#and now a probable kidney stone?

[abstract-hellbender]

what if hey were cowboys,,, all im saying...

[ursanic]

.

[deeisace]

aw damn it

[opennwindows]

If you can, could I request BEN Drowned fluff / smut headcanons like about himself, with his headcanon age, hobbies, facts, what he is into or would like & want in a relationship, and what he would be like with a gamer girlfriend/ s/o?

If ya taking requests rn still?✨😇😊💖

Ben Drowned general + NSFW hcs

A/N: yes!! absolutely. i love getting to talk about how the pastas do their pastaing in my mind. i have so many headcanons for everyone that im excited to share!! also sorry i forgot to include the gamer gf part but i don't think it would change a lot of what i wrote!!

btw sorry for fucking dying i have been busy 😭😭 but no one worry i will still continue to work on requests!! if anyone has any marble hornets stuff they wanna request i will zoom you to the front of the queue so fucking quick. anyways enough of me yapping.

cw: 18+ nsfw, toxic relationships, crying kink,

GENERAL

ben is mentally and physically 22, but he can be quite emotionally immature at times. when he died he never stopped growing and maturing, his soul was just stuck in limbo. think like the worst waiting room ever.

he's surprisingly tall, standing at about 5'9. he's lanky but not bone thin. could easily get pretty far in a fight without his ghost powers.

the link costume only appears when he’s in his ghost form. so for example, when he’s messing with someone on their computer he’ll appear as the canon BEN we’re most familiar with. when he’s just chilling in his physical body, he mostly wears beat up hoodies and sweatpants.

contrary to popular belief, ben's not the hardcore gamer everyone thinks he is. sure, he'll play some overwatch or whatever when he's bored but he honestly just prefers to watch tv and browse the internet. understandably REFUSES to play any zelda games. if you were trapped in a video game for decades would you ever wanna touch it again? exactly.

ben loves to draw little comics and troll (see: horrifically traumatize) people online. god forbid you get into twitter beef with this man because he will crawl through your monitor at 3am and leave you with a crippling fear of technology. dude thinks it's absolutely hilarious. a true knee slapper.

lowkey has a sugar addiction. will slam down 4 cans of pepsi in one sitting. he's very lucky that he's basically a ghost because the kidney stones would be plentiful.

ROMANTIC

you know that guy with the blown out speakers in his car, lives off of energy drinks and burnt blue razz ice elfbars, swears aphex twin is the modern mozart and works on the grill at your local wendy’s? yeah thats ben. or at least would be him if he was still human.

“why would you need a chair, my lap is literally right here babe.”

would absolutely wear your skin if given the opportunity. not in a weird way. he’s just EXTREMELY touchy.

he needs someone who is significantly more organized and motivated than him. he can go almost a week without showering and it should honestly be considered biological warfare when he tries to smother you with affection during these episodes.

after awhile of you guys dating he LOVES the idea of y’all showering together. he has a fear of water and while showers aren’t too much of a trigger, your presence helps ease his anxiety.

favorite pet names: bro, dude, dawg, babe, bitch (non derogatory)

not really a romantic but he tries his best. a perfect date for him is just getting some takeout, watching youtube, talking about stupid shit and play fighting. if you want something more traditional or extravagant then he’ll oblige to make you happy but those types of dates make him feel quite suffocated and nervous. try to save those for special occasions.

now let’s talk about his problems because just like the other creeps he is ANGSTY.

he’s probably the most emotionally stable and healthiest of the group but he definitely still has his toxic traits, after all this man is a ghost that mentally tortures and kills his victims through manipulation.

ben would never ever get physical with his partner no matter how enraged he is but he absolutely is the type to do some mental damage when he gets carried away. ben drowned? more like ben gaslighted.

the type to say some shit that would keep you up for years and then kiss you the next morning like the argument never happened. he finds it easier to ignore problems than to actively talk and fix them. you’re gonna have to teach him some important communication skills or else you’ll grow to resent him after all the bottled up rage.

a bit too brutally honest and blunt for his own good so if you have thin skin the relationship would fall apart pretty quickly. he wants someone who can drag him twice as hard as he dragged you. bonus points if your insults are consistently funny as hell.

please watch anime with him and discuss it. he would propose on the spot, especially if you play with his hair.

pro player tip: if you want him to clean his disgusting room, help him and make it fun! he just needs a little push and motivation at times. and being around you makes him want to get his shit together.

big fan of late night make-out sessions. i’m talking like 45 minutes straight of just slobbering on each other’s faces with tongues down throats. if you don’t want his hands running over every inch of your body then you’ll probably have to chain him to the wall.

NSFW

okay. so he’s a little inexperienced with his hands. he’s just a slow learner. be vocal with him about what you like!!

ben's about 7inches and slightly skinnier than average but he will have you seeing stars in record time. the dick game is no joke. he tends to go fast and deep most times.

i can see him being a switch in the idgaf-as-long-as-i’m-fucking way. dude will go with the flow and will try mostly anything.

definitely one of the least aggressive pastas during sex. he has sadistic tendencies but he’s more of a edge/overstimulate you until you cry versus a beat the shit out of you and rip hair out of your scalp type. he’s pretty vanilla given his occupation.

despite his love of roasting the fuck out of you on a daily basis, the only words that come out of this man’s mouth is heavenly praise. he looks at you like you’re the most gorgeous being on the planet and he’ll let you know it.

he loves to whisper praises into your ear while you ride him.

he's more of a receiver than a giver when it comes to oral. he'll absolutely spend hours between your legs if given the chance but nothing beats the sight of you on your knees and teary eyed with his length in your mouth.

he can be a bit of a head pusher but just let him face-fuck you every now and then, hearing his loud moans will be worth it.

did i mention how much of a crying kink this man has? you guys could be on round three and if he stares at your teary eyed fucked-out face for longer than 10 seconds he'll immediately get hard again. you'll have to beg him to give your poor body a break.

he's also into choking but only if he's the one doing it. if you try to restrict his breathing he'll panic and the mood would get ruined.

[khaleesiofalicante]

"Alec," his mother squints at him on his laptop screen. "Is everything okay? You’re scaring us."

"It’s nothing to be scared of," Alec reassures her quickly.

"Are you sure, dude?" Jace frowns, adjusting his hair using his laptop camera. "Because the last time you called for a family meeting, it was when you had that kidney stone removed."

"Actually, I called that meeting," Izzy points out, not bothering to turn on her video, probably still in bed. "Alec didn’t even bother to tell us about being hospitalized."

"Oh, that’s right," Jace glares at Alec in disapproval, then his expression softens. "The last family meeting you called was when you came out."

Alec doesn’t know about other gay people, but coming out to your family on a Zoom call is the best way to do it. If it goes really well, then good. You have footage of a really sweet moment. You can even put it on YouTube like Aline did and get invited to the Ellen Show.

If it doesn’t go well...then you can just end the call right there - or tell your parents your account got hacked. It's not as if they're going to know the difference.

"Wait a minute," Dad frowns slowly. "Are you coming out again?"

"Why would he come out again, Robert? We know he's gay!" Mom rolls her eyes.

"Well, sexuality is a fluid thing," Dad huffs out, never missing an opportunity to show off whatever he learned from some queer TikTok influencer. Someone probably needs to do an intervention soon. "Maybe Alec is bi now. Or he is trans."

"If Alec is trans, we shouldn’t say 'he,' it should be 'she,'" Jace points out.

"Trans people don’t have to be male or female," Izzy rolls her eyes. "What if Alec is non-binary?"

"Non-binary," Dad nods sagely. "Also commonly known as NB."

"Well, whatever it is, we support Alec," Mom speaks for everyone.

"That’s great," Alec tells them. "Can Alec talk now?"

Only Fools Rush In: Thursdays are for Teasing

[seikkoi]

ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ | dom!tony stark x sugarbaby!reader ( ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ )

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ [1, 2] | ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

There was nothing that could keep Tony from having exactly what he wanted—and he deserved a little sweetness in his life. All he had to do was keep from ruining you in the process.

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. non-canon, non-superhero au, sub/dom undertones, slight emotional/verbal manipulation, obsessive + possessive behavior, age gap (reader described as mid-twenties, t.s as mid-forties), mildly dubious consensual situations, explicit mentions of alcohol and drug use, generally not for the light of heart, rough sexual content, reader described as petite word count: 12k a/n: new year, new format. sorry for the delay! wrestled w this for a bit.

You believed him, obviously. 

You drank in every malefic word. It’s only the easiest thing in the world to do. Any voice that suggests your wanton attachment was becoming self-destructive died without a fight. You tell yourself that’s impossible–that you couldn’t see your life without him anymore because it was obviously better with him. 

Sure, maybe you had some suspicions about his work, and maybe he could be a tad austere demanding, but that was child’s play compared to anything in the past. 

You let your body curl beside his, savoring every ounce of his cologne in the air. It’s unfamiliar, feeling his bare skin against yours, but you’re thankful for it. The sandman visits quickly this time, sending you sleep as a calloused hand strokes your cheek. 

There’s a beautiful sight awaiting Tony when he wakes the next morning–you, all tangled in silk sheets, warm arms wrapped tight around his midriff. 

Almost every hour it feels like he finds a new beauty in you, another reason you’ll stay on his mind every moment of the day. This time, he’s noticing how breath-taking you look asleep, peaceful and holding him like you’re scared he’ll disappear.

Your form is casked in a shy early morning light as he trails his fingers across exposed skin gently, watching the slow rise and fall of your breathing. Tony would pay just about anything for you to see what he saw (which was absolute, unwavering perfection, in case you were still unsure). 

Eventually, the sun rises high enough to illuminate the faint, pale marks on your hip–and only part of him wishes he showed more restraint.

No matter how much he wanted to take things slow with you, bring you in little by little, he needed your trust–your loyalty–so much more. He’d never cared much for delicacy when it came to love or attraction, especially not after Pepper. After all the bullshit with her, he wanted every living thing to feel the same desolate anger that fused in his bones. Scorched earth seemed too gentle of a policy. 

It’s easy to say the end of their relationship came the second he found out, that all his feelings faded into nothingness and no further harm was done. It’s easy to pretend like he’s always been this way–this sharp-edged, arrogant man who commands loyalty and respect. It’s infinitely more difficult to acknowledge that his love for Pepper went away more like a kidney stone than a dying light. 

That hot-headed arrogance, the one that soared at your proclivity for mistrust, or hints of leaving, that had been around for ages. The arrogance and fear of losing what he valued most burrowed together, growing slowly over the years into an obsessive need for control. It had laid dormant, waiting for that strawberry blonde catalyst. 

The faint patches on your skin gave him a sense of satisfaction–you were his, and he tried to know that that would never change now. He realizes all his calculated moves probably weren’t needed, that he could’ve been more of himself with you sooner. Tony’s anger let him run clean over any worries that you’d leave at the first signs of his true colors. He really wanted to be the kind of man that was all sugar and no spice, but someone ruined that for you a long time ago.

Certainly, it at least wasn’t what you needed. Tony knew what you didn’t, that you could have any man you wanted. You could have chosen some run-of-the-mill, 9-to-5 guy. One who buys you flowers once a month while you live your own boring life with a dead end job, but you chose him for a reason.

You didn’t need coddling, just a bit of control–direction. All the worry he had about the ink in his life staining you could go away. Sleeping beside him, you looked just as pure and innocent as ever, dreaming peacefully. Hiding his life from you is exactly what led to last night’s events anyway. He made a mental declaration to be less conservative with himself, to give you exactly what you claimed to want (him–entirely and unconditionally). 

He feels bad for past-him, who had to wait all those months to hear you cry out his name, to feel how easily your body submitted to him. Truthfully, you weren’t resisting him enough to justify the tight hold he kept, but every movement of your body needed to be his doing. 

Maybe he should have just ripped off the bandaid sooner. You didn’t need things as fickle as slowness and patience, you needed to know where you belong–right here beside him, blissful and wearing the marks of his obsession. 

Every fiber in his being hated doing it, but Tony pulls out of your sleepened embrace. The sudden loss of your warmth is almost physically painful, but he manages to rise from the bed. Your face scrunches slightly, sheets dragging to accommodate your shifting frame. 

He contemplates waking you, if anything just to make sure your thoughts aren’t still set on leaving him. Tony’s not a betting man, but he takes the look on your face after coming to his room as a positive sign. Besides, he doesn't like the idea of waking you this early when you need rest more than anything. 

There’s money waiting to be made, but he won’t deprive himself of this phenomenal view to do it. A rosewood table identical to the one in your room is moved closer to the bedside, right where he can keep you in his line of sight. 

That’s exactly where you find him when you wake, hours later–already dressed in a black polo and dark pants, peering over his laptop. It’s a heavy knock on the door that stirs you, causing Tony to swear when he sees your eyes open. 

The papers scattered about the table are shoved into a folder as he checks his watch and swears again. You’re almost too groggy to process voices at the door, turning just in time to see a wooden box transferred into Tony’s hands before the door shuts as quickly as it opened.

An apology is already spewing when he turns to you. 

“You’re fine, it’s fine,” you waved your hand, starting to sit up. 

You swing your legs over the edge, yawning and trying to think the last bit of sleep away. You might’ve forgotten about last night for a tiny longer had you stayed down. You feel the tenderness of your body before seeing it. Tony notices the subtle twitch of your brow, waiting for your reaction to worsen as he tucks the box into a leather duffel on the floor.

“We should leave in a few hours.”

There’s a flatness in his tone that pulls a puzzled look from you. He puts more papers away, now not even sparing a glance your way. It’s not out of contempt, just the last remnants of fear about you leaving. He had nothing but confidence when you were asleep–obviously feeling safe and enamored enough to lie beside him.

Now though, Tony’s forced to think ahead in time, trying to plan responses to questions and arguments you haven’t even made. 

Maybe all Pepper did was make him insecure. (He’d never admit such a thing, though)

“What was that about?” you asked gently, even though you were genuinely trying not to wonder.

“Just work.” He strides back around the bed, planting a kiss to your forehead. 

You manage not to pry, or give much of a reaction at all, simply smiling and still trying to stretch the weariness from your body. Your quiet demeanor comes from your own internal battle about his mood, nothing more. Tony though, for all his talents, sadly isn’t a mind reader. What he is however, is sure it’s his own fault.

Tony lets out a huff when he remembers he decided to be less withholding. You’re confused until the wooden box is brought back out. The bed makes a depressing noise under Tony’s weight as he sits across from you.

He can’t stand the apprehensive look in your eye, and figures there’s no time like the present.

“You wanna ask what’s in the box, don’t you, doll?” He says smugly, tapping the container against your knee lightly. 

Trick questions aren’t really his style, but you don’t think there’s a right answer. 

Tony’s expectations seemed to grow more complex the longer you were with him, and right now, you’re not certain what’s expected of you. The last ten hours in your mind was a feature film, full of depressing internal monologue about how little you really knew about him. 

You know you should trust Tony’s words over the whispers of others, but they’re hard to separate when both sources are drenched in ambiguity. 

“Look, I,” he pauses to sigh heavily, looking away from you for a moment. “I was completely open with Pepper–full transparency, no secrets, the whole nine yards.”

Vulnerability in any form was without a doubt his least favorite thing, especially with this. It almost petrifies him that you’ll see him differently. Mostly because he doesn’t know what he’d do if you really did leave. Somewhere, swimming in back of his brain is the idea that you’ll pull the same stunt she did. That train of thought always leads him down dark roads he’d prefer to ignore. 

“I guess I was a little too open because I woke up one day and suddenly everything’s gone to shit.” 

