding my fingers through her hair, being careful not to pull on any of the tinsel she tied into her locks. It's nice but almost sorrowful seeing her dressed up like this again. I should get her a Sendai jersey before we leave.

She makes a kissy face, the sound picking up just enough for me to hear it. A soft grin spreads on my face at her request, a request I have no problem fulfilling for her. My fingertips twirl the end of her hair as I lean down, pecking her lips like she wants.

A happy giggle spills from my Sunshine as she sits upright, eyes cast to the court for a second before they're back on me. "I'm hungry."

"Okay, Sunshine," I utter, pecking her lips again before I stand up. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" Suga asks, his eyes not pulling away from the players on the court.

"To get my Sunshine some food," I answer, starting the careful descent out of the bleachers, set on not trip on anyone or thing.

"I'll come with," he says, already on his feet so he can trial after me.

It takes a while, but we both manage to get out of the bleachers without an accident. "Should I be expecting a third Sawamura soon?" Suga asks, flashing me one of his grins.

     "I just got excited seeing her in my jersey after so long. That's all," I answer, trying to push down the embarrassment crawling up my neck.

     "Sure you did," he chuckles, shaking his head at me. "You know, I thought you were insane when you told me you were going to propose after graduation."

     "I know, you told me at least twenty times," I grumble, rolling my eyes at the memory of all the lectures I got from him. Suga was not on board with the idea of us getting married right out of high school.

     "And now I can't help but be impatient with you two. When are you going to give me a niece or nephew?"

     "I don't think that's any of your business," I snap, the heat winning and coating my cheeks. "You're just as bad as my mom."

     Suga shrugs, a grin still on his face. "Maybe your Sunshine is trying to get you to give her a baby. Wearing your clothes and all that."

Now it's my turn to chuckle, shaking my head back at my friend. "The closet is fully Sunshine's. It's her closet, her clothes, I just borrow them sometimes."

"You definitely did not get over that love sickness did you? I thought you'd kick it after graduation."

No, I did not get over it, and probably never will.

[mystic-writings]

walk the line | one

SUMMARY — you crash land on d’qar and meet poe dameron. he makes a promise you know he won't be able to keep.

WORD COUNT — 2,735

WARNINGS — swearing, slight angst, mentions of panic, grief, & trauma

NOTES — it finally made it out of the drafts!!! fuck yeah concrete

m. masterlist | series masterlist

Kriff, your head hurts. Groaning, you did your best to orient yourself and quell the queasy feeling gripping at your stomach. Reaching up, you attempted to press your palm to the side of your head, only to find a strong grip restricting your movements. 

Your eyes flew open, pupils wide as they met dark, brooding ones. “Who the hell are you?”

“Who the hell are you?” He spat back, brows knit tight. Behind him, a fire blazed, roaring and rolling waves of heat right at you.

Craning your neck from where you were — on the ground, only previously held in a sitting position because of the person gripping both of your arms — you strained over his shoulder to find your TIE fighter in smouldering ruins, a rush of breath leaving your lips. 

“Oh, come on! That thing took me forever to build!” You groaned, lip pulling between your teeth as you continued to take in the damage. “What the hell am I gonna do now?”

The man’s grip loosened on your arms, eyes widening as his eyebrows nearly shot up to his hairline. “Wait. You built that thing?”

“Yeah, I did.” You glared at him. “It got me off Tatooine. I can’t believe the entire engine just decided to quit on me! Useless piece of Old Empire junk,”  

The man before you stuttered over his words, letting go of you entirely. Beside you, another man stood, worry painting his features. “Poe, are you sure you wanna do that—” 

“It’s fine, Snap. She’s a civilian.” The man, Poe, glanced back at you. “You are a civilian, right?”

You scoffed, laughing humorlessly as Poe stood, allowing you the room to copy his actions. “Like I would tell you if I was First Order. I mean, really, what kind of idiot do you take me for?”

“One smart enough to rebuild an Old Republic TIE fighter.”  

“From scratch,” you smiled wide. “On Tatooine. With very little resources. And lots of jerry-rigging.” 

“Maybe that’s why the engine gave out,” Poe remarked sarcastically, scoffing as you rolled your eyes. 

“I made sure the engine was genuine, dumbass.” You scoffed, side-stepping him. “I’ve rebuilt tons of podracers from nothing. This thing’s just a piece of junk.” 

Poe didn’t speak, and neither did his weary partner. You eyed them briefly before turning back to the wreckage. Reaching up, you grasped at the chain at your neck, breathing a relieved sigh when your fingers grazed at the small locket resting upon it. Then, as discreetly as you were able, you took a breath and reached into the inner pocket of your jacket, cool metal meeting your fingers with a relieved sigh. Still safe. 

You heard the underbrush rustle, warmth pulling at every fibre of your body, shocking you back to life. Twisting on your heel, your wide eyes met Poe’s, watching as his eyebrows furrowed again, seemingly confused at your every move. 

“Come on,” he said, dragging the sentence out, clearly still inspecting you. “We’re about a mile out from the base. If we haul ass, we can make it in time for dinner.” 

“Base?” It was your turn to furrow your eyebrows, letting go of your locket as you desperately pushed that warmth deep down, trying with everything you had to stamp it out. 

Poe, who’d already started walking away from the wreckage with Snap, turned back. “Yeah, base. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To join up.”

“Sorry, join up for what exactly?”

Poe’s lips split into a cocky smirk, hands falling to his hips as he nodded once. “The Resistance.”

———

The walk to the base was the closest you’d gotten to pure agony in a long while. 

With Poe in the lead and Snap taking up the rear, you could swear that you were stuck between the most talkative pair of people in the entire galaxy. They prattled on about dinner, presumably trying to sway you on whether or not you would actually join their cause. 

Once upon a time, you would’ve. The younger you would’ve jumped at the opportunity to fight for something as big as this, in the same way she jumped between the trees behind her childhood home. 

But that was a long time ago. Before everything you knew was nothing more than dust in the wind and you were sneaking onto passenger ships without papers, heading wherever was most convenient for you. And that was just who you were now. A woman with nowhere to go, with nothing ahead of her except for a little revenge and a triumphant return to her former career. 

“You’re gonna love what we’ve got to eat tonight, I promise,” Snap assured from behind you, and the eagerness in his voice made you want to break something. Whether it was just you being irritated, or the sudden inability to push that pesky feeling deep within you away, you weren’t really sure. All you wanted was for the both of them to shut up. 

Poe glanced back at Snap. “Well, you’re gonna have to save us a few plates, Snap. General Organa’s gonna want to speak to her,”

“I’m sorry, General Organa?” You baulked, nearly tripping over yourself. “As in—”

“Yep. Leia Organa wants to speak to you herself.” Poe smirked, glancing over his shoulder to meet your eyes. “What’d you say your name was, anyway?”

The cogs turned in your head as you searched desperately for an alias. For something fake. Something to keep you safe until you could get back to… wherever you could get to. Tanadoka, maybe? If Maz would even let you near the planet. 

But you couldn’t think of one. Suddenly, your mind was drawing nothing but blanks, that little pull growing stronger, sucking you in, consuming everything within you. You couldn’t get away from it. You couldn’t identify it, either. It’d been too long since you’d done anything like that, the signals mixing in your brain, drawing you back to one single answer. 

“You okay?” Poe’s voice rang clear as a bell through your mind, and it was only then that you realised the rest of the world had fallen away. The greenery, the crunch of the underbrush beneath your feet. Blinking, all of it rushed back, finding that Poe had stopped walking to face you, that same weary look on his face. 

“Uh—” you nodded, clearing your throat, cheeks burning as your eyes darted to the trees nearby before landing back on Poe. “Yeah. I’m fine. And my name’s Y/n. Y/n Dhara.”

———

“Dhara, you said?” Leia asked, eyes carefully examining your features. 

You nodded, muscles tense as you shrunk into yourself. The last thing you needed was an interrogation from Leia Organa. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know someone by the name of Lyxi Dhara, would you?” Her voice was gentle, as calm as you remembered it being described to you. 

Your heart stuttered for a moment, feeling as though the locket resting on your chest would burn right through the skin. 

“No, ma’am. She, uh… she died before I was born.” Not a complete lie, but the rest of it was true. You never got to know Lyxi Dhara. 

Leia��s eyes remained on you, her gaze piercing as yours fell to the floor. Beside you stood Poe, entirely confused at the interaction unfolding before him. “Poe, you’re dismissed. Go fix up a room for her, will you?”

Poe nodded briefly, turning to whisper to you before he left the bridge. “Come find me in the cantina afterward. I’ll help you settle in.” 

His voice was warm, soft and oddly comforting. You wondered, for a moment, what it would be like to hear him whisper to you more often. Quickly, you shook the thought from your head. You stopped being able to afford thinking like that a long time ago, and you’d been able to avoid it for almost a decade by now. What kind of man was Poe Dameron to break your resolve without even knowing who you were?

“Y/n,” Leia brought your attention back to her, watching her carefully as she stepped closer to you, nearly toe to toe. It was here that you saw the emotions swimming in her eyes, expertly held back tears making her eyes nearly bloodshot. “Are you lying to me?”

“I don’t think so, ma’am. I never knew Lyxi Dhara.” 

