#A Sash and a Rash

[fountainpenguin]

📂

Here's a headcanon inspired by my one-shot "Swim"

Executive Dysfunction Chloe Slacker Chloe went to Unwish Island after being unwished post-"Sash and a Rash." She hangs out with Nega-Timmy, Timantha, Evil Jimmy / James, Imaginary Gary, and all the rest.

Timantha enjoys having a girl around to talk to, though Slacker Chloe isn't big on conversation. They both like pizza, though.

Nega-Timmy - known control freak and obsessed with everyone's looks - can't stand her. Slacker Chloe drives him insane by sticking a fork in his whole "Society will crumble without make-up" schtick.

I like to think his feelings waver a lot, so sometimes he'll carry her around and hoist her over his head like "See? This is what you'll become without make-up! Come to my salon!!"

However, Slacker Chloe is just so chill about everything that people like her a lot. Sometimes this is anti-advertisement in that Unwish Island residents realize they don't have to go to the salon to feel good about themselves. Nega-Timmy is flummoxed.

If she's a part of Chloe, I feel like Slacker Chloe should still be admired by others, though this time instead of being fawned over because she gives people No Homework Passes and lemon bars and other gifts, it's because she's just self-confident. She's the type who sits by the pool, but one of her friends will grab her hand and hold it in the air to volunteer her for projects and she'll still lazily smile. She knows what's going on... she just can't be bothered to care. She'll show up where she's assigned, but she'll probably just sit there.

Imaginary Gary gets on her case for littering all the time. Also, I feel like James would get irritated with her neutral responses to everything and he'd sulk a lot. It would be his life mission to dump crabs on her to see if she'll react. She won't even brush them off; she'll just smile at them and say "Meh..."

Her friends like her, but they'll make a show of acting like they can't stand her, in the sense that they'll huff loudly and sit next to her with their arms wrapped around her legs. She likes them too, but chronically fails to show it.

Her friends look after her because she probably wouldn't leave her room if they didn't check on her now and then, but being who they are, they can't blatantly care about her, y'know? So they'll just run in yelling that they're practicing evacuation drills and throw her over their shoulders and run away. Except Imaginary Gary is like 5 so he just kinda drags her across the floor until their friends make a show of taking her away from him.

Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have

[nevvaraven]

raven u r so funny n clever n a blessing to have on the dash ..nevva change MUAH

The divorce papers I serve you are gonna have little red hearts drawn all over them it’s gonna be sickening ilysm

[honestsycrets]

Stung | [Miguel O'Hara x Reader]

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | after a discus malfunction, you're bitten by an anomaly and refuse medical attention. you're in a state that you refuse to show to miguel-- at all costs.

❛ tags | NSFW, sex pollen, mention of a wound, slight chase, miguel o'hara doesn't like to be ignored, cum eating, creampies, abnormal amount of fluid, venom bite, slapping, some insecurity, spanish is not translated, sexual memories.

❛ sy’s notes | my obligatory ABO-sex pollen fic for ATSV. i usually make a ABO/Sex Pollen piece per fandom I write in, so here's one for Miggy 🐝

“All done!”

You slipped out of HQ’s packed infirmary with a jaunty bounce in your step. Crispy, coppery blood was matted onto your forearm concealed behind a hastily tied bandage. You weren't concerned about it. It would resolve within the hour. Likely less. As would your elevated body temperature. Despite the doctor's prattle about the benefit of further testing, you found their concern to be a non-issue. These things were virtual non-issues, even if the doctor and your man thought otherwise. 

The hallways at HQ were like any other day in your city. Congested with the coming and going of spiders in their daily lives. A glimpse at any group might reveal decadent flirting and haughty laughter. Some were in a rush to their own worlds, but most were completing work assigned by the Spider Society. The one you were looking for reclined against a wall with his arms interlocked one over the other. His displeased rumble prompted you to his presence above all other voices in the crowd. 

“You should have let them run the tests.” His voice was teased with concern but became mild, little more than a drab sigh at your refusal. You blew off his concern with a shake of your hand, gone yellow and bubbly behind a bit of ineffectual gauze. His eye glazed over the wound. You couldn't tell what he was thinking behind his mask, but you didn't need to. You only needed to convince him you were right.

“It’s stopped bleeding, Miggy. It’s just a scratch,” You held up your arm, flicking it with emphasis. His eyebrows raised for a moment, then flattened, staring at you with a dull rictus. “It was just a brief malfunction of the discus.” 

Technically it was more of an impalement, but if Miguel wasn’t going to ask, you weren’t going to invite him to delve deeper. Otherwise, you might spend the next few hours of your life fixing a wound that surely would have closed up by the time results were back. The injury site mildly itched. That was all. Never mind, the slight, honey-colored rash migrating from the puncture site to your elbow. Or the referred pain. Minor things. 

“You’re being stubborn.” 

“You’re the one to talk.” You snapped the discus free from your sash and chucked it toward Miguel.  He caught it with an unsurprising amount of ease, claws clicking in unison against the ineffectual metal.

“¡Qué problema!” he mocked, his voice dry and absent of discernible emotion. 

You closed the distance between your bodies to slide your arms around his broad neck. His other hand came to your lower back. It was warm, the way he touched you, from the bundles of affection that fluttered in your belly to the heat dappling across your chest. You missed this every day. It made fleeing the infirmary all the more worth it.

“I put the anomaly in another discus. One that actually works, no thanks to your programming.”

“That’s what happens when you take things without asking.” He flicked the discus between his thumb and index finger, waggling it for emphasis. It was true that there had been nights that went with banging, clacks, clatters, and the occasional outburst when things weren’t quite going his way. There were a few discuses on his desk. You just so happened to take the one that malfunctioned. “I was working on it. ¿Qué era?” 

“Oh,” you mumbled. “Just some stingy bees. What harm could they do?” 

His eyes roamed your wound. You couldn't help but look down too, both horrified and fascinated by the way the rash had moved in just a brief few minutes. The colour had begun to fade. You glanced up, flattening your mouth into a slight, forced smile.

“Fine. If you're sure.”

To be fair, you secured many anomalies with and without the help of others. They all went into their cozy, temporary forcefield homes until they could be fairly redirected to their appropriate dimensions. In the downtime, you could help or hinder Miguel's progress. Then, your watch would alert you to another disturbance and the cycle would continue. 

Until that morning. 

Your watch blared, and blared, and blared some more. The early morning sun began to rise and cast offensive beams of light into your room. Usually, it didn’t bother you. But this morning, everything offended you from the scratch of silky sheets on your naked body to Lyla illuminating what darkness was left, all golden and cute. You wondered if that was how Miguel felt when you forgot to pull the curtains, strung out on the bed after he finished with you.

“Woah! Oops!” she turned, covering her eyes with her spindly fingers. A growing ache throbbed between your legs. It wasn’t quite the same dull soreness from Miguel’s late-night visit last night, either. “Sorry, sorry. Miguel--”

“He can handle it,” you bit out, snappier than you intended. It wasn't like you. “Or-- Jess. No, Gwen. Gwen can do it, she loves--” 

“He asked for you.” 

Of course, he did. You scrunched a pillow over your head. Your Miguel couldn’t see you this. Absolutely not. You debated getting up, ignoring what you called a negligible ache that was quickly morphing into a terrible pounding. You can't believe how quickly the thought fell apart, pushing yourself to sit up in bed. The ghost of his scent floods your nose, flashing memories of the night before.