Tony’s phone rings, and for the first time ever, you see it declined without a second glance

“I cannot have that happen with you. You can ask me anything, if you can promise me you won’t leave if you don’t like the answer. If you can’t do that, you should go.” he ends coldly, and it sends a shiver through your frame.

You wouldn’t–whether he told you the truth or not. So, naturally, you nod in agreement.

A visible wave of relief rushes through him with a sigh.

“Okay, go ahead, shoot.” 

What Tony’s expecting is questions about his work, about Pepper, maybe about Steve. The preparation for those questions is immaculate, answer trees with presumed added points of inquiry. Instead, you ask something he feels moronic for not planning for sooner. 

“What are we doing here? With us? And don’t say it’s up to me.” You don’t ask how you normally do, with a hint of snide or taste of anger. It just comes like a whisper. 

Stark sucks at very, very few things, but this is certainly one of them. Words never seem to do him justice. How he feels, what he wants to say, and what he ends up saying, never quite align. Hence why he much prefers action to rhetoric (hence why last night didn’t end in the screaming matches you might be used to from others). 

Tragically for Tony, you’ve got that damned candied look on your face again that he absolutely cannot stand disappointing, even if you don’t know it. 

Still, he takes a beat too long to formulate a response, so you continue. 

“I mean, what are you telling all these other people who think you’re still married?”

“I don’t owe anyone an explanation about my life, doll.” he says a touch too sternly, without meaning to. 

He continues before your face can turn too sour, placing an apologetic hand atop yours and sighing.

“Truthfully? No one asks, it's–I think everyone’s able to put two and two together with Pepper gone. If they did, I’d say you were my girlfriend, maybe partner. But honestly, that feels a little inaccurate.” 

“Inaccurate how?” you ask tentatively, hoping it wasn’t somehow less than that.

“Underwhelming.” Tony smiles and laughs a bit, making your face warm. 

“Promise me that you won’t change your mind about me.” he continues exasperatedly, half joking. 

For once, you can read the emotions on his face clearly–it’s obviously not a world of fun for him to say any of this, and you know it’s the closest you’re getting to an apology (and a direct answer). 

“I won’t, I promise.”

You don’t fully comprehend the metaphorical contract you’ve just signed, more permanent than any marriage certificate in his eyes. 

For your sake, Tony hopes you aren’t the type to break promises.

-

It’s early in the day once you return to New York, and while you managed to stay awake on the flight, your eyelids shut the moment Tony closes the car door. 

You realize you must have nodded off when you open your eyes to the familiar cluttered horizon. As the buildings come into sharper focus, you also realize that the car is completely stationary right outside your apartment. 

You shift in the leather seat, turning to see Tony tapping at his phone screen. A wide grin spreads as he catches your eye. 

“How long have we been here?” you yawn.

“About an hour.” Tony mutters absently, brow furrowed at whatever his phone displayed. 

“You could’ve woke me, you know.” You felt a teeny bit guilty for keeping him when he definitely had better things to do. You shake the soreness from your body, slipping your shoes back on your feet and gathering the items you had spread throughout the car.

“You looked tired,” he says dismissively, pocketing his phone and turning the car back on. “and I don’t mind.” 

The apology you want to give is interrupted with the painful reminder that you still have a shift at the bar tonight. Tony watches the realization wash over you, laughing as you dramatically groan and toss your head back. 

“What’s the matter?”

“Wish I could go back in time and tell Alicia hell no on closing tonight–” 

“Uh-uh, nope, you’re not allowed to complain.” he interjects, shaking his head comically. 

“Why not?” you laugh hesitantly, already guessing what the answer would be.

“Honey, it’s almost physically painful watching you waste your time there knowing I can take care of everything for you.”

Was this the first time Tony indirectly suggested you quit working? Not in the slightest. Lately, a week could hardly pass without even a small mention. In theory, it sounded lovely to you ( as someone who never planned on staying a bartender this long but had no other goals to stand on). Reality bore different fruit that told you independence was probably better.

So, as you’ve done before, that’s exactly what you tell him. You liked making your own money. It causes the billionaire to chuckle as if you’ve told the funniest story ever, making you feel like a paranoid freak.

“No one said anything about taking away your independence.” he chuckles, turning the key. “If making cocktails makes you happy, go for it, but I would at least make sure it’s a nicer location–with bottles worth drinking.”

“I don’t recall you having any issue drinking all those cheap cocktails.”

“I’d drink anything if you were the one serving them.”

You have to try hard not to swoon at his words, watching him leave the car and pop the trunk before you can say anything else. You follow before long, standing to the side as he moves your bags from the car to the sidewalk. 

“It’s just hard–what I want to do isn’t really a money maker. People don’t get into art for the paycheck.”

He laughs again, and you’re starting to find it very infectious. 

“Maybe I’ll single-handedly revive the field of patronage. Pay you to build whatever kind of gallery you want, if you let me keep a few.”

With a wink, the bags are carried by Tony to the front door, where he gives you a long, slow kiss that leaves your head spinning. Something leaves his lips about taking you to breakfast in a few days, but you’re too charmed to hear it. 

All in all, you do end up working a lot less. Mostly because you don’t need to. Over the next month or two, Tony manages to persuade you to get what he wants. Okay, so it was less persuasion and more necessity. 

Two weeks after your trip, your roommate gets a job offer out-of-state and moves out faster than you can make up the difference in tips. Originally, you weren’t going to mention it in the slightest. Plan A was to beg your landlord for more time, and plan B was to write a bad check and hope you had enough by the time he tried to cash it. 

For weeks straight you worked non-stop doubles to try and close the gap. You were making progress, but steadily wearing yourself down to a dull nub. By the end of it, you were beyond burnt out and completely forgot that Tony knew nothing about it. You fucked up by inviting him over one night, not realizing that the sudden absence of half of everything inside would tip him off (that and the deep bags under your eyes).

Immediately, he asked how on earth you were still paying rent this month, and absolutely despised your answer. Tony had never been shy in telling you how wasted your talents were, and this night was no exception. Especially considering you hadn’t still made enough and planned on working another double tomorrow.

You had little energy or reason to argue with him about it. 

Now, you assumed it was a one time thing, just to help you get re-stabilized, maybe find another roommate. Neither really panned out. Every hit on Craigslist gave serial murderer vibes, and tips were starting to trickle as summer ended. The following month, you walked down to the leasing office, last month’s check in hand, only to be told it was taken care of. 

Do you think the bitchy lady at the front desk answered you when you asked how that was possible, or do you think she ignored you and called out next in line? 

It’s the latter, leaving you forced to call Tony and find out from him. You wouldn’t let yourself trust him, so it’s only right he does it for you. Tony always gets what he wants one way or another after all, causing the same story to be told next month, and the following, and every month after for the foreseeable.

You can’t say he isn’t right, though. Less shifts just means more free time to do all the things you’ve put off for the last five years. And so, your life changes once more. All the paintings, books, and movies that sat abandoned finally get some well-deserved attention. You fall into a mellow routine: spending your mornings ahead of a new blank canvas and afternoons buried inside forgotten novels.

An odd shift is picked up here and there, the appropriate amount to stay on staff and keep some semblance of a normal routine, but not consume your life. You adapt surprisingly well, skipping that awkward stage of persistent guilt for having someone else handle your bills. It’s especially effortless when your now empty evenings are filled by Tony. It becomes easier to relax around him, oddly enough. You never thought that time would come, anticipating a lifetime of tiptoeing or a fiery end.

Funny, it feels like only yesterday when you were reeling at him buying a simple dress.

Between spending more time with Tony and less time working, you see more of what the city has to offer. The heightened level of status that dating Tony Stark brings unlocks a plethora of galleries, restaurants, and events you’d only dreamed of attending. Co-existing with the brazen personalities of the 1% could still be a pain, but now you know how to smile and pretend when it counts.

You even have the temerity to attend some alone. It’s much more fun with Tony, though. Your evenings almost always end inside your apartment, staying up and keeping Tony far later than you should. He rarely minds, often halfheartedly leaving to handle some issue or another. If your luck is high enough, no one needs Tony Stark, leaving him to occupy his time with his favorite person. 

If you’re even luckier (or simply brave enough to ask) he’ll slide a taunting finger behind whatever teasing skirt or shorts you’ve chosen (specially to incite this reaction), whisper in your ear how perfect you taste and make your eyes roll. You’ve tried to reciprocate–an embarrassing number of times. Short of actually ripping his clothes off, you don’t know how else to get the message across. 

Tony only takes your attempts as a sign that he’s succeeding at keeping your mind elsewhere. 

During one of these late-nights, he’s working on doing just that when he notices you’re distracted for other reasons. He’s standing behind you in your dim bedroom, slowly working the zipper of your dress down as he trails the soft revealed skin with heavy kisses. Normally, you’d be panting, pressing against him trying for any bit of friction. Instead, he can see your tightly wound brows, the glossy flesh of your bottom lip jutting between two front teeth, thinking far too hard for how good this felt. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” he hums lightly, turning you by your waist as the dark fabric pools at the floor. 

Tony doesn’t still his lips at all, leaving tender marks down your neck and chest. The good news is it gets your breath choked and heavy just how he likes it. Unfortunately, your half-presence remains. He stops right before the airy lace of your bra begins, causing you to catch his eye. 

“How come you’ve only taken me to the tower once?” 

You don’t have a set event that prompted this question. The realization only dawned on you today. You’ve been dating one of the richest men on the planet for the better end of a year, and he’s taken you to his home a grand total of one time. Your brain is good at forgetting that night most days, but today you can’t shake it. It feels almost karmic to bring up bad memories, as if just speaking about it will bring it back into existence. 

He laughs a bit when your issue proves so elementary. 

“Seriously,” you stress, even though your voice wavers with the arousal he’s building. “We’ve been together all this time and I’ve never really seen where you live.”

“Promise you aren’t missing much.” Tony smiles, capturing your lips and guiding you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

“It’s only one of the largest companies in the world. Guess seeing the inside once is pretty lucky.” you sigh, feigning a dramatically sad tone. 

You’re really trying to guilt him, making a purposeful effort not to soak into the heat of his touch. Hot hands snake up your thighs, thumbs brushing small circles into the inner skin. He dips below you as you sit, still humming his way up your legs with butterfly kisses. 

“Might have been followed, couldn’t risk taking you home.” he mutters, preoccupied. 

It’s not his fault you look too good to argue with right now (which you knew and were definitely using to your advantage). The dress you wore tonight might as well have been see-through– it hugged you like cellophane, and he made a mental note to buy you more in the same material. 

While Tony’s busy leaving more hickeys on your thighs, a shiver runs through you. What would have happened had someone followed Tony’s car? 

Your mind goes to work crafting all types of theories, and Tony recognizes the look plain as day. He stops with a stout sigh, leaning back on his heels. It pulls your attention back to him, looking down at him with uneasy eyes.

“You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know.” 

Even if you’re not entirely sure what you need protecting from.

“Good, now do me a favor and lie back.”

You do as you're told, of course, more than enthusiastically. 

Balance is important after all, though. So, while Tony gets what he wants now (as he usually does), he indulges you as well.

You made an off-hand comment about never actually seeing a broadway show in person, despite living in New York for literal years. Tony finds any missed luxury in your life unacceptable and naturally drops a small fortune to orchestrate a private show. While buying out the theater was partially for the romance, it would have also been too much exposure for him otherwise. 

Afterwards, he makes a very notable detour from your usual route home, pulling you away from your long ramble about how awe-striking the show was. Asking just gets you a cheeky smile and turns your attention towards the tower. 

You get the full tour that you weren’t afforded the first time (given the circumstances). The lobby you recall, with its marble floors and high ceiling. It’s well in the evening, leaving the tower empty minus a few guards and late-night staff. 

You regret never paying attention in science when Tony guides you through the labs and workshops. 

As you pass through room after room, each unnerves you. Most things of the scientific nature are lost on you, but you’re certain the high amount vials and chemicals you see would floor even Einstein. 

You can’t place why they unsettle you, looking so out of place and painfully high-tech in stereotypical white walls. It also doesn’t help that Tony spiels about the building and not what lies on the tables three feet away.

You swallow your questions, fearing that the answer to be even remotely similar to the one that drove Pepper away. 

Tony mentions having dinner upstairs, to which you smile and follow him into an adjacent elevator before you can stress yourself out further.

The doors open to a penthouse apartment that you don’t remember walking through before (definitely too caught up in thinking you were about to be dumped over a drunken mistake). You obviously expected Tony to live in the same luxury he exudes, but the decor and imported wood reminded you just how wealthy he was. He leads you to his office, tucked behind a frosted glass door that you do remember from last time. 

“This,” he starts, swiping a small card against the door’s thin black reader with a quiet beep, “is where the magic happens, but it is off-limits without my permission.”

You give an understanding nod when he turns back, although you wanted to laugh at how quickly he switched from sounding like a complete nerd to stony-faced. Tony leaves the door open once you enter, tucking the card back into the pockets of his slacks. 

You are naturally more curious than most (for better or for worse), and make quick work walking around the vast space, eyeing each shelf, table, and weird gadget. A pair of soft couches mirror one another in the center of the room, surrounding a cluttered coffee table of notes and books. A whiteboard stands nearby, covered in what’s probably math but could pass for ancient Greek. Every inch of the walls is lined with something–be it awards and diplomas or more books with words you’re convinced are made up. It strikes you then that the office lacks any windows, and you wonder if that’s by design or sheer chance. 

At the back wall shines various lights and screens, below it a thin, large clear desk where Tony sits. The desk holds more of the odd, transparent screens, which Tony closes with the swipe of his hand as you approach. A compliment of some capacity about the decor is brewing when you notice the picture frame sitting nearby. Two figures pose in front of a row of trees, one clearly Tony, and the other a young man, with dusty brown hair and pristine in dark blue graduation robes. Tony’s arm wraps around the younger, smiling bigger than you’ve ever seen. The young man holds a slender booklet and a matching smile.

Predicting this, he answers the question before you figure out how to ask it. 

“That’s Harley–don’t start getting any ideas, he’s not Pepper’s.” he says, pulling you by the waist into his lap. 

“Is he your nephew or something?” you question, resting your head against the velvety fabric of his shirt.

“Howard Stark was a man of one child, to his disappointment, so no. Harley’s a family friend.” 

“You just run around befriending random college kids?” you joke, dangling your legs over the edge of the chair.

“If I’m feeling generous enough.” 

In the corner of your eye, you see a figure appear across the room in the empty door frame. A tall, older man waits–hands clasped behind his back in black pants and pressed white button up.

“Mr. Stark, there’s a visitor for you.” 

He speaks as quickly as he appears, with an unexpectedly posh accent. Tony taps your knee, and you leave his lap very begrudgingly and watch with even more unnecessary sorrow as he exits the room. A promise is given about returning soon, but you know better than to believe that.

A word is exchanged between the two that you can’t hear across the large office. When Tony’s figure leaves, the other man enters. You notice his blue eyes as he comes closer, deciding to take a seat on one of the couches.

“Mr. Stark has requested I quote–keep you from dying of boredom–in his absence.” he says, standing at the head of the couch across from you. 

“Has he now?” you laugh lightly. 

The thing they don’t tell you about rich boyfriends? It takes time to make all that money, keeping them busy and away from their easily bored girlfriends. So, you nod when the man smiles, making a permissive motion towards the seat. 

“My name is Jarvis, I work for Mr. Stark.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m [y/n]”

“You need very little introduction, ma’am. Mr. Stark has talked a great deal about you over these last several months.” he laughs, crossing his legs.

“Really?” you ask. It’s not extremely surprising, you just assumed Tony was perpetually occupied talking about other things. He did make a good move though, Jarvis is much more pleasant company than he usually keeps. 