“General is just fine, Y/n.” She smiled, warm and comforting. “And I only ask because I knew her. Lyxi was… she was one of my best friends. Do you know anything about her sister? Ryara?”

You nodded, teeth gnawing on the inside of your cheek as you struggled to keep your composure. “She’s dead, ma’am— General. For over a decade now.” 

“Where?”

“On Yavin-4,” you said, forcing the image of her from your mind. 

“And Lyxi?”

“On Naboo, I think.” 

Leia inhaled, a humourless laugh falling from her lips as she nodded gently. “Of course. All she wanted was to go home, that one. Always begging my— her husband.” 

“If you don’t mind my asking, General, but who was her husband?” You couldn’t stop the words from leaving you, that burning curiosity from your childhood clawing at your chest, eating away at your brain. “I— I never knew her, so…” 

“Ryara never told you?”

You kept your lips sealed tight, hoping that nothing stupid would fall from your lips if you didn’t open them. Instead, you diverted your gaze back to the ground, shaking your head slowly. Maybe now was when you would finally get some answers. Maybe now, you could finally know a little bit about your mother. About the person who died for you without ever really knowing you. 

“How about this,” Leia proposed, checking something on a nearby datapad. “I want you to give this a real shot. In a few days, if you’re serious about this, and you really want it, I’ll tell you whatever it is you want to know. And hopefully, you can answer some of my questions, too. If you don’t, I’ll arrange transport for wherever you want to go. Does that sound like a plan?”

“I—” if there was one thing you didn’t want to do, it was join the resistance. There was too much loss here, too much to lose. Even if you didn’t have anything yet, getting close to people was an inevitability here. You knew it all too well. And it would kill you to go through it again. But that childish craving within you was too deep to ignore. “Sure, General. I’ll see you then.”

Leia’s lips split into a wide, graceful smile. “Perfect. I’ll see you then, Miss Dhara.”

———

Trying to find Poe Dameron in the Resistance was like finding a needle in a haystack. Sure, he’d found you when you didn’t need him, shown up out of nowhere like a rock in your shoe. Now that it was you trying to find him, though, it was like he was a freaking ghost. 

Not knowing the layout of the base didn’t help much, either. 

Inevitably, you had to stop many people to ask if they knew where he was, only to be given several different answers. It confused you all the more, only for you to end up wandering the hangar, marvelling at the different fighter jets. They were marvellous, to say the least. And there were so many of them. It was every mechanic’s dream, seeing all of these top of the range jets in one place. It was every scrapper’s dream, too. 

As you admired an X-Wing, examining all its dings and scratches, running a hand over the cool, black metal, a voice rang from behind you. “Like what you see?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, fingers twitching as you instinctively reached for the weapon in your jacket pocket, before remembering that you didn’t need to use it. Especially around people who didn’t need to know you had it. 

Spinning on your heel, you found a smug-looking Poe standing behind you, leaning on the wing, arms crossed as he observed you patiently. “What the hell is wrong with you? I could’ve killed you just now.” 

“But you didn’t,” Poe smiled, pushing off the wing to stand beside you, looking up at the jet. “And you didn’t answer my question.” 

“Like it?” You huffed, glaring at him before looking back up at it. “It’s… I do. I like it. Is it custom? The paint job, I mean.”

Poe nodded. “It is. Perks of being Commander, I guess. And I’m glad you like it, otherwise my ego would be severely bruised right now.” 

“It seems like you could stand to have a bruised ego once in a while,” you smiled, light and small. When your gaze returned to him, his eyes were already on you, soft and shimmering in the hangar’s harsh artificial lights. “I’ve never seen anything like these before. They’re all so…”

“Big?” Poe guessed. 

“I was gonna say ‘new’,” you said. “Where I was, back on Tatooine, I never got to fly anything except podracers. Fixed up plenty of old jets, but nothing as good or as new as these. And if anyone did have a brand new jet, I was never anywhere near it.” 

Poe was silent for a moment, his hands linked behind his back. “Is that where you’re from? Tatooine?”

“No,” you shook your head, almost laughing at the thought. “Maker, no. I was just… stuck there for a while. Lost my way. I was born on Naboo.” 

“Never been,” Poe commented, his voice quiet. “What’s it like?”

You remained silent this time, head dipping for a moment as you said, “I don’t remember. My… I left when I was a baby. Spent half my life on Yavin-4. Left again. Travelled for a while, got stuck, ended up here.” 

Poe hummed, and you met his gaze, finding that familiar warmth infiltrating you again. Your breath shuddered, panic filling you for a moment as you tried to push it away, trying to pull yourself away from it, back to the familiar feeling of neutrality. Of the brink of emptiness. 

“Where did you grow up?” Poe asked. “On Yavin-4, I mean.”

“By— by that Jedi temple. Our house was pretty secluded.” 

“So did I.” Poe smiled wide, excited to have met someone who grew up in the same place as him. “In the village nearby.” 

“I used to visit there when I was young,” you smiled. “We— my aunt and I, we would go to the market and get our food there. There was this little stall at the very end, with these little cakes, and I always used to beg my aunt to get one,”

If it was even possible, Poe’s smile brightened. “The one with the little old lady, yeah,” he said, “I remember. My dad would buy one for me every once in a while.” 

Flooded with emotion, your mind turned into a battleground in moments. Hurt at the idea of reliving moments you swore you’d never look back on, but relieved that, for once, you weren’t looking back with sadness, but with a sense of nostalgia as you shared a piece of yourself with someone else. You were good enough at keeping tears at bay that Poe didn’t see any of the conflict within you, the sharp sting of the reminder of your aunt. 

“Is your family still there?” Poe asked, and your smile faltered. 

Beneath your ribs, your heart began to race. The turmoil within you increased, the warmth in Poe’s voice mixing with the one you were trying desperately to push away. You twisted your lips, teeth tugging them into your mouth before you let go with a sigh. “We don’t have to do this, you know.” 

“Do what?” 

“Get to know each other, be… friends.” You gestured vaguely to the small gap between you both. “I mean, thank you for the rescue, but… I’m not someone you want to be friends with, Poe.” 

Poe scoffed, turning to face you fully. “What makes you think you get to decide that, hmm?”

“Because I’m not friend material,” your half-hearted response only made Poe scoff again. “I’m serious, Poe. I’m not good at relationships of any kind. I tend to abandon people, or they tend to abandon me. Not exactly a healthy pattern, is it?”

“I don’t,” Poe said, way too confident in himself. “Just give it time, okay? I’m gonna change your mind, I promise.”

Now it was your turn to scoff. “No, you won’t.”

Poe smirked. “I can try, though.” 

———

masterlist | next chapter

series taglist: @whisperofthewild @violinbetty @lxntsxv (open!) [taglist form]

[ernmark]

Ok, for the ask game: I wouldn't mind hearing more about the house you posted about recently as "almost bought, but clearly haunted af."

Thank you so much~

So for context: this was in maybe 2010, we were recovering from the housing crisis, and my partner at the time and I were both deeply entangled with one of those people who considers herself good with money by virtue of not paying people (there were lawsuits). She also had an established habit of buying real estate in really rough shape and getting her volunteers (myself included) to fix and clean said real estate so she could use it.

We were also both in college, had a couple of friends move from across the country to live with us, and that living situation was less than tenable for what we could afford to get, apartment-wise. All of which left me with a very specific problem and a mentor who convinced me that I had the skills and connections to solve it in her favorite way.

So about this house:

It was wreck. An absolute wreck. Built in the late 1800s, I think around the time of the American Civil War, and probably hadn't been inhabited in at least ten years by the time I saw the listing.

Which is probably why it was on the market for $15,000 -- which, even then, was fucking incredible. More than I had, but not more than I could get my hands on with a loan. (It would have cost a hell of a lot more to make it habitable, mind you, but I thought for sure we could live in one room while we fixed up the rest-- and then each of us would be able to have our own separate room, with luxurious common spaces). (Looking back, that price was probably intended only to cover the cost of the land it sat on-- the house itself was probably considered just a loss to be demolished).

This house also had a very long listing history of people buying it, holding onto it for a suspiciously short period of time, and then selling it again.

I since have gotten into urban exploring as a hobby, and this house was in the condition of many of the buildings I've been inside of since. Bowing ceilings, lamentable roof, dubious stairs, a floor that straight up wanted to swallow you whole.

Maybe it was something about the angle of the photos or the shitty lighting or the way that so many of the surfaces seemed to lean in, but every photo in this listing gave the subtle suggestion of anticipation and hunger.

It was also within bus/biking distance to our school. Which in a mid-sized city in the USA is fucking amazing.

My then-partner and I biked to the address to get a look at it from the street. It looked small, almost tiny, on the outside. Like, in a way that the square footage on the listing just plain didn't match. I'm guessing they included the basement and attic both in the square footage, maybe? But even with those, it didn't look from the street that this house could physically contain the rooms on the listing.

I've since gone back to that area looking for it, but despite having been there before, I've never been able to find it since.

It had a fucking ballroom. Maybe this had been a duplex once where they'd removed the central wall, but it had a fucking ballroom. The listed dimensions of that front room were absolutely enormous, it had stairs going up on both sides, it was freaking magnificent.