Something at work set him off. Something that commanded no intimacy, but the mechanical release of his rage that wouldn't destroy precious resources. He sat on the edge of the bed, driving your mouth onto his cock with the aid of your hair bundled around his fist. You recalled the shakiness of his thighs under your fingers, his firm legs spread wide fucking your mouth with cold abandon. He chased his own orgasm selfishly, needing the release, needing to see your body painted by whips of his cum sprayed across your exposed breasts. He pulled you off in silence, inspecting the drool and cum that spilled down your chin and throat in rivulets. "What--"

Your face tightened, glancing down at the growing tension in your belly. Everything began to annoy you, especially the scratch of the sheets against your skin, your bed empty of his presence. How could you tolerate that uniform plastered to your ass? You buried into the offensive bed. This was fine. This was normal, recalling what you'd done last night. Surely, the burn had to do with the whole being launched through not one, but two crumbling buildings the day before. The dust and rubble. Were you close to your cycle?

“Tell him I’m dead,” and without another word, you resolved the call. Within seconds she popped up again, bent at the waist because this was your life now. Never could you just… take a day off. There was always something. You muffled your screams of protest into the mattress and dug your feet in, kicking off the sheets, the blankets, the pillows, all of it.

“Is this a fit? You’ve never had a fit before,” Lyla noticed. A fit? She thought the burning of your body was a fit? Damn AI. Resolve. 

Resolve. Resolve. Resolve.

It became cathartic after a good while. Or it would have been if not for your senses hyper-fixating on every minor change in your body.  Despite your apprehension, you knew. What was once a dull pain radiating from your forearm morphed into something much worse. Something you couldn’t blame on the rather average experience of being pelted through the average event of windows and concrete. It was more than a tingle. It burned as it coursed through your body. 

You stumbled over the bundle of bedding into the bathroom. It was there that you realized that to your horror, you weren’t just lubricated, now you were soaked. Your fluids coursed down your thighs as you dabbed the region clean with a bundle of tissues. It did little good. Touching the area exasperated the issue. Maybe you needed an orgasm, maybe ten. An hour or so later, you slammed the heel of your palm into the mirror, fracturing it into shards of terrible glass that crumbled onto the countertop. Beads of blood dabbled onto your reflection. 

“If you d--” resolve.

So not a reaction to your average bee sting. Correction. A great, big, fat colony of hissing, buzzing bees. The act of recalling information was like jamming your hand into fluid water to snatch a tiny hair tie. No matter how many times you tried to recall the information, you couldn’t quite grasp it. It was there, floating around your head, but inaccessible. Your mind traveled back to Miguel. How gentle his lips could be, trailing soft kisses along your neck and shoulder when you rode him in reverse. How deep he'd go. 

"Fuck off!" Your watch blared again. Its beeping filled your bathroom, echoing over and over. You reached behind the door to pluck a silky white slip from its hook and dragged it over your head. You were about to resolve the call again when the hot timbre in his warm voice saying your name gave you pause. Your Miguel, popping up in a golden haze. You found yourself gazing at his full lips, full and plump. If only he was here. He could have his lips on your--

“What are you doing?” 

Lost in thought, you failed to realize that Miguel had been calling you by name again. You shook your hazy mind free of the thoughts that formed a swirling cloud over your head. You slumped down the wall and onto the floor.

Help was what you failed to say. As your mouth opened, nothing came out. The words were not wording. The vulnerability of asking for help was palpable. You soothed yourself by shifting your hands underneath your skirt. What would he think if he saw you here-- ripped asunder by your own biology? Whore. Miguel lowered his gaze, his eyes squinting at the sweat dabbling down your neckline as he looked you over. He wouldn't want you anymore.

“Are you listening? ¡Coño! What is wrong with you!?” 

Resolve.

You resolved him. Your Miggy-- resolved. Oh, you swallowed dryly. He wasn’t going to be happy about that. It wasn’t a matter of if Miguel would come for you. It was a matter of when. When he had time to separate himself from trashing-- whatever was the closest object to him in the lab-- to take out his rage on you. You reached for your medicine cabinet. You had more important things to worry about. First on the list? The searing heat.

Your watch was better off tucked away in a chest in the closet.

Night came with no solutions. You crouched on your window sill, chest rising and falling. You sought to stare at anything but the mindless buzz of the tv screen inside. Even with light pollution, some stars winked in the distance. Your body was a bundle of warm heat, buzzing with irritation after a fruitless day of soothing your body. You grew accustomed to your pert nipples against your silky slip, the lubricant coursing down your leg. At first, denial. Now, acceptance. You thought tomorrow might be better.

You felt his presence before you heard, smelled, or saw him. Through the sea of scorched sensations battering your senses, there was one that stood apart. A tickle that niggled at the back of your head. It could have been anyone, but you didn’t have to guess to know who it was. “Lyla." 

“You haven’t called him all day,” Lyla squeaked. 

“Called all-- I answered his call!” Your dress was matted to your body, cloaked in an abhorrent amount of sweat. It was only minutes ago that you retrieved your watch confident that you could bullshit something, anything, for a few days of reprieve. You jammed your shaking finger to resolve the call. 

“Not all of them. Miguel was worried.” 

“Worried! Lyla, that is not worried,” you spat. That was your Miguel, scaling the side of your apartment. His talons cracking the siding of your apartment. The reverberations spiraled up your legs, sending waves of anticipation lapping at your core. After your long day, you weren't sure how you were still somehow upright. With every crack of his talon into the brick siding, you were running out of time to come up with an excuse.

In a bid to escape, you fell into your room. The hard floor knocked the breath out of your dry lips. You stumbled onto your feet and supported yourself with a bookcase of less than half-read books. “Lyla, he can’t see me like this!” 

“Then tell me what’s going on,” she popped back up. “C’mon, you can tell me, it can’t be that bad.”

If her tone was playful in some half-baked attempt to neutralize your fight, the threat was imminent. Your hand connected with the top of the window, applying pressure to close the window. A hair too late. At the same time, Miguel’s clawed hand curled around the bottom of the window sash. You were too slow for the man who excelled with power, speed, and efficiency. You weren't going to win this fight. Not with your body threatening to crack at the very sight of your man's strength.

Though you saw him nearly daily, he always took your breath away. His sinewy body was always a sight, his suit accentuated his thick and fine cut. You moistened your lips, longing to run your fingers through his thick dark brown hair as you did every night. You caught his sharp gaze a second longer than you should have.

 “Open up,” he whispered coolly.

He was a distraction. The wind was not on your side either, blowing wisps of his scent into your overwrought senses. His natural musk mixed with the sweat of a hard day's work. Somewhere in there, bitter blood. You could smell the caramelized scent of the flaky, buttery empanadas and hot coffee you shared the day before. It gave you pause, his intoxicating smell and the sultry trill of his voice. But you couldn’t let him see you, not like this.

“Oop, there he is. Just checking on you,” Lyla chittered. Resolve.

“Miggy, please go away,” you sobbed in frustration, shifting to shoulder the window. “Why are you so stubborn!?” 

“It’s who I am.” 

The window cracked all at once. With mere milliseconds to respond to the sash careening into the upper rail, you whirled past the bedroom door. Miguel broke into a run behind you with long strokes of his legs. He made contact, sending you barreling into your lazy sapphire couch from the impact. You saw stars for a fraction of a second before you lurched on your palms and elbows, scrambling off of the couch and across the floor. His hand caught your ankle and dragged you underneath his body.

“¡Ay!” you bit out. “No, no no no. Miggy!” 

“¡Callate!” 

His hand wrapped tightly around your throat to force complacency, pinning you back to the hardwood floor. Your palms slammed onto his chest, drawing lines down his chest. Bits of pathetic electricity fizzled on his broad, muscular chest, a consequence of your fading focus. That focus was eviscerated when Miguel threw his hips flat against your core. Your frantic fidgeting against Miguel soothed some of the terrible, buzzing pressure rattling between your legs like warm honey on a sore wound. The ache for his relief became more important than the impulse for substantial breaths.

“Don’t move. Why are you--”

“I can’t help it,” you cut him off, straining against his large palm to stare at his crotch. His gaze fell on yours, following the path to his soft cock. His eyes widened with the sudden attention. Tears threatened to spill over from your eyes, pricked with spikes of pain. "It's too much!"