“Indeed, he’s quite fond of you.”

You aren’t used to hearing this–from anyone really. Everyone you know has no idea Tony exists (for better or for worse) and everyone he knows seemingly despises you. It’s a breath of fresh air that does wonders for your insecurities about this whole relationship. Not a complete cure, but the start to some form of remedy..

“And what do you do for Tony?” you ask, not wanting to be rude and keep the conversation entirely on yourself. 

He ponders this for a moment, giving you the impression he’s never had to explain this before. 

“I assist Mr. Stark in his day-to-day activities, so that he may devote more energy towards the company.” 

What was with this calculated nature everyone around him seemed to take on? Still, Jarvis appeared to be a beacon of kindness (the accent might be biasing you). It’s bright enough to tempt you to ask Jarvis what you were too hesitant to ask Tony, mostly out of trepidation over the answer. 

“I have to admit I’m a pretty terrible girlfriend–I don’t even know what Tony does.” you sigh and pout slightly. 

Naivete was an old trick you didn’t mind pulling out of the bag now and again. 

Jarvis chuckles, an optimistic sign that your tactics are working.

“Stark Industries is a manufacturing and research company that specializes in pharmaceuticals and biotech.” 

Now that line sounds more rehearsed. More accurately, it’s strikingly similar to the first line that pops up when anyone searches up Stark Industries. 

“Doesn’t sound much to me like a merchant of death.” 

You might have been better off forgetting Steve’s words, but it’s all you can think of when you picture what lives in the labs just below you. As much as you wanted to play out the rest of your life with Tony in blissful ignorance, you were constantly exposed to things that made you question if it really was bliss. 

You expected maybe a twitch of the brow from Jarvis, the face trying to compensate for what the mind already knows. Instead, Jarvis’ mouth turns downward, cocking his head in confusion at the moniker.

“Where did you hear that?” 

Before you can answer, Tony’s voice bounces down the hallway. In the next second, he’s back in the office, and Jarvis is standing. You’re disappointed (and shocked) that Tony didn’t take as long as usual, having to cut the conversation short. 

The older man shoots you a curious glance as he leaves—an unspoken reassurance that he does indeed expect an answer at a later point. 

“Everything okay, doll?”

Tony asks, because you're too busy thinking to mind your face, and it looks troubled. You shake it off though, smiling and taking the hand he holds out. 

The two of you have that dinner, though the entire evening you catch weathered blue eyes watching you from afar. 

Remember that thing about rich boyfriends and their busy jobs? Yeah, that becomes a pain quickly. You could handle the phone calls on dates or distracted answers while an email is answered no problem. But once Tony brought you to the tower, he didn’t see a reason to keep you away anymore. You happily started spending most of your nights there. You just didn’t fully process the implications of Tony living where you work. Most days he manages to spare an hour here and there, interrupted by phone calls and meetings. So, often you roam around, trying to not wonder just what your boyfriend has to do to earn all that money. 

You pick up on a lot of little things about his life from pure close-hand observation. The Tony you know is sweet and passionate. Tony working is almost an entirely different breed. You thank god that you’re just dating him and not working for him. The sternness  he tended to use with you wasn’t exclusive, but dialed to an eleven when he came to his work.

The most jarring, however, is the constant presence of armed guards at the Tower, even in Tony’s penthouse. You think back to every date so far, scanning memories for shady figures waiting by exposed exits. A few potentials stand out, but you can’t be certain your memories aren’t being falsified by present events. 

One morning, you pass one of the men on your way to the kitchen. It’s an early morning, at least for you, coming down the stairs as he pours a cup of coffee. It strikes you, since they normally keep near the elevator and you’ve never seen them do anything except stand around. 

The bald man nods towards you, and out of nothing more than courtesy and habit, you nod back. He retreats to his post without another word soon after. 

Despite the early hour, Tony’s already risen before you and is likely tucked away somewhere working. Peace is a valued comfort, of course, but the tower gave you an overwhelming sense of emptiness without Tony around.

Any mess you leave is miraculously cleaned (you learn this is Jarvis’ doing), and most of the tower is off-limits for you. Still, you enjoy being relatively closer to Tony than you were most days, so hanging around isn’t too much of a burden. 

That morning proves fruitful as well, as you get to speak to Jarvis again. That’s not to say you haven’t seen him. In fact, he’s almost always somewhere nearby. The issue being that it’s normally coupled by Tony or other parties. This time, he’s alone. 

You’d entered the kitchen that morning in a determined search for caffeine, planning to spend your day shopping for something new to wear for a gala that’s a ways away. It’s a much calmer experience without crowds, so you got an early start.

Jarvis enters soon after the guard leaves, setting fresh kitchen towels onto the island. 

“Morning, ma’am.” he says, opening a cabinet across from you. 

You laugh lightly, finding it odd that a man old enough to be your father would waste such honorifics on you. You inform Jarvis of such, to which he gives a chuckle of his own.

“It’s simply out of respect and the nature of my work, nothing more.” he explains, delicately laying each towel in the small space. 

“You don’t find it weird calling people younger than you sir and ma’am?” 

It’s a pretty genuine question, having never been in such a role yourself. The cabinet is shut with a soft thud as Jarvis turns towards you. 

“I do not.” 

He goes for the recently emptied coffee cup beside you, refilling it before you can tell him that’s not necessary. 

“Might I inquire to you about something?” he questions, handing you the warm mug.

You were expecting a continuation of your earlier conversation. You had prepared questions of your own, of course. Mostly about Steve, and definitely a few about Pepper. A nod of agreement leaves you as the warm liquid slides down your throat.

“Do you not find it–strange, romantically involving yourself with someone so much older than you?” 

The raise of his brow tells you he is similarly being genuine. This floors you though. Ironically, that was one of your main reasons for rejecting Tony all those months ago. But lately? You barely even thought about it. You’d stopped paying attention to the odd snide comments and the occasional bizarre look. Really, the fact only comes back to you when Jarvis mentions it. Come to think of it, you can’t recall Tony ever bringing attention to it either. 

“I don’t really notice the little jokes and weird looks anymore, so no, not at all.” you shrug, taking another sip.

“I mean no disrespect, simply curious.” he laments.

“None taken, don’t worry.”

“Might I also ask then,” he pauses, testing out the words in his mouth first and waiting for your approval. “–how your family’s temperament is towards Mr. Stark?”

“My parents died when I was really young, and they were both only childs, so I’m gonna say it’s pretty neutral.” 

Jarvis goes a tinge red at this, immediately apologizing as if it was somehow his fault. You can’t help but laugh at the contrite attitude. He stops once he sees the grin on your face, breathing a sigh of relief that he hadn’t seriously offended you.

“You’re fine, really, I’m surprised Tony never mentioned it to you.”

“Mr. Stark is typically a private man, and I doubt he would share such information with anyone without your permission.” 

“Yeah, that can be– annoying.” you sigh.

“I understand, naturally is,” Jarvis nods towards you, walking past you to exit before halting. “Employ a bit of patience, if you can. Mr. Stark’s stress is greatly alleviated with your continued presence.” 

If his behavior now was relaxed, you didn’t want to imagine how he was prior. 

That afternoon, you returned to the tower, spoils in tow (and paid for with Tony’s matte black card). Despite the time, there wasn’t a sign of Tony anywhere. Most of the lights were off when you entered, causing you to pull out your phone flashlight like some kind of horror movie. You made your way through the penthouse, flipping switches and checking rooms. 

Kitchen, empty. Office, empty. Gym, empty.

Your voice bounced through the hall as you climbed the stairs, calling out Tony’s name. Disappointedly, you were only met by silence. Out of the last forty-eight hours, a grand sum of eight of them you shared with him. One out every six hours (and most of those you were asleep). The recurrent solitude made an evening in your own home suddenly sound much more favorable. 

You traipse into the bedroom, tossing the gown that you were very excited to show Tony into one of the massive closets. The random handful of items you had scattered around the room are thrown into your bag. Some you leave in their place–you knew you wouldn’t be away long. A bright light shines in your face when you fumble with your phone, reminding you to turn it off. It also gives you the literal lightbulb idea to text Tony.

[ heading home for the night, call me when ur free ]

In the still quiet of the penthouse, a beep reverberates behind you. Puzzled, you turn, noticing the golden light trickling from under the bathroom door. 

“Tony?” you call out again, crossing the room towards the door. 

On the other side, water runs for a moment, followed by the click of the lock as the door opens. 

“Hey, honey.” he drawls, walking out with a sniffle. 

“You okay?” you ask tentatively. “It was like, pitch dark in here.”

He pulls you into a welcomed embrace, wrapping large arms around your body tightly.

“I’m fine, they’re just timed. Gotta be eco-friendly, right?” 

Tony punctuates his sentence with a kiss on your forehead. You stay in his embrace as long as possible, resting your head against his chest. His heart thumps heavily, beating like a rabbit through the soft cotton of his shirt. 

Eventually, the embrace has to end, mostly so that Tony can plead to you to stay another night. He promises that he’s yours for the evening, and given that this was what you preferred anyway, you oblige. 

First though, Tony has a surprise. One that he swears will make the tower feel more comfortable for you. His surprises are typically rather ornate or sickeningly expensive. This one, however, is moderately less materialistic than usual.

Down the hall from the frosted door of Tony’s office is a room that you were initially told was off-limits. As you reach the end of the hall, Tony explains he needed just a little more time for some ‘finishing touches’. 

Another keycard is produced from his pocket, swiping on a reader much similar to the one in his office. When it beeps in response, the card is planted firmly in your hands. 

“Go ahead, check it out.” he grins, motioning towards the door. 

Tentatively, you enter the previously inaccessible space. Once inside, your jaw nearly drops. It’s not a large space, but it takes a while for you to process everything within. 

Shelves stand tall with various jars and tubes of paint, elegant brushes and canvases of every size. Tables sit near pristine walls, freshly painted and holding any medium you could possibly want. The walls are bare, save for the antique painting hanging by the window. You recognize it instantly, not believing your eyes at first. Tony doesn’t need to say it for you to know–this was all for you. 

What Tony does feel the need to say is that if everything isn’t to your liking, he can have it changed in a day. He worries as you stand silent, not reacting in explosive joyful glee like he hoped. 

“No, no, it’s perfect.” you swiftly add, turning to him beaming. 

You’re still in awe as relief passes through him as your arms wrapped around him. Somehow, Tony always manages to redefine what you thought you deserved. There’s a painting worth half a million dollars sitting less than 10 feet away, and it was purchased just for you. 

An impressive length, all for a simple smile. How the hell could you ever settle for anything less from anyone else? 

Sure, you don’t realize this is a purposeful gift to encourage you to stay around the tower more, and the knowledge wouldn’t change anything anyway. 

After you thank him excessively for the next ten minutes (to which Tony’s response can mostly be summed up as ‘has literally no one done anything nice for you? ever?’), the dress you bought earlier comes to mind. Tony thought you learned by now that he’d buy you the world if it was for sale, but indulges in your feverish gratitude for the time being.

You do the leading this time, back into the bedroom where he waits on the black duvet for you to change. It’s a magical feat that you manage to get it zipped up alone. Stubbornness also plays its own role. 

When you reemerge, it’s Tony’s turn to be rendered speechless. A sleeveless auburn number wraps your body, cinching at your waist and following to the floor. Cut-outs show off your midriff, letting the cool air cover your skin. The high level of regality is new to you, but you weren’t risking the embarrassment of being underdressed a second time. It’s also Tony’s favorite color to see you in (which you totally didn’t know and totally weren’t exploiting for this very purpose). 

“Well?” you start, give a small twirl. “What do you think?”

There was a worry that he might find it too much. Another thing you picked up on over the last few weeks was Tony’s subtle disdain for clothing he found tacky or too revealing. You hadn’t managed to hit that threshold so far, and knew it better to avoid.

“As amazing as you look, I think you need to take that off before I end up ripping it to pieces.” he responds, voice low and hungry. 

Solace finds you, pleased that you didn’t make a wrong choice. It’s brief though, because a second glance at Tony reveals that while he liked the choice, (almost too much, really) he also wasn’t joking in the slightest. 

A raise of an eyebrow says it all–don’t make me repeat myself. 

So, under his fervent commands, you wind up pinned below him, dress long discarded on the plush carpeted floors as his fingers curl inside of you. A hand keeps your wrists pinned tightly above your head, keeping you at his mercy. If you could call his unrelenting fingers mercy.

You quickly grow more frustrated than ever at the barrier of clothing on his body. It’s always goddamned there, holding back the warmth you can feel radiating through. His restraint prevents you from taking the friction you need. You’re further burdened by the teeth grazing your neck, sucking slow and teasingly on your pulse point. All the man had to do most days to turn you into a needy mess was kiss you, but after so many busy days, this was sweet torture. 

Tony knew it too. The increasing pitch in your whine was music to his ears. It’s not before it’s broken and whimpery, your excitement coating his fingers. Every movement was overwhelming, and yet still managed to leave you desperate for more. 

“Please, Tony, fuck-” you plead, interrupted by your own moan when he curves his fingers again. 

“Aw, do you need something, darling?” he whispers, moving away from your neck. “I know I taught you better than that–use your words, pretty girl.”

This isn't an uncommon taunt of his, loving the embarrassed shy look that crawls over your face each time. He’s pleasantly surprised tonight, however, as you just about had it enough to give in. The award for longest time to make someone wait under they verbally beg for you to fuck them goes to Anthony Edward Stark, with an impressive record of eight months.

Your brows furrow, trying to find your center again to speak with clarity and not falter under his gaze.

“Would you stop being an asshole and just fuck me, please?” you sighed exasperatedly. 

Manners would be something to correct later. For now, Tony’s happy to focus on rewarding your needy pleas. 

Your wrists are granted all too short reprieve, as he takes little time undressing, climbing back on top of you and attacking your neck with hard, bruising kisses. The hard member you’re used to having constrained by high-end slacks feels larger pressed bare against your folds–hot and heavy as he returns a hand to your wrists.

His free hand aligns him at your entrance, stopping when he notices your tightly shut eyes. Now that simply won’t do.

“Open those pretty eyes.”

It’s a short and breathy order, the tone earning your instant compliance. Tony’s eyes are dark above you, catching them only for a moment before he swiftly sinks into you (he’ll allow it this time).

 There’s little resistance, as you were already a mess from earlier, but his thick member still stretches your walls. You cry out when he reaches the hilt, snapping his hips into you only to withdraw and fully sink back into you with the same speed. 

Tony gains a new found appreciation for the philosophy behind a reward being sweeter the longer you wait. There’s nothing more delectable in the whole world right now than the fractured moans escaping you, despite your visible attempts to bite them back. As much as he wants to commit this coy little expression of yours to memory, he’s clearly not doing his job if you’re able to hold anything back.

The hands above you let go, gripping your hips instead to thrust deeper into you. It does just what he needs to do, listening to the sweet sounds of your whines as his cock reaches right where you needed to. All this time without h, combined with his fast and hard thrusts has moan after moan falling from your lips. 

Tony can hardly contain himself either, high off the sticky mess you're making. Your neck is perfectly dotted with tender marks from his mouth, only driving his ecstasy further. 

He knows he’s being more than rough, pounding into you relentlessly–you’re just taking him so well, your nails leaving tiny red crescents on his thighs. It drives him wild, possession does go both ways after all. Every erratic breath and tremble of your legs came from him. You were his–who begged for him and moaned his name. 

The fast, rough pace pushes you to your peak not long after, and Tony recognizes the stuttery pitch of your voice. 

“Go ahead, darling.” he whispers into your ear, voice soft and gentle despite how deep he was inside you. 