Said ballroom also had this enormous, majestic fireplace. But it had this metal fireplace screen across the front. Not a mesh or a grate like I'm used to seeing on these, but a metal panel, stamped and embossed with an illustration of a mailman walking away while woman in an 1800s-style dress, slumped in utter despair over an opened letter.

Every single person who got to that image in the listing stopped, looked up at me, and told me some variation of "Well, now we know what the ghost that's going to kill you will look like."

Oh, also, this was not terribly far from where a famous serial killer was caught, and the house would have been already standing when he rolled into town. Which is not something I knew at the time, but I sure as hell do now.

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Lies and Alibis

Part 3

Previous

Nikolai/Plus Size F!OC

Can be read as an OC or reader! I don't use names, she's fat and has hair long enough to grab!

This chapter came out much longer than I anticipated, please let me know if you enjoy <3

Tags: 18+, shower sex, blowjobs, light dom/sub, light dirty talk, a brief glimpse at pleasure dom! nikolai, don't look at me, i edited the best I could.

banner by @/une-femme-de-lettres

Their escape had been nothing like the harrowing, yet graceful exits as seen on the big screen. They run for their lives. Nikolai’s hand gripping her arm firmly enough to bruise as he guides her behind cover close beside him. She knows better than to stray, and despite being scared beyond belief she follows the hand that guides her without question. Eyes peeled and safety off. 

It was going smoothly, until what had presumably been one guard turned into several, hidden away from view but very obviously alerted as Nikolai bashed the first man’s skull across a sleek marble pillar, leaving nothing but a bloody stamp and a loud enough echo to warrant gunfire in their direction. The sheer sound of it enough to deafen as concrete shattered into rubble and dust around them.

She stays behind him, keeping watch as Nikolai returns fire from around the corner in between shots. Eyes flickering to him with concern when he curses at the familiar click of an empty mag. He scrabbles for the extra tucked into his belt, eyes narrowing dangerously when she bat’s his hand away, shoving her own pistol into his hands and taking the other before shoving him back around. She makes quick work of plucking the extra mag from his belt herself, reloading it swiftly and presenting it to him when he turns again. Stars in his eyes, as he pulls it from her fingers.  She couldn't trust her own aim, not with her trembling hands, but she could help. Keeping a firm hand latched to his belt and tugging him to safety when he was too distracted to move himself. Feeling a bit of pride at being his partner rather than damsel, at least to an extent. 

There is a pause in shots, and in the quiet Nikolai snags her again, moving slow enough to match her pace, but keeping them low as they hit the door, ornately carved mahogany swinging open into the cold night air. They bolt, his hand in hers as they weave through vehicles in the oversized driveway, more gunfire piercing glass and metal in their wake. 

Nikolai rounds the passenger side of a slick black vehicle, yanking open the door, and hoisting her in with little preamble, dumping her in the seat and slamming the door behind her.  She scrambles to right herself, searching frantically for something, anything that could be beneficial. Her eyes falling to a set of keys with a dumb duck keychain placed graciously on the center floor mat.  She dives just in time, a stray bullet carving out a large cracked crater in the back glass behind her head. Miraculously it holds steady, her brain remaining safely in her skull. 

Bulletproof???

With no time to ponder, she shoves the keys into the ignition, twisting it hard as the engine comes to life around her. Right on time,  Nikolai appears on the other side, swinging into the driver's seat and shifting in one smooth movement. 

“Seatbelt.”  he barks, foot hitting the gas hard enough to sling them both back against the seats. She does as she’s told, fumbling with the polyester band until it clicks into place, bouncing around roughly as Nikolai yanks the sporty SUV off-road for a clear path out. 

A few more stray bullets ping off of the metal before the sound fades into the distance. With ringing ears and pounding heart, she cranes her neck to watch behind them. Greeted by nothing but the sight of trees whipping past them at a dangerous speed, Nik’s foot to the floor as they put distance between themselves and their enemies. 

They stay quiet for a while, and she sags into the seats as the adrenaline fades into exhaustion.  She doesn't bother asking where they’re going, at this point she reckons it doesn't matter, anywhere is better than where they were, and if the man wanted her dead he would have used her as a human shield amidst all the chaos. So she supposes she’s safe enough. 

Instead they sit in silence, blazing a trail down desolate russian highway while the career criminal she finds herself saddled with shoots a text message with his free hand. 

It’s not long before wilderness shifts into city lights, and a bit further still before they are pulling into an alley across from a plain looking deli. 

Nikolai waits for her to fumble her way out of the passenger seat while he roots through the trunk. She stands, bare foot and shivering as Nikolai drags a large briefcase towards himself, digging through the contents and reloading his handgun before slipping it back into his belt, adding another pistol for safe measure before he reaches back and procures a well worn brown bomber jacket. Wordlessly he closes the trunk, gesturing for her to turn as he helps her into the oversized garment. 

It’s perfect, surprisingly big enough to accommodate her size, and well worn, the leather soft and workable with her movements, with just enough weight to will the cool breeze off her skin. She tucks her hands into the sleeves, nosing at the collar as inconspicuous as she could, breathing in the warm spice of cologne and something she could only label as work. Like warm skin and metal, a musk that was pleasant, and unique to the wearer. 

He guides her across the street, hand on her lower back and head on swivel as he swings open the glass door, locking it behind them and swapping the sign in the window around to “closed” in one smooth movement. The young man on the other side of the counter takes one look at Nikolai before he’s rambling. Nervous russian falling from his lips as he bustles around the counter, seemingly bidding them adieu before yanking off his apron and disappearing behind the thick plastic curtains behind the counter, door slamming in the distance in a hasty exit. 

She watches quietly, tucked in her nice warm jacket as Nikolai makes a round through the place, checking corners and yanking the blinds down of the large windows that line the establishment. She waits patiently for the all clear before she moves.

“Is there a medical kit around here?” 

They both look like hammered hell, covered in dust and bruises. Blood still crusts her hair, and he's got quite the shiner over his left eye, along with a myriad of other cuts.

Nik blinks at her for a moment as he finishes up.

“Behind the counter, in the office.” he gestures, easing himself down onto cheap wooden seat of a dining booth. 

She nods, padding around the counter, quickly realizing that this too was a front for something.  A clean shotgun rests under the glass counter, just below the lunch meat and out a view, another handgun sits against the far counter, tucked neatly beside a napkin dispenser. She’s surprised the food itself is real, but she supposed gangster’s get hungry too. How cliche, she muses to herself. 

She silently notes the weapons, moving on to scan the small store room that doubled as a surveillance office, another pistol left lazily next to the computer.

They really shouldn't leave these laying around.

She could take it, make a run for it. As if she would get far on bare feet and skimpy satin dress in a foreign country.  No. She had gotten into this mess. The least she could do was make amends,  patch him up, and pray that would be enough to earn her another day. 

He would be disappointed if you ran, another voice reminds her. As if the man would be anything but mildly inconvenienced that his chubby captive got away. 

Was she even captive? He hadn't told her she couldn't leave, but he hadn't exactly given her a pass to skedaddle either. Maybe he liked having her around. Maybe as much as she liked being around him herself. She banishes the idea before the train cars of thoughts begin crashing into each other, quickly switching to pilfering through drawers instead, nearly squealing with excitement when she finds the blessed med kit. 

She emerges with her supplies, smiling to herself as she spots Nik, his head resting uncomfortably against the cool concrete wall, eyes closed as he rests. She approaches, calling his name softly before shaking his shoulder. He cracks an eye at her. 

“C'mon big guy, let me fix you up.”

He furrows his brows at her, an apprehensive look on his face, but she only lifts her own brow expectantly, making a grabby hand at him until he complies, easing himself up and toward the table she'd made her makeshift medical office.

She preps up, washing her hands thoroughly and slipping on latex gloves. She lays her supplies out with efficiency and crowds back into his space, gingerly, and perhaps unnecessarily nudging his knees apart to stand close.

He watches her curiously, heading craning to keep an eye on her face as she nears, instructing him wordlessly to tilt back with gentle fingers beneath his chin. 

She warns him quietly before cleaning his wounds, wiping away crusted blood from his cuts and bruises with a warm cloth and antiseptic. He reaches out, resting two big palms comfortably against her hips. Not groping, just resting, only moving one hand away slightly when she has to grab another item from the table beside them, replacing it easily when she shifts back. 

“Are you a doctor?”  

“Something like that.” she murmurs, pretending to be enraptured with the task at hand. 

He only hums, big brown eyes watching her idly as she works. 

“You're being very brave.” she teases, distracting him from both his thoughts and the sting of disinfectant that has his fingers twitching against her soft curves.

He huffs through his nose, closing his eyes as she pulls his face toward the light to get a better look. He lets her guide him with ease, seemingly relishing in the gentle hands directing him.

“Do I get something sweet at the end?” he ventures, cracking open his good eye to peer up at her.

She snorts, “Only if you behave, but you're awful handsy for a patient.”

“Needed something to squeeze” he pouts, squeezing her hips again for added effect. She has half a mind to flick his ear for being a shithead. 

She refrains, letting him close his eyes again, looking quite proud of himself when he adds, “and I can be very well behaved.”

“Somehow I find that hard to believe” she drawls, tucking loose strands of dark hair behind his ear as she cleans his temple.

He does behave, mostly. Sitting still as stone as she applies a few stitches to the corner of his busted brow. The only sign of his discomfort is the dull ache of his fingers where they dig into the meat of her hips. A pain he massages away gently in silent apology when she's finished. 