You ate your shame with his body crouched between your legs and his large palm choking the air out of your throat. The influx of air not only brought your scent, but your day-long desperation to fix what you believed was wrong. He could smell it now. He could see it now. He could hear it in your voice. He knew why you failed to answer his calls. The violent jabbing of the resolve button. Throwing your watch into your cramped closet to ignore the calls. The pheromones that soaked your apartment. It was unavoidable.

“You can’t help it,” he repeated. Miguel considered you with razor-sharp eyes, nearly as sharp as the talons that rescinded into his arms. 

"I'll see about that." His hand left your neck to reveal bundles of bumpy shivers that soared across your skin. He raised his finger to wipe away the wet tears that fell from your flushed cheeks. Then dropping lower, Miguel chased the thin straps of your gown with his claw and slid the offending fabric off of your breast. The nub was as hard as it had been hours ago when you twerked the nipple between your fingertips and dreamed of Miguel.

“You’re...” he cupped your breast in your palm and massaged your nipple with one sharp twist of his thumb. The gasp that left your lips wasn’t one you were proud of. Your undulating hips that ground down on his cock weren’t entirely unwarranted. You needed it. "Hot. As if you're in heat."

This couldn’t be happening. From a ball of rage to one of arousal, he released a tiny amused chuckle. You spent much of the day in different parts of the apartment with your hand, toy, ice, and water into your body to soothe this terrible ache. So Miguel wouldn't see you like this. It was this moment you sought to avoid after your long day: The moment of Miguel's disapproval. Now he laughed at you.

“Happy?” you sobbed into the forearm that kept Miguel stable. “Go away, someone else could use your stupid help.”

“Don’t you need me?” Miguel dipped his head down. Strands of his dark hair tickled your hypersensitive skin. With the lightweight fabric of his suit, pressing your cunt back against his clothed bulge felt wonderful. You bit your lower lip and watched his cock jut against its fabric. You lifted your puffy eyes to his gaze and found a wicked gleam there. He knew it wasn’t enough contact for the pressure and painful spasms to abate. Deep down, you knew that Miguel was your only hope for relief. Who else could, or would, you call in this condition? Mostly because Miguel always fixed everything.

"Miggy," you murmured. After this pitiful display, he wasn't rejecting you? Your mind flowed weightless and light. The terror of your day faded under his careful caress. In its place, comfort that he would take care of you.

“Don’t you?” His hand snaked between your folds and found it soaked wet, the low throbbing of your pussy palpable. He retracted his fingers and spread the sticky fluid between his thumb and middle finger. At some point, silence became better than an answer. Miguel brought his hand down on your cunt for a sharp slap. Bundles of nerves cried out under the abuse. It shook free a squeal from your lips, bitten raw by the pressure of the day. Your head bobbed into a mechanical nod as to save yourself from another slap.

“You know how to ask. It’s si Miguel, por favor Miguel.”

You needed the warm sensation of his cum. But making those words proved too difficult. Your canines pierced bloody holes in your lower lip. You clawed up his forearms, trying to leverage and force him closer. Miguel grabbed your shoulders and thrashed them back down onto the floor. You felt bad for the downstairs neighbors. 

“Say it.” 

“Miggy,” you looked into his eyes. They were blown wide, nearly fully black with a thin outline of scarlet, chasing the outline of your exposed breast. For all his talk, you realized he wasn't immune. Even with his face tight, his eyes focused on the same thing you needed. Maybe, all this time, you were baiting Miguel with half-assed answers. They were invitations. Invitations to come to fill this need you had. You would be lying if you said that wasn’t what you wanted this whole time. Finally, you had him where you wanted him. 

Miguel broke eye contact first. He cupped his plush lips around your nipple, suckling the breast taut and wet. You cried out in surprise and arched into Miguel’s mouth, enticed by the fangs that grazed your nipple. As quickly as he came, he was gone.

You lurched up, palming Miguel's dick through his pants. His hips bucked into your palm. He refused to make any sound as he considered your next movements, releasing Miguel’s cock from his suit. Impatience and need coalesced into your brave movements, sliding your palm against him. He was impossibly thick and hard, dribbling at the tip. Miguel huffed a small noise as your palm ran over him. You dared to call it a moan.

Miguel sneered and shoved you back onto the floorboards. “I’ll only tell you one more time. Ask me properly.” 

"You do too, don't you?" You giggled. A noise that grated his ear. With the belief you wouldn’t bolt, Miguel shifted back onto his knees. You wouldn’t. There was nowhere left to run. Not that you even wanted to, fat and hungry off Miguel's growing desperation.

"Come here." He snaked his hands underneath your knees, dragged you close, and pushed them to your chest. Your eyes fluttered shut. Moments later, the sensation of his thick dick sliding against your engorged folds forced them back open. It gave you just enough relief through the pulsing pain to look at him with your hazy eyes. From this angle, you appreciated how large Miguel had gotten. His round cock-head bobbed and crested over your mound as it rubbed against your aching clit. His face was trained, focused. He wasn't going to relent first.

The nagging pressure never abated. You sought something more, something better, the sensation of being filled. With every glide, you squeezed your walls in protest to his absence. Your hips protested the restriction of your movement, shimmying against the firm hold he had that kept you in place. You wanted more than that. You wanted true relief from his teasing. Miguel drew back to inspect the fluid over his fat shaft as held you down. You gave in, whining at him like a brat.

“Por,” you scratched his forearms. “Por favor, Miggy. You don’t know what it's like.” 

“All fours-- face down.” 

The cacophony of desire battered and overcame any other human emotion you could have. You complied, crawling onto your fuzzy indigo rug for what came next. Miguel’s gloved hand skimmed across your ass, middle finger skimming toward the center. He followed up his gentle touch by reeling back his hand and cracking it across your ass, searing the nerves alive. Once, twice, and then a third. Tears pricked your cheeks again, a consequence of your nerves being overwrought and now assailed.

“Miggy!” 

He shushed you with fervor, another thwack beating the jiggling flesh hot and red. Your legs trembled under the weight of his slaps. “Ignore my calls again and you’ll get much worse.”

“I didn’t-- you wouldn't want me,” your lips parted in defense of what you’d done. Miguel dipped down to spread your folds, rolling his index finger along your pulsing walls. Your body drew him in, squeezing and urging him forward. Your swollen walls were impossibly tight, straining to bring him in more and more.

"You know I do."

The need for more devoured any other thought, any threats of what he’d do next time. You rolled your hips to ride his hand. In place of a slap, Miguel slid another finger slid in beside the first to stretch your walls open. He faltered at your next words and slid his fingers free.

“Not like… not like I need you.” 

“Who decides that?” he pressed on your upper back to force it down. You complied. Miguel stumbled forward, finally pressing his thick head to your pulsing entrance. His round head pressed, just barely, into your wet hole. You clenched down, inviting him into your warmth. You weren’t sure he’d actually give it to you. It was so damn close.

“You do, Miggy,” you murmured, pushing back. He watched as his shaft slowly disappeared into your body, your apprehension of retaliation rendered you too slow to finish.

Miguel snatched your waist and forced you to take the rest, a soppy squelch lubricating his shaft. The sound that slipped from your lips was entirely uncouth, punctuated by his unforgiving thrusts. Your walls strained around his cock. No matter how many times you took him, the drag of his cock and slap of balls against your body always felt somehow like the first. It filled that ache-- the consistent burning need to have him here, inside of your greedy body, scratching something that you could not itch all day. It’s what you wanted. 

“That’s right, I do.” Miguel rumbled, short, punctuated thrusts beating your clenching cunt into complacency. The pleasure ruptured through your cunt-- battering his dick in response. He let loose a sharp grunt followed by a string of curses. Your sweet release spilled over his dick and balls, dripping down your thighs. Your legs threatened to shook, but Miguel was unwilling to allow your trembling legs to give out.