Your legs wrap around his waist as your core swells with pressure, desperate for him to be impossibly closer than he was. It’s not long after your voice breaks altogether, falling into a slight plea as your walls tighten around him.

The feeling of you losing yourself around him sets off something entirely new in Tony. He’d never miss another chance to make you his like this. A deep groan echoes in the bedroom walls, unsteady hands holding your hips tighter. 

He was absolutely nowhere near done with you. 

Before you can catch your breath, it’s taken as he slams into you with renewed energy. A string of curses leave him when your back arches into him, straining against his hold. 

Your body feels white-hot with pleasure. You were used to Tony pushing you into orgasm after orgasm, alternating between his mouth and fingers until you’re a pile of jelly below him. This was entirely different, hit that spongy spot inside of you over and over as your walls shutter. It leaves your whole form trembling, mind blanking each time he bottoms out.

“Shit, Tony, I can’t,” you whimper.

It’s a broken plea, already feeling your body go taunt a second time. Still, you hope for a bit of reprieve, just enough to bring your mind back to earth. 

“You will for me, darling.” he groaned, voice heavy and breathless, bringing a hand to your hair and exposing your neck to his teeth for another assault. “I know you can take it.”

A shiver runs through you as his latches onto your neck, deciding you could stand to have more marks across your skin. You’re completely lost in the throbbing member splitting you apart, aimlessly grabbing at the soft sheets below you. He leans back, pulling your hips up to keep slamming to you, letting a hand wrap around your throat and press against the fresh mark left there. 

“All mine, aren’t you?” Tony moans above you, close to his own peak. He just needs to feel your body to submit to him one more time.

The tender pain in your throat mixes deliciously next to the sweeping euphoria. You want to answer (mostly because you know he’s expecting one), but all your mind can zone into is how electrified your skin is.

“Aw, is my girl too fucked out to answer me already?” he taunts, even if the sight of you this blinded by pleasure nearly sends him over. 

No one else could ever have you like this, he’d make sure of it. You were past shame over how his words left you, cruel or praiseful. Any utterances that made it known you were his turning your body into melting sugar. 

Tony’s own hips stutter, bucking into you as your peak hits you again, your moan silenced by the tight hand around your throat. He’s close behind you, keeping his rhythm until the shake in your legs lessens. 

He sinks into you, caressing your face and burying himself back into your neck. A long moan floods your ears, feeling him still inside of you and paints every inch of your walls white. Hot, heavy breaths cover your ear as he fills you, not withdrawing until he’s certain you’ve taken every drop. 

You’re an exhausted pile of bones below him, leaving him feeling quite prideful. Stark on the other hand is oddly energetic. He disappears for a moment, returning after putting his boxers back on and grabbing a towel.

He lies beside you, watching the rise and fall of your chest. Soft praises and peppered kisses follow, trailing along your face and shoulders. He tells you over and over how perfect you did, though you're still barely present. 

You’re focused on calming your breathing, so Tony’s praises fall onto distracted ears. You aren’t that distracted, though, as his next words ring through clear as day.

“I love you, doll, you know that?” It’s barely above a whisper, spoken between into the delicate skin of your collarbone.

You turn your head almost instantly, blinking rapidly because surely you didn’t hear that right. The words left him before he knew what he was saying, caught up in the swirl of post-coital bliss. In an unusually empathetic act of vulnerability, he stands by it. The declaration is repeated louder to your stunned face. 

He’s not that vain that he expects an immediate reciprocation–though you eagerly give one anyway. That's all good and well, except he senses concern in your voice.

“That’s just how every guy wants to hear that, thank you.” Tony jokes, propping himself onto his elbow with a grin. 

“That came out wrong, I just,” you chuckle softly, trailing off. “You are being genuine, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks matter-of-factly.

“I guess–be honest, you really don’t mind being with someone like twenty years younger than you?” 

He throws his head back in laughter, and you use the little energy you have to swat at his shoulder. 

“You’ve been talking to Jarvis, haven’t you?

“How the-what do you mean?” you fully turn on your side to face him, more puzzled than before. You also worried you somehow crossed a line discussing Tony with someone else in private.

“Don’t sweat it–Jarvis is more of an old friend than an employee, regardless of whatever the old bat says. He’s just overprotective.” 

“And he was worried about us?”

“More about you, specifically, that you were some covert gold-digger playing the long game for a chance at the Stark inheritance. He didn’t believe that I had to damn near beg on my hands and knees for a simple dinner.” he says indignantly, and you have to roll your eyes.

“What if I was? You don’t know.” 

“Please, no one trying to woo me for my money would start as many arguments with me as you do.” 

“I do not start arguments, if anything you’re the one-” you start to defend yourself, then Stark raises an eyebrow and the sentence dies on your tongue. “Okay, point taken.”

Tony pulls your naked form towards him, your head resting on his chest as your body curls beside his. You’re more than spent, the sound of his heart still racing after all this time doesn’t process under the lure of sleep.

For now, you’re too in love to care. 

-

When you wake, Tony’s absent from your side. This is not unusual in the slightest for any night you spend here, but it's barely four in the morning. 

You scan the dark room momentarily before switching the bedside light on. Groggily (and on sore legs), you rise, tying a short robe around yourself. Thinking of yesterday, you actually check the bathroom this time to find it empty. You ventured out of the bedroom to an empty and pitch black hallway. Deja vu feels like an understatement. 

You start to call out his name just like before, stopping once you see the light flowing from the kitchen downstairs. As you descend, Tony’s voice grows louder. His back comes into view once the final step is crossed, with another figure in front of him. 

Tony swivels slowly when you enter, and you notice the person he’s speaking to is the same young man from the photo. You cross your arms over your body as best you can when you enter the space, suddenly feeling very underdressed for meeting a stranger.

“Sorry, did we wake you?” Tony asks apologetically, to which you shake your head and yawn. 

“Harley, this is [y/n], [y/n], Harley.” he continues.

Harley holds a blue duffel in his right hand, giving you a curt wave with the other. Under the bright kitchen lights, however, he gets a better look at you. You don’t understand why in the moment, still half-asleep, but he makes an unsettled face at you before darting his sharp eyes back to Tony. After which Tony tells you he’ll be up in a moment and you return back to the warmth of the sheets without protest.

It’s not until you step into the bathroom later in the day that you figured out why he looked at you that way. A few tender marks still spotted the left side of your neck and the top of your chest. While not the best first impression, it sends a wave of excitement through you at the sight. A bit of concealer goes a long way after you shower. 

Tony explains that Harley is just stopping by briefly, and that he’ll be leaving after dinner tonight as you get dressed. You obviously spend the entire day worried about it, convinced any further interaction with Harley will be painfully awkward and uncomfortable for you both. 

Unfortunately, you end up wishing things were just awkward. 

Jarvis prepares an excellent meal, and you make it through the first two courses with Harley’s eyes piercing you across the large dining table. It’s not constant, as he manages to dart away each time Tony speaks to him as if he never looked your way. Engaging in conversation becomes troublesome under his gaze (though it’s mostly just Tony asking Harley about some trip he took). You almost start to think you’re imagining it, wondering what the hell his issue could possibly be.

Thankfully, Tony has to excuse himself for a phone call, leaving the two of you alone.

The moment Tony’s out of earshot, Harley leans in, placing his elbows on the table and clasping his hands. 

“Are you even old enough to drink?” he questions dramatically.

“Are you?” 

“Funny.” he snorts, taking a bite of roast potatoes.

He stays quiet for a second as Jarvis clears away empty dishes from the table. 

 “That’s not a yes, though.” he hums in a high pitch.

“If it would get you to stop staring, I’m twenty-six.”

Harley hums in approval, sitting back in his chair. 

“Was that really your problem? You know you could’ve just asked at literally any point in the last hour, or hell, asked Tony.”

“Oh, I did.” he scoffs, shrugging his shoulders. 

Tony returns, taking his seat in the same breath that Harley wipes his mouth and stands. 

“Well, I’ll leave you and your child bride to it.” he declares sarcastically, turning for the exit.

“Excuse me?” 

Tony’s voice stops Harley in his tracks, rising and closing the distance to the young man. You heard worse, but based on the tightness in his jaw you can assume Tony hasn’t.

“Oh, come on. She’s not even four years older than me. What else would you like to call it?” Harley jests, laughing.

“You have a flight to catch, don’t you?” The edge in his tone shocks you, and cuts Harley’s laughter straight away. 

He takes his leave without another comment, but he does give you another overdramatic wave on the way out. You tell Tony what passed between you two in his absence and ask what all that was about, but Tony just shakes his head and apologizes. 

You’re not sure why–it hardly bothered you as much as it did him. 

Later that night you overhear Tony on the phone. You presume it’s with Harley, hearing Tony mention something about ‘showing more respect’ and ‘minding your own business’. You hope it isn’t Harley–even though the kid was an ass, Tony speaks with a ferocity that unnerves you just as the eavesdropper. 

Fall passes by without more pop-up visits from impolite guests. 

While painting will always be one of your first true loves, even the strongest of loves can grow tiring. The technical term is typically referred to as a lack of inspiration. You can’t get a single image out of your brain and onto a canvas. It’s a well deserved burnout though, the rest of the studio space lined with finished paintings. A consistent month and half of work proved quite the endeavor. Most are simple plays with color, though there are a few you came to be very proud of.

Yeah, a break would probably do you some good. 

There’s more than one traditional seat for you to choose from, all extremely lush and definitely better for your back. The floor works a lot better though, so you stand and stretch the soreness from your body. Would you learn your lesson and sit in the chair next time? Nope. 

The evening was growing near, evident by the lemony sky. Your hyperfixation meant a lot more nights indoors, even on the sparse evenings Tony was free. All signs pointed towards taking advantage of what was likely one the last warm nights of the season. 

You wasted little time changing out of your paint covered sweats, throwing on a simple blue skirt and white sweater. 

On your way downstairs to his office, you spot Jarvis in the kitchen preparing a drink you presume is for Tony. 

“Oh, I can take that to him.” you intercept him at the bottom, taking the cold glass in your hands. 

“Very well.” he nods to you, taking in your dressed up state as you walk away, not expecting either of you to leave the tower that night. “Shall I have the car ready for you and Mr. Stark?”

“For me, definitely. Can’t promise anything about him.” you call back to him, increasing your volume as you head further into the hall.

You knock once you reach the glass door, waiting idly until you hear his voice call out come in. Tony doesn’t lift his head when you enter, scrawling away at something atop his desk. You hear him muttering to himself softly, shirt disheveled and unbuttoned. 

You’re certainly not silent as you cross the space. Your heavy boots made a mild thud on the hardwood floor, surely loud enough to get the average person’s attention, you thought. 

Nope, wrong. 

He does know you’re there, however– the screens in front of him are switched off as you approach the desk, head never lifting from the papers.

You wait patiently beside his desk, setting the drink down the corner. His attention doesn’t yield for no less than five minutes after. When he does finally address you, it’s with tired eyes and gleams. 

“My, my, my,” he whistles, guiding you over to straddle his lap. “What a fantastic surprise.”

Tony’s hands can never be idle more than a moment, already snaking them under your skirt to the supple skin of your backside.  He’s much more interested in that than anything you say about leaving the tower. Who could blame him, really. Any red-blooded man would after hours of phone calls and calculations. 

You twitch when he squeezes hungrily, sensitive from the same hands the night prior. He’d nearly forgotten, and the remainder is a good amusement. 

“You know, I could get so much more work done with you just like this.” he hums, lifting your sweater to graze your stomach. 

“You’re welcome to join me.” you point out, linking your arms around his neck. 

“There’s nothing more I want, but I have a few more things to take care of here.”

You figured as much, of course. Knowing that answer was coming doesn’t make it any less disappointing. Conversely, seeing your smile falter for any reason is akin to a tragedy for Tony. 

“How about this, it’s still early– you go out, have fun, I’ll pick you up for dinner later.” he concedes.

That fixes the problem, earning Tony a very satisfied kiss from you. It’s long and heavy, nearly enough to make him consider sending you out on shaky legs, but he resolves to bring that fantasy to life another time.

An hour or so drifts away as you take in the fresh autumn air, window-shopping from store to store. Close to when you're due to meet Tony, you stumble across something you can’t be sure is a really bright bar or a super dark restaurant. As you go for a better look through the towering windows, the doors beside you swing open. 

You spot Steve first, getting a clear view of a reddened cut above his eye. You fail at turning away from the door in time. It was worth a shot, even if he was just five feet away.

“Oh, would you knock it off–I’m not gonna bother you.” he exclaims exasperatedly, a deep slur in his words (so that solves that mystery).

You give a half-hearted surrender with your arms, watching him head for the street corner. Mid-way, he stops, turning back unsteadily.

“You still with Stark?” he questions.

“What’s it to you?”” you scoff, rolling your eyes. This was what you wanted to avoid–annoying people and their annoying judgements.

“Just don’t tell him you saw me, okay. I don’t need more shit with him right now.” 

Remarkably, Steve sounds genuine. Well, as genuine as a drunk man can sound. A grand opportunity presents itself. Someone with a lot more information than you needs something of you. 

“Sure, okay.” you agree, watching a breath leave Steve. “If you can tell me what you meant at the party.”

Steve, having drunk every drop of Kentucky Bourbon on the block, happily obliged your question for the small price of not dealing with Stark. 

If asked to make a list of all the things you guessed Tony was involved in, your brain would assume the best of the worst to ease its conscience. Steve’s answer is, tragically, nowhere on that list. 

You wander around for a bit playing moral adjudicator in your mind. It’s a consuming task, and in your concentration you space completely on the fact that you were expected somewhere. In your bag, your phone buzzes to no answer, muffled in the city’s noisy ambience. 

You have to see for yourself, which makes the tower your destination after you’ve calmed your nerves enough. It’s been ages since you’ve taken the subway anywhere, though you somehow manage to work through the busy platforms. You remember you live in the age of technology, deciding to rely on your phone for navigation. 

Two missed calls and around five unanswered texts from the past half hour await you, all from Tony. You swear to yourself as the train car rocks, hurriedly typing a response. 

[ where are you? ]

[ on the way back now. didn’t feel well. ]

Lying feels like swallowing a bitter seed. You know that ‘s not an answer. You know you’ll have to find some way to explain the missed calls later. Honestly, that might be the harder task than covering a lie. All you hoped was that New York traffic would play in your favor and you could make it back before him. 

The luscious bells of victory are right in your sight as elevator dings! open. Your genius plan to check his office is foiled quickly, the black card reader blinking back at you tauntingly. 

A moment passes where you question your own motivations. Why were you even bothering to let someone else get into your head again? You could ask him anything, so why lie to him when you chose to stay in the dark–

You all but fly up the stairs, striding through Tony’s bedroom and into the bathroom. It takes a while for you to find it, having to scour the numerous cabinets one by one. Your hands touch a rough leather pouch, right under the sink.

You open it tentatively, praying for Steve to be wrong, but your fingers find the small plastic baggie within, and your stomach flips when you know he was telling the truth. 

You don’t have long to process it. The elevator sounds again from below

Shit.

You thought you had more time to craft a better excuse.

“What happened? Everything okay?” 

His voice is stern even if his words are sweet, turning his body towards yours as you enter the kitchen. Your hands reach for a glass to fill with water, needing a distraction to ward off his gaze. 

“Got a little dizzy, took the subway back.” 

“You took the subway alone? This late?” 

You can’t tell if he’s wrestling between concern and suspicion, or just pissed. Although, here would be where a normal person would remember that under a year ago you took the subway later than this five nights a week. 