He seems like a sweetheart, but this giant is anything from gentle based on what she'd seen. 

Yet, he holds her with a softness that makes her chest ache. His hand having been almost permanently affixed to her for a better part of the night. Not controlling, not in a way that made her want to gnaw her arm in escape. But protective, stern and sure in a way that had her following behind him regardless of the danger. Which in and of itself should be troublesome to her exhausted mind. She’s done enough thinking for one night. 

She's wrapping his knuckles when a door slams somewhere behind the restaurant. She stands quickly, scissors in hand, ready to protect her patient as a figure saunters from the back. 

Nikolai is quick to catch her, snagging her hand easily and unperturbed, slipping the scissors from her grasp as the stranger saunters into the restaurant.  His face is covered, a black neck gaiter pulled over his mouth, and black hat drawn down low over his features. The man is more lean than Nikolai, a hair shorter too, with strong arms under a plain black t shirt, handgun and blade strapped to either thigh. He only spares her a glance, as if her presence was nothing new or out of place. 

“Sebastian” Nikolai calls, his greeting ignored as the man before him launches directly into questions, voice low and calm and distinctly german. Her ears perk at the change. She knows german. She'd taken enough classes in undergrad to make conversation.

Only Nikolai must have noticed, because he slides his big stupid paws over her ears from behind. Mindful of her own bandages as his fingers drum pleasantly along her scalp, effectively drowning out any noise as the two men converse.  

She doesn’t bother fighting it. It’s probably for her own good anyway, but she does sigh loudly, crossing her arms in a show of displeasure. She wasn’t a snitch. Not that they knew that, but still. 

She should be terrified, for all she knows these two were discussing where to hide her corpse when they were done with it. Yet, she couldn’t even get herself to buy that one, nothing about Nikolai's demeanor towards her had suggested ill intent, and she doubted he’d let the man in front of her hurt her either. What a strange trust to have in a man you’ve just met. 

Lots of serial killers had charisma, her brain supplies helpfully. As if it mattered now. She was either going to die back there, die in the woods, or die here. She only hoped they'd at least make it quick. But despite her brain’s incessant worrying she couldn't bring herself to truly believe it. 

Instead she yawns, pulling her eyes away from the german in front of her and scanning the shop, taking in the outdated tile and old yellowed menu above the counter. She hadn't eaten since before the mansion incident, and she could feel the symptoms of low blood sugar beginning to buzz up her fingertips. 

Her eyes fall to the counter, stomach gurgling as she looks over the varying boxes of sweets behind the glass, plastic wrapped snack cakes and cookies that looked heavenly under the shitty fluorescent lighting. 

Nikolai lowers his hands once the conversation ends, keeping one palm along her shoulder while he fishes around in his pocket, passing his keys off to the masked man who simply nods to them as he slinks back outside. 

She barely notes the exchange, too busy crafting up Operation: Steal That Snack Cake, when his voice startles her, thick with amusement as he follows her line of sight. 

“Are you hungry?”

She’d meant to interrogate him, but her words are difficult, hunger making her fuzzy and borderline irritable, best to save the questions for later when she can think straight. She tilts her head back, trying to play it cool. 

“A little bit”

He only laughs, rounding the corner and  digging out one of the cakes in crinkly plastic before tossing it to her. She wastes no time tearing into it, and it's almost painful how good it is after a very long, no good night. It's something chocolatey and fluffy and delicious.

“Would you eat a sandwich?”

Fuck yeah. She nods again, murmuring out a soft ‘yes please’ between bites, cringing a bit on the inside about stuffing her face and still asking for more food, but he actually looks relieved. Pulling out a mountain of lunch meat, veggies, and condiments, assembling his own sandwich and looking to her for confirmation on what she’d like on hers. He even cuts it up and wraps it up nicely for her. Plopping the bag with both of their meals into her lap before heading toward the back.

“Beer?”

“You got tequila?”

He pauses, taken aback for a moment before his face splits into that pretty smile once again. 

“Da, I've got tequila,” he laughs warmly, lumbering behind the plastic curtains and reemerging with a chilled bottle of golden liquid. He tosses it into another bag, as well as the whole box of snack cakes as he passes, patting her hip gently as he nods toward another door. 

“This way, upstairs, much more comfy.” he explains, holding the door open for her as she scuttles after him. 

–

The above apartment is modest and clean, a large sectional sitting in the middle of the room, with a good sized coffee table and tv, the open floor plan allowing for a clear line of sight into the kitchen; a hallway veering off in between. The walls are suspiciously bare, and nothing but take out menus adorn the simple fridge. A large brown duffel sits in the corner. 

Not a bad hideout.

It’s not long before they’re both perched on the couch, legs sprawled, warm with liquor and munching away on the best god damn sandwich she’s had in her life while some trash tv plays in front of them. She can't understand what's being said, but she catches enough to give a sensible chuckle here and there. Perhaps more amused by the sheer absurdity of her current situation. 

Just a few hours ago, she had a champagne glass in her hand, followed by a handsome criminal, a gun to the face, and her first “self defense” kill. Her body hurts, and she feels so tired she could sleep on the couch just like this, but despite it all she’s calm, unreasonably calm. Comfortable, even.

She looks at the table. Hoagies, snack cakes and a bottle of tequila between them, before glancing at Nikolai, scruffy cheeks full of sandwich. He looks back sheepishly, eyes flickering between her and the table as well. His lips curling up slowly before they both break out into goofy giggles.

They laugh like that for a moment, bellies full and warm, settling back against each other with cheeks sore from smiling. 

“I’m sorry I fucked up your thing” she tells him in the quiet, her head resting against the mans bulky shoulder. She peers up at him to show the true remorse behind her eyes, his own expression soft yet indifferent.  

“It’s not ideal,” he shrugs, “shit happens.” 

“Will your boss be mad?” 

He snickers a bit to himself. “You don’t need to worry about him” he chides, pulling himself up out the cushions, stretching on stiff legs. 

“I’m going to rinse off. Be good.” he warns. 

Oh, but she had no intentions of doing that. She was warm and full with a dash of liquid courage, and despite the night's events she didn't forget why she had tucked herself against the bear of a man in the first place. He was gorgeous, even with a split lip and bruising eye, and if anything that made him more attractive. It’s too late to bite the words back as they fall from her mouth, sweet and playful. 

“You need help with that too?”

He pauses, turns towards her again, a brow raised in challenge as a predatory smile curls his lips.  

“Can you behave?” he asks condescendingly, mimicking her earlier accusation. 

Oh.

“Yes” she quips back pleasantly. An innocent tone that they both knew to be bullshit, her excited smile a mile wide as he beckons her to him. 

“Come along.” he chuckles, turning away as she scrambles after him. 

–

She’s too giddy as they slide into the small bathroom together, ogling his ass as Nikolai leans in, turning the water on and testing the temperature before peeking over his shoulder at her. Catching her in the act. 

“Are you going to bathe in that?” He eyes her up and down with mischief. 

Shit head. 

She lifts her chin a bit in pride, making a show of taking off her jewelry piece by piece,  shrugging his coat from her shoulders and hanging it with care before tugging her hair away from the zipper at her back. Turning to with a playfully lidded gaze. “Help me?”

He nods wordlessly, standing close enough that she can feel his breath against her temple. He bushes a few stray hairs away from her nape, curling a free hand against the handle of her hip.  Rough knuckles brushing against her skin, drawing a shiver from her as he tugs the zipper down nice and slow to the small of her back. 

He only scoots closer once his task is finished, dragging his knuckles back up the curve of her spine and down again as he noses behind her ear, pressing a slow kiss there that steals the air from her lungs. He hums against her skin there, pressing more slow kisses along her neck, hands sneaking up to push the straps of her dress down her shoulders. 

The fabric slips down easily, pooling around her ankles in a satin heap that he carefully tugs her out of, spinning her in his arms as he does. With his hands securely against her waist he leans back just a bit, his honey colored eyes raking over every inch of her with a look that could only be described as awe.

He wastes little time, catching her face between his palms and crashing his lips to hers. She meets him eagerly, nails dragging over his chest as he devours her with hungry kisses, groping and squeezing at every inch of her skin.  She yanks the buttons of his shirt open, hands eagerly sliding over his warm soft skin, giggling with delight as she’s met with the brush of soft hair beneath her palms. 

“Fucking, perfect man.” she pants, trying to catch her breath as Nikolai groans, a please sound rumbling from his lips as he goes for her throat, drenching her in sloppy kisses and love bites, his fingers dragging up to grope at her breasts, thumbs toying with her nipples as she gasps and squirms. She’s soaked.  Just from a few kisses and soft caresses, slick pooling and coating her thighs. Dripping onto the counter below. 

“We’re wasting the water” she huffs, trying and failing to push the shirt from his shoulders as he promptly ignores her, sliding his hands below the swell of her ass and lifting her with a soft grunt, plopping her on the cold porcelain sink, making her yelp. She’d be impressed with how managed to lift her if he hadn’t immediately sank lower, sucking a nipple into his mouth, tongue lapping and twisting around the pert skin before he swaps to the other. He moves back and forth, biting and pinching, suckling greedily until they ache between his teeth. She pushes at him, yanking at his shirt with a whine. Desperate to have him as bare as she is. He takes the hint, muscles flexing as he pulls the shirt off his shoulders and tosses it. Leaving him in nothing but a glimmering gold chain and well fitted slacks that had her brain short circuiting. 

