#c: Ludicrous

[fireflyflits]

I'm going through some photo albums and found various sketches and doodles I've never publicly posted (I don't think i did anyway)

These are from 2018-2021

[ubourgeois]

Only Lovers Left Alive (2013) dir. Jim Jarmusch

[birlwrites]

happy valentine's day please imagine both evan and regulus just going SO overboard with presents, evan because he's just extra in general and regulus because he has no idea where to stop so he's opted to simply Not

[rahabs]

I want to play Cyberpunk so badly, but I cannot get over going through all that character creation only to never be able to see my character.

[tojiscumdumpster]

⠀ ⠀⠀ "unwanted" MATRIMONY

⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀byakuya kuchiki.

✧ summary to preserve the existence of y/n's clan, she is forced to wed the twenty-eighth head of the kuchiki clan—byakuya kuchiki.

✧ content warnings reader is described as a black woman who uses she/her pronouns. clanhead!reader x captain!byakuya. bleach verse au (no manga spoilers) byakuya is a noble, so they'll both be speaking as such. lowkey giving royalty au vibes. told in first POV — reader's. tropes included: arranged marriage, childhood rivals to lovers. usage of c*nt, missionary position, fingering, nipple play, praise and breeding kink, primal play, terms of endearment — blossom, my love, etc. plot with smut, fluff, and a touch of angst if you squint hard enough. lengthy, but the build up is worth it and necessary!

✧ author's note i don't have much to say, but here's to adding more bleach men to my roster. i knew i wanted to write for byakuya because that's my baby daddy, and now i finally have this idea i hope you guys enjoy. support me by reblogging, liking, and commenting your thoughts. i would greatly appreciate it. ♡ MINORS AND BLANK/AGELESS BLOGS - DO NOT INTERACT.

 I must make my days do, lazing around in my private chambers as I am bound to a marriage I wanted no parts of. Especially not with Byakuya Kuchiki. 

 Lord Byakuya, as he prefers me to call him.

 Because I am the current and possibly the final head of the L /N Clan, I am forced to complete my duties as such. Those duties entailed me following through with my grandparents final wish: get married and keep our family name alive. 

 Which I have no issue with fulfilling. 

 My dreams are filled with having children with a man that loves me. To extend our family and grow old together where our souls will find each other in another life. 

 However, I hadn’t planned my marriage to be an arrangement that I wasn’t aware of because of an agreement our grandfathers had prior to me being born. 

 It’s shocking, honestly. More so, ludicrous for them to think this was okay. But I just couldn’t deny my grandfather. Not when his palm was in mine, lacking its warmth that’s usually there due to his near passing. 

 I remember tears staining my cheeks and a smile gracing his when he made his final request for me. 

 That was two years ago. Now, I am married. Have been for almost a year and every day I dread my decision. 

 How could I possibly wed a man as cold as Byakuya Kuchiki? We barely speak. We sleep in separate chambers. The most we see each other is during dinner because it would be ridiculous to have the servants prepare us food at different times. But even so, the silence and tension always remains deafening.

 And to make matters worse, we have yet to consummate our marriage. 

 This is something I cannot possibly do on my own. He may or may not be attracted to me, and I am convinced to assume the latter because he never utters a look in my direction. 

 It’s shameful how he treats me. The words he spoke to me the night of our ceremony is a constant memory I do my best to forget but cannot. 

 I’m officially married. Not the way I expected to be, but what other choice do I have? Grandfather has died and I made a promise to him to marry and bear children to keep the L /N Clan everlasting. Even if that meant being forced into marriage with my childhood rival. 

 As we sit side-by-side next to each other, bowing and thanking all of our guests for their blessings, I feel the coldness radiating off Byakuya. Of course, one of us has to be graceful and fake smiles while greeting everyone, so I am left to the task. 

 Byakuya? He doesn’t hide how dissatisfied he is with how this night is going. 

 To an extent, I understand. Forcing to wed after the loss of his wife, Hisana, is not ideal. Despite it being centuries since her soul has passed, I’m almost positive the heartbreak is still present. 

 Maybe tonight reminds him of her? 

 “Byakuya—what is the matter? Is everything alright?” I inquired. I turn to face him and await a response. 

 The squareness of his jawline catches my attention and I think how it was carved by the gods themselves. I’ve known Byakuya since we were both children, and seeing the fine man he has grown into today never ceases to amaze me. 

 His profile is… beautiful. I’m mesmerized by the softness of his pale complexion and how it contrasts with the darkness of his raven colored locks. 

 The further I stare at him, the more heat floods underneath my cheeks and my mouth watering at the sight of his beauty. 

 But when he finally speaks, all of the emotions I’ve felt have completely diminished. 

 “Do you feel no shame being forced into a marriage where your partner feels nothing for you?”

 Since then, I’ve kept my distance from him. I remember the pain that pinged my chest when processing the words that left his mouth. I remember rushing to my chambers after the ceremony and crying until it felt like a million shards of glass were piercing them. 

 Yes, I feel ashamed. But I never expected Byakuya to be so direct with me. He’s certainly not the young boy I remember growing up with. Where we would make everything into a competition. 

 Our swordsmanship. Our knowledge. Our abilities. Whatever can be turned into a challenge for us, Byakuya and I competed. 

 That led him to be a captain of the Gotei Thirteen and twenty-eighth head of the Kuchiki Clan. And me, the twenty-third head of my family. I initially wanted to enter the Shin’ō Academy along with Byakuya, but I chose to stay with my family and oversee our medicine and agriculture. 

 However, even when he entered the academy, he always made time to see me because we were friends before any juvenile competition we made. 

 So why can he not see his wrongdoings in our marriage? Could he at least try for the sake of me fulfilling my duties? 

 All that keeps me company are movements of the servants coming in and out of my chambers, along with the river that flows past my view. 

 As always, dinner is silent. 

 Byakuya has returned to the manor after attending his captain duties, and this is the only time of day where I see him. He is stripped from his formal wear and has been dressed in a simple dark blue yukata that has specks of cherry blossoms scattered across the garment. 

 If I didn’t loathe him so much, I could take my time appreciating how handsome he looks while being in the comfort of his manor. His locks are released from the kenseikan he wears that symbolizes his nobility as the head of the Kuchiki Clan. 

 I occasionally steal glances at him while he eats, and yes, while I do despise being in this forced marriage just as he does, I can’t help but be captivated by him.

 My lady parts wouldn’t allow me to deny the attraction. 

 As I watch my beloved husband, I think of all the sexual acts I would like for him to do to me. Please me in ways I could only imagine he can do. Make love to me and whisper in my ear how breathtaking I am.

 When I look at Byakuya, I think of all the times I’ve spent time with Lady Kyōraku and she tells me how madly in love she is with Captain Kyōraku. How well he treats her, and even with his demands in his new position, they spend much quality time together. 

 She even graced my ears with a few details about a picnic session they recently had where it led to activities that typically aren't done out in public.

 I wonder if my husband will ever be reckless enough to do an act as obscene as that. 

 Not likely. 

 I hate quiet, especially while we eat together. What is the purpose if no words will be spoken amongst each other? No eye contact. No going to bed together after we have finished. Why? 

 Why am I not able to be served dinner in my private chambers? Surely, I can make a request for this going forward. 

 Or… perhaps there is a different way for me to get him to speak. 

 I take a sip of my cremè sake before clearing my throat. “How did your day treat you, my lord?”

 “It was fine,” he responds, flatly. Should I be shocked that he didn’t lift his chin when speaking to me? 

 “There is something I would like to discuss with you.”

 “It can wait. I’m not up for discussion at the moment.” His dismissive tone has annoyance leaching onto my flesh, and I feel like I am on the verge of exploding.

 “Perhaps it cannot. I would like to discuss something with you, my husband.” The authority in my voice grabs his attention and finally, he looks up at me and catches my hardened gaze. 

 He deeply sighs, sitting down his bowl of rice and chopsticks. “What is it?”

 “Maybe we should… begin the process of annulment.”

 His face remains calm. Expressionless, like I always remembered. Does he care enough to show a reaction to me asking for a cancellation of our marriage? 

 This shouldn’t be a difficult decision for him, so why is he taking his time to respond? 

 The longer I wait, the more his lack of response bothers me. It’s not similar to before, where the quiet was filled by the sounds of us eating and the servants coming in to check on us.

 No, it’s the silence where if he does not speak, I will make the decision for him and walk out and permanently leave the manor.

 I think of all the conversations I’ve had with Lady Rukia, his younger sister. And Renji, his lieutenant, about how I should be patient with Byaykuya. That, eventually, he will come around and warm up to me being his wife. 

 But how long?

 How long would it take for us to share a chamber? For us to act like we’re in this agreement together? For him to look at me with the same attraction I have for him?

 How long? 

 It possibly couldn’t be more than a year. 

 This is not the Byakuya Kuchiki I grew up with. No, I wasn’t in his life those five years he was wedded to Hisana due to my own family issues. Maybe I could’ve been there for him and witnessed his change that caused him to be so apathetic. 

 However, this cold man that sits before me… I don’t know who he is.

 “Is there someone else you’re interested in?” He finally speaks, breaking me from my musings. 

 I draw my brows together, confused at his accusation. “Are you… insinuating that I am having an affair?”

 “We’ve been wedded for a year. No acts of intimacy have been done between us. Now suddenly you—”

 “Because of you!” My voice roars, interrupting whatever nonsense that he was about to spew. 

 I refuse to allow him to put the blame on me for the stillness in our marriage. I have tried, time after time, and all I am met with is a man that constantly rejects any type of advances I attempt to provide him.

 So, I continue. 

 “I have given you a year, Byakuya,” I begin, standing over him. He looks up at me and again, his expression remains undetectable. “The day of our ceremony, I have accepted that I will be your lady, and on that night, I was prepared for consummation. But what did you do instead? Humiliate me in front of all our guests with your trivial question!”

 My chest heaves an adrenaline I haven’t felt in a while. Maybe even never, however, leave it to Byakuya to rile me up this way. 

 “If you or anyone thinks I will bear children with a man that looks at me with utter disgust, then you all are sadly mistaken.” Are my last words to him before I rush out the supper room, tears threatening to fall, reminding me of the night we wedded. 

 I feel like such a fool. Disgrace descends upon me and my mind quickly goes to my grandfather and the words he spoke to me on his deathbed. Be strong, child, and fulfill your duties as the current head of the L /N Clan. Bear beautiful children with Young Byakuya and fall effortlessly in love. 

 Oh, grandfather. What am I to do? I can no longer stand to be in this marriage. Not like this. 

 Not with Byakuya. 

 By this time already, I had returned to my chambers and began preparing for bed. I allowed my emotions to get the best of me tonight, so some sleep will do me good. 

 But my suggestion of annulment will continue in the morning. 

 Just as I was moisturizing my body, a knock at the door interrupts my nightly routine and I immediately grow annoyed. 

 I know it isn’t one of the servants checking on me. They know when I don’t want to be bothered with. So that leaves the man that’s responsible for my current state of mind. 

 Ignore him, I say to myself. He’ll think I’m asleep and eventually leave. But no. He barges into my chambers, unannounced, and shuts the door behind him. 

 “Excuse me. I don’t recall giving you permission to en—”

 “Do you think this is easy for me?” He asks, paying no mind to my protests. “Being… married to you.”

 I turned my back to him and continued with the task I was doing before he interrupted. “Save me the boredom and keep it to yourself. No need to further remind—”

 “For a year… I have been… fighting these emotions. These… feelings that have been forming in my chest at the thought of you being my lady.” His admission shocks me… but I remain quiet and stare at him intently through my mirror and allow him to finish. “Do you wish to know how I feel about you, Lady Y/N?”

 My chest slowly heaves up and down and I hold eye contact with him. “How?” I breathed. 