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m just going to get some rest.” you smile weakly, swallowing the rest of your water and heading to walk past him. 

Tony makes a quick step to the side to keep you there, looking down at you with pointed eyes. Despite the small heat in his eyes, a hand caresses your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. 

“Who were you with?” he asks slowly.

“No one.” you replied, keeping your voice light and confident.

Or so you thought. Tony’s fingers wrap the base of your nape, tilting your head slightly to see if you have the gall to lie to his face.

“Is there a reason you’re lying to me?” 

“How long?

“How long what?” he scoffs, unyielding. 

The tiny plastic you’ve been white-knuckling for the past few minutes is dangled inches from his face. That hardened jaw falters, shortly returning with a dry chuckle and sly smirk.

“How long have you been meeting Steve behind my back?”

part four coming soon

tag request: @those-late-night-feels

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 5

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: Get ready, there be some surprises in store for this one…

Word Count: 5,100

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut (m. receiving oral and implied smut), SB’s attempts at flirting lol.

Part 5: Morning, Night & Day

Now that you were allowed to roam the mansion freely, you were able to confirm that it was huge. And it was beautiful…if a bit dusty. 

The house boasted Spanish style arches and textured walls, cherry wood furniture and rod iron lamps and wall sconces, not to mention various art pieces on the walls that looked well-curated. No doubt Soldier Boy had hired an excellent interior designer.

You were more interested in the garden outside. It was tucked away behind the pool, in the shade of large palm fronds and bigger trees. Peeking through them was a lovely view of the mountains. 

Though it reminded you of the damn cliff where you fell, Soldier Boy saving you, and of course, being an arrogant asshole about it. 

Your lips pursed in annoyance. What a dick.

Expelling a heavy sigh, you shook the thought of him out of your head as best you could, and tilted your head up to the sunshine. You’d found a nice stone bench to just sit and be, and try not to think about why you were here.

“Lunch time,” Frank said, encroaching on your solitude. He wasn’t a chatty man, always one to hand off your meal and leave. Escort you back to your room and leave. 

You were bored enough (and perhaps lonely enough) to attempt a conversation.

“You seem to be the brains of the operation,” you remarked. “Yet he’s got you babysitting me. My condolences.”

Frank gave you a bland look. He wasn’t a hothead like Tony, but he was starting to look annoyed as he was still holding out the plate to you. It looked like a roast beef sandwich on rye with some mixed fruit on the side. At least they were trying to keep you healthy.

“I’m not a fan of rye bread,” you admitted. “Tastes like sour cardboard.” 

But you took the plate anyway. 

“Want to sit?” you offered a place next to you on the bench, before Frank could scurry off. “I doubt doing Soldier Boy’s bidding is more fun than ignoring me for a few minutes.”

You could tell he was about to leave anyway. So you tried one more thing.

“He’d probably want you to watch me,” you pointed out. “Make sure I don’t choke on a grape or something.”

Frank’s mouth twitched, though it wasn’t quite a smile. After a moment of indecision, he surprised you by sitting down with you. You’d been trying to get Frank to talk to you for days, but he was definitely the strong and silent type. The good soldier, following his orders. 

You were a curious person by nature, but more than that, you wanted to know what kind of men your captors were. You weren’t just learning Soldier Boy. You had to learn his team too.

So you offered Frank a grape. He met you with a raised brow, but he didn’t take it. You shrugged and popped it into your mouth.

“So,” you started, tucking into your sandwich next. “Ex-military, turned private sector?” 

Frank shot you another look. He was older than you, though not quite old enough to be your father. He could have been around M.M.’s age.

“You carry yourself like an military man. Marine maybe,” you guessed. 

Frank sighed and gave a short nod. “Good guess.”

“My father was a Marine,” you said. And that was the truth. Military men ran in your family—from your father to your grandfather, though you’d never met the latter. He’d died of liver and kidney failure, thanks to good old-fashioned alcoholism.

Frank snorted. “My condolences.” 

You eyed him with a small smile. “You got a family? Wife and kids?”

He hesitated, casting his gaze ahead. You sensed it was a question with a potentially loaded answer, so you let it be. 

“Yeah,” you said. “I know the feeling, being married to your job. Harder to quit than heroin.” 

When you offered him another grape, this time, he actually took one.  

Being able to tell between night and day somehow told your body that the night was no longer for sleeping. So your wandering continued that night. 

Moonlight poured through the tall windows outlooking the garden, but most of the mansion was dark and eerie and all but silent, except for some quiet rain pattering outside. 

It’s like an episode of Scooby Doo in here, you thought with a shiver. The long halls were empty and mostly dark, with just a few dim wall lights along the way. Still, you’d rather be alone than run into one of Soldier Boy’s goons, or even the man himself. 

But you wanted to rejoice when you found the kitchen. Finally, you could put together a meal for yourself that wasn’t a damn sandwich. 

Both the pantry and fridge were fully stocked with expensive-looking ingredients. At the moment though, you weren’t so hungry for a heavy meal as you were for a snack. Maybe something for your incurable sweet tooth. 

You rifled through and found something you recognized: a family-sized tray of Chips Ahoy. 

Ooh, success! With a grin, you ripped open the top and rifled through the cupboards for a glass.

“The hell’re you doing?”

You jumped with a yelp at the voice that startled you. You looked over your shoulder and frowned in annoyance when you noted Soldier Boy in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame. A snappish retort was on your tongue, but at the last moment, you held onto the threads of your temper.  

Don’t be difficult, you reminded yourself, however much the thought grated.

“Midnight snack,” you replied, nodding to the open parcel of cookies. “Want some?”

You took out two glasses without looking at him, but you could hear him approach. When you went to the fridge to look for some milk, you noticed him take a seat at the kitchen island in front of you, where there were three stools. 

“What’re you, a fucking eight-year-old?” he remarked. You raised a brow at him and took no less than five cookies from the tray. 

“You’re never too old for milk and cookies,” you said sagely. You were a proud dunker, and you did so until your cookie was half-soggy with milk. You shoved an entire one into your mouth and looked him in the eyes when you did it. 

His lips tugged upwards, dryly amused, while his gaze not-so-subtly raked over your form. You almost rolled your eyes, but you resisted. He could take in your oversized shirt and sweats all he wanted.

“‘S that a man’s shirt?” he asked. 

“Yeah. Not a lot to pick from here at the Holiday Inn,” you quipped. You were running out of clean items that would actually fit you, and you weren’t about to run around here in some of the slutty shit you’d found.

“Can’t sleep?” You distracted him with the question, then slid a glass of milk in front of him. Regardless of what he said, he’d glanced at those cookies twice. 

This was an opportunity, you thought. A chance to get into his head, see what the fuck made him tick.   

Soldier Boy eyed the milk, then you. After a moment, he grabbed a cookie and took a bite. He didn’t answer your question, and instead asked one of his own.

“How’d you get caught up with Butcher?” he asked. 

You smiled behind your glass. It seemed he was curious about you too. 

“I work at Supe Affairs.” That was easy enough for you to admit. And if he was smart, he would’ve had Frank run a background check on you. 

Soldier Boy snorted. “Yeah, I figured that fucking much. Doesn’t answer my fucking question.”

So damn rude. You wanted to sigh. 

“I help run surveillance,” you said. But before he could ask his next predictable question, you continued, “Grace Mallory recruited me because I was a private investigator…and like you, I worked at Vought for a while.”

His attention piqued at that. 

“Though your tenure was a bit before my time,” you couldn’t help a light jab. 

His lips curved again. “Why’d you take a job you couldn’t hope to win? You got some vendetta against me, like Butcher?”

You arched a brow, watching him shove another cookie into his mouth. If anyone had a vendetta against him it was M.M., but trust Soldier Boy to conveniently forget murdering the man’s grandfather.

“You’re asking if I’m obsessed with you? I think not,” you said with a genuine chuckle, then sipped at your milk with some decency. Unlike your companion, who already had a pile of soggy crumbs on the counter beneath him.

Soldier Boy shot you a frown, and his eyes said he didn’t believe you. He sat back in his chair, his jean-clad legs falling open casually. His gaze on you, however, was anything but. You wouldn’t admit it, but it made heat creep up the back of your neck.

“Really?” he said. “‘Cause I gotta tell ya, sweetheart. During your slutty little seduction act, you were pretty fucking responsive.”

He rubbed his palms slow down his thighs, like he could still feel yours wrapped around his hips and grinding your hot core against his slacks. 

You stared back at him as your lips pressed together. 

Soldier Boy tilted his head at you, his smile turning smug. “The filthy sounds I was getting outta you…”

You set down your glass on the counter. Reaching for another cookie, you rested your elbows on the counter and leveled him with a teasing smile of your own. 

“Unlike you, Ben, I’m a good actor,” you replied. 

His brow twitched at that, however subtle. You couldn’t tell if using his real name annoyed him, or if it just added to the game you two were playing. But it felt right, stripping him of at least that façade. 

He wasn’t a soldier. He wasn’t even a superhero, really. He was just a man. 

Albeit, a super fucking strong one with an ego the size of Empire State. But a man. The same kind you’d dealt with all your life. 

And he crossed his arms, like he was starting to lose his patience with you. 

“Then why’d you come out here?” 

Munching on a dry chocolate chip, you answered, “To get paid. Why else?” 

Again, it didn’t look like he believed you. 

“You don’t look the type,” he said.

“Don’t I?” you said. He seemed to know you were holding something back, but not willing to admit he wanted to know it. 

And you weren’t willing to give it to him. He didn’t need to know that you’d taken this job to support your family. Because what the hell would he know about family? 

…But at the same time, his curiosity just made it all the clearer: in whatever small way, you’d piqued his interest. He wanted to figure you out. 

And maybe that was the real reason you were still alive. 

It started to happen like that more often.

Midnight snacks, as you’d continued to call it in your head. When you couldn’t take being alone with your thoughts (or being alone at all), if you made your way to the kitchen you often found Ben.

Whatever was keeping him awake, he seemed to crave the company as you rifled through the pantry. From alfajores, macarons, and chips, to the entire leftover ham from dinner, he often smoked a large blunt and ate whatever you found. 

You’d taken a hit once when he offered, but the shit was so strong than you abstained afterwards. You wanted to be in your fully right mind around him.

And you talked—about the old-ass TV shows he never got to see the end of, and the new music he hated. You’d enjoyed (gently) teasing him about being an old man who didn’t understand Cardi B when you played it on his phone. You suspected he didn’t quite understand how all the bells and whistles worked on an iPhone yet. (But he’d taken it back from you before you could text anyone.)

“In my day, there was a little more fucking class,” he’d said. “Sinatra. Nat King Cole. Christ, the fucking Beatles.” 

You’d rolled your eyes at that. You liked all those guys too, actually. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t bang out all the words to “Bodak Yellow” and “Please Me.” 

You also talked about the movies he missed out on. The ones you thought he’d probably enjoy, like the Terminator sequels and Liam Neeson’s Taken (if only for the sheer irony). And all the while, he asked you probing questions he likely thought were subtle. 

“What did you do at Vought?” he asked over chips and salsa. 

You thought the salsa was a bit too spicy, but he was lapping it up. It both amused and disgusted you. 

Until he licked some of it off his fingers. Catching your gaze, his became mischievous. He slid his fingers out of his mouth with an obscene noise. All the while, his deep green eyes held yours. 

You would never admit to being turned on, but you felt your cheeks warming up as you fought not to react, watching the juices drip down his fingers.

“I ran down criminals for the supes to ‘catch’ them,” you managed to reply. “They just got to do the sweeping in part.”

“Lazy shits,” he remarked, licking off the remaining salsa from his hand. You tried not to focus on the sight of his tongue. Afterwards, he gave you reprieve by wiping his hands on a paper towel.

What the fuck is wrong with me? You inwardly shook your head at yourself. 

“Back in my day, we actually ran down our own leads,” he said. “Sure, we got tips every now and then, but we did our own busts.”

You didn’t know how much of that you could believe, considering he’d never even fought in World War II, despite his numerous claims of pounding Nazis up the ass.  

“How’d you end up there, anyway?” he asked. 

“Vought paid more than private practice,” you wryly replied. 

He eyed you then. “And before?”

Before? Was he just bored, or did he genuinely want to know about your life? 

Still, this was starting to veer into things you’d rather not talk about.  

“Worked for my dad’s P.I. firm,” you said, making an effort to untighten your spine. “I learned what I know from him.”

That much was the truth, though you hadn’t spoken to him in over a year. 

Ben chortled, making you frown. “‘A’ for fucking effort there, sweetheart.”

You huffed. Yes, you did realize the irony of being kidnapped by the man you’d hunted down (sort of). Didn’t mean he had to be such an asshole about it.

“He must be fucking proud,” he added. Your gaze sharpened with irritation. 

“Like your dad was proud of you?” out came your pointed reply, before you could stop yourself.  

His amusement faded, likely as he stared back at you and saw that you knew for a fact what he’d told Butcher.

A fucking disappointment.

He didn’t bother lying, but his lip curled into a sneer. 

“Be careful, sweetheart,” he warned. You heard the underlying threat in his voice. You forced yourself to keep your mouth shut, lowering your eyes. The act was grating on you, boiling your blood.

But it seemed to mollify him enough. He let out a low chuckle. 

“I’ll let that one go,” he said. “Next time, I might not be so fucking nice.”

You believed him. 

It was a week of this, before you finally found out the hard way where Ben’s room was. 

You were wandering down a long hallway on the second floor, over in the west wing of the house. Your room was in the east, so you really hadn’t seen this side of the mansion before. The problem was, all these halls were looking the same to you. 

And now you had no idea how to get back to the main hall, where by now you could navigate downstairs to the kitchen, the back garden, the pool hall, a study room (with several shelves of books), a gym, and even an indoor movie theater. 

Suddenly, you thought you heard a woman’s voice, high and giggly. What the hell?

Your natural curiosity led you farther down the hall, where you could see light and movement beneath the closed door. Whatever (and whoever) was in there, you really should just let it be. 

You’d been able to successfully avoid Ben for the past few days, and you didn’t feel like dealing with the headache of another encounter with him—for as long as you could manage it.

So you were just about to turn back and keep on your merry way.  

But when you heard a slap, followed by a feminine cry of pain, you halted in your step. With your brows crunching in concern, you couldn’t help but approach the door again. You leaned in to listen.

Another slap, another pained mewling from the girl. Your mouth turned down in an angry frown of alarm. 

What the fuck is going on? You didn’t know what kind of sick shit he was into, but if he was hurting some poor girl for his own entertainment, you knew you couldn’t just walk away. 

After one more second of hesitation, you gripped the door handle and shoved it open. 

What you found seared your eyes. 

In unblinking shock, you took in the shambled state of Ben’s room. Clothes strewn haphazardly about, remnants of lines of coke on the coffee table, plates of half-eaten delicacies left on a wheeled in buffet, bottles of liquor, half-empty glasses and shots rolling around. 

And a California king bed occupied the center, where the sheets and pillows had fallen off while Soldier Boy fucked no less than five prostitutes. All looked to be of various ethnicities and a wide age range. The oldest of them looked saggy enough to be in her seventies, but she was working as hard and skillfully as the rest of them.  

One of the younger ones, maybe around your age, was getting spanked by one of his large hands while another girl’s head bobbed over his lap with gusto. The other three were finding things to do, whether on the man himself, or to each other in front of him on the bed. 

In reality, you probably took all this in for just a few seconds. 

But a gasp fell unbidden from your lips, along with a “Jesus fucking Christ!”

Ben looked like he had been working up a mild sweat. Broken from his concentration though, he glanced up at you. And then the broadest, Cheshire cat fucking grin spread across his face. 