"Ah! Miggy!" His fangs punctured your shoulder to force you to stay in position, his pelvis stuttering against yours. His growl punctuated the warm, soothing cum that soothed your walls like warm honey over a wound. Your walls milked him free of his cum, spasming in response to his orgasm. He pieced himself together against your back, pulling his fangs free and settling a soft kiss over the burning wound on your shoulder. As if he hadn't been the one to tear his fangs into the crook of your neck.

“You’re not letting go,” he hummed in annoyance. He turned his attention down to your ass, ghosting his fingers over the healing bruises over your backside. You squealed, jerking forward. He followed you forward, punching a hole in the floor by your side. “Fuck, don’t move!” 

You cast your attention back toward Miguel. He huffed forcefully out of his nostrils. He motioned toward your ass as if it were obvious-- your walls were clamped over his cock, unwilling or otherwise unable to let him go, as if he had any more cum to give in that current moment. You took it all.

“I. I didn't-- I can’t--” 

“Yeah, I know. That Bee venom does that. Mine should neutralize it.”

At some point, you murmured. It sure as hell wasn’t doing it now, keeping him seated into your cunt that bubbled with the mixture of his and your release. “You knew about it? I could have died!” 

Miguel chuckled. 

“You wouldn’t. You’re too stubborn to die,” he sighed, fiddling with his watch. The tests-- that you never had ran. Ones that he suggested. Ones that you refused quite openly. “Why would I deny myself the fun?” 

His cock slipped free. Your hips dropped and fell slack against the floor. You weren’t proud of the cum that oozed out of your ass over your decimated room, nor the fact that your useless neighbors hadn’t called for help once. Not that you needed it-- but still. You palpated your stomach, slightly distended. Miguel bent down and gathered the mixture of your bodily fluids on his fingers, suckling his own fingers dry. You watched his wet tongue swirl around his fingertips. It wasn't fair.

“Fun? What fun!? Do you know how long I-- You’re a mean man, Miguel O’Hara.” 

He lurched over, his breath tickling your lips. He kissed you, salty and sweet. Your nose scrunched up, pouting against his lips. He left the room for the kitchen, fetching a wet cloth to clean his body with. He zipped himself back into his suit shortly after and dropped the sodden cloth by the cum puddling under your ass.

“Never said I wasn’t.” 

[cherubchoirs]

late night notes on lucifer....

(note transcript under the cut)

(hair) hair turned white in his fall (eyes) eyes perpetually bloodshot, although he has always just been weeping (fur) fur creates a reddened, painful rash (rope) bell rope, once tied the keys to heaven around his waist (mask) heavily based on medieval depictions of demons (charms) charms once showed the heavenly virtues, now decorated with the deadly sins (rosary) rosary that binds him; he has broken its head off (sash) reads "there is no redemption in hell" (from memling's earthly vanity and divine salvation) (banner) sunset palette

[honeysucklethornsandalligtrhorns]

I love fucking around when it comes to gender. yeah I switch between being referred to by my birth name and my chosen name. yeah I use neopronouns. yeah I cut my hair short, yeah I wore a frilly pink dress to see the Barbie movie. Yeah I wear makeup and nail polish yeah I don’t shave my legs. Yeah I only wear sports bras and hopefully binders in the future yeah I wear a rash guard and shorts over my swimsuit. Yeah I wanna have fluffy short curly hair yeah I wanna be prom queen and win a tiara and sash. What about it?

[your-divine-ribs]

Ice Cold Part 17

Words: 4.1k

Ice Cold Masterlist Main Masterlist

I didn't see the black Mercedes again as I drove warily through the city centre, but of course that didn't mean it wasn't there somewhere, lurking on a side road or hanging back several cars behind. Nevertheless after thirty minutes of aimlessly driving around I'd calmed down enough to convince myself that maybe I was just being paranoid. I still didn't want to risk going back to my apartment though. My phone was ringing incessantly in my bag on the passenger seat, and I didn't need to look to know that it was Paul. No doubt by now he'd been informed of my rash decision to stray from protocol and take matters into my own hands with keeping safe from Van.

I spotted a sign up ahead for parking for the Plaza Hotel, and swung over to the left-hand lane to enter the multi storey car park. The Plaza was a popular but unassuming hotel, favoured by tourists and business men and women alike, busy enough that I felt comforted by the hustle and bustle as I parked up and made my way into the foyer to check myself in.

I didn't check my phone until I'd settled into my room, grimacing at the number of missed calls from Paul. I kicked off my shoes, flopping down on the bed before I called him back, bracing myself as I did.

"What the bloody hell are you playing at Lyla? How am I supposed to give you protection if I don't know where the hell you are?"

I winced at his angry tone. "I'm sorry Paul, but maybe I'm safer if no one knows where I am. I've just checked into a hotel in the city centre for the night. Van knows where I live and he's broken into my apartment before. What's to say he wouldn't do it again?"

"Which is exactly why George is watching your apartment every night. He's one of the best, fully trained in surveillance and combat." Paul sounded exasperated. "Of course you know I'd rather have you tucked away in a safe-house, but you'd never agree to that would you?"

I stood up, crossing over to the large sash window and peering out into the night. "And how am I supposed to lead this investigation from a safe-house?"

"You certainly won't be able to lead the investigation if you're dead, that's for sure!" Paul almost growled down the phone, then he let out a huge sigh that was full of frustration. "I was going to brief you about this tomorrow but I may as well do it now. I've just heard from the London team. One of their best agents was found mutilated in his own home this morning. I'll spare you the details right now but it's bad. Really bad. We can't be sure but he may have handed over vital information about the undercover agents in the field right now. They're targeting us. We can't take any chances. I'm sure you know what the consequences of this sort of information getting into their hands means."

"Of course!" I replied, a chill seeping into my bones. "And whilst we're on the subject of information getting into the wrong hands, when were you going to tell me about my personal file being accessed earlier this year?"

There was a moment of silence. "Why are you asking about this now?"

"Well... don't you think I have a right to know?"

"Has something happened?" Paul's tone was suspicious and I immediately cursed myself for arousing his curiosity. "Has McCann tried to contact you again or something?"

"NO!" I blurted out quickly, too quickly.

"Because if he has I need to know. We have no way of knowing if he was involved with the data hack, but I wouldn't be surprised. If he has some kind of personal vendetta against you then I need to make a decision whether to pull you off this case completely!"

I paused, catching sight of my reflection in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall as I spoke. "That won't be necessary. He's not tried to contact me. I've got this under control."

"I know I can trust you," Paul said, and I watched my face twist into a disgraced kind of anguish at his statement. "Now get some sleep, and I want to see you in the office early tomorrow. We need to work out how we're going to pull these undercover agents out without blowing their cover. That's if they've not already been exposed..." His voice trailed off, before he added gravely. "If they have then they're already as good as dead."

We said our goodbyes then I stepped up to the mirror, staring long and hard at my reflection. It looked back at me accusingly. As my web of lies got more and more complex I could feel my integrity crumbling. Maybe it would be for the best if I got taken off the case completely. But would that be enough? Would that stop Van consuming my thoughts every waking hour? Would his attention shift elsewhere? I didn't think so. And deep down did I really want it to?

I sighed, slipping off my clothes and making for the bathroom for a shower. The warm spray felt good cascading down on me, and I tipped my head back, trying to clear my mind. Tomorrow I'd be better. I'd turn this whole thing around. I could do it. I hadn't completely lost myself. Not yet...

I stepped out of the shower, groaning to myself that I didn't have fresh clothes to put on, slipping back into the little silk slip that I'd been wearing under my dress and then drying my hair. I considered calling room service for a bottle of wine but quickly dismissed the idea. If I was going to make a fresh start tomorrow then I needed a clear head. The bed certainly looked inviting enough and the pillows were soft as I sank down and pulled the covers up around me, quickly falling into a restless sleep.