 “You interfere with my routine. Daily… weekly… monthly. Just the thought of you has my mind spiraling.” He moves closer to me with every word he speaks. “A noble. A clan head such as myself, loses all sense of control with just a whiff of your scent. Your jasmine scent that drives me utterly insane. I simply cannot act with honor when I’m around you, so I purposely choose to ignore you.”

 “But… why?” I questioned. 

 “Because you are you, my lady. You may think I don’t keep my eyes on you, but I do. All day… every day. I… watch you sit by the river and simply smile at the sight of nature. From a distance, I hear how kind you are when you speak to others. It’s… enchanting.”

 I slowly release a breath and swallow a thick gulp. “So why is that you don’t speak to me? If I’m, as you stated, enchanting?”

 “Speaking is not what I wish to do with you when we are alone,” he admits. Arousal rushed between my legs at the true meaning of his statement. 

 “It is hard for me to believe that you have an attraction toward me, Lord Byakuya.” As if my words triggered him, he takes long strides to close the distance between us. 

 “Perhaps it’s because you do not look at me the way you look at others. I, too, should be questioning your attraction toward me.”

 I stand to meet with him, but fail miserably due his tall frame towering me. Still, I stand firm with my gaze. “Others such as who?”

 “Shūhei Hisagi,” he deadpans. 

 “You’re being ridicu—”

 “That smile… Your eyes… The look you give him… you have never looked at me that way before. He personally delivers the newsletter to our manor, which he doesn’t have to, but he does for you.”

 “Are you… jealous? Of the small interactions I have with Hisagi a few times throughout the week?”

 It is hard for me to believe that the honorable Byakuya Kuchiki himself is getting flared up over a platonic friendship between Hisagi and I. 

 Sure, there may be a chance he feels more for me than I know, judging by how his cheeks stain a light pink color when he delivers the newsletter. 

 But in no shape or form do I feel the same way, and I would never stoop as low as stepping out in my marriage. Even if my husband treats me like I am a fly on the wall. 

 Though, now, as he stands before me, slightly flustered, nostrils flaring, and a pinched expression—Byakuya is in fact—jealous. 

 I do not know how to feel about this, but I do know it is better than the distance I was getting before. 

 “Does this,” he grabs my hand to slip between us so I can feel his hardened erection, causing me to suck in a breath, “feel like I hold no attraction to you?”

 “Byakuya,” I barely said above a hushed tone. 

 He presses his forward against mine, whispering, “Everyday… I curse myself for these feelings I have for you, to the point where I attempt to avoid you yet fail horribly because I can’t help but watch you from afar.” His hand gently runs up and down my arm, and this bit of contact burns warmth to my flesh. 

 “I feel wrong. Felt, wrong for having such feelings for you, knowing my late Hisana has passed away. I thought my heart went along with her illness, however, you returned to my life unexpectedly.”

 I lick my lips before asking, “Are you saying you… love me, my lord?”

 “I desire you, my lady. Crave you in ways that make me want to act animalistic.” His lips ghost over mine before he falls to my neck and inhales heavily. “I’ve always wanted to know what it is like to have you on my tongue. To hear you beg for me to give you more than what I am giving.”

 “My lord… please.” 

 He shushes me. “Your beauty is beyond words. I have… never seen a rich, deep, golden brown complexion such as yours. You hold yourself with grace, but I know you’re a minx underneath these silk garments.”

 He begins trailing faint kisses along my flesh until meeting with my face once more. I stare at him and take advantage of his ash-colored hues that resemble the sky on a cloudy day. 

 I don’t recall ever being this close in proximity to Byakuya. I’m enthralled by the smoothness of his skin and the color of his lips that reminds me of a thousand cherry blossoms. 

 I want to kiss him. I, too, also want to know what it feels like to have the taste of him on my tongue. Just—

 “May I kiss you, Y/N?” The octave of his voice, slightly lower than usual, breathy with a touch of desperation… it does something to my core. 

 His cheeks flush red and my eyes widen at the sight of him. It feels like this is a fantasy, a moment I thought I would only see in my dreams. He is completely vulnerable, stipped down to where he forgets the formalities and calls my name. He is like this for me because of me. 

 When he is like this–I do not loathe him.

 “You may.”

 Byakuya gently presses his mouth against mine, our lips merely touching as if he is skeptical about what he is doing. He pulls back to look at me and I know desperation is shown on my face. And I know he feels the same.

 How he engulfs my arm with his hand, applying immense pressure to show his desire for me tells me so. 

 My breaths are staggered. I’m thinking, what will he do next? Will he turn around and return to his chambers, regretting this moment ever happened? No. He does not. 

 He caresses my nose with his, breathing me in before meeting with my lips once more. 

 This time, he cuffs my face and deepens our kiss. My hands latched  onto his wrist to hold him in place because I will not allow him to show any skepticism once again. 

 Byakuya takes his time exploring my mouth, but a touch of eagerness is shown when his tongue slips inside of me to get more. Heat hums throughout my body and I feel wetness pooling between my thighs due to the lack of under garments I am not wearing. 

 Is this what it feels like to kiss him? Is it normal for my limbs to grow weak? As if he read my thoughts, he sweeps me off the ground and wraps my legs around his waist. Our heads move side-to-side in unison while we devour each other’s grunts and moans. 

 We head in the direction to my futon and ever so lightly, he lays me down and pulls away from me. 

 “Strip for me.” His order is soft but filled with dominance I can’t be anything but submissive to. 

 I untie my silk robe, slowly until it falls off my shoulders and bares my body. His eyes… where I know Byakuya to be calm and collective during battle, right now a beast rages through him, and I am his prey that he is ready to feast on. 

 My legs spread, revealing my sex that is moist beyond measure. A growl forms in the pit of Byakuya’s stomach and it spreads chills down my spine.

 He palms my breasts while gazing at me and I shudder from his touch. I could believe that this is in fact a dream, but it is not. 

 No longer than a second later, and he pinches my nipple between his fingers. 

 “My lord,” I softly cried, arching my back. 

 “You are art, Y/N.”

 “Address me as your lady,” I demanded. 

 “Apologies, Lady Y/N.” He leans forward to press a quick kiss to my lips. “Is there anything else you would like for me to do?”

 “Strip for me as well,” I instructed, teasingly. 

 His yukata drapes low on his hips and I am met with his slender build. Squared shoulders. A trimmed waist. And an abdomen where I would enjoy rubbing my wetness along that leads to what will bring me pleasure tonight. 

 He stands to completely remove his garments and my mouth floods at the sight of him. His groin, hard and veiny, drips liquid that I’m yearning to taste. 

 Byakuya, as expected, is well trimmed, but leaves just enough hair, perfect to my liking. 

 He’s much larger than I imagined. A size I need time adjusting to, that’s for certain. 

 “Am I up to your liking?” He quips. 

 I hum, tugging my bottom lip between my teeth. “Perhaps.”

 The smallest chuckle, almost faint, escapes his mouth. “Perhaps…” He mocks, catching onto the lie that I uttered. 

  He kneels down before me and sucks my lower lip into his mouth while he widens my legs even further to bring pleasure to my cunt. Those slender fingers, so long and delicate, slip inside of me and I mewl at the slight intrusion. He massages my walls as if he is exploring, attempting to familiarize himself with how I pulsate around his fingers. 

 I break our kiss to moan his name, and my lord takes advantage of the opening to plunge his tongue in the back of my throat and sink deeper into my cunt. 

 I never expected Byakuya to be well equipped with his fingers this way. Those same fingers that are used for battle are currently being used to bring me to my release. 

 Soon, his lips find the valley of my breasts where he leaves bruises on my flesh with teeth. I whimper so pathetically, shocking myself at the sound that leaks from me. 

 He sucks on my nipples greedily, like a starved man that’s hungry for his lover, and this time, I let out a moan of his name. 

 “Byakuya…”

 He looks at me through his lashes and firmly grips my breast. “Remember, my lady. Address me as your lord.”

 “I am sorry, my lord. Please… I can no longer wait. I want to come.”

 “Where is that fire that was present earlier? Begging?” I clench around his fingers at the sound of him taunting me. 

 He flickers his digits quicker inside of me, pulling such obscene noises from my cunt that mingles with my moans and his praises in my chambers. 

 Byakuya, this time, does not kiss me. No, instead, he ogles me and gently holds my chin in place where I am forced to watch him deliver me a release I’ve been waiting a year for. 

 There was a time where I thought he didn’t have an ounce of attraction to me, and now here he is, pleasing me in a way I haven’t been before. 

 “Oh, Lord Byakuya… I… I��m about to come. I feel a release coming,” I purred. 

  “But I have barely touched you, blossom.”

 I latched onto his wrist and rolled my hips to meet his fingers thrusting inside of my cunt. “I—I know. I’ve been waiting for this… for so long.”

 “You’ve fantasized about me bringing you pleasure?” I nod, causing a small smirk to form on his lips. “Tell me more, Lady Y/N. What else do you want? Would you like my shaft inside your tight cunt?”

 “Yes.”

 “Tell you how breathtaking you look while being filled with me?”

 “Oh, yes. Yes, Lord Byakuya.”  

 The faintest, most gentle kiss is placed on the side of my mouth and I feel the tension at the bottom of my stomach unraveling.

 “Are you prepared to bear my children? To have my come flooding your cunt until it drips out?” He ghosts over my ear. “Will you take me?”

 “Bya… kuya…” My orgasm suddenly crept onto me and I’ve created a mess on his hand. 

 I throw my head back and moan to the gods above. I can’t stop shaking and he continues to pump his fingers inside of me. 

 For a year I thought this man loathed me, but tonight I am proved otherwise. 

 Lord Byakuya has described himself as a madman when he is around me, and it is shown when he doesn’t permit me the time to come down from my release before guiding his cock to my entrance. 

 I look between us, anticipating the moment he enters my body and wondering how I will take him. 

 He attempts to push himself inside, but is met with interference and clicks his tongue. Frustrated at the constriction of my cunt because his cock is aching to feel my walls. 

 “I see she is as stubborn as you are,” he taunts. 

 I slyly smirk at him. “Giving up—Ohh…”

 Byakuya does not allow me to finish my retort before giving me one long thrust between my folds to completely stuff me. My brows knits together at the slight intrusion and hint of pain that’s mended by my wetness. 

 I’m… stretched. How could he fit? He’s so… big. Large. I feel his veins pleasurably grazing me when he slowly begins to pull in and out. My cunt molds around his cock like he’s all she knows and I gasp with every movement. 

 My thighs are pushed back so he could see all of me, to see how I’m swallowing him whole. He swears underneath his breath and seeing Byakuya so vulnerable like this has me pulsating. 

 “You… are amazing, my lady. This cunt of yours… It's perfect,” he declares. “For a year you have been keeping this from me?”

 “More, my lord. Give me a bit more.”

 “So desperate for my come, are you?”

 I eagerly nod and grip his forearms to take his pounding. He wastes no time acquiescing to my request, increasing his thrusts to pull such lewd noises from me.

  I’m almost embarrassed by the loudness of my dripping sex. I’m practically making a mess on my futon and I’m mortified that the servants will need to replace my sheets. 

 Again, his mouth and hands are back on my breast, sucking and circling my nipples until they ache. Byakuya alternates between the two to show equal amounts of love and I have never felt so overwhelmed.

 He drives into me with so much passion while marking me with his teeth and alleviating the pain with his tongue. 

 “When I breed you, you will be completely mine, my love. You will be full of me, carrying my child,” he rasps, rutting into me with more force. “How many will you give me?”

 I gasped. “As many as you want, Lord Byakuya. Just please… make me come again. I feel it approaching.”

 “So come for me, blossom.”

 His thrusts are harsher than before. The head of his cock repeatedly presses my sweet spot and I feel the spark of electricity tingling in my lower back. My breasts are still occupied by his mouth, but they move obnoxiously with the rhythm of his poundings. 