“Hey, baby doll,” he greeted mischievously. “You here to join in? Here, tag in for, uh…what’s your name again, sweetheart?”

He looked down and grabbed the shoulder of the girl in his lap. She released his cock out of her mouth for a second to answer, “Jasmine.”

“Sure,” he said with a nod. Then he frowned and gestured to his still rock-hard dick. Your eyes widened in shock—both at the audacity, and at the size of it. You blushed hotly.

“But don’t fucking stop now, Jesus,” he said to the girl. And he looked over at you with a raised brow. “Unless you wanna jump in…but seriously, don’t make me wait all fuckin’ day here.”

Your face contorted in disgust. 

“There’s not enough fucking therapy for this,” you muttered. 

Then you fled the room, slamming the door behind you so hard that it rattled. It still didn’t muffle his laughter behind the door. 

Your face, neck, and the tips of your ears were on fire as you hastened down the hall. 

By the time you got to the kitchen, you could even hear your rapid heartbeat in your ears. You set a hand over your chest and felt the thump, thump, thumping under your palm. 

Images continued to flash through your mind—naked flesh, bouncing tits, shockingly adept wrinkled hands. And then the man’s chiseled bare form, planes of tanned skin over muscle, and strong-looking hands.  

Fucking hell. You shook your head to try and rid yourself of your brain’s ongoing loop, but it was a losing battle. With a long and frustrated sigh, you reached into the fridge and grabbed all the ingredients you needed to make a damn sandwich. 

You knew Ben had hired a personal chef (Simone, you thought her name was), but you were pretty sure she was currently part of the service the supe entourage today. 

You slapped together a turkey and provolone sandwich with some lettuce, mayo, and a pickle for added “razzle dazzle.” 

Though on second thought, you put the pickle back. 

With an aggravated huff, you stood at the counter and tore into your dinner (you were too angry to sit at this point). You devoured half of it and nearly a whole bag of Doritos by the time that cocky bastard strolled in like the cat that got the cream, and clearly, more than once.

He looked freshly showered, and finally clothed in casual pants and a buttoned down shirt, rolled up on the sleeves.

Ben eyed you with a smirk. You raised a brow at him. 

“That was fast,” you remarked. “I expected you to be in that fuck dungeon all night.” 

“I wouldn’t call it a dungeon,” he said, leaning on the other side of the counter opposite you. “More like a cellar of fine delectables.”

You snorted. “All right, Hugh Hefner. I want to scrub my eyes with bleach.”

“Didn’t look that way from where I was sitting, doll face,” he quipped. His brow rose at you with a salacious, curling smile. You leveled him with a look. 

“At the very least, you would’ve ended that little dry spell of yours,” he added playfully. 

Your gaze sharpened at that. You dropped your sandwich on the plate to glare at him. “Excuse me?”

“What’s it been?” he asked, leaning closer into your personal space with a more knowing grin. “Don’t really fucking tell me it’s been three years since somebody’s laid you out right.”

Despite your outrage at his audacity, your mouth fell open the slightest bit. 

“What…”

Again, he eyed your form, and not subtly at that. Today you’d found a pair of jeans that you’d managed to squeeze into. The polo shirt clinging to your waist and ribs and tight across your breasts wasn’t helping you either.

But you were honestly surprised he could still be looking at you like that when he’d just been doing some Olympic-level fucking. 

Your spine tightened nervously when he straightened to his full height, walking around the kitchen counter towards you. His hand slid across the surface, his head tilting at you in amusement. 

“It’s amazing what you can hear on shitty hotel roofs,” he said. 

Your eyes widened when you understood what he was getting at. When you were on the phone with your sister… 

“Maybe then you’ll—and let me not shock you here—meet someone,” Louisa had said. “And finally put an end to that three-year goddamn dry spell.”

And that prickly feeling you’d felt then, licking up your spine and raising the hairs on the back of your neck…

“You were watching me,” you realized.  

Ben just looked down on you with a deepening smirk. His green eyes were alight with mischief, and yeah, probably lust too.   

“You fucking creep,” you said, with both a sigh and a roll of your eyes (despite your growing blush). 

He chuckled and raised a hand to lightly grip your chin. “That’s not very nice.”

You glared up at him, too angry and stubborn to remember to mind your temper. He seemed to like it though, working you up. He teased and prodded you enough, almost like a little boy trying to get a girl’s attention. Except this one was the most powerful supe alive.

So why does he like it so much, this stupid cat and mouse thing?

Not for the first time, you wondered why he decided to keep you around. And you had a feeling it wasn’t just to bait your friends. Maybe he just liked toying with you, seeing how far he could push until you snapped.

And then what? you wondered. 

Though if you were honest with yourself…you were just as into this little game as he was, albeit for different reasons. You wanted to understand him. 

At first, it was the job. Know the man you’re after.

But now, it was more. Knowing Soldier Boy, getting to know Ben would be the key to making it out of this situation alive. You just knew it…if only he didn’t make it so damn frustrating. 

“Seriously, tell me,” he said, still with a deceptively light grip on your chin. The pad of his thumb brushed your full lower lip, making your breath hitch. He glanced down at your mouth, then back into your eyes. 

“How fucking long’s it been since that pretty pussy’s been touched?” he asked. “‘Cause in my opinion, that’s a crying shame.”

For a moment, your breath got stuck in your throat. You felt a hot blush rising in your cheeks, down your neck…and maybe warmth between your legs at the mere suggestion.

You inwardly steeled yourself, clamping down on your anger and your embarrassment. Instead, you leveled him with a cool smile. 

“Not forty years, I’ll tell you that,” you said. 

While he raised a brow, he let you slowly push his hand away. You left him in the kitchen soon after, but he watched you go. Whether you meant to or not, the sway in your hips and your delectable ass in those tight fucking jeans made his dick twitch. 

Figures, he thought, that you’d get all fucking huffy. He shrugged and picked up half the sandwich you left behind. 

You found nothing else for your frustration but to head outside.

With a sigh, you sat down at the edge of the massive pool and just dipped your legs in. You didn’t have a swimsuit, and you didn’t want to take any chances by getting your clothes wet around here. Or even worse, stripping down to your bra and underwear. 

You blushed at the memory of Ben’s proximity, his touch, his rich, teasing voice that dripped with lustful promise. And that just reminded you of the scenes from his room, which flashed in your mind every so often like a bad porno. 

Shit. You absently bit at one of your nails. Ben had also heard that entire conversation with your sister. That meant he knew about her, and that gave you no small amount of anxiety. 

But he already had you. He hadn’t tried to extort you for anything (yet). You knew though, that if he threatened Luisa, or tried to use her to manipulate you in any way, there wasn’t much you could do but play along, like everything else. 

Right now, anyway… 

You noticed a dark shape out of the corner of your eye, and for a moment you were annoyed, ready to tell Ben to give you a moment’s peace. 

But it wasn’t him. It was Tony standing near the end of the pool. He must’ve been freed from desk duty, or whatever Ben had him doing while he presumably recovered from his injuries.

“What up, Tony?” you greeted, unable to resist a teasing smile when you noticed the large boot for his broken foot. Now plus a few extra bruises from your last tussle. They were dark, but yellowing around the edges. 

His lips twitched at a cold smile. “They’re letting the little mouse out of her room now?”

You shrugged, smirking.

“You look good,” you replied. “How’re the balls though? Still broken?”

Tony expression tightened into a glare. “You better watch it, bitch.”

“Or what?” you challenged.  

There was enough distance between you and him across the pool for you to feel comfortable, but really, you weren’t too afraid of Tony.

Yeah, he was a dick. But you’d taken him down before. You could literally break his balls again if he needed more encouragement to fuck off. 

Tony just smirked back at you, deciding to leave you alone for now. You watched him head back into the house with sharp eyes. He wouldn’t take you by surprise again.

Frank was waiting for you when you got back to your room. You were more relieved to see him than you’d like to admit, and you greeted him with a genuine smile, before you noticed the shopping bags in his hands. 

“What’s this?” you asked. Frank dutifully handed you the bags, and inside you found new clothes. They actually seemed to be your size. 

You looked up at Frank, both shocked and grateful. “You got me clothes?”

“Boss’s orders,” he revealed. Your brows rose high at that. 

“He told you to do this?”

Frank expelled a breath through his nose, hesitating, like he was debating how to frame his reply.

“He provided them,” he said. It felt like a confession, one that made your eyes widen at the implication.

Soldier Boy bought you new clothes? 

You didn’t know how to compute on this one, honestly. But you still answered with a tentative, “Oh. Well…thanks.”

He nodded, and soon left you with your thoughts and your spoils. You went into your room and dumped the bags onto the bed so you could examine their contents. 

There were casual shirts and yoga pants, a couple pairs of jeans, some sneakers, thank God. All the bras and panties, however, were lacey and expensive.

You shook your head with a smile, eyeing the labels. This man really went to Victoria’s Secret to buy you new underwear. 

It was both kind and somewhat sleazy, knowing he was going to be imagining you in the sexy, but admittedly tasteful lingerie. 

The “kind” part took you by surprise though. The clothes overall weren’t revealing or obnoxious. Even the underwear and bras were in styles you’d probably wear, under normal circumstances. 

So you put together an outfit out of one of the shirts and a pair of jeans, breathing a sigh of relief when you could peel the old ones off. 

This was a far cry from bullying and annoying you, and generally being an arrogant son of a bitch. 

The truth was, Ben was confusing you.

Perhaps now more than ever. 

AN: 🤭 Well, one would argue that she saw more sides of Ben than she thought she would (or wanted to). 😜

Let me know what you thought of this chapter! Things are definitely going to ramp up in the next one...

Keep Reading: PART 6

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @pallographsunspot @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @syrma-sensei @muhahaha303 @123passwort @xoxovienna @magnificentnightmarehadi @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @yvonneeeee @fckinel @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @waters-2567 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow @buckybarnes-1917 @secretdreamlandmentality @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine

[garfunklefield]

Like Nobody Else

fem!reader/Ryomen Sukuna Warnings: fluff, highschool au? you two are juniors probably, sukuna has a heart, this is really stupid and last minute i just needed to write fluff NOWWW Word count: 419 DESC: Sukuna realizes he might just have a crush on you

Me after writing Nanami NSFW: yes i must write sukuna fluff now

Link to my Ko-Fi if you want to support me!

You had looked at him like no one else did. Ryomen Sukuna was the most feared jock in your high school, everyone knew it. He was notorious for beating someone up if they looked at him wrong. Bad girls who smoked behind the school flocked to him with their witty banter and the fact they’d follow him like a dog, and boys with no real personality aside from the fact they had tattoos too. 

But you were different. You weren’t the typical nerd girl who was scared of him. Yeah, you were a nerd. You had anime stickers on your notebook and water bottle, a few piercings in your ears, and an outgoing fashion style. But you weren’t typical. You were notorious for being overly caring. Think of your freshman year when you jumped the fence to rescue a bird who was about to be hit by a truck. Then for the rest of the year, you were known as bird-girl.

It surprised Ryomen when he forcibly bumped into you one day, hoping for a reaction and instead, he got … a smile. It shouldn’t have been too surprising, I mean you were a kind soul. But to everyone, including him? He didn’t understand it. 

“Good morning, Sukuna,” you said politely, dusting off the area that he had bumped into. He stared at you with a hardened expression for a moment. Were you stupid? There was no way you didn’t realize it was the Ryomen Sukuna. 

He grumbled and greeted you by your last name as well, glancing away for a moment. You blinked a few times and then asked, “Is there anything you need? I was just about to go to class. You can join me if you want,” you motioned to him, your smile growing wider. 

You wanted … him to walk with you to class? You had to be stupid. There was no… A sudden lump formed in his throat and he felt a prickling sensation in his cheeks. Wh… It was strange. Almost like he was dying! A twisting knot formed in his stomach and it felt as though he was going to explode at any moment. 

“I… need to go. My intestines are shifting,” Ryomen said hollowly, slowly backing away and clutching his stomach. Before he turned around and bolted in the other direction.

He gaped with horror in the boy's bathroom, after a quick Google search, that confirmed one of two things: Kidney stones… or he just formed a massive crush on you. 

[scientia-rex]

Good morning! I have a question. When I look up info about vitamin D, I come across many claims that people generally don't get enough of it. In a recent episode of Maintenance Phase, however, the hosts called it a "scam" or overblown, at least (I don't remember the exact wording). So, like, what's the deal with vitamin D? Do Americans get enough of it?

Probably, mostly. At the very least, people should be tested before starting repletion. It probably has a role in osteoporosis treatment and prevention, BUT how much to take and what form and when is HOTLY debated and frequently conclusions are changing.

Just to take you on a spin through the most recent Cochrane reviews (THESE ARE NOT SINGLE STUDIES, in case any of the research-naive out there want to get pissy about them; look up what a Cochrane review actually is before trying to shit on it; also note that I did NOT say this will cover every fucking person and every hypothetical they can come up with, jesus CHRIST):

No role for vitamin D in asthma

Insufficient evidence to recommend it in sickle cell

Raising vitamin D levels in cystic fibrosis patients is not beneficial

No evidence of benefit of vitamin D in MS

Supplementing vitamin D in pregnancy may have small benefits but also risk of harms

No clinically significant benefit from vitamin D supplementation in chronic pain

Insufficient data on vitamin D in inflammatory bowel disease, but no evidence of benefit

No evidence of benefit of vitamin D supplementation in liver disease

Vitamin D does not appear to prevent cancer in general population

No evidence for benefit in supplementation of vitamin D in premenopausal women to prevent bone density loss

Possible small mortality benefit of D3, but not D2, in elderly patients, but also increased risk of kidney stones and hypercalcemia

Vitamin D alone ineffective, but combined with calcium may be effective, in preventing bone fractures in older adults

Insufficient evidence for vitamin D improving COVID-19 outcomes

Now, vitamin D plus calcium in people who have post-menopausal bone density loss does seem to prevent fractures. This is why doctors routinely recommend it. However, dosage and formulation are still debated as data are insufficient, and uncertainty still large.

So, do you need to supplement? Probably not. There is some fairly weak evidence that vitamin D supplementation may help with depression, but I would argue that it's going to be most relevant in people with pre-existing deficiencies, which Medicare is just hellbent on not letting me test for anymore. They've narrowed the coverage codes for testing so now even know vitamin D deficiency isn't considered a good enough reason to test. So Medicare has very clearly decided it's not relevant, for whatever that's worth, I spit on their graves, etc. Of course, then you get into the question of what counts as a deficiency, which we also really don't know.

And to be clear, I wasn't looking through the Cochrane review results with an angle--those are most of the first page of search results on their site, with the only one skipped being similar to another one I mentioned, and I stopped when I got bored. These should not be paywalled, as I am not logged into anything and I can read it all, so try clicking the side menu on the right if you have trouble getting into the weeds.

If anything, running through this little exercise has made me less likely to recommend vitamin D supplementation, so do with that what you will.

[reddpenn]

Here is a song about my rock collection! It is a tune you probably recognize. Lyrics under the cut!

Permit me to parade my petrological anthology Collected in my quest for comprehensive mineralogy. Their shininess is second to their science and lithology. This song’s about my rock collection! Man, I love geology.

Oh, amethyst is purple ‘cause of iron, isn’t that real neat? And citrine is just amethyst plus lots of geothermal heat. And smoky quartz is brown from radiation and aluminum… Inclusions such as chlorite, rutile, goethite can bloom in ‘em!

(Inclusions such as chlorite, rutile, goethite can bloom in ‘em!) (Inclusions such as chlorite, rutile, goethite can bloom in ‘em!) (Inclusions such as chlorite, rutile, goethite can bloom in bloom in ‘em!)