Good lord, they build them different in Russia. 

He was a bulky thing, all well toned muscle under a soft layer of fat that added a delicious curve to his belly and tits. His skin covered in a layer of thick black hair that swirled and snaked its way over his chest and down his stomach, tapering off into a lovely trail that disappeared below his belt. 

It’s her that tugs this time, grabbing at that pretty little chain to pull his lips back to hers, whimpering softly as he nips her lip for her pushy behavior. She’s drunk on him, his smell, his taste, his growls and moans. She grinds against him, cunt soaking the hair below his navel as she desperately seeks friction. Friction that he slyly denies her, angling himself away just slightly. It’s another moment before she’s fussing, straining to whip the belt from his hips, and tug the fly down.  The angle too awkward for her to continue; she gives up, instead attempting to use her feet and ankles to push his pants down his hips in a way that has them both laughing. 

He pats her thigh, stepping away slightly with a chuckle against her lips before pushing his slacks and underwear down in one smooth movement, cocking bobbing in the air before her. 

And it’s just as perfect as the rest of him, thick and uncut, precome soaking his tip, glossy and pink. It makes her mouth water.  And she must be blinking like a cartoon coyote, hearts in her eyes, because he looks quite proud of himself, smiling smugly, eyes trained on her drooling pussy. 

“You need a taste Milaya?” he coos, reaching a hand to slide against the inside of her spread thighs, knuckle ghosting over the seam of her sex.  Holding her down as she bucks into the touch. “Come get it then.” 

The pile into the shower together, the hot spray making them both hiss. They hold each other desperately, a tangle of hands and searing kisses that leave both of their lips swollen. He lets the water soak them both before directing her out of the spray. 

She goes down nice and easy, soft hands sliding lovingly against his flanks as she sinks down, trailing kisses that has his stomach jumping beneath her lips. And she must look pretty on her knees, because he can’t stop smiling, pretty brown eyes warm and soft as he eases closer, twisting a free hand into her hair as he takes hold of his cock with the other, tapping it sweetly against her round cheek. 

“Open for me sweet girl, that’s it”, he coos, and her brain goes fuzzy at the praise, mouth parting obediently as he slips his head past her lips. She sinks closer, testing how far she can go, humming softly at the stretch, earning her a moan from the man above her, hand tugging gently at her hair as she hollows her cheeks and pulls off with a pop. She’d need to work her way up a bit before taking him fully, and she was determined to do it.  She gently bats his hand away, threading her fingers in his to rest against his hip as the other takes hold of his length, shifting slightly on her knees as she gets to work. 

She noses along his shaft, pressing slick kisses along his length. Running her tongue from base to tip before treating his drooling tip to more kitten licks, smearing the salty slick across her tongue before taking him again fully. Bobbing slowly as she works to swallow him down. She works up a good rhythm, gagging slightly as she pushes him to kiss the back of her throat, but she pauses, tears stinging her eyes as she forces herself to wait, daring to look up at him while she breathes through her nose. 

His eyes are blown, chest and neck flushed hot and pink. “So good for me.” he praises, thumb petting against her scalp. “Let me help you.” 

He pulls their fingers apart after a soft squeeze, placing her hands against his thighs to brace herself as he takes her face between his hands. He pulls back, smearing his slick across her lips before pushing back in,  working his hips in slow thrusts, cock sinking into the heat of her mouth over and over until she’s whimpering and moaning, tears staining her cheeks and desperate for more. He lets her breathe a moment before picking up speed, fucking her mouth in earnest. She’s lost in it. Skin burning and pussy aching desperately to be touched. She won’t touch, not until she’s earned it. Not until he’s pulsing against her tongue. 

She takes him, fingers digging into his thighs as he grunts and moans, holding her tenderly while he fucks her, pushing her as he sinks his cock down her throat, holding her steady while she gags and chokes, mascara and drool spilling down her cheeks and chin. He pulls out quickly praising and petting her, the words sinking into the cotton of her brain sweetly. 

“Almost done my love, look at you, being so good. Need you to breathe nice and deep for me, Milaya.” he purrs, petting her hair from her face,  and she does, sucking in a deep lung full. Pretty pink tongue on display as he sinks in deep once again, cock sliding down her throat again. He holds her steady as rocks into her with slow languid thrusts. Training her to take it before he picks up speed. 

He’s talking now, low and too quick for her to understand, though it sounds like praise, and that's enough for her to relax even more, granting him further access. He moans as he sinks in just a bit more. Obscene noises echo through the room as his hand curls through the wet strands at the base of her skull. His hips start to stutter and with a low growl he pushes her nose into the soft black curls of his base, spilling hot and heavy down throat.  His knees nearly buckling as she swallows around him greedily. 

He doesn’t let her go until she’s taken every last drop, pulling his cock from between her lips as she collapses against his thighs with choked gasp.  She’s all but gone, floating pleasantly as he hauls her up, licking into her mouth and  humming at the taste of himself against her tongue. She whimpers brokenly, the dull ache in between her legs tugging at her muddled brain insistently. 

“Nikolai.”  

“I know Zolotse, I didn’t forget about you.” he murmurs softly, peppering her face with kisses before turning her around, letting the warm water splash against her chest. 

He gropes at her, palming her tits, rolling her nipples between his fingers and squeezing at the soft rolls of her skin, gliding his hands down her thighs, thumbs brushing just shy of her sex that has another desperate whine falling from her. He follows the pattern a few more times, working her up thoroughly before sliding his fingers through her sodden folds. She lets out a small cry, rolling her hips against his fingers as he draws loose circles around her swollen clit. 

“Just needed someone to take care of you, didn't you Lisichka? My clever girl. Picked me out of a crowd didn't you?” he chuckles, sinking a thick digit inside, the glide so easy and hot that he sinks in another, splitting her open on his fingers, and grinding his palm against her bundle of nerves. She’s trembling already, pussy drenching his hand as he pumps into her wet heat. 

She grabs his wrist for purchase, rolling her hips into his palm, desperate little cries falling from her lips as he pinches and pulls at her already abused nipples. Gummy walls sucking his fingers in hungrily, pulsing in a warning of what's to come. 

He grips her throat, not hard enough to cut off air, just to guide her back, forcing her to look into his eyes as he fucks her stupid with only his hand. 

“Is that good? Did my cock down your throat make you this messy?” he coos down at her, brown eyes impossibly tender as he works into her. 

She can only nod, words lost in the dizzying haze of her mind. He doesn’t speak, only pulls his fingers out, striking her cunt with a wet slap that has her jerking in his grip. Not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to get her talking. She spits out a desperate yes, and he presses a satisfied kiss to her forehead, soothing her again with more sweet swirling circles against her clit. 

It’s too much, being surrounded by this man, his strong hand against her throat, calloused fingers curling into her over and over. She’s so close, the heat of her impending orgasm coiling tight in her belly. Fueled by honey brown eyes gazing intently into hers.

“That’s it, just like that, let me have it Zaya, yes” he hisses as she seizes against him. Body trembling harshly as her orgasm rips through her, pitiful broken cries falling from her as he holds her steady, slowing his ministrations to soft slow circles, working her clit continuously until she slams her thighs together, squirming to get away.

She paws weakly at his hand until he pulls away, wrapping his arms around her as he shifts her to slump against him.

The metal of his chain is cool against her temple as she rests against his chest. She holds him close, arms barely able to encircle all of his bulk as she rubs his back soothingly, pressing sweet little kisses to his chest, hair tickling her there.

Kisses he returns just as generously, pulling her up to steal more soft kisses from her lips, murmuring praise after praise in between. She smiles, warm and hazy at the man in her arms. 

“Thank you” she whispers dopily.

“Thank you.” he returns, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Going to clean us up, okay?”

She nods, letting him do so with little fanfare, scrubbing her hair, and running a soft wash cloth over her skin, careful with the tenderness between her legs before they’re both out into the swirling mist of the bathroom, standing patiently as he pats them both down with a fluffy towel. He wraps her in a bath sheet that actually covers her soft body, and he returns a moment later, helping her shimmy into a, oversized striped shirt and sweatpants that hug her hips a bit too snuggly for her liking. But they’re soft and smell like Nikolai. 

Not to mention he looks chuffed.

Of course he would, the dog. Fucking her senseless and putting her in his clothes. 

After they’re both dressed and re-bandaged, they sit together on the large sofa, warm and relaxed. Where he tucks her back into the nest of his side, his arm curled around her once more, thumbing lightly at the hills and valleys of her skin. 

She’s safe, protected under her blanket and nestled against Nikolai. Sleep sinking deep into her bones as another warm kiss is pressed to her hair. 

[trashytoastboi]

Howdy! Could we have Kid with a toy maker s/o? You can do with it what you may. I just kind of think it would be an interesting match. Also love you Work, good job!!