 I cry his name, scream to my lord how wonderful this feels and tears prick the corner of my eyes. His free hand that was on my breast moves to thumb my clit to aid with my near release. 

 Byakuya moans soon joins mine to tell me how my cunt squeezes his cock, nearly strangling. And if it were to lose circulation, I would be the cause. But does he not feel how he throbs inside of me? 

 How he hopes to breed me so we will be bound for life? 

 “You asked me earlier… if I love you. Would you still like to know?”

 “Yes, Byakuya. Tell me… do you?”

 “I do,” he simply answers. “Since the day I saw you staring at the river and smiling at the water flowing. How could I not love you?” He brushes his lips across mine and lowers his voice. “How could I not love you after having you like this? Having your beautiful body, every dip and curve bare underneath me?”

 “Lord Byakuya… I’m coming.”

 “And you sound beautiful when my name drips from your lips. Continue calling me your lord until I have filled you with my come.”

 Over and over, he rocks into me at a frenzied pace, causing my orgasm to burst out of me. Tears stain my cheeks and arousal prickles my flesh from my overwhelming release. However, Byakuya does not let up until his thrusts are uncoordinated, indicating his own climax.

 Coming together as lovers for the first time after our ceremony has me seeing stars in my chambers. His load… it’s heavy. Hot and sticky. It mingles with my own come and creates a mess between us.

 Lord Byakuya, too, is a vocal lover. He comes down from his own release and whispers how ethereal I am. How he would never grow tired of pleasing me and filling my cunt. 

 But it’s the delicacy of him brushing my coils away from my face and placing soft kisses on my cheeks that causes my heart to skip a beat. 

 An hour has already passed, and we have been basking in each other’s presence. His embrace is comforting. It provides me with a warmth that was well needed to fill the coldness beside me when I slept alone at night for the past year. 

 “I’m sorry,” he says, breaking the silence. 

 I know the reason for his apology, but ask anyway. “For what, my lord?”

 “For the discomfort I have provided you since our engagement. You didn’t deserve that… Before anything, you were a dear childhood companion of mine and I treated you horribly.”

 His kind words move me. I place my palm against his cheek and look up at him. “We can discuss it some more later on. For now, I would like to enjoy your company. Is that okay?”

 He kisses the top of my head and pulls me further into his arms. “Of course, my lady… Of course.”

thank you for reading. reblogs, comments, and likes are well appreciated. if you enjoy my work, please be sure to check our my masterlist for more. ෆ

[preservationofnormalcy]

[My name is Meghan Hendricks, and I’m about to do something stupid.]

[I’ve scheduled my work to be sent to my superior in the federal government’s oversight committee unless I stop it in one week. A dead woman’s hand. It’ll be somewhat fruitless - I’ve begun to suspect that my work will be restricted, censored, and buried like most other things the Office does.

A lot of the people I talk to are exculpatory of the Office, even if they say they have questions or concerns. I think most of them mean it. I don’t think it’s brainwashing. I think in such a tighly knit community as the supernatural world people feel a more genuine sense of belonging than they might otherwise. A werewolf helping werewolves is going to understandably try and defend the hand that deals the help, even if they’ve bit it in the past. But one thing I’ve learned as I’ve been peeling up rocks and seeing what scurries away is that something isn’t right. Something is hiding in plain sight.

Most people don’t know about it. They can feel the shape of it, the outline the absence of something makes. Some people, however, do know. At least a little. I’ve seen them avoid questions, look away, end interviews. I can see it in their eyes. They know enough to not want to know more.

All of that brings me here, to the backwoods of upstate New York. I’m dressed in all black, wearing a mask and gloves. My clothing smells of peppermint, and in my bag is a bottle of peppermint oil. It stung my eyes and, before I got the dilution right, burned my skin. I look in my car’s rear view mirror and it hits me that I look ridiculous. I don’t know for sure why the factory foreman Barry warned me about the peppermint, but I had a theory. 

For the last few minutes I’d seen the shape rising into the air, the metal tower with red lights up its length. That was where I needed to be. The highway was thankfully bare, at this time of night. As was the turn-off onto an unmarked gravel road, only distinguishable by the Office’s symbol on a plastic sign, held up on a thin metal spike. I’d learned by now that the broader public couldn’t see the Office logos and signage until they’d been exposed to the extranormal, something the Office calls “memetic masking.” I was, in their terminology, memetically inoculated, and it was that fact that ironically helped me find the path. The gravel road went into the forest, but I pulled over past the road’s entry, into the small area of grass down past the turnoff. I pulled a tarp from my car and threw it over the vehicle, once again feeling ludicrous…and frankly, a little scared. 

The hike was about twenty minutes, mostly uphill on a gentle incline, the numbers station being built on a hill. I’d done worse, but not in a while. I could see pretty well in the light of the full moon, a fact that made me a little more nervous. I walked along the edge of the gravel road, in the dark - hiking onto a government facility, my nerves went wild. Every shift of leaves meant an agent clad in camo, every whip of wind causing a noise that made me think of the things I’d seen since I began this assignment. Not this assignment, I had to remind myself. This wasn’t part of it. Not really.

I saw the fence in the distance first - an eight foot chain link fence that stretched as far as I could see in either direction. Past the fence, I could see dark buildings, giant spools of wire, and above it all the metal tower of the station. I hadn’t exactly planned for this, even though I knew it was more than likely. The handheld cutters in my back pocket were ready, but something in me didn’t want to cut the links, even if I fully intended to pass the fence. Getting in some other way could be a blunder, accidental. Cutting the chain meant intent.]

C] 1 15 12 24 2 12 12 21 16 26 1 15 12 22 21 19 6 26 2 25 3 16 3 22 25

[The voice almost made me vomit. I spun and saw a man. Disheveled, haggard, an unkempt beard and long hair. Older, in his 50’s, but being dirty and ragged made him look even older. He didn’t even look at me, mumbling numbers so fast I could only understand them later once I slowed them down in my recording. After his string of digits he stood there, looking at the fence, then back to me. In the moon’s light I saw his dirty, torn jumpsuit, the logo for the Office on the man’s arm and chest, along with an embroidered nametag - Cecil.]

M] Wh- who are you? What are you doing here? 

C] 4 12 25 16 23 23 12 11 22 2 1 1 15 12 23 8 25 1 22 13 2 26 1 15 8 1 18 21 22 4 26 16 1 26 9 25 22 18 12 21

[His stare was distant, vacant. It was a shock when his hand moved suddenly, pointing upward to the moon. It took me a second to realize what he was saying, and when I did, it confirmed my suspicions.]

M] Here? Now? 

C] 1 15 12 6 19 19 23 2 21 16 26 15 15 16 20 13 22 25 19 16 3 16 21 14 1 15 25 22 2 14 15 16 1

[With that, he turned and walked away. He looked back once, pausing as if making sure I was following - which, despite my better judgment, I did. I attempted to ask him some more questions, trying to understand who he was or why he was here, but he didn’t respond. Not even with his numbers. 

After a moment of walking by the fence, we walked away from it, down the hill. A steep path, rocky and unstable, that he navigated with ease. It was only after climbing down past a tree and a rocky face that I noticed “Cecil” backtracking up a few steps. A huge drainage pipe jutted out from the hillside, hidden from above by rocks and plants. A piece of wood in the pipe was the only flimsy protection, and without hesitation Cecil pulled it aside and bent over to climb inside. Here I was, in the middle of the woods, about to climb into a dirty tunnel to a strange old man’s bunker. 

I could hear a match catch fire just as I stepped down onto a concrete floor and stood up past the metal pipe. The space was small, a concrete box that ended in a pile of rubble. It must have been the entrance to an underground section of the complex at one point, but now was only a covered shelter. A camp stove, a bed, an orderly pile of refuse. He was living hard out here, but he was living. Cecil put the match into an old oil lantern and held it up to one wall. ]

C] 13 16 21 16 1 12 2 21 16 3 12 25 26 12 13 16 21 16 1 12 1 22 22 19 26 4 12 19 22 22 18 12 11 9 12 6 22 21 11

[All over the concrete wall, pasted or taped, were papers. Mainly old documents from the Office, with the Office logo watermarked on their corners. Many of them featured heavy black redaction bars. Some were torn, upside down. Cut in patterns, circled with heavy marker lines. I’d seen things like this in movies, of course. The stereotypical red string and thumbtacks on corkboard. This was different, however. When I looked over the collage I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t a man trying to figure things out. He’d already figured it out, in his own way, and this was some kind of…archive. Memorial. A reminder. I looked at him, and he looked down to the floor. In shame? Sorrow? I couldn’t tell. I scanned the wall again, trying to find some order.  

‘Numbers Station 23 Decommissioned By Order Of Reality Compliance Council.’ ‘Bulletin From Director Walker On Directive 61722.’ ‘Los Angeles–’ the last one was torn off.]

C] 26 15 12 16 26 14 22 21 12 13 22 25 12 3 12 25 26 15 12 11 16 11 21 22 1 11 16 12

M] What is all this? Who ARE you?

C] 1 15 12 23 25 16 21 10 16 23 8 19 16 1 6 4 16 19 19 8 3 12 21 14 12 15 12 25

M] Listen, I – I don’t want numbers. Can you speak?

C] 15 16 26 13 2 1 2 25 12 16 26 2 21 18 21 22 4 8 9 19 12 8 21 11 1 15 2 26 16 21 13 16 21 16 1 12

M] You used to work for the Office…at the numbers station? This numbers station? Is that why you can only –

C] 4 12 18 16 19 19 12 11 25 12 8 19 16 1 6 1 22 26 1 22 23 15 16 20

[I must admit to some frustration. I scan the wall again. None of it made sense. Clearly it did to Cecil, otherwise he wouldn’t have saved all of this. Was the numbers station related to…what happened to my brother? Phrases leap out at me: ‘reality compliance’, ‘the equation’, ‘project dammerung.’ That last one was…all over. There were scraps, shreds with the phrase, but all of it redacted.]

M] What is this? Project Dammerung? 

C] 2 19 1 16 20 8 1 12 4 12 8 23 22 21 13 22 25 1 15 12 2 19 1 16 20 8 1 12 13 12 8 25

M] I don’t…I don’t have time for this. You know why I’m here. Are you going to help me, or not?

[Cecil was silent for once, looking around hesitantly, and finally back to the floor. I give him a moment to respond, and when he remains silent, I take in a breath.]

M] Right. Thank you, Mister…Cecil. I’ll…

[He raises his hand, almost as if he wanted to grab my arm, but was too timid. Raising the lantern to a section of the wall, he gestured to a particular document, from Office Security, or O-Sec. A photo of a serious-looking Asian-American man, Corporal Han. Most of the document was blacked out. Was this a warning? I take in the wall one last time, and drop my bag so I can reach for my camera. A polaroid - no digital trail, no getting the photos developed. With a click I snapped a photo of the wall. 

A noise distracted me. I turned, and Cecil was going through my bag.]

M] Uhh…sir? Cecil? 

[He stopped, looking up at me in almost surprise, as if he’d forgotten I was even there. ]

C] 1 15 12 12 20 16 26 26 8 25 6 26 14 25 8 21 11 11 8 2 14 15 1 12 25 4 16 19 19 1 8 18 12 15 16 26 23 19 8 10 12

[He slid the bag back over to me. I couldn’t figure out what he was looking for, but it didn’t matter now. I needed to get out of there. I put the camera back in, quickly checking that nothing was missing, and backed up towards the pipe.]

M] I know you showed me this for a reason. I’ll figure out how it all adds up, I promise. 

[I enter the pipe again, leaving the old man holding his lantern.]

M] Thank you.

[When I turn away, he looks to his wall one more time. 