Oh, sapphire and ruby, well, they’re both corundum chemically And emerald, aquamarine, and morganite are beryl. See, Historically each color had a different etymology And now they’re in my rock collection! Man, I love geology.

(Historically each color had a different etymology) (And now they’re in my rock collection! Man, I love geology.)

My fluorite is a favorite when it’s glowing under UV light. But should it be from Rogerley it changes when the sun is bright. And if you like fluorescence, put this fact inside your cranium: Chalcedony glows green because of ions of uranium!

When making porcelain vases, you need kyanite that’s powdered fine And celestine’s in fireworks and toothpaste such as Sensodyne. There’s mica in your drywall, and the litterbox has zeolites… Your bones and teeth and kidney stones are all hydroxylapatites!

(Your bones and teeth and kidney stones are all hydroxylapatite!) (Your bones and teeth and kidney stones are all hydroxylapatite!) (Your bones and teeth and kidney stones are all hydroxyl-apple-apa-tite!)

When dating strata layers ammonites can be real helpful guys. The sutures in their shell can tell how long ago they fossilized! And artifacts obsidian track trade in archeology. Those ancient folks had rock collections, man I love geology!

(And artifacts obsidian track trade in archeology.) (Those ancient folks had rock collections, man I love geology!)

Oh, did you know that peridot, as super hot peridotite Makes up the planet’s mantle and is also found in meteorites? Which make lechatelierite when it’s sandy soil that they strike. Another form of that is made by lightning, that’s called fulgurite!

Well, garnet makes the best dodecahedrons that you’ve ever seen. Prismatic crystals with three sides are quite unique to tourmaline. A certain mine in Spain produces pyrite that is cubical… Lepidolite can be botryoidal, but that’s quite unusual.

(Lepidolite can be botryoidal, but that’s quite unusual!) (Lepidolite can be botryoidal, but that’s quite unusual!) (Lepidolite can be botryoidal, but that’s quite unusu-usu-al!)

My knowledge of earth sciences is only as an amateur. But hounding and collecting rocks ain’t only for a connoisseur. And for my love of minerals I’m making no apology. Cause rocks are fun for everyone and man, I love geology!

(And for my love of minerals I’m making no apology.) (Cause rocks are fun for everyone and man, I love geology!)

[clockworkdragonffxiv]

I started my D&D campaign back in April of 2020 shortly after the COVID Lockdown hit. I was bored out of my skull and stressed, and a friend had expressed his frustration with his own D&D group and I just went "Fuck it."

I hadn't played DnD since college. I had never GM'd a tabletop game. But I had nothing better to do. So I went on to Discord into, like, the three channels I'm active in and rounded up a gaggle of friends from FFXIV and from my old City of Heroes group. For my starter campaign I used the very first Eberron campaign ever published for I think 3e or 3.5e, converted to 5e, "The Forgotten Forge."

And three and a half years, multiple cases of COVID, two rounds of cancer and chemotherapy, four or five moves, three kidney stones, multiple bouts of depression, and a half dozen job changes, we finally finished the campaign at level 16, having convinced the Lord of Blades to devote his talents to building the new Warforged nation and healing the Mournlands using the unique techno-organic warforged plants and animals we'd discovered, instead of his original plan which was to absorb the power of a Creation Engine and a Demon Overlord into himself, achieve apotheosis, and drown the world in a tide of blood.

My original plan for the final battle has in large underlined letters the phrase "Biblically Accurate Chainsaw Angel" and included a speech with lines like "LET THE SEAS BOIL AND THE SKIES FALL! LET THE WORLD BURN!"

Also probably ending up with the players picking the Red, Blue or Green endings from the End-o-Matic 9000.

But that didn't happen.

So instead, the campaign that started with our little group of heroes stumbling onto the murder of a professor with the clues to a hidden workshop, ended with the wedding of Seeker the Warforged Artificer, the man who'd talked the Lord of Blades down (despite having a Charisma of 8) and now holds the title of Maestro Seeker, is an advisor to the national leadership, and is the teacher of a whole new batch of warforged, and the warforged medic Solace, an NPC whose existence began as a joke about Seeker having a whirlwind romance with a medic in the space of about 23 minutes while the rest of the party were running errands.

Hot damn was that a lot of work. Three and a half years, and despite it starting in modules by the second I'd decided I didn't like the story as it was written, threw it out, and told my own story. Featuring friendly little fire elementals named Phil, packs of extremely patriotic and laddish mimics named Jimmy, an eight foot robotic sweetheart named Friend whose primary weapon was an equally massive tower shield and her totally-not-boyfriend warforged druid/allosaurus/swearasaurus Din, a wrestling match with a hobgoblin that nearly turned lethal when an 18 foot tall warforged titan came in with the steel chair, an alligator with a gun, and banishing the elemental dragon powering a flying battleship while A) the team was still on the battleship and B) it was still several hundred feet in the air and C) it was the only thing keeping it there... it's done.

And it was all worth it. God I love these guys. So here's to you, Katie, Jacquie, Mike, Stan, and Will. I'll see you all next week for our next adventure.

[deedala]

✨ weekly tag wednesday ✨

thanks for the fun and wild game @mybrainismelted and for tagging me!! + @energievie @lingy910y @spookygingerr @burninface !! 💖💖💖

Name:  deanna

Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? (or you):  i am in ohio 🌽

Ok, so this week we are going to snoop into your google search.  Type in each phrase and tell us what the first suggestion is that google gives you!

What is the best way to….  lose weight?  ex fucking scuse me?? i have never in my life googled this fuck off (body liberation you fuckers!!!)

Where can I…. watch quiet on set?  i dont even know what that is

How old is…. reba mcentire? loool cannot say i have ever really wondered this but i did watch a couple episodes of Reba last week-ish when i saw they added it to netflix??

How long does it take… to get a passport?  it is possible i googled this after realizing mine expired??

How many… weeks in a year?  this is definitely something i would google as i am awful at remembering numbers in the correct order

Who set the record for…. The highest jump.  yeah same i have never even wondered this let alone googled this lol

When did…. covid start?  i do not need to google this i actually remember it QUITE CLEARLY THANKS

What does it feel like to… pass a kidney stone?  lol YIKES, i have no really wondered about this nor needed to google it i feel like its pretty common knowledge that its fuckin painful

Can you… drink distilled water?  it tastes so gross though lol

When you… wish upon a star lyrics.  🤨 (just gonna keep kats commentary on that one cuz same lol)

Why do… cats knead?  so cute thanks google!! i've never googled it but it was a cute little result to look at thanks lmao

Is there a way… to save karlach?  what even is this i have no idea

How old do you have to be… to rent a car?  never googled that and dont need to know but ok

Where do the… pacers play?  is that a sportsball team?

What is the best time to… post on instagram? uhhmm not information i care about lol 

And to finish us off…. What comes up when you type in Shameless?  Shameless season 5 -- i mean yeah ok thats a good season i probably googled for it at some point for some reason lol

and now i shall hand out cookies 🍪 and also feel free to play if you want!! @michellemisfit @too-schoolforcool @darlingian @heymacy @heymrspatel @thepupperino @lee-ow @mmmichyyy @wehangout @metalheadmickey @whatwouldmickeydo @gardenerian @mickeysgaymom @gallawitchxx @callivich @vintagelacerosette @the-rat-wins @sam-loves-seb @blue-disco-lights @sickness-health-all-that-shit @samantitheos @loftec @iansw0rld @transmickey @tsuga-of-mars @ardent-fox @rereadanon @palepinkgoat @themarchg1rl @sleepyfacetoughguy @spoonfulstar @captainjowl @gallapiech @thisdivorce

[tehb3stsk4t3revr]

Got inspired by a post I saw this morning so here's literally 2 entire pages of headcanons comparing Infected and Kasper. Fair warning: It dips into talk of symptoms I imagine he'd have and the whole Poptart situation.

[A lot of which assume he'd have like. Actual biological needs instead of being Video Game-y, which seems to be sort of a grey area in-game anyway...]

Kasper was already kind of stupid so honestly not much is different on that front. Average 2010s gamer dudebro sort of deal. Although Infected has a bit more 'what kind of animal is the pink panther?' in him than Kasper.

Infected has next to no impulse control, leading to him doing things he shouldn't and speaking without thinking pretty much constantly.

Infected has balance issues that Kasper didn’t due to inner ear inflammation from the infection. He can’t really do anything on a skateboard anymore besides just stand there or go in a straight line. He can and will find a way to trip on flat ground.

He's convinced he still rules at it, though.

The inflammation has also made his hearing kind of shit. (The only person he can hear with perfect clarity is Folly, as she probably speaks directly into people’s minds or something lol.)

Infected loves soda and drinks basically only that. Boy who was born with kidney stones <3

The neurotoxin in his favorite soda was a deeply unreasonable amount of aspartame (and other chemicals. For fun! <3). Not being able to drink it anymore has somewhat improved his balance issues and memory, but he still misses how it tasted (it probably tasted like what you'd get if you boiled down an entire 2 liter of diet coke until it's barely a liquid then filled an 8 ounce soda can with that. Dude’s tastebuds and liver are Fucked).

Kasper had a fairly similar way of talking to Infected, minus the 1337. ("Sweet parteh trickz dud!11")

Infected is in constant pain. Headaches, body aches, sore throat, can't breathe well, burning skin, heavy eyes, nausea that won't go away, sniffles, random nerve pain, probably other shit. He barely notices it anymore unless someone asks how he's feeling. He doesn't have much energy to spare. He would come across as significantly more hyper/manic than how Kasper used to be if not for this.

He doesn't put any of the energy he has left towards cleaning. Kasper could deal with a little mess, but still picked stuff up when it got ugly. Lampert was also willing to help when he visited. Now Infected is too tired and unfocused to pick anything up most of the time, and Lampert refuses to set foot in the apartment complex until Kasper is better. Infected has started throwing garbage off the balcony when it gets in the way too much. It's kinda fun!

Infected occasionally dissociates. Finds later that he's already talked to someone about something and just repeated himself, bought something already and now he has two, spent hours on his computer without remembering a single thing he looked at, or already met someone he thought he hadn't seen before.

It has actually been explained to Infected before that Kasper is his name. This just started an argument and the topic was dropped forever from that point forward.

Infected is deeply stressed out by seeing his own face for reasons he can't communicate, so he avoids looking at it as much as possible. He used to have a mirror in his apartment but he threw it off the balcony in a fit of rage one night, then covered the blank space where it used to be with a poster. Same thing with ripping Kasper’s face off of the picture on his desk. Any photos of him that are on his PC have either been sent to the recycle bin or cropped so that his face isn’t in them. He's completely fine looking at drawings of himself though. That's definitely him.

When left to his own devices, Infected's diet is… Inconsistent. He will forget to eat for long periods of time then binge when the hunger pangs finally get so annoying that he can't ignore them anymore. He's at least sort of hydrated because there's usually a six pack of soda on his desk or by the couch, but unless someone on the elevator is feeling generous he doesn't remember on his own very often.

Kasper was very comfortable being physically affectionate with people and would be happy to cuddle or lay on a friend's lap if they were cool with that. Infected is even more touchy and would be clingy if he had chances to be, but due to his extremely obvious contagious disease nobody lets him get close. He is incredibly touch-starved and would probably get emotional if someone hugged him or even just sympathetically rubbed his back now.

 Kasper was alright at resisting the urge, but Infected has picked at every scab he's ever gotten, and he ends up with a Lot. He will pick at them until the damage is worse than the initial injury unless someone stops him/tells him to put a bandage over it.

Kasper would bite his nails to keep them short and pick his nose sometimes but Infected's nails are completely trashed. Some of them have scabbed over or still-bleeding cuticles and hangnails because he chews and picks at those too.

All of the contact with his spit has caused his fingernail textures to semi-permanently unload. You'd think they were painted if you didn't know why they looked like that.

Nosebleeds from his nasal cavity getting torn up from all the fussing are not unheard of and yet he's gonna keep doing it.

Constantly drooling when he's not talking. Some of it is post-nasal drip. Sometimes he remembers to wipe it off on his arm, but most of the time it just ends up on the floor/running down his face and soaking into the neckline of his shirt. Or sprayed all over the walls/someone's face when he sneezes.

Kasper used to keep a bottle of hand sanitizer in his pocket to help Lampert feel more comfortable. He stopped doing that forever ago after he got sick. (You know how rabies does a bunch of shit to animals to make them better disease vectors, including to their brains? Yeah, something like that).

On some level he knows he's sick. Would be more stressed out about it but the infection has repressed his ability to care (and the part of him that’s still aware of it is probably also heavily in denial). This has affected other aspects of his emotional range, causing it to come across as unusually flat, especially to those who knew Kasper.

Infected is scared that if he’s taken to a doctor’s office they’ll hurt him, so on top of genuinely not being able to recognize that he's sick he will deny all accusations regardless out of this fear. He’s technically not wrong, since trying to purge the disease to save Kasper would be extremely painful for him, but this thought mostly comes from his illness trying to preserve itself.

The last time someone tried to lead Infected to DrRETRO’s office for an intensive care stay he panicked upon realizing what was going on and fought back until they let him leave (fucked them up pretty badly), so now everyone keeps their distance and kinda uselessly tries to convince him to go voluntarily with their words.

Infected is incapable of maintaining strong negative emotions if pushed into being that upset. He'll be mad or sad for maybe a minute and then something else will get his attention or he’ll get too tired to think and he'll forget whatever was bugging him.

Every so often he will lose hope about finding Poptart and then abruptly ‘reset’ a minute or two into sobbing his eyes out, completely confident that any day now the little guy will come back safe and sound.

Despite this it is still really easy to get him Gamer Raging. Way easier than it ever was with Kasper, who was a pretty good sport in most cases.

Infected's particular brand of Gamer Rage is ‘Heckling people until they shut up/go away’, or until it's out of his system. This is the most typical way he processes anger. The impulse control is Seriously out the window when he gets like this.

Kasper knew a lot of stuff about the games he liked offhandedly (mostly competitive co-op FPS games like counterstrike, tf2, l4d2, etc) and could tell you so much esoteric bullshit about them, but if you tried to ask Infected he would get too excited trying to think of something he could share that would be really cool and then not actually be able to remember anything.

The only context in which Infected's reaction time isn't ass is video games. Something about muscle memory. In any other situations he is usually pretty slow to react. This does not mean he's slow to do things, though. When he's acting on a dumbass impulse thought he's probably halfway done doing it before anyone can stop him.

It is possible to get Infected to acknowledge that his situation is Fucked for a moment or two if you press him on the most obvious evidence that he's sick (his headaches, the fact his allergies haven't cleared up in years, the snot on his face, etc), and if you pressed hard enough you'd start to see him get scared. He knows you're right, but there's nothing he can do about it. And then the recognition would be gone again as soon as you stopped talking.

This doesn't work when you bring up his name (Who's Kasper? Never met the guy.) or objects in his surroundings, only symptoms of illness directly observable on/in his body.

[thenationaltreasuregazette]

Why so Many F*cking Lemons??

National Treasure is the kind of film that presents many mysteries and asks its viewers the hard questions. Questions like:

What if there was a treasure map on the back of the Declaration of Independence?

What if American history was a cool connected puzzle?

What there was a big ol' treasure?

But most importantly it asks us to consider:

4. Why does Patrick Gates have a whole fridge full of lemons???

Now the most obvious answer here is because the plot demands it. Ben and co need to cover the whole back of the Declaration in lemon juice, (although do they?) so they have to have enough lemons on hand.