Heyya!🍞 This was a really fun one to write! My apologies for the very long wait and hope you enjoy~ 🍀

Headcanons: Kid x Toy Maker! S/O

(Gender Neutral) 

Eustass Kid

🛠 Kid loves seeing their little contraptions, little robots, dinosaurs, teddy bears, ragdolls, and many more creations that they effortlessly create with perfection. He is actually in awe at how finely, quickly and accurately they work. Whether it is with wood carving, working with mechanical pieces or even the sewing skills needed for plush toys or dolls clothes. There was a vast variety of toys which Kid never even knew existed and he thought nothing of toys until he witnessed the craftsmanship first hand. 

🛠 When {Name} and Kid got a little more involved with one another, the decision to naturally travel with Kid’s crew became a reality. Kid even sweetened the deal when he agreed to allow {Name} to share his private workshop. Truthfully Kid could sit for hours and just watch {Name} work with how deftly they worked. Everything was interesting, one of the more therapeutic things he watched was when {Name} painted dolls or details. 

🛠 {Name} found it cute how Kid would watch them and admire their work. Even though {Name} was a little closer to a merchant than a pirate as they would create all these toys and sell them to the various toy stores along the grandline. They even made a very famous name for themselves, an alias of course but nevertheless. It was how every unique piece was stamped, signed or carved. They had felt motivated to create something unique for Kid. They settled on a very intricate doll, inspired from the punk movement in style with some cyborg-esque qualities, including a mechanical arm that resembled Kid’s. When you pulled the string on the back it gave something of a war cry before aggressively strumming at the guitar in hand. Kid was definitely impressed and touched, knowing just how much effort {Name} put into every aspect of making the doll, from the design to the sewing of clothes, the painting, the mechanical work for it to move or finely carving the wood to make it look as realistic as it did. 

🛠 One of the more exciting things was allowing Kid to see their main workshop, back on their home island. {Name} was visibly nervous, more so than Kid had ever seen them. “What’s got ya so damn nervous?” Kid stated. “Well, it’s just so…personal. I’ve never let anyone see my workshop.” {Name} admitted. They cracked open the door and gestured for Kid to walk in. They pulled a large lever down from the adjacent wall and in sequential order, a large amount of lights began to light up the large workshop. Kid was in awe at how messy their design table was. Tons of pencil shavings, eraser crumbs, crumpled up paper balls, dishes and empty snack containers. The reason why it was so shocking, Kid compared its state to the rest of the workshop that was immaculately kept and clean. Every tool and brush had its own place and there was not even a speck of debris. Kid definitely could take a few notes from {Name} on how to organize and keep an immaculate workshop. Thinking back, when he began sharing a workshop with {Name} he never once complained about mess, or clutter. Unlike his side that was so disorganized he could practically lose himself. 

🛠 While his partner was almost perfect in every craft they learned with tons of practice, they never hesitated to learn or refine their skills further. Whenever Kid offered up a few of his own tips about working with metal, its components and temperament they were sure to take note of every word and try it out for themselves. Kid enjoyed being able to converse about something he is truly passionate about and have them listen so intently and even challenge some things. If they found something to be a little difficult they would easily ask for his help and Kid enjoyed being able to show off his skills a little. Those genuine and overly analytic comments that {Name} gave really stroked his ego. 

🛠 Kid decided to try and reciprocate by making something for {Name} as well. He worked on small pieces, but toys were something out of his expertise. He tried to make something cute, it ended up looking like a janky clump of metal pieces that awkwardly sat together to make some kind of silhouette. Going into this project he truly thought it was going to be like any other project, he thought he would get the hang of it as he went along. He had a newfound appreciation for {Name’s} craft. He kept trying until it eventually resembled, at some angle, in some way, maybe if one squinted a little it could look like a cat. Kid honestly was just going to toss it in the trash, but he didn't know {Name} had been watching him and how hard he worked, even when it ended up with him being even more frustrated. {Name} refused to let Kid throw it away, “It’s for me isn’t it?” {Name} treasured it, “It’s such a cute mantaray!” They said happily, “It’s a cat…” Kid mumbled. 

🛠 {Name} had been holed up in the workshop for days on end, without seeing a single ray of sunshine nor coming out to eat or drink water. Kid wasn’t even sure if {Name} slept, when he stepped into the workshop he saw a shrimp-like figure hunched over the desk. Mumbling words so fast it may have sounded like a summoning ritual as strange symbols and illustrations were scribbled over the various pages before a hail storm of paper balls were tossed everywhere. Now, well this may have sounded like some strange start of a horror story, it was actually pretty normal for {Name}. This was merely their design process. Even Kid grew accustomed to seeing his sleep deprived blanket clad shrimp-postured partner in the dark workshop with only a single lamp to light up their table while they scrawled various designs for new toys or improvements for creations they had already made. Well sooner or later, the shrimp will evolve into a slug when {Name} slides out the workshop looking for food. 

🛠 {Name} sometimes gets a bit down if they fail at their designs, they get highs and lows of creating things. Sometimes they succeed so perfectly, other times they fail and they struggle to find motivation to give it a second try. Kid often will let them wallow about it by just encouraging them to give it a break and return with a fresh mind when they feel they have the capacity. Sometimes Kid can directly help by giving suggestions on how to change the design, sometimes his insight gives a new perspective that gives [Name} the answer they needed. 

[danosrosegarden]

💨💨💨💨🍃

…….🚶

..howdy partner..I hear you’re doing requests here..

I say that’s a mighty fine thing to do, I have a request for ye..if ya think ya can handle it partner..(I know you can I’m just playing up the cowboy thing)

How’s a bout..Fem!Reader goes to see Edward Nashton in Arkham, nothing smutty no no, we want pure sugar here cowpoke..something to make the tooth ache with how sweet it is partner.

Reader reassures Edward and they can have a tender moment of your choosing..

Alright..let’s get riding off. It was good to see ya partner. See ya

🌅

🐎

when the sun hits - edward nashton x gn!reader ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

{contains: sad fluff and mild mentions of violence.}

Arkham was a dark, empty night, void of stars, barren of any sliver of moon. It was as if you could feel the grime ground into the floor as you were led down the hallway. The frosty chill of the air in the asylum sunk deep into your marrow. It was impossibly bleak, hopelessly desolate. And you hated to imagine your Eddie in a place like this.

You couldn't help but feel a sheen of disapproval cast over the glaring eyes of the guards leading you to his cell. How could you still love a monster like him? To them, he was a rabid dog, fangs still dripping with the blood of the innocent, eyes still bloodshot with streaks of burning-hot frenzy. He was a killer. He was the man who giggled while he splintered bones, grinned gleefully as he cracked skulls. That's all they saw.

Fuck what they thought. You knew better.

Your stomach was in a billion impossibly twisted knots as the metal barricade groaned as it lifted.

And there he was. How to describe the scene.

The first thing you noticed were his eyes. Though bags pulled at the skin underneath them in a dull, weary violet, there was something deep in the pitch black pupils that glimmered like glitter underneath the whirring lights when he saw you.

Edward placed his hands on the glass, scoffing out a wonder-struck laugh.

"Hi, angel," a quivering voice spoke.

When Edward was The Riddler, he was no longer a cold, frightened child who kept his head down and spoke to nobody. He was strong. He was brave. You detected something in his voice that sounded like him before he put the mask on, something quiet and stamped-out and fearful. You felt the woosh of your heart in your ears, and your jaw ached and popped with anxiety.

"Hi, Eddie."

You stood facing each other, wading around aimlessly in a thick goo of silence. What to say. What even was there to say?

He spoke first.

"I'm so sorry."

You felt the stitches of your heart begin to rip apart. "Sorry for what?"

"For...for putting you through all this. For leaving you." His lip quivered. "I'm so, so sorry."

You cursed your body for the tears you felt welling up and burning in the corner of your eyes.

"I hate being without you." The words that poured from your lips felt mechanical, like you were a wind-up toy, marching without thinking. It came out rushed. Pathetic and whimper-laced. "I hate it so much, Eddie."

He shook his head rapidly, his breath fogging up the glass. "I'll find a way. We don't have to be apart."

A filmstrip of memories rolled in your mind of all the evenings he'd spent at your apartment. The tender mornings you'd wake up with your bodies entangled in one another. The laughing until tears were rolling down your cheeks. Your heart still struggled with his actions, but there was no denying how badly you ached for his presence.

It hurt to go to bed alone. The sheets felt stiff and bitterly cold, the blanket laying on top of you like the shell of the memory of his warmth.

"I don't care what I have to do. I'll write. I'll call. You can come visit," he said rapidly. "I can't be without you. I can't make it alone."

The future seemed gray and bleak from where you were standing. But maybe you could spot the sun peaking through the clouds. Maybe it might take effort, but it was as if you could feel the sparkling sunrays warming your skin as you peered into his eyes. Perhaps your apartment would feel less riddled with ghosts if you could still talk to him through letters and phone calls. Maybe his touch wouldn't feel a million miles away if you could still visit.

"I'm going to do whatever it takes," he swore with a low whisper.

You held you hand up to where his rested on the glass.

"You promise?"

[lurking-observer]

———

[VIDEO: The camera is set up on a tree stump, right next to a beaten path. Eventually, you see what looks to be a young trainer coming down the road, humming to themself cheerfully.

When they’re about halfway across the screen, a pebble suddenly comes flying from the bushes and hits them in the head. “Ow!” They yelp, rubbing the sore spot where the rock hit and growling under their breath. Their head whips around in search of the culprit, all the while oblivious to the shadowy mass creeping up behind them.