I wasn’t sure what tore me from the depths of my slumber, but I awoke suddenly, sitting bolt upright in bed, ears immediately straining for a sound.

I couldn't hear anything but an unease settled over me as I blinked, willing my eyes to become accustomed to the dark. Fragments of a sinister dream fled to the corners of my mind and I chased it, but it dissipated before I could make any sense of it.

I realised how thirsty I was, reaching for the glass on the bedside cabinet only to discover it was empty, so I swung my legs around and down on to the floor, rising up to make for the bathroom.

I flicked on the bathroom light and crossed to the sink, filling my glass and gulping hungrily at the cool water. I drained the glass in one go, then turned the tap on again, refilling it, glancing groggily at my reflection.

That's when I saw it. A tiny flicker of movement behind me through the open bathroom door, reflected in the mirror. It was so slight it was almost imperceptible but it caught my eye. Any remnants of sleep that still lingered instantly fell away and I froze, holding my breath, my pulse starting to race. Maybe I was imagining things. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me in the half light beyond the brightly lit bathroom. But maybe it was something else. Maybe my nightmare had followed me into waking hours and was now waiting for me in the hotel room beyond the bathroom.

The smooth glass nearly slipped from my hand as I stood, paralysed by fear, frantically weighing up my options so I quickly set it down on the sink. A quick assessment of the bathroom told me there was nothing that I could use as a weapon and the only escape route was the way that I'd come. I had no choice but to turn and face whatever fate awaited me head on. I swallowed deeply, turning around, hesitantly inching my way out of the bathroom.

The hotel room was bathed in shadow after the brightness of the bathroom, and I could only make out dark shapes as I looked around. The wardrobe, the bed, the sideboard with the TV, the easy chair against the far wall... which was now occupied.

A whimper escaped me and I clamped a hand over my mouth, stifling a scream. How could this be? I was so sure that no one had followed me.

"Hello Lyla..."

From my position I couldn't clearly make out the details of the imposter in the shadows, but the voice was all too familiar. It shivered me through with fear and exhilaration every time.

"How did you know I was here?" I asked, hanging back, keeping my distance.

"I followed you of course," Van answered. "You lost me straight away coming out of the agency car park, but luckily for me you went home first. I picked up the tail from there."

The black Mercedes... he'd been watching. Had he witnessed my heated altercation with Jason?

"That was you. You were there!"

A menacing chuckle emanated from the shadowy figure. "What did I tell you? Anytime... anywhere... You know, the security in these cheap hotels is shocking."

My eyes were slowly getting accustomed to the dark now, I could make out Van's casual pose, reclined in the chair, one foot resting atop the other knee. I felt vulnerable standing there bare-foot, shivering slightly in the tiny slip which only came to mid-thigh. I shifted uneasily from foot to foot, wondering what came next. Unlike our other encounters the police weren't likely to storm in.

It occurred to me then that no one actually knew where I was. Not a soul. I hadn't even told Paul. If Van meant to do me harm then he'd picked his moment perfectly. His previous warning clamoured at the forefront of my mind, sending spikes of panic through me. I'd gone too far. I knew it now with regretful certainty.

"What do you want?" My voice came out small, like a timid little girl.

"I've just come to claim what's mine, that's all. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about."

His voice was low, a threat dripping with the promise of something that made my thighs clench together. I swallowed deeply, mentally trying to hold on to the inner strength I knew that I'd need to resist him.

"But... but I'm not yours!"

Without warning Van shot up out of the seat, his sudden movement sending me stumbling backwards, revealing my nervousness. He moved towards me stealthily and I matched him step by step, backing up until I'd reached the far wall and I couldn't go any further. Still he advanced until he was no more than inches away and I was pressing myself into the wall with nowhere to go.

He wasn't in shadow anymore. The moonlight streaming in through the window caught his features, making them seem more angular, that brooding darkness glinting in his eyes. He planted his hands on the wall on either side of my head, leaning in.

"So... what? You still gonna kill me then, huh?"

My heart pounded and my legs felt weak. The fierce telephone conversation that we'd had played in my head. My desperate threats, his stark warning.

"You know I can't just stop," I said, my voice wavering. "Whatever this is... it can't happen. It's wrong! It's so fucking wrong!"

Emotion cracked my voice as I blurted out the last line and I watched his expression change, a slow smile spreading on his face. "It feels good though, doesn't it?"

I didn't answer, just looked back at him, squirming under the intensity of his gaze. One of his hands left the wall and he trailed two fingers over my cheek, a surprisingly gentle caress.

"You're trying so hard to do the right thing aren't you? Follow the rules... uphold the law... be a good girl..." He paused then, and a small laugh erupted from him before he carried on. "But that's fine. When I'm done with you you're not gonna be able to lie to yourself anymore."

The way he said it sent shivers through me, and it wasn't fear this time. His eyes burned into me like he was looking into my very soul, every sordid fantasy and desire laid bare. His fingers trailed down to my jaw and he slowly but firmly pushed my head back against the wall so I was forced to look at him. I let out a shaky breath.

"I... I want..." I trailed off, afraid of what might spring forth if I started to talk. The words were there, a plea on the tip of my tongue.

"Mmm?" He hummed, tipping my head even further back, exposing my neck to him.

He moved even closer until our bodies touched, his hips pressing into mine. I screwed my eyes shut, trying desperately to clear my mind but it was no use. My self control was ebbing away with each moment, an aching heat down low in my body.

"We can't do this..." I whispered in between my ragged breaths.

I still had my eyes shut, trying to resist, and I felt his lips softly brush my neck. The sensation was featherlight, goosebumps instantly breaking out on every inch of my flesh.

"Actually we can do whatever the fuck we want..."

As he spoke the words vibrated across my skin, coaxing a needy groan from my lips. His other hand dropped down, catching the hem of my slip, lightly grazing my thigh, tracing patterns on my skin. My hips bucked forward of their own accord. My fingers twitched at my sides, wanting to touch him, grab at his hips, pull him to me even closer. But still I resisted, balancing on the tightrope, but threatening to fall.

"Van..." I breathed as his lips trailed down my neck, humming an approval against my skin.

"Hmm... Lyla... I could make you feel so fucking good... you just have to say the word..."

His fingers climbed higher still, dipping under the silk, teasing touches leaving fire in their wake. My whole body was pulsing now, my breathing shallow, my cheeks flushed. I couldn't stand it any longer.

"I know it’s wrong but I want you..."

The words burst from me like a desperate confession, relief and shame washing over me simultaneously.

Van immediately stopped, leaning back slightly, eyes simmering with predatory intent, a satisfied smirk on his lips. Suddenly his hands were around my wrists, pushing my arms up above my head and firmly pinning them to the wall. He secured them there with one of his large hands, rendering me helpless, the feeling arousing me even more.

His voice was smooth when he spoke. "I think you can do better than that, don't you? C'mon..."

I knew what he wanted. It thrilled him to see me like this. Needy for him. Vulnerable but with that fire burning inside me.

Shame flooded me as I was transported back to the hotel room in Paris, picturing myself writhing on Van's thigh like some desperate little slut. I should have been disgusted with myself and I was... but in truth the degradation only made the spark inside me blaze hotter. And what's more I knew that Van could see it too, that's why he was pushing me. Seeing how far he could take it before I snapped and my true desires surfaced.

"Please..." I breathed, my body trembling as his free hand dropped back down, this time to my inner thigh. It tip-toed teasingly near to my aching core, close but not close enough.

"Please... what?" He spoke directly into my ear before his lips returned to my neck, kisses getting more passionate.

"Touch me... please..."