The second most obvious reason is because the cinematography demands it. I mean this shot looks a lot better than, like, a single lemon. (Probably the same reason for Dakota Johnson's bowl of limes. It looks better.)

But neither of those answers are very fun, so let's dig deeper.

What is the plausible, in-story reason why Patrick Gates has a bowl of lemons?

Theory 1: Patrick Gates is a connoisseur of homemade lemonade

According to this hypothesis, Patrick loves homemade lemonade so much that he makes it for himself on the semi-regular. Yes, it's like October, but why should that stop him.

Does this check out?

When we meet him, Patrick is hanging out alone in his bathrobe late on a Friday night, having had pizza for dinner and something from a soda fountain to drink. That doesn't strike me as a foodie who wouldn't just buy lemonade if he wanted some.

Theory 2: Lemon Fish

In this version, Patrick is about to grill some fish. There's a way to do it (which is really tasty, and doesn't require a grill pan or rack) where you place bunch of slices of lemon directly on the grill grates and grill the fish on top of them. The fish doesn't stick and it imparts a delicious citrus flavor.

But again, we run into the same plausibility issues:

it's autumn

the Patrick Gates we meet here doesn't seem dedicated enough to the food he eats to do through the somewhat tedious process of grilling fish, especially not in not-summer

Theory 3: Cards with the Boys

What if Patrick is part of a weekly rotating card game? It's maybe a few masons he knows from his treasure hunting days and some of the guys from the insurance company (I don't know what I think that Patrick sells insurance, but I guess that's the most 'square' job I could come up with).

They rotate houses every week or month, and it's soon to be Patrick's turn to host. The drink of choice amongst the group is whisky sours, tom collins's or another straightforward drink that requires lemon juice.

This at least I think is more plausible with what we see of Patrick's lifestyle than an explanation with a more foodie-type bent. With Ben and his ex-wife both out of his life, Patrick must be a pretty lonely guy. I like the idea of him having a circle of friends.

Theory 4: Health Benefits

And here I think we have the most plausible answer: that Patrick might be interested in the health benefits associated with lemons and drinking lemon water.

Different compounds in lemons can have benefits regarding

lowering cholesterol

managing blood sugar

kidney health

and more, but those are the ones I suspect Patrick might be interested in. He's of a certain age, lives alone, and (unless we caught him on an off night) might not take the best care of himself as far as his diet. Perhaps he's been found to have high cholesterol, is pre-diabetic or has other blood sugar concerns, or has the decreased kidney function that can be associated with aging.

Perhaps he's had kidney stones or another health issue or scare in recent years and is attempting to take better care of himself.

Maybe that soda fountain cup is full of lemon water.

Conclusion

While all of these are plausible to various degrees, I find myself more interested in the last two. Patrick as an aging man without any family (or at least not any family who still speaks to him), living alone and becoming concerned with his health is heartbreaking, but I think adds a certain softness to the character, and extra layer to him and to his reconciliation with Ben.

And in any case, I also like the idea that he hasn't been completely alone since his falling out with Ben. While Patrick does behave in a way that suggests a fairly traditional 'breadwinner,' family man masculinity, we at the National Treasure Gazette will always stan platonic relationships and social supports. I'd like to believe that Patrick has his own squad of friends he can rely on.

I don't think I've ever thought about Patrick Gates this much, but now that I have, I find myself kind of wanting to give him a hug? He may not be the easiest character to love, but he has his own struggles.

What about you?

What are your theories regarding the lemon bowl?

I'd love to hear in a reblog, reply, tag, etc!

[silence-burns]

Back

Fandom: Sandman

Dream of the Endless beheld the ruins of his kingdom and for the first time in over a century, he felt truly powerless.

The feeling wasn't as unfamiliar as it would've been before his imprisonment, but the sheer scale of it felt overwhelming. The glass that had held him captive was created to keep him away from his realm and away from using his powers. It was as simple and as brutal as most human inventions tended to be, but in its simplicity it failed to change who he was. Cut off from the rest of the worlds, he remained the same.

But here, back at the remnants of the Dreaming, Morpheus was no longer certain who he was. What remains when you take away the power, realm and subjects from the lord of it all?

Morpheus no longer knew the answer.

He sat at the stairs covered in dust and rubble, and patiently waited. Lucienne offered to check the palace grounds in hopes that anything awoken would come back along with him. It was a futile hope, he knew. The connection he felt with everything that was left was weak, but enough to let him know how much was truly gone.

Dream stretched his hand over the shattered marble again. His will pulled on the stone, but it only shook slightly before falling again. Whatever power he once had that shaped every part of his realm, was gone.

Footsteps echoed in the empty hall. It wasn't Lucienne.

You stopped a few feet away from Morpheus. You hadn’t changed much since the last time he saw you.

"I heard the news," you said with a shrug. "Sorry if I'm interrupting anything. I just wanted to see if maybe Lucienne grew a sense of humor after all this time."

Morpheus scoffed, but felt no real joy. "I suppose I'm as close to a joke now as I've ever been."

"That's not what I meant. I'm glad to see that you're actually back after all this time. It's just that the thought of it before I saw you felt so… unreal. More than the dreams usually do, I mean, my lord."

"Don't call me that."

What lord was he, without a realm to rule over? Through what power was his position secured, with his belongings stolen?

"Sorry. It feels awkward otherwise."

You hadn’t been a part of his realm for long before he disappeared. Morpheus still remembered the day Death had brought you to him with a smile as mysterious as it was confusing, and refused to elaborate further. Morpheus allowed you to stay if that was your wish too, but had always wanted to ask his sister about her true motives.

The Endless rarely intervened with each other's realms. It wasn't unheard of, but called for careful understanding.

"Why didn't you leave?"

That seemed to puzzle you. "Why would I? I was offered a place in your realm. Where else would I go, dead and alone?"

"There are other realms. Most of my subjects didn't have an issue leaving."

You knocked a pebble to the side. "I like it here, even now. Besides, I wanted to see you come back. Things changed when you were gone. We played cards with Lucienne for a while, both terribly, before those disappeared too."

Morpheus didn't reply. It felt strange to talk again, to have a small, simple conversation with nothing being demanded from him. No responsibilities to take care of. Just a few moments being offered, and taking away his worries with bad, lowly attempts at humor.

He felt a finger poking his cheek.

"Sorry," you said with not an ounce of apology. "You looked like a statue there for a moment. You should be careful, or you'll be mistaken for one. Rub some dust over that jacket, and you'll have the right color. Maybe pose a bit."

Morpheus just looked.

"Or we could rub a bit more and give you a ghosty, ghoulish appearance and scare people. I'd sell my left kidney to see Cain react to you emerging mysteriously from the mist. Abel would probably just cry, and Gregory follow him, but I bet it'd still be worth it. There are a few of us remaining in the Dreaming and I'm sure they'd like to see you, you know, your not-lordship?"

Humans, even a former kind, were absurd, fascinating creatures.

Morpheus stood up from the stairs. The destruction and chaos around him remained the same, but somehow, he felt as if some weight had been lifted off his chest. The loss was tremendous, but not all was gone. The rest could be rebuilt.

"Thank you," Dream said, and the stars in his eyes shone just as brightly as the first time you met him.

Your smile warmed something where his heart should've been. "You're welcome."

"Dream."

"Dream?"

"That's what you can call me."

"So dreams really do come true… That's quite fitting, actually. But let's go now, shall we? We should let the rest know they can come back."

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 3/5/2024

really fucking around in Breath of the Wild and not defeating Ganon, even though i think i am fairly well prepared, which is probably indicative of something or a metaphor for some larger issue. oh well! guess we'll never know!

listening

Rock the Jungle by The Daniel Pemberton TV Orchestra, off an album of music from and inspired by LittleBigPlanet, a video game i have never played. Daniel Pemberton is a remarkably prolific british composer who mostly does film these days but also does a lot of BBC stuff.

this is the kind of scrubby pad to the brain electronica i need sometimes. i think these are heavily filtered and processed kookaburra sounds? at about the minute fifteen mark it adds a rolling, rollicking bassline that is, as im sure we all know by now, fucking catnip to me. at about 2:20 it adds alarm blares that fade in and out of a sort of disco-y organ? it uses its five minute runtime pretty well imo. i think this was off the spotify discover weekly.

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reading

T Kingfisher's The Clockwork Boys, recced by @rae-being-naughty lo these many months ago, and my library hold finally came in. the goodreads blurb is a remarkably accurate sales pitch so let's yoink that

A paladin, an assassin, a forger, and a scholar ride out of town. It’s not the start of a joke, but rather an espionage mission with deadly serious stakes. T. Kingfisher’s new novel begins the tale of a murderous band of criminals (and a scholar), thrown together in an attempt to unravel the secret of the Clockwork Boys, mechanical soldiers from a neighboring kingdom that promise ruin to the Dowager’s city. If they succeed, rewards and pardons await, but that requires a long journey through enemy territory, directly into the capital. It also requires them to refrain from killing each other along the way! At turns darkly comic and touching, Clockwork Boys puts together a broken group of people trying to make the most of the rest of their lives as they drive forward on their suicide mission.

i had a lot of fun with this! very pratchett-esque in its imperial critique through bureaucratic loopholes thereof, which is catnip to me, but i do think Kingfisher is simply better at writing women. the forger is an only child and it fucking shows.

i think if it were 5% more devoted to Humorous Bits and didn't have some nice character work between the forging accountant and the big sad blond paladin man, i would have gotten frustrated with it. i think it is simply more of a comedy than any of its blurbs suggest, and it can be difficult to ride that line between comedy and character growth through desperate acts without getting a little bit of whiplash. this is me being very depressed and a bit nitpicky though. the line "Time passed, like a kidney stone" is going to stick in my brain for a while. i already have the sequel on hold

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watching

if you do nothing else today could you please watch this car chase for me? ok thanks

Gunsmith Cats is a three-episode OVA that's a fancam of the american city of chicago and the cool girls that live and shoot and drive there, but let's just yank the MyAnimeList description

In the dangerous suburbs of Chicago, skilled bounty hunters Irene "Rally" Vincent and "Minnie" May Hopkins run Gunsmith Cats, a firearms store of questionable legality. One day, Bill Collins, an agent for the Chicago branch of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives, blackmails Rally and May into working with him on a case. The stakes are high, but Rally’s gunmanship and May’s knowledge of explosives are unmatched. As Rally and May unravel the secrets of the case, the two will need to use guns and grenades while being faster, stronger, and better than everyone else in order to stay alive.

all three episodes are free (in really nice quality) on youtube. i pitched this to wendy as "rally is jigen lupinthethird's little sister" and her driving skills and marksmanship... i'm not sure who would win between them but i wouldn't like to live on the difference.

animators, historically, hate animating guns and cars, except for the masochistic ones who use it to flex. there are at least three shots in each episode where i want to stand up and hold my cat above my head and hoot like a fuckin tusken raider. in the first episode, there's a raid on a smuggling warehouse (you know, a warehouse) where the BATF agent and Rally throw each other their guns and have a really cool FALLING OFF A CATWALK back to back shootout. it's hard to describe. watch the episode. i wish there were more than three episodes.

this is an OVA that, aside from the requisite panty shot and WHOOPS my whole shirt tore (one of each per episode per girl) is fairly normal about women? rally and minnie are...roommates. that bicker and eat pizza. they have a cool network of other slightly shady women they interact with a lot, and the big bad for most of the episodes is also a woman. this isn't like a bastion of feminism or anything it's just neat. sort of middling on the ass portion of the Weeb Ass Shit scale. low on the weeb and shit parts too. again this is a fancam of chicago with cool girls

i watched this bc i was trying to use up kanopy credits and came across the precursor to this, Riding Bean, which i did not love for several reasons (the big one being the legitimately pedophilic lesbian relationship) but the creator took the concept of Rally out of that forty minute...experiment? and that led me to Gunsmith Cats. thank u ppl who put free anime on youtube

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playing

still futzing about in breath of the wild. fucking around with sidequests and a sudden need to at least discover all the shrines.

for example, i did all the labyrinth shrines. underneath the akkala labyrinth is the scariest room in the world, bc six of those fuckers are alive and they will all target you the instant you open that chest.

cannot be bothered with the eventide island shrine yet (the roguelike) bc it frustrates the hell out of me. did the thyplo forest one, which was extremely annoying bc it dimmed my whole TV screen (including the UI) instead of just dimming the game itself. im sure someone thought that would be such a cool detail but instead i found it extremely annoying and vey difficult to swap weapons or start campfires.

and then i trundled through a list of shrine quests, bc i apparently had TWELVE missing?? three were korok trials, one was eventide (apparently it only shows up as a quest if you are on the island or have finished it, bc if u die on the island it kicks you back to a pre-island save lmao) so for the others: three i just had to talk to people to officially start and then immediately complete the quest. remember when i was anxious about softlocking myself out of the jungle dragon shrine quest bc i went right there instead of talking to Kass? never fear, nintendo's got my back

"kay how did you possibly miss reading the giant stone tablet to start this quest--" i am not a clever woman. i go "oh i know what to do!!!" when i see the Orb and hare off without looking around further.

A Brother's Roast i missed bc i forgot to talk to everyone in Goron City after defeating rudania, didn't run across Test of Will (the Goron challenge in the Gerudo highlands) bc i forgot to look off that side of the tower and was very focused on gliding into the labyrinth at the right spot, and didn't run across Guardian Slideshow on the far south beaches bc i hadn't explored there yet.

A Stolen Heirloom was deeply annoying. i had four out of five quests complete to unlock this, but there is an unmarked side quest where you have to go into this lady's house at night to figure out she wants fireflies. maybe she has some ambient daytime barks about this? i have never heard them. this was a little obtuse. also i don't love the stealth in this game. this game's stealth really works when you are well out of detection range bc u have a sniper bow, and i find it works less well for me when i have to follow a target. no i haven't finished the korok stealth trial either.

non-shrine nonsense:

ive been using Stasis as a sort of VATS equivalent. in fallout, i like to hit VATS every once in a while just to see who's out there. how many radroaches are nearby. this also highlights most interactable things which i think is nice of the game

gerudo town stuff: i missed this sand seal racing challenge by SO little the first time which annoyed me so much, it took me six more tries to beat the damn thing. i am very charmed that they actually put in a garden for the kid who was trying to grow a garden!

some beach vegetation mysteries: im really baffled by this singular hearty radish growing in full sun in what is essentially sand with a dusting of palm bark. all the other hearty radishes i have seen are in deep forests with partial sun and lots of leaf litter. what the hell is this then. plus a neat little unique sea wrack? korok circle instead of the usual lilypads.

i didn't know this game knew how to do rainbows at all, let alone double ones!

i will leave you with my many attempts to make stamina potions.

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making

making things requires both the perfect levels of anxiety (too little anxiety and im out doing normal people things, too much anxiety and i shut down, a medium level means im frantically making things to distract myself. we are at the high end of medium) and some level of income bc i inevitably need one or two things to finish projects. eg we are at the level of anxiety where i am only able to do simple things like repainting a whole bunch of big frames for my maps (procured when i had money) but i need more matboard. so they are sitting, 90% finished, in my office closet.

garden update: more than half my bush beans came up with no leaves and promptly died, which could be due to any number of things but im choosing to believe it's bc my bestie's five year old planted them a little too deeply. so it goes. all the sweet peas are fine, all my normal peas and most of my regular climbing beans came up. a little annoyed bc only a third of my nasturtiums came up even after soaking them for 24h as recommended. the shit i Bought (tomatoes, marigolds, mint, rosemary) is doing fine. the spinach and dill i planted are doing fine too, although the spinach also had about a 50% germination rate. this does mean i don't need to thin them but. Hm. yanno?