I emerge alone into the moonlight, attempting the climb back up the hill. Though I had more scraps of information, I was back at square one, or so I thought. When I reached the top and made it back to the fence, I saw a section of the chain link that had broken, detached from the pole nearby and bent away, covered in a bush that only kept it half hidden. This must be where Cecil still entered the facility. 

The gap in the fence opened up into what seemed to be a storage yard, the place I’d seen past the fence earlier. Piles of tarp-covered metal or wood beams, spools of wire as tall as I was. In the moonlight, I could see poles dotting the yard, cables stretched between them, each one bearing a floodlight. Though everything had been organized and put away securely, I got the feeling no one official had been here in a long time. Leaves covered most surfaces, and cobwebs shone in the dim light along the roof of a nearby shed. 

Again, it struck me that I didn’t know what I was doing. Any information or leads would be in the building past the storage yard, and surely that had better security? Cameras, keycard locks - what was I even doing here? Walking through the yard, almost lost in thought - the tower of the station rose into the night sky in the distance, red lights along its length. They almost looked like eyes along the body of some thin creature, frozen against the stars. 

And then, lights near the station building. I stood still for a moment, uncomprehending until a pair of floodlights on poles a short distance away snapped on, then the next set. The lights were turning on this way, towards me. I had seconds to react, and I did what I’d practiced. In my bag’s side pocket was a plastic bag, containing a gross mess of wet cotton balls, soaked in diluted peppermint oil. Despite my panic, I threw them in all directions, slinging a handful of them in a wide arc, and then hid before the lights were on in my section of the yard. I could hear the electric buzz of the floodlights snapping on just as I ducked behind a row of wire spools, trying to stop my racing heart.

As I debated my options - running, waiting out the lights…maybe they were on a timer? I heard footsteps approaching, crunching on the leaves and pine needles that had accumulated over the unattended years.  When they got closer, I tried to peek through the center of one of the spools I was hiding behind. I saw his uniform first, O-Sec, Office Security. A large man, built like a weightlifter - could see the black shine of a gun in his right hand and my heart leapt into my throat. It was the man from Cecil’s mural, Corporal Han. Was he the officer assigned to this site? I should have known the Office would still have security even on decommissioned stations like this.]

H] I know you’re here. 

[He stopped in a large open area, looking around at the stacks of materials around him, the sheds and tarps - all hiding places.]

H] Normally, I might blame teenagers. Kids getting a kick out of trespassing on Office property. We had one group a few months ago, teenagers. Two humans, a fae and a vampire. They all forgot their vamp friend couldn’t enter without permission. Fun night.

[He paused, letting the silence fall again. I could see him look around, eyes scanning the yard and narrowing. He sniffed the air in a way that seemed…odd.]

H] But judging by the smell…I think you know what you’re doing. You came in with an idea of what was going on. Either you’re a professional, or someone told you…

[He carefully walked, passing behind a small shed and out of my view. I panicked that I lost track of him for a moment, but then there was a sickening sound. Like flesh stripping and bones crunching, and Han’s voice hissing. Then a sound that echoed through the yard, the sound of a hand - no, a claw, grabbing onto the edge of the shed’s corrugated metal wall, digging in and tearing the metal. A shape followed it. A long maw of shining teeth, white fur. A raised canine lip in a familiar but terrifying gesture of anger and aggression, a low rumble as the muzzle raised, and smelled the air. Then, a whine, another growl, sneezing and huffing as the muzzle retreated behind the shed again, out of my view. Another crunch, a growl, and Han staggered past the shed. Haggard, sweating, panting softly, looking incensed.]

H] And if someone told you, I’m going to have a nice, long…conversation with them. 

[He tried to collect himself, catch his breath, run a hand through his hair. He pulled a bandana from a pocket of his uniform, pulling it over his mouth and nose.]

H] You have one minute. One minute until I call backup. You can hide from me, but can you run from a dozen of us? Most of them won’t have my…shortcomings. 

[My heart was pounding. My head was swimming. My fingers were going numb. I couldn’t claim innocence, not when they found out who I was. Could I make a break for it? All of the ways out seemed to be past him, and if he was what he seemed to be, it would be a short chase. It would end up better for me if I surrendered now, but what happens after that? I’d never work again…or worse.]

H] Cecil?

[Han’s voice was confused, concerned. I snapped around to watch through a gap in the spools as Cecil approached, holding a bottle. The bottle of peppermint oil. He must have taken it earlier when he was looking through my bag.]

C] 1 15 12 18 21 16 14 15 1 9 12 8 25 26 1 15 12 14 2 16 19 1 15 12 16 26 25 16 14 15 1

H] Cecil, what did I tell you about–

[Han took in a breath through the cloth, and exhaled, clearly frustrated. His voice was sharp, low, but his face softened, and there was a soft click as he put his gun away.]

H] Why the peppermint, man? You know what that does to my nose. Were you just trying to sneak around without me knowing? 

[Cecil looked at the bottle, then dropped it.]

C] 26 22 20 12 26 1 16 19 19 13 12 12 19 23 15 8 21 1 22 20 23 8 16 21

H] Are you taking your medicine? Probably not. Let’s….let’s get you back home. Not that bunker, home. 

[Cecil seemed to hesitate, but Han put a hand on his upper arm.]

H] You know you can’t be here. Come on. If you come with me to the station I’ll ask someone to bring you dinner when they come pick you up. Okay?

C] 25 12 8 19 16 1 6 4 8 26 13 22 2 21 11 4 8 21 1 16 21 14

[The older man lowered his head, but followed Han as the guard turned and walked back towards the station - but not before looking around, deciding on the row of spools I was hiding behind, and nodding, jerking his head towards the direction of the gap in the fence.

I didn’t need to be told twice. Once Han and Cecil were out of sight, I ran to the exit. I don’t remember much of the next several minutes - running a roundabout way through the forest, coming to the edge, following that until I found my car. I didn’t allow myself time to decompress. I slammed the keys into the ignition and pulled out onto the highway. 

The tears came just as it started to rain, and I drove until it became difficult to continue. I had gained nothing from this. Nothing but a panic attack and a long-lasting nightmare, a recurring dream with claws, spools of wire, and the scent of peppermint. ]

[beaft]

we don't talk enough about the very special type of hell that is walking into a tiny independent store that sells, like, artisanal cheeses or hand-thrown pottery or vegan face creams made out of dried nasturtium petals, and realising almost immediately that a) you are the only person in there, b) everything is ludicrously out of your price range, and c) you can't leave because an employee has just approached you with a big smile and said, "hi, welcome to Martha-Jane's Quirky Ceramics Emporium! what can i help you with today?"

[ronearoundblindly]

ok im feeling the kiss list sm!! im feeling angsty... so steve x reader with #4 or #26?? love u <3333

#4 (a kiss where it hurts) was double requested, so this is #26-- *this* one isn't angsty although technically could be considered a wee tinybit smidgenly dark if you squint real hard. Sorry this is not even remotely edited and all over the place and just *sighs* yeah okay enjoy!

Steve Rogers x reader: a kiss as an apology

I'm So, So...Sorry, a tale for Valentine's 2024

Summary: Grant, a guest at your middle-of-nowhere motel, has needs not covered by the usual turn-down service.

Warnings: *screams and bites pillow* WHY. WHY???? omg, this just...ack...smut. Nomad Steve being needy and touch-starved just ruined my life. 😭😭😭 DUB-CON adjacent b/c Steve loses control. Please send him help. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY. There's plenty else to read on my Light Masterlist, but this ficlet is for adults! WC 2022

To look at him, you’d think this dude can fuck, but it turns out that the absolutely huge man checking into your family’s small rural motel doesn’t know the first thing about flirting, much less sex.

You have no idea what ‘Grant’ and his friend ‘Tom’ were really whispering about over the breakfast table that one morning weeks ago, but later that night Grant came by the office, restless and unable to sleep.

He just talked to you. It was all superficial conversation about the area, the weather, what activities you liked on your days off. Even that seemed a struggle for him—thinking up casual questions. He could look you in the eye up until he had to respond, and he didn’t give many answers in return.

You laughed--you had to—when Grant asked if he could walk you to your door, which…is ludicrous because it’s a house a whopping fifty meters down the way from strip of rooms.

“I could walk,” he shrugs. “I’ll probably do a lap or two anyway.”

“Well, I have to wait for Clark to show up, but—“ you look him up and down “—okay.”

Twenty minutes later, the craziest thing happened.

An elk walked right in front of you on the path, and you jumped back, slamming into the wall of muscle the was your escort. You were both perfectly still as it moved.

Then that thing squawked and stamped huge hoofs. You threw your weight backward and spun to flee, clambering over Grant’s body.

Why you were so scared, who knows; you should be used to the wildlife.

The most shocking thing, however, is how strongly he tried to hold you still.

The harsh grip on your waist and the way he hissed through his teeth for you to stop should have been your hint, but instead you clung to him harder, asking if the animal was gone.

“Uh…” Grant tenses against you. “It’s…it’s just—“ he shudders when you wriggle closer “—yes, gone,” he bites out, pushing you away by the hips.

He takes a second to breathe, then, “let’s get you home.”

‘Grant’ is now properly called ‘Steve’ in private.

It took a while for him to trust you. He and ‘Tom’—whose real name you still don’t know—have been back and forth to the motel several times. You don’t talk about other guests. You don’t gossip. You don’t pry because that is just the nature of your business.

Steve’s initial five o’clock shadow has come in nicely. The first time he returned with the full beard, you couldn’t help yourself and brushed your fingers through it on your way back from handing him his key over the counter. The way he looked at you…devastating.

Tom made his own, very knowing face, and winked.

“You should do that more. Touch him. He could use it.”

Steve cleared his throat harshly and blushed, accidentally leaving a small bag on the ground when he rushed to the door.

“He was joking. It was a joke,” Steve blurted when he found you standing there to give it back.

You just smiled and said Tom wasn’t wrong.

“So, if you ever just want a hug…” you muttered.

That’s how this started.

A tentative embrace where only the top of his chest touched you led to a lovely full-body hug, and then he held you a touch longer, so your hand went to his hair and…

Steve whined and crashed you two against the wall outside his room, righting himself almost immediately, excusing the behavior, and rushing back inside. You couldn’t let that stand though. You stopped the door before it closed.

“Hey, it’s okay. I can be here, if you want, to hold.”

Steve’s eyes were one of the only things you could see in the dark room.

You took a chance and reached out to scratch at his bearded cheek again. “Not like you’re gonna hurt me, Stevie.”

So he melted into your hand, eye’s rolling as if drunk on the feeling, and you stepped in to hug him.

You can’t count the number of times you’ve had to tell him ‘it’s okay,’ but at least Steve doesn’t stop everything to apologize each time. Convincing him not to be self-conscious of how his body reacts to touch took a while.

He humped your leg like a puppy while you played with his hair. He came in his pants while you gave him a back rub. He cried when you kissed over his arms and chest.

You’ve told him it’s all okay.

He tries so hard not to smile when he checks back in, but he waits until your shift ends to have you fall asleep in his arms.

You’ve told him it’s okay to fall asleep in your arms, too.

Genuinely, the best part of the whole arrangement is that he will let you do anything to him. He’s fine being petted and fawned over, teased for being more ripped than jeans in the ‘90s—except for he didn’t understand that joke, sadly,—and it’s okay because you get it. He doesn’t tell you any personal information. He barely told you his name. He’s probably figured out that you aren’t an idiot and have put two-and-two together, but he keeps quiet, too.

He lets you keep touching him because he enjoys it.

Aside from the average hug and a simple spooning hold, Steve only ever touches you when you put his hand somewhere. (Right, except for the leg humping, but that was adorable so who cares! He wasn’t even doing that to touch you; poor thing needed friction, is all.) Anyway, since he’s been so excited about everything you’ve wanted to do to him, you push your luck.