My words trailed off into a moan as his fingertips edged even closer, mercilessly teasing, starting to tentatively explore the sensitive folds between my legs.

"I. Can't. Hear. You." He taunted, punctuating each word with wet, open-mouthed kisses on my neck, teeth grazing skin, hard enough to bruise.

“Fuck…” I breathed through gritted teeth, tipping my pelvis forward, seeking his touch.

He ran a finger teasingly around my slit before inching inside torturously slowly, his thumb brushing my clit but only fleetingly, making me shudder.

"Please!" I begged, almost crying out in frustration. "It's not enough. I need more."

My heart was thudding now, my hips twitching and rolling in desperation as I tried to fuck myself on his fingers. He pulled back to watch me, his fingers trailing their teasing dance, dipping inside me at an agonisingly slow pace, circling my sweet spot until my legs were trembling but then moving away, denying me.

"Don’t stop," I whined shamelessly, a wicked grin breaking out on his face as I whimpered for more. Tiny beads of perspiration adorned my over-heated skin, my silk slip sticking to me.

"Why would I stop huh? You're perfection like this. Wrecked. Needy. Desperate… and all mine.”

Again his fingers caressed me, making me squirm, alternating the pressure and motions. I was so wet that I could actually hear the lewd sounds his fingers made as he pleasured me, close enough that I could taste my climax. I screwed my eyes shut, ready to let go...

And just like that his touch was gone again. I whined his name, my eyes flicking open to watch his smile widen.

"Eyes open. Look at me," he said, and I did as he commanded, trembling under the intensity of his hungry gaze.

"Okay... okay... I'll be good..." I muttered, beyond desperate now. My body was like a coiled spring, every fibre of my being yearning for release.

Once again he returned to pleasuring me, and within minutes the waves of pressure built up inside. I was falling apart at the seams, unravelling under his touch, losing control of my senses as I writhed where I stood. And this time he didn't stop, his fingers flicking a blissful rhythm as he watched me intently, seemingly mesmerised as I reached my peak. The waves of my orgasm crashed over me, leaving me shuddering uncontrollably, slumped against the wall.

My body was still twitching afterwards when he released me and within a second his arms were around me, gripping me tight whilst his lips collided with mine. My head was spinning as I surrendered to the kiss, my body melting into his arms.

I was aware that we were moving, Van manoeuvring me across the room whilst we kissed until I felt resistance at the back of my legs and realised that the bed was behind me. He pushed me down on to the soft mattress and I clung to him as he sank down on top of me, the weight of his body pressing on to me, making me gasp. A dim part of my mind was still protesting, ordering me to resist, but I'd already gone too far. I needed to feel him, experience the sensation of his skin on my skin, his lips on every inch of my body. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pressing my hips up to meet his, felt him grind against me. In spite of my recent climax my body was on fire.

Van's lips left mine and went to my neck, nipping and sucking at my skin. I slid a hand down between our bodies, easing my fingertips under the waistband of his jeans, reaching in to curl around his hard cock. He groaned against my neck, an animalistic sound.

"Fuck..." He growled, his breathing ragged as my fingers closed fully around him, sliding down his length.

My other hand edged down, fumbling with the buttons of his jeans, but to my shock I suddenly felt his hands on my wrists, grasping them firmly, pulling them away with force and pinning them against the bed. He pulled away, his features contorted but not with lust this time, it was pure frustration.

"No," he gritted out roughly. "This is as far as it goes."

Confusion surged through me like I'd been doused with ice water, and I watched in bewilderment as he pushed his body up and away from me, quickly climbing off the bed. I lay there for a moment whilst he stood above me, raking his gaze over my form, before he screwed his eyes shut and turned away.

"I... I don't understand. What did I do?" I uttered, pulling myself into a sitting position, feeling stunned at his reaction. Surely he wanted this. Surely he wanted me? Wasn't this why he was here?

He was silent as he stepped towards the window. He stood there with his back to me, looking out across the city. An uneasy quiet filled the room.

I had an urge to go to him and wrap my arms around his waist, press my body to his, rest my head on his chest, but I didn't. His unpredictability still scared me. Beneath the heat of the passion that we'd both shared he was still a violent and dangerous man and I couldn't forget that. Despite learning about his past and the few snatches of time I'd spent with him, I didn't know him. I didn't really know him at all. I hugged my knees to my chest, suddenly feeling cold.

"Van?" I whispered.

He didn't turn, but I saw his shoulders slump slightly, heard a weary huff come from him before he finally spoke.

"You didn't do anything, this is me. I need to keep my head straight." He paused, running a hand through his hair, sighing again. "I still want you though... I've always wanted you."

Always...

My mind swirled, trying to make sense of his words. The agency had been trying to take down the organisation that Van worked for for years, but it had only been relatively recently that he’d risen up the ranks from the fringes to be tasked with carrying out their assassinations. Earlier in the year when my personal data got accessed Van had only just come to our attention. Back then he'd been no more to me than a source of intrigue. A dark enigma that set my pulse racing. Not the all-consuming obsession that he'd since become.

"But... why? I don’t understand. Why me?"

I watched as he opened up the window and dug in his jeans pocket, producing a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit one up, finally turning around to face me, leaning against the window.

"I can't tell you. Not now... not yet. There's things you're better off not knowing... trust me."

"But I do want to know. Tell me. I want to know everything. I want to know you.”

As soon as the words left my mouth I was struck with the realisation of how deep into this situation I was getting. There was Van talking about keeping his head straight and restraining himself but I was so far out of control I didn't even recognise myself anymore.

Van took a deep pull on his cigarette, then tipped his head towards the open window to blow out a plume of smoke. When he looked back at me there was that same sadness in his eyes that I'd glimpsed in Paris just before he'd slipped away.

"I'm a killer, it’s as simple as that. That’s what I do. I'm not a good person. You said so yourself, I don't feel anything."

"Bullshit!" I blurted with force, surprising even myself. "If you don't feel anything then why are you here?"

Van opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, turned his back on me again to flick the cigarette butt out of the window. "I should go. I shouldn't have even come here tonight."

I shifted on the bed, conflicted about whether to intervene and try and stop him from leaving or not. There were so many unanswered questions buzzing through my mind, but maybe Van was right. Maybe there were some things I was better off not knowing. What was I really hoping to achieve by getting closer to this man who was supposed to be my antagonist? There was no conceivable version of any reality where the two of us should be anything but sworn enemies.

"Wait... what now? What happens now? You can't keep leaving me hanging like this."

But it was too late. He swiftly crossed to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle, turning to look at me.

"You might not see me, but I'll be there. I'm always there."

I supposed I should have seen his words as a threat, but I didn't. Something had changed. I knew that I could no longer lie to myself.

[fruityindividual]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SASH (LETS IGNORE THAT THE TIME DIFFERNEC MEANS I PROBABLY MISSED IT) HOPE YOU HAD THE BEST DAY EVER LY LOTS #RASH

aww ty, luv u lots!! this is us btw:

[bonefall]

I mentioned this on a previous post but it would be great if you could post lists of how various leaders lost all of their lives in the rewrite to keep track of the lives. I do think it's odd how in canon leaders not named Mistystar don't really live longer than their non-leader counterparts without an explanation that they are considered Ok to kill in battle by the code and/or it being fairly common for certain deaths to take multiple lives. I would love if your rewrite justified some of the earlier deaths like Firestar, Brokenstar, Bluestar to some extent without relying on contrived coincidences of them just getting absurdly unlucky with dying while other cats are likely to avoid death. (Maybe with Firestar in particular he lost multiple lives in the fox trap? And Hawkfrost is keeping track when he oks the DF plan to kill him). So I'd love to see just a list of who lost what lives where.