The shadow leaps past them, making them shriek in alarm and fall to their side. The instigator reveals itself to be a Zoroark, standing in the way of the trainer with a Pokéball held in its maw. It drops the capsule at its feet, stopping it from rolling away by placing a firm paw on it.

The trainer sees the Pokéball, and then their eyes go wide as they pat at the now empty space on their belt. Stumbling to their feet, they fling an arm out to take back their stolen partner. “Give that back, that’s my-!”

The Zoroark stamps down on the Pokéball, shattering it with a great amount of force and causing it to explode with a white light. From it appears a Swanna. The feathery white Pokémon lets out a confused honk, ruffling its wings as it looks around, seeming confused as to why it’s been let out.

Then, the Zoroark nips harshly at its tail fathers, starting the avian and causing it to take to the skies with frantic wing-flaps.

“SWANNA!” The trainer cries, moving to dash after their runaway ‘Mon. “No no no- come back!”

They don’t get far, as the Zoroark swiftly sweeps under them and knocks them off their feet, sending them face-planting into the dirt. The trainers lands with a dull thud and and “oof”, before pushing themself up onto their knees and glaring at the dark fox as it now begins to circle them.

“G-get away from me!” They shout feebly, grabbing some nearby dirt and flinging it at the attacking Pokémon. “I have to get my Swanna! Leave me alone you monster!”

The Zoroark just nonchalantly ducks away from the cloud of dirt that’s thrown at it, but then gives a peeved growl when the trainer calls it a “monster”. Emitting a low snarl, it crouches low to the ground as its fur begins to sizzle with black and purple mist.

A row of metal spikes suddenly jab out from the ground around it in a circle, deadly points aimed straight for the trainer. The kid screams and scrambles away seconds before they can get stabbed, scurrying away in the opposite direction their Swanna took off in.

Once the kid is long gone, the Zoroark relaxes once more, and the spikes around it fade away in a black mist similar to the kind that had been trailing off its fur before. Although the black wisps have faded, you notice the purple ones still linger… and you also catch the way the Dark-Type’s eyes flicker with red as it looks down at the shattered Pokéball smugly, seeming pleased with itself.

End video.]

———

[inkyintheskywithdiamonds]

I like to take my lino cutting with me when I travel, am going to be in a social setting or just to get out of the house. On this day I found a sunny table at one of the local libraries. I have a pretty compact and light set-up that can fit in my messenger bag with my laptop and a book or on its' own in a small canvas bag.

- Old Plastic Cutting Board (used as a work surface to protect the table) - 3 or 4 Lino Blocks - Black Stamp Pad - Tin Can (this doubles as a way of transporting my tools and as a place to put off cuts and shavings) - Box Cutter (I make a lot of really small carvings that only use a portion of the block, I use this to cut the blocks into smaller pieces and to trim around carvings to reduce noise) - Speedball Lino Cutter (like many, I learned on the Speedball and used it exclusively for months, nowadays, I don't often use the other tips but I still use the #1/small v all the time) - Set of 5 Power Grip Carving Tools (my partner bought me a set of 5 as a gift, I use the u gouges and straight chisel a lot, the v parting tool occasionally and the skew chisel rarely) - Power Grip 1.5mm V Chisel (I bought this for myself thinking it would be a replacement for the Speedball when doing detail work, but the bevel is a little big and I prefer using the Speedball) - Ultra Fine Tip Sharpie (I use it when I want extra contrast) - Chisel Tip Sharpie (I'll trace over a line with this if I want it to have more weight)

Other materials I almost always carry with me that aren't shown here: - Index Cards - Pencils - Fine Tip Sharpie - Metal Ruler - A Piece of Tracing Paper

[dominque-writes]

hi! idk if u take requests or not, but i love ur writing and was wondering if you'd do a set of prompts for a superhero duo? like begrudging partners

thank youuu 💖

1) Hero / Anti-Hero - Meeting Times

"You're late."

"Nuh-uh. I'm not late, you're early."

The Hero grits their teeth. "We said 9PM."

"You said 9PM. I actually have a life, so you're lucky I showed at all." Mask peeled up to their nose, lower half of their face exposed, the Anti-Hero had a colourful bendy straw dangling from their lips as they slurp up the contents of a milkshake.

"This," bites out the Hero, "was your idea."

The Anti-Hero gives a particularly obnoxious yawn, paired with a matching wide-armed stretch. "So? I don't recall appointing you as my mother. Hop off my dick."

Biting their tongue, the Hero has to fight to keep themself from dignifying the Anti-Hero with a response.

"I'm gonna take your silence as a hearty sign that we agree. I'm right on time." The Anti-Hero holds out their milkshake. "Want a sip?"

If looks could kill, the Hero would've broken their moral code five times over by now.

2) Hero / Anti-Hero - Kill Rule

Shit hit the fan the exact second the Anti-Hero showed up. The Hero had things under control, to whatever extent they could with their no-kill rule, but the Anti-Hero had no such dilemma.

Goon bodies dropped, both dead and for cover, as the Anti-Hero sprayed the contents of two handguns across the room. Blood, chaos, and screaming clouds the space, painting death every where the Hero looks.

"No killing!"

"No what?!" the Anti-Hero shouted over their shoulder. "I can't hear you over all this killing!"

Familiar frustration rose in the Hero's chest as the Hero yelled back over the gunfire. "I said, no killing!"

"What?! Oh!" The gunfire on the Anti-Hero's end peters to a stop. Just the metallic ricochet of bullet shells rolling on cold concrete floors. Unfortunately, one bloodied, beaten goon made the mistake of trying to push to his feet.

The Anti-Hero pops a bullet in his skull without so much as a glance over their shoulder.

"What the hell was that?!" Hero snaps, feeling damn close to stamping their foot like a child out of pure frustration. This alliance was already controversy, considering their oppositional stances on the value of human life, and now it was killing people.

"Chill out, dude, I thought you said no quilting."

Quiltingareyoufuckingserious- "That is nothing like what I just said!"

"Obviously I couldn't hear you, man, don't bite my head off."

"Just- just-" The Hero splutters, overwhelmed with the life already lost, cleaning up this particular portion of the criminal underbelly, and - apparently - babysitting the Anti=Hero on top of it all. "No more killing, alright?!"

Despite this, the Anti-Hero does empty a new handgun magazine into one last goon's head before this night's collaboration ended.

3) Hero / Anti-Heroine - Jewel Heist

"Oh, I'm so taking this."

The Hero whips around, sensing in his gut that his on-off crime-fighting partner was about to swap sides, just in time to see the Anti-Heroine dip her hand into the shattered glass case of the jewel display.

He's at her side in a split-second, catching her wrist before she can get ahold of the precious jewels they'd just prevented from getting stolen. "Cut it out, would you?"

"What? I did, like, really well today. Saved lives and whatnot, all entirely without benefit to myself. It's my reward."

"No."

"But it's so tiny, they won't even notice it's gone." Again, she reaches for a sapphire jewel that the Hero would never, ever refer to as tiny.

"It is its own exhibit, Anti-Heroine," hisses the Hero, "so I think they will know somebody took it."

"They wouldn't know it was me. Bet they'd write it off as collateral damage."

"I promise they would know it was you. Okay, just- Look, the work itself is the reward."

The Anti-Heroine tilts her head, questioning.

"Uh, you know. Gratitude of the people? Knowing you did the right thing? Pretty... rewarding, emotionally."

"Right..." The Anti-Heroines rolls her eyes, shaking her head as if the Hero was the one not understanding here. "Well, I can't buy new shoes with gratitude and high fives. C'mon, what about just the red one?"

"I said no."

"Fine, I'll settle with the incy-wincy emerald. Matches my eyes, don't you think?"

"Anti-Heroine, I swear to all that's holy-"

She scoffs, but withdraws her hand in favour of crossing her arms over her chest. "You're no fun."

4) Hero Sidekick / Villain Minion- Rescuing Mentors

"-Or, hear me out, we do my plan and it might actually be good."

"My plan is good," the Sidekick bites out. "It minimises civilian casualties and property damage, whilst ensuring we can get to our mentors in the shortest preferable time."

"Your plan is lame. Nothing even blows up. What I am supposed to do with all these bombs I brought?"

The Sidekick eyes the dufflebag trapped snugly under the Minion's foot. "You didn't, right?"

"Like I'd tell you, nerd," says the Minion snarkily. "Your goody-two-shoes ass would confiscate my shit so fast."

"God, you're immature."

"Immature?" The Minion gives a ridiculing laugh, clearly enjoying the act of winding the Sidekick up. "I'm immature? Didn't you literally just graduate from high school?"

The Sidekick splutters, taken aback. "I've been in college for like, two years!"

"Huh. My bad, I didn't know you were just short. Maybe stick to the high school thing. Or invest in heels." Kicking back in their chair, the Minion kicks their feet up, boots now irritatingly close to the Sidekick's face. "Anywho, your plan is all well and good if we have to be totally boring. But how, oh smartypants supreme, do you suggest we get past their primary and secondary reinforced drop-doors without brute force?"

"... I hadn't thought about that."

"So you were wrong." They give a theatric yawn before nocking a forefinger back at their now blank expression. "This is me shocked, stunned, and flabbergasted."