The recent days have been all about Steve completely naked and at your mercy, which is, of course, still focused on making him feel good, but tonight is the very first night you are also naked. It’s meant to be a profound comfort—your weight atop him, maximum skin-to-skin contact—and it is.

He’s warm and stretched out like a cat in the sun beneath you, smiling, resting his eyes as dusk takes over the sky. You fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat but don’t notice until he’s gently shaking you awake.

“You’re…you were squirming a lot. Thought you might be having a nightmare.”

Steve’s voice is husky. His grip on your arm is deliberately stationary until you shift to slide off of him.

His hand flies down to the back of your knee but not before you feel the hard length of his erection move from its perch at your ass to press flush on the back of your thigh.

“Don’t,” he whispers. “Just ignore it.”

You’re surprised he’s so shy after all you’ve been through for this. How can he doubt?

You stretch up to his face, straddling his abs for stability. “Stevie,” you say with soft fingers carding through his long hair, “you know it really is okay. You know that.”

He hums, his cock jumping against your ass while he squeezes your knee. He exhales shakily when you drag the back of your nails down his arms and sit up. Too dark to see, all you can go by is what you hear and feel.

“As long as you’re okay—“ you press into his pecs to lift yourself over his hips “and this is okay for you, right?”

It’s hard to hide how desperate he’s made you, but the issue is mutual based on how Steve groans when you settle your folds along the length of him. He clenches his ass so hard, it lifts you and sends a surge of heat to your core.

There’s a shuffling noise by his head.

“Is that a ‘yes?’ Are you alright?”

The shuffling repeats, accompanied by a strangled “yes.” He clenches again, and your arousal finally slicks his hot skin beneath you.

You keep your hands braced on his chest as you start to move, tiny pulses at first, and the poor thing is too sensitive.

He’s a panting mess by the time your slick is spread over him.

“No,” he whines, and you stop, thinking it’s too far to push him. “Too soon.”

“Shh, it’s okay to come. Remember, Stevie? That’s good. We can stop but—“

His other hand clamps onto the meat of your thigh. “Don’t. Don’t stop. I just…”

“Then we’ll do this again. Don’t worry,” you coo, rolling your hips from his root to tip.

He sounds tortured with little pleas and whimpers escaping before each guttural moan. He only lasts a few more thorough pumps. The spurts of cum graze your clit as he finishes on his stomach, shot as far as your wrists still above his chest, and for the first time with Steve you’re disappointed you can’t immediately keep going. You were getting very close, too, very fast.

It pains you to peel your sticky pussy off of him to get tissues, but you praise him the whole way.

“Please,” he rasps, taking hold of your arm as the last is wiped up, “more?” He’s breathless. “I can do better.”

You smile in the dark, excited for the possibility but afraid to push him. “Stevie, you did great. Rest for—“

“No, I—I want…I mean, can I touch you this time?”

Oh.

Oh.

“Sure,” you gulp, “that’d be nice.” If by ‘nice’ you mean ‘I’ve just creamed myself at a single question’ then yes, very nice.

He wants you in the same position straddling him, but that’s so he can spread his hands and run his fingertips over the most of you. He’s softened as he starts exploring you, but his lingering fascination with your breasts makes you wetter and wetter. He likes how you purr and gasp as he pinches and kneads. He likes to pull at your thighs until he gets handfuls of your ass.

He gets hard again off of your moans and tucks his cock between you while you instinctively ride him. It’s still only him deliciously fucking your folds until the repeated swipe of his head over your clit tips you to the edge, and your nails dig into his skin to draw down with the coil in your belly.

The angle catches him at your entrance, a shallow thrust that has you crying out lewdly, and suddenly, you’re on your back, Steve’s huge body pinning you to the mattress, one elbow propping himself by your chest, his other hand brutally spreading your ass to accommodate him.

You’re overwhelmed by the power he exerts over you. He suckles and nips at your breasts, cock so deep it pushes your insides to make way, and what starts as an average orgasm just wipes you out in a cascade of sharp pleasure.

Your hand grip blindly at his hair and back, choking on screams of profanities he wouldn’t appreciate, and he wraps his arms under you, bending you in an arch, chest to chest, while his hot breath rolls over your sweat-cooled throat.

You feel his lips open wide, but Steve goes silent until spent.

Finally, his last slow pistons calmed in halted combustion, he nuzzles his head to the crook of your neck.

Your fingers are frozen where buried in his hair.

In the dim moonlight you can see his ass twitch, jolting in over-stimulation while he gently pulls out of you. He props himself up, posture small and timid for such broad shoulders.

He hovers above you while you try to read each other’s expressions.

“I…I…” he starts quietly, looking over and over your features.

His chin ticks closer, hesitates, and then descends so his lips can capture yours. It’s so quick and chaste, like any other first kiss, but all out of order.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words cracking in his guilt. “I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop.”

You pull him down to you, properly melding your mouth to his, beginning your next lesson already, then let him come up for air.

“It’s okay, Stevie. You can still walk me home.”

A/N: *drops bath bomb to froth in the pool of Tumblr* *runs away* Don't ask me wtf just happened because I don't know. It just consumed my whole day.

[psst. This became a whole series. 'Hideout' Masterlist]

Bucky Barnes and a kiss as encouragement ⬅️ ➡️ Jake Jensen and a kiss where it doesn't hurt

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

Tags: I'm also adding the people who showed interest in this concept earlier. You will not be tagged beyond this unless you ask! @mrs-barnes-rogers-writes @bstorn @rogersbarber @cevansbaby-dove @nowandajenn @jesevans @justherebecausesafarisucks @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @spectre-posts @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp

[actuallyadhd]

can I be smart while also having adhd??

lately I've seen a video about a woman who found out she has adhd (jaiden animations) and I felt like she was reading my biography haha

I've related to every single experience she said. so that tickled my brain to go after some research about adhd, to then realize I relate to, like, 90% of the symptoms and go through the same situations as diagnosed people..

but when I brought the idea that I might have adhd to my therapist (that assists me for half a year), she told me she finds super unlikely that I have it because I am smart and get really good grades...

I feel like it's unfair to eliminate that idea just because I am good at school, even though I suffer with lots and lots of other things in my every day life...

Sent July 23, 2024

Most people who have ADHD have at least normal IQ (as problematic as IQ is as a concept and an applied idea), and there are a few patterns that can indicate ADHD in someone whose overall academic performance is good. I was a gifted student, but I still showed these patterns.

1. You do better at the start of the term than the end. My first report card was always straight A’s (except Phys. Ed., which was always a C or D which is actually ludicrous now I think about it) and by the end of the year most things were a B except for my favourite subjects.

2. Your locker or desk at school is always a disaster, making it hard to be prepared for class or to find needed items (e.g., assignments, text books).

3. The usual executive dysfunction issues, meaning you’re late for class a lot, you leave assignments until the last minute, you forget about things, etc.

Talk to your therapist again, or ask your doctor for a referral to a clinician who can do an assessment. Your therapist may not be qualified to diagnose, and they obviously aren’t well-educated about ADHD.

The other part of this is that even if you don’t qualify for a formal diagnosis, you are obviously struggling or you wouldn’t have brought it up to your therapist. What I suggest there is, talk to them about the problems you’re having rather than “ADHD”. Pick the thing that’s most frustrating right now, and ask them if they can help you figure out how to deal with it. Because no matter what, you need to manage your symptoms and you probably need help to sort out how to do that.

Followers, what do you think about this? Do you have any advice to offer?

-J

[centrally-unplanned]

Adam Tooze giving some pitch-perfect pornography targeted at me specifically with Israel's "Gaza 2035: A three-step master plan to build what they call the Gaza-Arish-Sderot Free Trade Zone", capped with an AI generated Gaza-Dubai:

I'm in love, this is so glorious. "The world if Israel could play around with Gaza like a little set of Legos" tell me this is not identical energy:

Except its not a shitpost its an actual report from the Office of the Prime Minister. And folks we have got it all! The most convoluted administration system you could possibly imagine for no reason:

The new free trade zone would be administered by Israel, Egypt, and what the Israeli Prime Minister calls the Gaza Rehabilitation Authority (GRA)—a proposed Palestinian-run agency that would oversee reconstruction in Gaza and “manage the Strip’s finances.”

A cutesy little minimalist graphic of all the brand new industries that will magically become globally competitive in export markets because Israel says so:

The beach resorts are in my beloved!! But what are the little factories you ask? Oh nothing, just electric car production facilities!

Remember, before building your first factory, you need 18 Burj Khalifas. We economists call this "infrastructure development", take notes.

It will have high-speed rail through its center, oil projects on the coast, and of course, I'm saving the best for last - a rail project to NEOM:

 🥳The 🥳Line 🥳Mentioned 🥳

The legend on the map literally just says "a mega project" like, oh yeah, one of those! See em all the time.

Now, you might be asking - Ash, if this is your goal wouldn't you have not destroyed every square inch of habitable urban infrastructure in Gaza and shredded their economy into scraps of paper soaked in blood if your plan was to Singapore-on-the-Sea the place? You sweet summer child, those apartments? They are apartments of the past, darling, you don't need organically developed urban ecologies built over time to compliment human habitation. That is for fucking libs. All of this "war" thing was just set-up to create a blank slate for the construction of The Line 2: Its Definitely Real This Time!

I am going to murder James C Scott myself just so I can hover this plan over his corpse and watch the sheer hubris of this monument to the state's desire for legibility and technocratic solutionism resurrect him from the goddamn grave.

"Well....at least after all this they would have to recognize Palestine as a stat-" Woah woah woah woah, hold on:

The final stage would be when Palestine signs the Abraham Accords signaling “Palestinian self-rule,” albeit without statehood

Lets not...lets not get overambitious here. Baby steps, you know? We have to be careful.

Anyway this is the most ludicrously ill-considered and ill-presented reconstruction plan I have ever seen in my life and I shudder to think that, instead of it being an off-hand drip of propaganda intended solely to brush off nosey reporters and diplomats, it might actually be serious. Bibi hasn't let me down yet on the "thinking things through" front!

But tbc if this was fiction - instead of a ruthlessly grim reality - the Regional Deputy Minister of Trade charged with implementing this technocratic abortion would be my precious little blorbo and I would stan her to hell and back.

[oversensitiveandoffputting]

I wonder if the reason why Stolas is so blind to the class dynamic between him and Blitz is because he doesn’t feel like he benefits from it.

Work with me here. I’m not saying it’s true. I’m saying this may be how he feels.

You know those white people that say that they can’t have white privilege because they’re struggling to pay the rent? Maybe Stolas has a mindset something similar to that.

When you think royalty, you think strength and power. Stolas has neither. In terms of raw physical strength, Stolas is weaker among the Goetia. With his looks, he’s lanky and thin. “I’m so glad I don’t have to pretend to want to fuck his scrawny, twig ass.” (Stella I hate you so much). We know as the audience that it takes an insurmountable amount of strength to survive, umm, let’s see, let me check the list: missing mother, neglectful father, extreme isolation as a child, being a closeted gay man, an arranged marriage, marital rape, domestic violence, and being a teen father.

Yeah, I would have offed myself at number five.

But to Stolas, having to take SSRIs and having mental health issues is something he most likely is deeply ashamed of. Something he thinks of as a weakness.

In terms of power, he’s never had any power to control his own life. From the moment he was born, his destiny was written for him, no deviation allowed. “It is expected an oath by blood to hold the tome and the starlight passes overhead fuels all the skills I've honed. I am a guardian, a watcher of these ancient rites.” He has no power over who or when or if he commits himself to one person for the rest of his very, very long life. He has no power over Stella to make her stop abusing him. He has no power over his own brain to make him stop being suicidal.