Honestly, I don't want to make a hard list because I don't want to be beholden to it while I'm still rewriting stuff. All that's required of the plot at certain moments is, "Leader has X amount of lives left" unless they've been an important POV in previous arcs

Plus it would be a lot of effort and planning to make a list of 9 deaths for the nearly 10 leaders who have been on-screen through the arcs, only for me to end up ignoring the 90+ situations I made because something else works better.

Firestar though I am tracking mentally, he is very important here

Killed by Scourge, chest slashed open, gives him 'mayoral sash' scar

Hit by car while saving Sorrelpaw, took the brunt of the impact so that she only got road rash and a broken leg

Damage to body from killing well over 100 rats while possessed by Brokenstar in FQ

Battle for Sunningrocks caused by Leopardstar in TNP

Falling debris caused by bulldozers, either a tree or a den collapse, helping evacuate a camp

Greencough outbreak, the same one that kills Molepaw

Fox trap

Onestar challenging him to a fight to the death during the Battle of the False Eclipse in a display of chest-puffing machismo

Breezepelt, Thornclaw, and Whiskernose's assassination

Blackstar's I'll make when I get around to planning the revamp of his novella, he will be important later

Generally though, a leader WILL burn through their lives fast because that is why StarClan gives them! They aren't supposed to (canon bramblestar) lay around doing nothing with them. A Clan's Star must be at EVERY major battle, helping with every sickness outbreak, throwing themselves into danger without a second thought.

Contrast this to Stonetellers! They have a fantastic new equivalent Leader Power, complete immunity to illness and direct communication with ancestral spirits, but this is perfect for their culture where battles are frowned on. Stonetellers are not supposed to be throwing themselves into chasms, hunting sheep, or involved in political affairs beyond sharing their advice.

The life system was born out of the bloody warfare of the First Battle, and exists to encourage Leaders to be their Clan's strongest, most understanding warrior, unafraid to involve themself in the daily dangers in the lives of their cats.

[fiyero3305]

TUA Fic: Witchy Prompts 08

Witchy Prompts via @myloveforhergoeson

08. Infected

Something weird is happening to Alphonso. In his health lessons he learned to expect that his body would be changing with puberty, but among the various symptoms, none of them ever mentioned that his skin would begin melting and drooping off his body.

It was subtle at first, just a small wrinkle under his chin. He didn’t think anything of it, then that wrinkle grew, and began to dangle, and he started pulling up the collar of his shirt and tying the knot of his necktie extra thick to try to cover it up. There were no lotions or ointments in the house so he tried washing it vigorously with soap and water. Hot water. Scalding water. Multiple times a day. Anything to get the rash or whatever it was to stop spreading, but it was no use. With anxious, fearful eyes he watched in the mirror as the infected area grew daily. Once a patch the size of his palm began to resemble melted cheese he finally did the unthinkable and sought his father’s help.

Standing in the entryway of Reginald’s office, Alphonso sees his father writing in his journal and cross-referencing with previous entries. There are never good times to address Reginald Hargreeves, but during his journaling was maybe the worst. Still, Alphonso summons his courage and knocks on the polished mahogany door frame.

“Dad?”

The man looks up from his journal.

“Number 04, if this is about the condition of your neck which you so ineffectively attempt to obscure with your collar, I have neither the time nor the desire to discuss it. You are not ill; it is not dangerous; and it cannot be stopped.”

Alphonso is not surprised by the dismissal, and crushing news dealt with cold detachment from his father is just standard procedure, but he can’t help himself. “What is it though?”

“I have given you all the information you need to move on. I have already expressed that I will not be discussing the matter, so any further questioning will be considered insubordination and punished as such.���

Fucking hell. Alphonso thinks as he rolls his eyes and walks away. He loosens his tie on the way back to his room since it’s apparently not doing any good. He slams his bedroom door behind him and belly flops onto his mattress, face buried in his pillow. In a matter of minutes his door opens and he knows it’s Jayme before he even hears her voice.

“Hey, I brought a sash and crown for the drama queen”

“Fuck off, Jayme” he says into the pillow.

“Aww, come on, you’ve earned it! It takes a lot to steal this title from Benny Bitch but you’ve proven that you’re the current reigning”

“Just leave me alone”

He hears her walk across the hardwood floor and feels her sit at the foot of the bed. “No, see that’s what I’ve been doing for the past two weeks waiting for you to get your shit together but it hasn’t worked, so time for a tactical shift. I’m guessing this is about your neck thing?” That makes him sit up. “You could see?” She nods, and he feels himself deflate.

So everyone knew. Everyone saw what was happening and saw him trying to hide it and Ben, Marcus, and Fei were probably already working out ways to use it against him the next time he spars against them. He pulls his knees to his chest.

“So what is it?”

“I don’t know! Dad does, apparently, but he wouldn’t tell me anything about it except that it’s not deadly and it’s going to get worse”

“Worse how?”

“I don’t know. Bigger, I guess. It’s already spread since I first noticed it”

“Like, you’re gonna get full Phantom of the Opera face?” He doesn’t know, so he just shrugs. “That’s so cool!”

“Cool? Are you kidding me?”

“No dude, think about it. We’re freakin’ gods among men. We shouldn’t have to look like them, we should be inspiring fear and awe the second they see us”

Alphonso considers Jayme’s words. She paints an interesting scenario.

“That’s easy to say when you’re not the one becoming a monster”

“Dude I wish I were! Maybe I’ll get scales… or fangs! Imagine me totally snaked out, that’d be sick as hell”

In spite of himself, Alphonso cracks a smile and huffs out a single laugh.

“Seriously though, Phonse, you gotta find a way to own this. You’ve been too mopey lately and I need my partner in crime to get through this shitshow of a family”

“True. No way you could survive these assholes without me”

Alphonso laughs, and Jayme joins in.

“For real though, you good?”

Jayme holds out her hand and Alphonso gives it three claps and a pinkie lock in confirmation.

[calethelettuce]

SaSi Intruality Week 6/7: Chaos Cookies - The Electric Boogaloo x2

Prompt: Baking

Tags: @intrualityweek

Synopsis: Patton and Remus are back in the kitchen! The follow up to Day 1's oneshot. Remus finally gets permission to make "cookies". Patton's there to support him and make sure the house doesn't burn down. We've got a shorter one today, my motivation isn't being very nice to me :(

Characters: Patton, Remus, Virgil

Relationships: Romantic Intruality, Implied Prinxiety

TW: Swearing, PATTON SAYS A BAD WORD????!!!?? Glass shards, inedible food items being ingested, eating glass, talk of cremation/burning bodies, sex jokes/implications (don't be surprised), minor description of burnt skin/Remus is being dumb, I MEAN IT GUYS

~

"Remus, buddy, can we keep the glass shards in the bowl, please?"

Remus only continued to mix the dough at a quick pace, snickering to himself as the pieces of once-shiny glass scraped against the sides of the bowl. "You said I have full control today!" he proclaimed, adding the slightest pinch of poison ivy to the concoction, "Therefore, no thanks!"

Patton sighed, shaking his head slightly. "You do you, then, Morningstar."

Patton observed the state of the inedible batter from behind Remus, peering over his shoulder.

It was lumpy, the sharp blade-like edges of the glass sticking out at odd angles. The leaves of poison ivy the green-sashed side threw in stuck out like a sore thumb against the pale colored dough.

"Isn't it great, Patty?" Remus asked proudly, admiring his handiwork with a grin, "I've never made something so delicious before!"

Patton gave him the biggest smile he could muster. "Well..! It's certainly not my taste, but uh, I can definitely see the appeal."

Even Remus could tell he was lying.

Although, instead of getting upset as most would, his smile only grew bigger. "Exactly!" he chirped, grabbing a ball of dough with his bare hands, "Time to throw these fuckers in the the torture chamber!"

Patton handed him a cookie sheet. "Put them on this one please," he practically begged, "I really don't want to clean the oven again."

Remus rolled his eyes but complied. He smashed the ball onto the sheet. "There."