"I'll kill you."

"Ooh, Moral-lad McBuzzkill wants to murder me, I'm sooo threatened." The Minion presses their hands to their face, a picture of mock, exaggerated fear pulling onto their facial expression. "I'm just quivering in my floral Chanel combat boots."

The Sidekick's hands ball into fist, holding their rising anger and frustration back by a weakening threat. Maybe they can list supernatural patience to their resume as a new superpower.

5) Hero / Antihero - Stakeout

"Can you get off the phone?"

The Hero glowers, pulls their phone from their ear and ghosts their hand over the mouthpiece, and hisses, "I'm on the phone."

"Yes, I have eyes."

"So. Shut up."

The Anti-Hero forces out a heavy, exaggerated sigh. They lean back against the parapet wall of the rooftop the pair were stationed on, chin balanced on the palm of their hand as they stare intently at the Hero. Fully intending to disrupt them without saying a word, throw them off their precious conversation.

It takes less than a minute for the Hero glare and stop talking to hold the phone away again. "Do you need something?"

"Oh, only if you can slot it into your super busy schedule, Mister Important," says the Anti-Hero, tone slick with mock sincerity.

"What is it."

"Okay, so do you remember that high security vault we were supposed to be watching?" The Anti-Hero says, taking their sweet time to get to the point out of petty vengeance. "Y'know, the one containing that death weapon some major-league baddies wanna steal?"

The Hero rolls their eyes. "Ugh, yes?"

"It's totally getting robbed right now."

"Oh, shit."

[elkkiel]

🐰 🍪 🙃

shatters my beloved hello and happy timezone!! I hope your current space is a comfortable temperature and you can acquire a fun beverage in the next 48 hours 🩷🩷

ask game <3

🐰 What do you think says the most about a person?

A few things:

- how they act when they're given constructive criticism (do they get defensive and angry, or are they willing to listen?)

- how they talk about past partners/friends/parents/etc (some people can be shitty 100%. But if *everyone* is crazy and wrong, it can be a bad pattern)

- how they act when given power or control (this can be anything from bullying a waiter to being a dick after they get a promotion)

🍪 If you were a cookie, what kind would you be?

Oh this is weirdly tough lol. I'm caught between trail mix, these specific chocolate chip/toffee ones from Costco, or these other London Fog (earl gray + vanilla) from a local vegan cookie shop

🙃 What is a weird fact that you know?

tl;dr (very general, there's more nuance to this one but this is the concise explanation)

the English alphabet used to have a letter called a thorn (Þ, makes a "th" sound). One of the final nails in the coffin that got it kicked from our modern alphabet was the rise of the printing press across Europe. Most of these movable type sets (the physical metal letter stamps used for printing words, kinda like a font with the full alphabet) were produced in Germany and Italy which, of course, didn't have the thorn in their alphabets. Since words were being printed without the thorn, it just kinda faded into obscurity due to disuse.

This is also connected to why a lot of old English spelling uses a "y" instead of "th" (e.g. Ye old shoppe or whatever). The y was the closest glyph (the literal shape of the letter) to the thorn, so typesetters would just use a y as a substitute.

(this is my go-to fun fact for people I meet lol I love it)

[dickytwister]

HELLO HI may we please have an official andy introduction 🤲 and also five fun facts about him and also his top five friends please and thank you

of course my liege 🫡🫡 official andy introduction post time

andy (full name andy rey chavez) is not only the most normal man in night city: he’s also the most feared mercenary that has never existed. not everyone is meant to be a hero, and thank god for that, because andy is far from being main character material. he has a shitty part-time job as a cook in a generic fast-food somewhere in heywood and spends the rest of his time working as a handyman, fixing rich people’s appliances everywhere in night city. it’s a simple life, one that he’s almost content with; he doesn’t need the thrill of mercenary life, or the privilege of being wealthy, but he does wish there was more to life than cooking bad food and busting his back to unclog a pipe for someone who’ll barely give enough tip to pay rent. he doesn’t mean to become a merc, but it kinda just. happens. he needs the eddies and even working two ass jobs simply does not cover his expenses, so he finds a fixer, doesn’t bother making up a cool name like “v”, shows up in his plumber clothes, gives his actual name to the dude, and gets sent on a job to steal some intel from a businessman somewhere in city center. an in-and-out gig, no blood, barely any risk. easy. and he somehow manages to fuck it up so, so bad simply by walking into the wrong room. the moment he opens the door, a dozen men turn to look at him. they don’t look very polite, if the way they glare and reach for their weapons means anything. before he can make his exit, however, the men all turn towards each other and start pointing fingers, accusing one another of bringing in backup. from one second to the next, everyone’s weapons are out and it’s all andy can do to hide behind a couch as gunshots erupt across the room. andy sneaks out—runs out, actually, in a very scooby-doo fashion—and goes back home, his gig completely forgotten. during the following weeks, word on the street has it that a new mysterious merc has left carnage in his wake, brutally murdering many high-ranking gang members, leaving the criminal underworld in shambles. no one knows his name, but he apparently calls himself “the handyman.”  he goes back to his normal life, or tries to, hoping no one traces the event back to him. unbeknownst to him, his actions have attracted the attention of both bella, night city’s most desired flower, and finley, a fellow merc just trying to get some peace. 

that’s pretty much all i have for now!! onto the rest now >:]

fun facts:

1- he puts the bi in bitchless. negative rizz. and YET. he still manages to score not one, but TWO baddies, namely bella and finley. they simply cannot resist his loser personality. 2- he cannot drive. does not own a license. does not own a car. what he does have is a scooter just small enough that he has to bend his back in an uncomfortable position to reach the handlebar. can’t afford anything else in this economy. 3- he was once dared to get a tramp stamp, but chickened out the moment the needle touched his skin, so his tattoo consists of a single dot on his tailbone. he tells people it’s a beauty mark. 4- he’s an amazing solo dancer, yet turns into a klutz the moment he has a partner. steps on toes. knees groins. spins people into walls. he’s very bad at this. he’d rather line dance. 5- all his cyberwares are either outdated or repurposed: an mp3 in his ear, a metal plaque on his forehead from bumping his head too much and the tip of a finger from chopping it off while cooking (he got distracted).   6- bonus fun fact: while he loves cooking, he vastly prefers cooking for others. meeting bella and finley is good that way, because they give him a reason to use his kitchen for the first time since [redacted].

top 5 friends (in no particular order):

1- bella. she’s the malfina to his connecticut clark. she’s the girlboss and he’s the malewife. it works for them. whatever bella sees in him, andy hopes it’s enough for her to stay. 2- finley. being besties-with-a-crush with finley is the most stressful part of andy’s life, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.  3- misty. it’s not widely known, but andy is quite spiritual. he and misty spend time together at her shop, where the vibes slap. 4- hyun-soo. kinda weird, having a friend who’s definitely got some cyberpsychosis going on, but it’s fine. they have dinner together from time to time and hyun-soo always pays. 5. river. ncpd’s only uncorrupted cop befriends night city’s most feared merc. thank god they’re both actually softies and one of them is just some loser guy.

[kulis26]

Navigating 2025 Nail Art Trends: Products, Suppliers & Importers Introduction Every season brings new nail pretensions—matte chrome, 3D gems, UV gloss. Salons need agile sourcing through nail art suppliers, top importers, and reliable product supply chains. This article explores what’s hot in 2025 and how to secure the right stock and partners. 1. Trend Overview for the Year • Matte-chrome powders, caviar beads, minimalist decals, and glow-ins are leading 2025 visuals. • Consumer preference is leaning toward hygiene-approved, vegan-friendly product lines. 2. Where to Source Trend-Drivers • South Korea and Germany are popular exporters of innovative cosmetic tech. • China remains the benchmark for volume production; India is emerging as a competitive alternative. 3. Product Collections to Spotlight • Pouch-style chrome powder kits with applicators. • Quick-switch rhinestone trays with assorted sizes. • Silicone stamping tools and reusable metal stamps. 4. Choosing Sauce Suppliers and Imports • Look for those providing full compliance documentation, test results, MSDS. • MOQs, shipping speed, warehouse infrastructure and tooling flexibility define scalability. 5. Seasonal Rollouts & Co‑branding • Bath wedding seasons, festival cycles, weekends—launch themed kits or limited editions. • White-labeling helps salons present exclusive collections under their own logos. 6. Logistics & Inventory Strategy • Build a basic base of evergreen products and rotate novelty items monthly. • Prepare holiday push kits before key festivals—Diwali, Christmas, Valentine’s Day. 7. Branding & Marketing Power • Social: show behind-the-scenes, from unpacking imports to trending designs. • Flatten supply chain story (“We source from top importers & gold-standard factories”) as a marketing tool. Conclusion By aligning with premier nail art product importers, dynamic nail art suppliers, and savvy seasonal rollouts, salons can stay current and competitive. Want seamless sourcing for hairstylists at all levels? Reach out to Kulis.in—your partner in premium nail art sourcing.

[sleepysorrel]

I'll need to get better pics later, but here's my latest leathercraft project! It's an adjustable water bottle holder for my partner. It can hold both large reusable metal cups and regular plastic bottles. Made of dyed and stamped 6-8 oz veg tan leather.

First time hand stitching leather, so it was a fun learning experience!