In his mind, the idea that he benefits at all from his station is ludicrous. ‘Where is this privilege?’ He’s probably thinking to himself. ‘I don’t even get to choose who I marry, when I have children, what job I have, who I get to love, whether I make friends, how I can express my emotions, nothing. I choose nothing.’

And honestly? He’s not right…but he’s also not wrong.

There is something deeply fucked up about how the system has taken a cute, happy bird just excited to learn about his future on his birthday and chewed him up before spitting him out into a severely depressed alcoholic with C-PTSD and recovering from an assassination attempt.

It’s not that he doesn’t benefit from his status compared to other demons. He does. He has servants and can get an appointment for a hospital visit at any time and he’s welcome in any club he goes to and he’s never had to worry about whether he’ll have a roof over his head or food on the table. But compared to the standards set by the people around him? The idea is laughable. Offensive. Where is this privilege? He’s not seeing it.

And like the white people who claim that they can’t have white privilege because they struggle to pay the rent, we want to pull our hair out and scream because “holy shit how can you be this stupid?!”

But they have legitimate complaints about a system that chewed them up and spit them out. And so does Stolas.

[letteredlettered]

Stupid ways CQL changed the story from MDZS:

First on most people's list is gonna be the gay, and I agree on a political and societal level that this is an egregious change I can't get on board with. I will say though that on a personal preference level, I don't think the romance really adds much; the magic of this story is not the gay and I'm just as happy with WWX/LWJ have the intense, weird, unstated relationship they have in the drama as I am with the ultimately gay relationship they have in the book.

The Yin Iron plot in the drama is so bad, you guys. So bad. This includes a) there being multiple parts of the Yin Iron, b) WRH having some of it and creating puppets with it, c) LWJ/WWX going to search for it. Did they add this so WWX looks less terrible? So it looks like all he's doing is fighting fire with fire? I hate it. There was a knife fight, and WWX invented guns. That's literally the point of him; that's why he's terrifying; he invented something that was beyond his means to control and it got out of hand and everyone wanted the gun and there was only one. The plot in the drama is just SO STUPID. I like WWX and LWJ getting to bond when they search for it and the trip to the bunny cave, but you could really have them bond and get bunnies a different way.

The most egregious thing, imo, is how the Wen remnants are first portrayed in the drama. After the Wen Clan is defeated we see constant abuse of these prisoners, often pretty much in front of everyone's face. At one point they are even paraded in front of everyone and WWX is the only one who has a problem with it. I get that WWX is the hero, but it makes everyone else look super morally reprehensible. Like, how are we supposed to get behind LWJ if he can stomach that. Actually, forget LWJ, because I actually think the scene in the rain with the umbrella establishes that LWJ is simply unwilling to defy social convention/popular opinion, and while I think it is a slight twist on LWJ's character, it's not a big of one as you might suppose, given the novel. But Lan Xichen? The character who is supposed to be the absolute paragon of kindness, goodness, and compassion? It's always sat wrong with me. Anyway, the novel basically shows that the poor treatment of the Wens is mostly hidden from view of the public, and WWX only finds out because WQ goes to him for help.

Replacing NMJ's dismembered arm with an angry sword spirit was super confusing. Why does the sword spirit attack people's arms, and why does it ONLY do that at Mo Manor? It's stupid and confusing. I assume this was censorship as well? Unwilling to show some dismembered corpses?

Speaking on NMJ, the character is pointless in the drama. I think you really needed to show the way he helped and trusted Meng Yao and how utterly betrayed by Meng Yao NMJ was to really understand his character.

Speaking of which, it is so completely ludicrous that the Wen Clan attacks the Unclean Realm before the Wen Sect Training/Tortoise of Slaughter sequence. It does say in the book that the Wen Clan and Nie Clan are kind of in constant skirmishes, but that's why the Wen Clan heavily attacks Cloud Recess first and then goes for Lotus Pier; the point is that the Unclean Realm is too well defended. That said--I still find it outrageous that in the book everyone (except WWX, perpetually clueless) seems to know about the attack on Cloud Recesses but sends their children to the Wen Clan anyway. Like I get they're all intimidated but that is too much.

WWX falling off the cliff. So silly. LWJ never would have allowed that to happen. What was JC even doing? That said, the actual death in the book is so unclear; I get that it was the spiritual rebound, but what was JC doing then? What did it look like? I found it really weird how the book just did not illustrate a few very key climactic plot points.

Weirdly, JFM. I actually like the guy better in the drama, but that's a problem. He really is a terrible father to JC, and his terribleness really helps explain why JC is like he is.

[bg-brainrot]

MISTLETOE PROMPT -- aka the one I was most excited for, honestly

Prompt: Mistletoe

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Premise: What originally starts out as a cute idea, putting mistletoe up around the house, turns into a ridiculous rogue-on-rogue challenge. Whoever gets caught under the mistletoe first loses.

Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Holidays, post-canon, kisses, rogues doing rogue stuff

Word count: ~1.4k

Mistletoe is such a silly little holiday tradition, that when you put up your first sprig of the plant, you don’t even think about how Astarion might react. In fact, you just hang it up and continue to go about your business, sprucing up the rest of your house. 

It’s only later that day when Astarion spots it that you realize the chain of events you’ve brought upon your winter peace.

“Darling, was that mistletoe I spotted near the entryway?” 

You turn to see Astarion looking at you, a bit of mischief curling the corner of his lip into a smirk. “Yes, it should be. Did I accidentally hang a weed?”

He shakes his head at you with a chuckle, “Nothing like that. I just noticed it was placed rather inconveniently. How am I supposed to surprise you with kisses when it’s only at the entryway?” 

“You were planning on surprising me with kisses?” Now it’s your turn to laugh. “I’d like to see you try.” 

That was all Astarion needed to hear before you were both adding a few more kissing zones to the house: the kitchen, the entryway to your bedroom, and the hallway.

Now that a challenge had been issued, it was only fair that you had a right to catch Astarion as well. So began a day of subterfuge and paranoia, also known as your battle of the mistletoe.

The rules are simple: whoever catches the other under the mistletoe first wins. In order to be caught, it must be a genuine kiss, both lips must make contact and the other person must be under the mistletoe– no ‘close enoughs’. The one who gets caught promises to do one thing the other asks of them, no complaining. Not even eye rolling, as you firmly reminded Astarion. He rolled his eyes at the reminder.

It started off innocently enough. Astarion walking through the entry to your bedroom, only for you to drop from the top of your wardrobe in a sneak kiss attack. The vampire dodged and you ended up splayed on the floor.

It escalated a bit when you found the door to leave your kitchen locked– did it even have a lock before? You spun around just in time for Astarion's kiss to land on the back of your head. He gave an annoyed 'tsk' and unlocked the door for you.

It reached dangerous levels when you laid out a trap for your love in the hallway, catching him in a well-hidden rope trap. He’d glared at your gloating approach, your lips puckered in what you thought was certain victory before he nimbly slipped out of the rope and landed on your other side.

Now it’s reached ludicrous levels. Or so you think as you stand at the bottom of the stairs, watching as Astarion hangs another branch of mistletoe at the top.

“Hey, you can’t put up extra mistletoe!” you shout, spotting Astarion’s long, dexterous fingers tying up a festive-looking sprig above the stairs.

He raises his chin at you defiantly. “You never said that was part of the rules.”

"It was implied," you hiss, dodging out from yet another new piece of mistletoe that hadn’t been there this morning. “How am I supposed to walk anywhere in this house now?”

“You could simply lose, darling,” Astarion taunts from the top of the stairs. 

“Not a chance,” you say, glaring at him from below.

He tuts. “I know where you sleep, dear. You’d best watch out.”

You pause at that. Wait, how long is this going to go on for? “Sleeping doesn’t count, the person has to be awake to know it’s happening.”

“Again, you never established that rule,” he says, folding his arms across the staircases’ banister. “Seems awfully convenient that you keep adding rules, love.”

Something about his calm composure irks you– like he’s already certain he’s won. But you refuse to lose to him in a mindgame. “Fine, I’ll just have to catch you before bed. Get down here and fight me!”

Astarion only shakes his head at you gently. “I know who would win in that scenario and I don’t intend to forfeit so easily. Why don’t you come up here?” He points to the top of the stairs innocently.

Ready for the showdown and tired of living in a state of fear within your own house, you say, “Fine.” 

Then, with all of the dexterity of the master assassin you are, you run up the stairs and tuck into a roll as soon as you reach Astarion. Bounding back onto your feet, you open your arms out like he’s a wild animal you’re keeping at bay. You circle him, waiting for an opening, the mistletoe dangling like an untriggered trap between you. 

The vampire is standing in a crouched stance, hands balled into fists, almost feral the way his teeth are bared in a gleeful smile. The look in his eyes is downright frightening in its intensity– though it really only makes your heart pound in your chest. Would it really be that bad to lose? It’s that mentality that gives Astarion the upper hand.

As if spotting your weakness, he drops the tension in his arms and body and walks toward you. The sudden calm in his posture is far more intimidating than the intensity he had before, and you find yourself taking a step backward, down the hallway. 

I’m further from the mistletoe at least, you think, spotting the branch behind Astarion’s head as you both shuffle down the hall. He continues to walk toward you and you wonder what his game is. Even if he kisses you now, he won’t win. Maybe he just wants a kiss?

“Darling,” he says, voice dripping with honey. It should be a red flag, but, like most in your life, you choose to ignore it. “I haven’t been able to kiss you all day. Just one please? We’re not even under the mistletoe anymore.”

You want to give in. Oh gods do you want to give in. It’s like he’s putting effort into making his lips look all the more kissable as he pleads with you. But you’re not naive. “Show me your hands,” you say, pointing at his currently closed fists. “And empty your pockets.”

He sighs at you, as if you’re only inconveniencing a poor lovestruck man. But when he opens each palm, a piece of mistletoe falls out. A few more drop out of his pockets, and he says, “Satisfied? Can’t I just have one lovely little kiss before you rightfully accuse me of something?”

Again, you hesitate– what if he has another hiding spot? Nothing else comes to mind, and he’s looking at you so very softly that you find yourself answering, “Oh, very well. Come here.”

Astarion smiles at you, his eyes soft, his lips lush and, even as he closes the distance between you, you don’t sense anything amiss. His cool lips meet yours in a sweet, yearning symphony, and you feel silly for having worried about the kiss at all. Clearly, he really did just miss kissing you all day.

However, as he moves to deepen the kiss, one hand cupping your face, the other wrapping around you, you sense something is off. It’s difficult to think with the feel of his lips moving against yours, but something about the way his hand trails along your back feels different than usual, almost as if he’s searching for something. 

You notice too late. His hand grabs something, and you already know what it is before he brings it up.

Pulling your lips from his, you look up at the offending green plant over your head, shocked.

“Before you can complain,” he says, not releasing your face. “You never said the kiss had to be started under mistletoe.”

“How did you–” you start, mind still trying to catch up to reality.

He smiles at you mischievously. “Oh I pickpocketed that piece onto you hours ago, love. Remember the failed kiss in the kitchen?”

You want to complain, to grumble and thwack him in frustration. But, you’re honestly mostly impressed. “Well played, dear,” you say, giving him a reluctant smile. “You win. So, what would you like me to do?”

“I don’t think it ought to be too difficult,” he says, tossing the used mistletoe to the ground and bringing his face close to yours once more.

“Is that so?” you say, challenging him with your eyes.

“Mhm,” he murmurs, wrapping his arm back around you. You feel the breath from his next words on your lips. “Simply allow me to surprise you with kisses under the mistletoe.”

You pretend to sigh, but it comes out as more of a shaky, faltering breath. “I suppose, since I promised. No complaining.”

“No complaining,” he repeats before pressing his lips to yours once more.

You suspect that the rest of the season will be filled with many, many more kisses.

[guiltycorp]

Recently thinking a lot about how Geto in the backstory started out as an obviously secondary right hand man kind of friend to Gojo... I remember I was a bit frustrated with the anime’s choice to make Geto lose at basketball compared to Gojo’s effortless three-pointer since I thought it undermined the idea of them being ‘the strongest’ together at the time. But now I’m realising that Geto truly accepted and embodied that role — aware or not, he was fine with just following Gojo’s steps. When dealing with the curse user group, Gojo was the one who took on the leader while Geto dealt with their underling, the decision to go to Okinawa was Gojo's, in the audio drama in the Okinawa part (as translated by jjktlmax on youtube) Nanami specifically says they’re helping out Gojo-san with no mention of Geto until Haibara brings him up, Toji never even paid attention to who accompanied Gojo. Even Yuki came to the school to see Gojo, too, and Geto was just coincidentally someone she met instead! All three of them were special grades, and yet... And Geto never showed any signs of displeasure at being treated as second to Gojo even though 'the strongest' never meant 'equally strong'. Moreover, he always showed signs of self-doubt, both when he made the mistake of leaving Kuroi behind and when he insinuated himself to be a bad person to Haibara before he ever did anything wrong.

I don’t know, it’s something about their dynamic that seems even more sad to me because it underlines how the typical shonen jealousy wasn’t as much of a factor for Geto. He did have his own budding god complex and overconfidence issues, but they didn't seem to influence his friendship with Gojo as much before Gojo moved on with his growth while Geto lagged behind and tacitly accepted that he no longer had that place by Gojo's side anymore... And only then, after finding his stupidly evil goal, he finally verbalized the difference between himself and Gojo to his face, if only to explain why he dedicated his life to something so ludicrous. But it seems that if he could have followed, he would have been fine with the lesser role :C

[riddle-me-ri]

Hey this was me who wanted a whole fic for this scenario for the bottom line "go be pretty over there away from me" could u do it thank u

A/N: I’m writing this at like 4 am cause I can’t sleep, so if this goes down later tomorrow I'm heavily editing it rip but hey at least I get to practice writing for other rogues that pique my interest! I hope I do them justice. This is another shot of just my own generalized takes on them (albeit I've been watching BTAS again, so they may seem softer than normal rip), and still no Joker sorry not sorry and most of these ended up being fluffier than I intended oop. Special thanks to @like-rain-or-confetti for supporting my ramblings in the tags of my reblogs lol

Batman Rogues x Reader - Yes, You’re Pretty…Now GO AWAY

Edward Nygma/The Riddler:

It was ridiculous. 

Absolute nonsense. 

He was jotting down riddles and puzzle traps away in his journal. You were only a few feet away on the other edge of the couch. Your face glued to your computer screen. 

Everything was fine…until you started laughing. 

Your little giggles, and the sweet small smile that lingered after your giggle fit. The way your face’s natural glow was tinted by the blue of the screen…

Ludicrous, outrageous, unbelievable. 

“Y/N…”

“Hm?” 

“C-Could you perhaps take yourself…anywhere else but here?”

You scrunched up your eyebrows in confusion. “Uh…yeah I could, but I don’t want to. I want to stay here with you, Ed.”

“I…appreciate that, but it’s rather hard to focus.”

Your blinked and shook your head. What? “I’m not even talking to you, I’m only like three feet away from you!” You shot your hand up going from right to left, gesturing the distance between you and Edward. 

“Yes, yes, but y-you’re distracting…”

“How?” 

“You’re laughing, smiling, beaming…” Ed drifted from stern to swooning.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. You scooted closer to him on the couch, catching him off guard. 

“Eddie, are you saying I’m distracting you because…I’m pretty?” You grinned. 

Edward rolled his eyes. “Yes, beautiful even, so can you please go somewhere else?” 

You doubled down. “I don’t know sounds like a you problem…”

“Please Y/N!” 

“Okay, okay, just tell me again how beautiful I am…”

Oswald Cobblepot/The Penguin:

You were just helping Oswald out in his office. You enjoyed helping him stay organized. He may be a criminal but it was in organized crime.

Oswald was going over invoice statements and you were checking inventory for the lounge’s food and beverages. However, you were proving to be rather…distracting. 

Your legs were crossed, you leaned back in the leather office chair, slightly rocking yourself. You bit the end of your pen between your teeth while your eyes intently scanned the contents of the papers in front of you. 

The gentleman of crime found himself not thinking so gentleman thoughts about you. All previous work and tasks that needed to be done was slowly slipping out of his mind. 

He cleared his throat. “Uh, Y/N, dove…”

“Yes, Ozzie.” You looked up at him with a sweet smile. 

Oh, why’d you have to do that?!

“Uhh, do you think you can help the girls downstairs? I recall they needed some assistance with the new uniforms.”

You pursed your lips and furrowed your eyebrows. “Uh, that’s the first I heard. They seem to be getting along well with them, Oz.”

“That’s not what they told me earlier, love.”

“Oswald, I spoke to them and they said they were fine!” You insisted. 

Oswald cringed, clearly not taking the bait to leave. 

“Is there something else that’s wrong? Something bothering you?” You inquired. 

“Ah…it’s just me, love. Well, more you than me…” He scratched the back of his neck. 

“And how is it more me than you?” 

“Dove, you’re far too gorgeous, you always are, but more so now, and it’s distracting me,” Oz admitted.

Your eyes widened, but you felt your throat bubble up in soft chuckles. “I’m distracting you?”

Oz gave you a lopsided smile. “It’s the truth, love…I should be checking this numbers and adding and subtracting, but all I can think of is you…”

You felt your face warm up slightly, as a soft blush rose to your cheeks. “Ever the charmer, Oswald.” 

“It’s the truth, Y/N. Once I finish these papers, I’ll come get you, okay?”

“You better, Cobblepot!” You shot a finger at him, trying to act serious, but you both could tell you were only teasing him. 

Oswald laughed. “The sooner you leave the sooner I can get this done!”

You were halfway at the door when you looked over your shoulder. “You owe me, Ozzie!” 

Oz kept laughing, waving you off. “I’ll make it up, I promise!”  

Jonathan Crane/The Scarecrow:

This wasn’t right. 

It wasn’t fair. 

How can he resume his plans as the Master of Fear and the Lord of Despair when you’re sitting right there. 

You looked so cozy and warm. You were cuddled up in one of Jonathan’s old Gotham University hoodies and a long fleece blanker. You were reading one of your novels while he was on the other side of the room; recording certain chemical reactions, wrote down further hypothesis to test later for a new toxin. 

You assured him you wouldn’t say anything or bother him, you just wanted to be near him. Jonathan figured it would kill two birds with one stone, he can get work done and you two get to be near each other. 

However, you were still so enthralling and enchanting to the ex-professor. Seeing you so content in his presence. It made a warmth bloom in his heart he had never felt in a long time, he was sure he had long lost the capability to feel this warmth. This love, dare he say. 

“Uhh, Jonny…” You start. 

“Hm?” 

“Sweetheart, you’re staring…”

Jonathan immediately shook his head and blinked, as he broke whatever spell you unconsciously put him in. 

“Oh, um, I-I apologize…” Jonathan’s face slowly turned red at his cheeks and the tip of his nose. 

You giggled. “It’s fine, Jonny, do you want me to read in another room?”

Jonathan really didn’t want you to go, but he didn’t see himself really getting any work done. 

“I promise I’ll come join you soon, darling…but if…if you don’t mind?” 

You got up from your chair, giggling, wrapping yourself in the blanket and leaving your index finger in the pages of your book to mark your spot. You bent over and gave Jonathan a kiss on the cheek. 

“I don’t mind, Jonathan. Just don’t be too long, okay?” 

“Y-Yes, darling…”

Jervis Tetch/The Mad Hatter:

Okay, okay, the tea party was almost ready. 

Jervis was setting up his next tea party for the Batman. He had the tablecloth laid out. All the plates and tableware was set. Y/N sat in their chair looking radiant as ever…

Y/N sitting in a reclining chair smiling away at some handheld device. Jervis thinks he remembers you called it a Switch or something like that. You seemed to enjoy playing on it, and it gave you something to do while Jervis was plotting and scheming.

However, he didn’t notice until just now, just how ethereal you were. Your eyes lit up, your cute little hums of satisfaction, your giggles. Gosh, your giggles were quite infectious even for him and he is the Mad Hatter. 

“Is there something wrong, Jervis?” You noticed he stopped pacing around and mumbling different ideas and tasks he had going on in his head. 

“Oh, um, no nothing at all…” Jervis darted his eyes away from you and tried to resume setting the traps on the chairs surrounding the table. 

There you go giggling again, gosh you were as cute as a white rabbit. 

WHAP

Jervis yelped in pain as the rat trap he had placed on the table was triggered when he placed his elbow down on it. 

“Oh my God, Jervis!” You jumped up and immediately helped pull back the mechanism, freeing his arm. 

“Aahh, ah..” Jervis whimpered. You began softly rubbing the joint, hoping the pinching sensation will fade away. 

“U-um..my dear, Y/N. N-Not that I don’t enjoy having you here with me…but perhaps it may be best if you went somewhere else while I finish up here.” 

A puzzled look showed up on your face. You titled your head when you asked, “but why, Jervis, everything was going fine…did something distract you?”

“Well…yes…a certain something..someone did..”

“Someone? Oh! Aww, Jervis…” You couldn’t help the small smile that grew across your face. 

“I’m afraid you’re far too enchanting for me, my dear. You’ll have to make haste elsewhere.” He shrugged nervously. 

“Well, if it’ll keep you from hurting yourself, I think I can oblige you just this once.” You poked the tip of his nose. 

Jervis giggled at the gesture, causing you to laugh in return. 

Harvey Dent/Two-Face:

You had no reason to look that alluring. 

He’s trying to plan his next trial at the kitchen table but nooo. You were sitting on the couch in the living room, wearing your new dress. You were steady scrolling on your phone, probably laughing at some cute animal videos. 

Dent would absolutely kill someone if they got in the way of your smile. He wouldn’t even need to flip a coin on it. 

Harvey would look down and try to focus on his list of defendants he had lined up, and some places he planned to raid. Those will probably have to happen next week, he found a quite a few rats in his gang. Plus his boys caught one of Penguin’s higher ups that could spill some hot info…

You laughed. You tried to cover it up, but failed pretty miserably. You started typing away on your phone. Your award-winning smile still plastered on your face. 

Damnit…who did his boys catch?

Harvey got up and leaned against the beam that separated the kitchen from the living room. 

“Hey…gorgeous…” 

You immediately perked your head up. “Oh, hey Harvey, how’s work going?”

“Ah, it’s going, could be going a lot faster though…”

“Really? How so?”

“If you could maybe go to the bedroom and hang out there…” He scratched the back of his neck nervously, not sure how else to tell you to leave.

“Oh, am I annoying you?” 

“No, no, far from it, doll.” He went up to you and got down on his knees. He took your hands in his and placed them on top of your knees. 

“You’re just, you always look so beautiful, but today you look…particularly…well gorgeous. And it’s really hard for me to focus…”

“Harvey Dent are you accusing me of being too pretty?” You jested, teasingly shoved him in his chest. 

“Afriad I am, doll. Luckily for you, I’ve already got a plea deal to offer you.”

“Even for a repeat offender like me?” You coyishly inquired, pretending to be worried about actually being charged with a crime. 

“Especially for you, if you can spend some time alone in another room, and it can be anywhere, but where I am…I won’t have to charge you for distracting me.”

“What do the charges entail, Mr. Dent?” You crossed your arms. 

“You don’t wanna know, doll. Just take my advice and I’ll make it worth your while.” Harvey winked. 

“Hm.” You stood up, almost knocking Harvey back on his haunches. “I suppose I’ll take your advice…this time, but I’ll hold you to that offer of making it worth my while.” 

Harvey laughed. “Sure thing, sweetness. Just please, I can’t be a victim to your radiance for much longer…”

“Oh shush, I’m leaving, I’m leaving!” 

[focsle]

Music on Whaleships

Because how else will you power through the boredom AND the horrors!?

Two men aboard the Wanderer, photographed by Pardon B. Gifford in 1906 (New Bedford Whaling Museum)

Music featured quite frequently on whalers, though not necessarily in the same way as it might on a merchant vessel. The quintessential musical contribution of sailors—the sea shanty—didn’t hold as prominent a place aboard a whaler as it did on other types of ships. Some captains were particularly strict about keeping noise down while cruising to prevent gallying any nearby whales. Shanties were also less necessary for performing the work: Whaleships tended not to carry a great deal of sail, had a lot of hands aboard available to handle it, and were quite leisurely in their pace as they lolled around the globe for years at a time. This was unlike merchant ships that tended to have smaller crews, larger ships, and tighter schedules, all for which shanties were used more often to coordinate that work effort. However, music was still vital to maintaining good morale during a whalers' work that was, in turns, extremely demanding and dangerous, and extremely dull and mind-numbing. Both of which could really plague a fellow's soul if there was no relief. A panacea for a whaleship's ills, music rang out in the fo'c'sle during idle hours, was sought out during shore leaves, was copied down in remembered songs in the backs of men's journals, and any fellow who hazarded to pick up an instrument or lift his voice was a prized member of the crew.

Read on, under the readmore, since this is also quite a long one with many a photo, journal entry, recorded music, and whalers' original written songs! I really REALLY enjoyed pulling this one together.

Even though they weren't as utilized, there were still occasions when shanties burst out on deck. Greenhand William Abbe of the Atkins Adams (1858) recalled them first being used several months into the voyage. This speaks to the fact that shanties weren't a regular part of whaling work, but rather an instance of one shipmate finally venturing to include them:

“We began to sing shanties last night in hauling aft sheets or bowsing on halliards — Jack leading in 'Johnny Francois' + 'Katy, My Darling' and all hands taking up the refrain + pulling with a will. This pleased the Mate who told us that pretty well for the first time that he liked to hear us make a noise—as it showed that Jack —not Allegany [surname of a crewmate on board] — but any one of us was awake. He laughed—waved his hands— + cried out 'that’s the way sailors'.”

Johnny Francois, aka Boney

They were later "obliged to avast singing + haul away without the "Shantie" as the crew’s singing was so "ludicrous" that they were all laughing over it rather than effectively hauling. But even if shanties weren’t often used aboard the Atkins Adams to set the pace of the work, they still featured during downtime in their watches:

“Jack leading sung the watch out in Shanties 'Johnny Francois' 'Santa Anna' 'Katy, My Darling' +c. Mr. Gorland + Tripp came forward and joined us. It was very cold and wet — but our singing warmed our hearts while we were free from the spray and warm from mutual contact.”

On whaleships, shanties were more frequently employed—though still inconsistently—during more demanding tasks such as weighing anchor or working the windlass to haul up blubber.

While greenhand John Perkins’s ship, Tiger, was lying at anchor at the Hawaiian islands in 1845, he mentioned hearing another whaling crew strike up a shanty upon leaving:

“When called this morning we heard the Neptune’s crew weighing anchor to the tune of ‘Tally hi o you know.’ After breakfast our watch went ashore on liberty”

Tally-I-Oh

Music was also greatly sought out during whalers’ shore leave. Thomas Nickerson, cabin boy of the ill-fated Essex, 1820, wrote about a dance hall in Talcahuano that he was quite unimpressed by, but his other shipmates enjoyed tremendously.

"There we found a few young women seated around the hall on wooden stools, and playing off some Spanish airs upon their guitars to dance by. There did not seem to be either melody or music in their touch, but after such an interval of confinement our men were ready to dance to anything had it even been a corn stalk fiddle. With their guitars were an accompaniment of an old copper pan used as a tambourine. To this music did our men dance apparently with as much satisfaction as though it had been the finest music in the world.”

Music was also one of the first ways whalers and locals at various ports of call built camaraderie between each other, where potential language barriers were no object if someone had along with them a fiddle (and maybe some alcohol). Such an interaction was recorded by Albert Peck, greenhand on the Covington that stopped in Guam in the 1850s:

"Having our fiddler with us, we went from one hut to another giving them a tune at each, which would please them very much, and to show their appreciation of it they would produce a bottle of aquadiente [Aguardiente] or brandy, and treat us to a glass which would consist of a coconut shell, until it became evident that this would not do if we intended to walk to the town, as before long we should be incapable of walking anywhere. So we started for the town."

Whaler-made fiddle c. 1835-50, inscribed with the name Daniel Weeks. (New Bedford Whaling Museum)

But liberty always came to an end. When the Tiger departed Hawaii 10 days later, Perkins noted that they were too glum to accompany their leaving with a shanty:

“We weighed anchor without a song all feeling to bad at departing from summer islands to the cold Norwest sure of hard labor, absolute suffering & danger.”

Amidst that hard labor, absolute suffering, & danger, music served an essential function of bringing in levity and acting as a pressure release valve aboard.

Clifford Ashley, who joined the bark Sunbeam in 1904 on part of her voyage for research, described the music of his dog watch:

"Two misfit concertinas every night sent up their dismal wail to a tune that never varied, often keeping time with the strokes of a couple who pounded up hard bread in a canvas bag to be mixed into a molasses mush for their watch."

A whaler's concertina, c. 1850 (Nantucket Whaling Museum)

Any man who had a bit of a voice or could play a bit of an instrument quickly became a favorite among the crew, even if he only knew one song. Foremast hand William Stetson, of the Arab (1850s), was delighted when a new man they shipped aboard during a provision stop had some faint musical inclination.

“in the dog watches we enjoy ourselves very agreeably by stepping off a lively measure to the tune of “roads to Boston” as performed on the violin by Moody, one of those lately shipped at Lahaina. This is about the only tune he can saw off decently, but he is the first that has belonged to the bark this voyage who has made any pretensions to being a fiddler, and consequently the ‘doleful music’ of the skipper’s cracked violin is usually heard in the evening between the hours of five and seven P.M"

Moody's go-to, Road to Boston.

Even in the absence of an actual musical instrument, crews made do with whatever they could get. William Abbe writes about one such time on the Atkins Adams:

Last night while gamming with F. Willy in the forecastle I was called on deck to help make up a set for a cotillion — being honored as the lady of Curly — we were at a loss for music + were stepping to the hummed air of Johnny the Boatsteerer + the orders of the dancing master — Jack — when Shanghai rushed up from the forecastle + jumping up on the oil cask looked forward of the windlass + squatting his long legs on the cask head began a toot toot on an old tin funnel, followed by Johnny Come Lately on an old tin bread pan for a drum — We greeted our band with shouts — + to the music of our mimic french horn and kettle drum chased up + down + joining hands by partners promenaded with double quick steps round the forecastle deck making the deck ring with our laughter — + the rattling music — both music and steps getting quicker + quicker till Tarpsechorz [Terpsichore] herself would have fled agast — + home belles and beaus would have fainted at the sight —our fun was suddenly interrupted by the order to shorten sail — + our quick stepping was only rivaled by our agility aloft for we reduced sail in unusually short time.

The captain, enjoying their sense of play but finding their makeshift music particularly disagreeable, then came up on deck to give them something to better it:

“Old Man liked the fun but didn’t like the music for Old Woman — brot up on deck a new accordion + calling Charley aft consigned it to him with the injunction to use it well — Charley came forward — delighted— + mounting the spars struck up Fisher’s Hornpipe + the strums sounding through the calm evening animated us till Jack or Molly [a crewmate currently crossdressing for the role] + our barefooted stepping got the whole Ship’s Company in a roar — from the Old Woman to Cabin Boy.”

Crew members of the Charles W. Morgan, 1906, taken by Pardon B. Gifford (New Bedford Whaling Museum)

Sometimes music was a little less favorably received. J.T. Langdon, greenhand on the St Peter, 1840s-50s, had brought his fiddle aboard to entertain himself, and at one point taught the Captain how to play it. On the homeward bound stretch--with his patience with the job and everyone on board strained to the limit--he grumbled about music-making halting getting home quickly:

"There seems to be an little disregard to sailing the vessel on the part of the Captain and the Mate. The 'Old Man' will saw away on his 'old fiddle' and the mate will tinker and the ship goes where she likes. I have sometimes almost cursed the day that I learned the Cap'n to fiddle."

Sometimes, sailing be damned, it was time for an entire musical production, as on veteran whaler John Martin's ship, the Lucy Ann, 1841. He wrote out the Program along with the nicknames of the performers.

"We finished this day with a grand concert given by the whole crew. The audience were sea gulls. The following is the programme of the concert. Programme Part 1st Song. One eyed Riley With chorus by whole crew. - By Chub. "There was a Sheppards daughter, Kept sheep on yander hill" - by Lightning Song. I hit her right on her stinking Machine - by Hominy Head Solo. On Kent Bugle by - myself Part 2nd Song. Cant you wont you stay a little longer - by Turpin "Turkish Lady - Black Leg Duette with Drum & Fife - Chub & [left blank] Part 3rd Song. My dogs eyes makes mince pies - Steward "Morgan Ratler - Spunyarn "The Meremaid in three parts by - Hardy "Trayum with chorus by crew Part 4th Song. Kelly the Pirate - King David "Tally ho - Spunyarn "Lord Lovell that went strange, countries for to see - Hardy Solo. on flute by - Young Norval Part 5th Song. Fanny Blair - Turpin "French Lady - Mizen "All the girls in our town - Steward Part 6th Song. So early in the morning, the Sailors love the bottle O. - by Mocho a color'd Gentleman "Milkmaid - Hominy Head "Two little sisters walking up the street" - Jersey Grand Chorus by the whole Crew on Bugle, Drum, Fife, Flute, Violins, Triangles, &c. & wound up by The mate telling us if we did not quit making such a damned noise he would heave a bucket of stinking water over us. Ends the same.

An excerpt of John Martin's above program:

Often, in the backs of journals whalemen would write songs that are still known today. Rolling Down to Old Maui, Blow Ye Winds, Coast of Peru, Homeward Bound, Saucy Sailor, etc. These were learned on the job, or exchanged between crew mates. From the journal of William Buel of the Wave, 1856, the lyrics to Saucy Sailor which he learned from a fellow greenhand:

"I am young my love and I am frolicsome Good natured kind and free And I don't care a single toss my boys What the world says of me ~~~~ Learnt from my friend Joseph F Horan"

There's something quite lovely to having a shared thread from their lives into the present. We might be separated by a gulf of over a century, but we know the lyrics to the same songs.

Some whalers composed their own songs, too. I'll close with one written by career whaleman Joseph Dias, when he was captain of the St. George in 1853. He ended his lyrics with the note 'Read and Circulate', so I see it as my duty to do him a small kindness 170 years later by circulating it now.

Paradox Come all ye shipmates lend an ear And the truth you soon shall hear Of the Ship St. George in the zealous sea Who is raiseing hell it seems to me — The way we try to get our grease So to strike three whales and save a piece Beside two whales of india ruber The boatsteerer swore to be slack blubber — Very poor advice I freely lend Of a way I highly recommend To take a crowbar and punch a hole Drive in the iron and the pole — Hang to your line till all is blue Either kill him or he kill you We want a man upon the docket To go ahead like david Crockett -- Promoting men at our expense Takes our dollars with our pence Besides it throws our work away This thing For sure will never pay — To see the whales was once the cry They are here where e're you turn your eye They have raced for rise to sitting sun Been on a dozen and killed but one — To man that’s taught in a bowhead school Will find himself here but a fool Read and Circulate