"Good job, bud!"

"Thanks!"

Remus continued to slap the remaining dough balls onto the surface, with Patton holding the sheet out gingerly and carefully as to not get poison ivy from the leaves.

"Remus, does poison ivy still work the same here as it does in the real world?" he asked, nearly avoiding an accidental attack from a loose leaf, "Because if it does, maybe I shouldn't-"

"You'll be fine! I made these, but they only affect me! I made sure of it. It's just these ones that do that, though. If you find any in a forest, then that'll give you the greatest rash this world has ever seen."

Patton shivered at the thought of that. Remus took the pan from him carelessly, pressing a kiss to the shorter side's forehead. "Did we already set the oven to 600?"

"..600?"

"600!" Remus opened the oven door, quickly shoving the pan in before shutting it again. "Wouldn't want us to get cremated!"

"It's not hot enough for the human body to burn, you know." Patton supplied, washing his hands with extra soap, "It's got to be at least 1400 fahrenheit."

Remus stared at him in shock, mouth hung agape. "Holy shit, this is why I love you."

Patton laughed. "Well, even dads can have a dark sense of humor!"

"You're even hotter when you make dark jokes." Remus winked at him, leaning on the counter. "Except you're always hot. You're a certified DILF."

Patton felt his cheeks go red. "I-"

"Shhhh," Remus strode over, putting a finger to Patton's lips. "You're gonna make me horny."

"Stop being gay!" They heard Virgil shout from the living room, "It's too late for your shit, Remus!"

Patton felt his face grow darker. "Virgil, I thought you'd be upstairs by now!"

"Too early. Besides, it's not like I go home, since my house is covered in glitter because of somebody- also known as Remus. It's only 10."

Remus snickered. "I regret nothing, bitch."

Patton kept an eye on the oven to make sure nothing was on fire. He took the messy, empty bowl from the counter, handing it to Remus. "Have a gift for your junkyard! I don't think it's safe for me to use the bowl anymore."

"Awh, thanks Pattycake!" Remus took the bowl gratefully, evaporating it away to his junkpile by the playground outside. "I love that you're thinking about me!"

Patton smiled up at him, hopping onto the tips of his toes to press a kiss to Remus' nose. "Always am!" he chirped, ruffling the taller side's hair.

He heard Virgil groan from his spot on the couch.

"You're just mad you're lonely!" Remus gave the purple-clad side the middle finger. "Cause Princey doesn't want to suck your DI-"

"Remus!"

"My bad, Pat." The timer dinged to signal the cookies were finished. "OH! They're done!"

Well, Patton knew his house was going to smell like burnt cookies for the rest of the week.

Remus took the pan out of the oven with his bare hands, laughing as the sizzling smell of burnt flesh filled the room.

“Holy shit, Remus! Put the pan down!” Patton was little too tempted the smack the pan out of his hands. “You’re gonna burn your hands off!”

Remus plopped the pan down onto the counter. “That was fun!” He declared, “I don’t have fingerprints or palm skin anymore!”

Patton heard Virgil mutter a quiet “oh fuck no-“ before the anxious side ran up the steps to the guest room.

He turned back to Remus. “Come on, honey, I thought we agreed this one was going to be injury free!” He said sadly.

Remus pouted. “But that was fun!” He insisted.

Patton let out a huff. “I know, I know, but you have to keep your promises!”

“…fine.” Remus magicked away his hand burns with a frown, wiggling his fingers for reference. “There.”

Patton gave him a soft smile. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to make you upset, dear.”

“You didn’t.”

Patton gave the taller side a quick hug, resting his head on Remus’ shoulder. “Next time, we can have another baking day where I’ll let you do whatever you want, okay?”

Remus brightened just a bit at that. “Really!?”

“Of course!”

Remus hummed in appreciation, hugging Patton back. “Okay.”

“Now, how about we wait for these cookies to cool?”

“Oh, who needs that!?”

The sudden release of pressure and the sound of crunching glass signaled that Remus was already chomping down on a glass cookie.

Patton knew he was gonna have his work cut out for him this week.

[routeone]

If Genevieve was a Pokemon

Type: Dark/Flying

Ability: Rock Head/Stamina

Hidden Ability: Intimidate

Nature: Rash

Characteristic: Highly Persistent

Held item: Focus Sash

Moves: Brave Bird/Snarl/Roost/Parting Shot

[bitch-butter]

pretty on the inside is driving me crazy. i have to crawl in here and let you know that i love it i need moreeee!!!

babe she's coming! finally I'm getting a break between stuff, so hopefully sooner rather than later, but here's a treat from...Something Adjacent 👀

The booze made him loose and soft as a scarecrow, and he jerked out of his fathers hold. 

“Fuck you,” he slurred, to which his father grabbed him again, this time this with his whole body, hefting his scrawny body through the open door of his truck and slamming the door before Joe even regained gravity. “You’re a fucking fascist, fuck you,” he muttered to himself, unclear on if the words were even being given their own bodies of enunciation. For all he knew it was just a long line of gibberish drooling out of his mouth.

His father climbed into the driver's seat, shutting his own door with more moderation, but pulling out of the parking lot with no less haste, a cloud of dirt cloaking their exit into the twilight. Joe slumped against the passenger door, head rolling on the stem of his neck like a deer hit by a car, eyes desperately trying to lock onto the landscape as it passed outside his window.

“Bet you feel like a big fucking man, huh?” he taunted, still unaware if his father could even understand a word he was saying, but no less attempting to grab him out of his stoic silence, the tightness of his hand on the wheel and the cool steel of his eyes focused on the road as it flew beneath them. “You know what you are?”

No response from his father as he slowed to an isolated light on this long, unending stretch of road, the emptiness of the intersection making him feel burning rage in his chest. His father would stop for a light on an empty road, like a David Lynch set they forget to cart away, because that’s who he was now. A guy who stops on a red in the desert isn’t the kind of guy that leaves a woman and two kids, now is he?

The light turned, the green faded and ancient, and he hated his father more than life itself.

Almost without thought, he reached for the handle of the door as his father made to continue on their steady sprint back towards hick-jail. The air as it rushed in through the opening was warm, summery, and he threw his body sideways into it with a feeling close to victory, sure enough that he was about to deal out a swift, hard punishment to his father for ever daring to try and be a different man. Some people weren’t meant to be better, some people were meant to rot while they remained living and then one day die in disgrace. This would show him.

The feeling of victory lasted right up until the black of the asphalt was swiftly rising up to meet him.

He came to properly later, aware only of the fact that his face now throbbed like a motherfucker. At first he grimaced, but the simplicity of the expression made it feel like his face was about to split in half, and he released a long, plaintive whine from between his teeth. 

“What the fuck…” he whimpered, childish and still drunk enough that he could barely understand anything beyond pain, being dizzy, of surely having pissed himself somewhere along the way. His face was completely numb, the rest of his body burning and heated, something propped up on two legs

“Quiet,” he heard, the noise like metal screeching in his ears, and he winced away from it before realizing he was barely capable of even that. Tipping his unfeeling face upward, more and more sensations returned to him: the ringing in his ears rounded out into the sound of water, the heavy and inexplicable sag of his body sharpened down to the strong feeling of an arm beneath his sternum. 

He blinked his eyes as open as they would go, finding them drowned with water and surely swollen, pulling in a hard, laborious breath at the sight of himself. The gnarliest road rash he’d ever seen slashed across his chest like a crimson sash, like he had been declared mayor of morons, and his legs were appropriately bruised. His underwear was still in place, soaked enough now that you probably couldn’t tell he pissed them unless you opened your nostrils up very wide. The very fact that he was standing was a relief, as it told his still whacked out mind that at least he hadn’t broken any bones. 

Then again, he hadn’t seen his face yet. 

Blowing a slobbery, anxious breath out, he wobbled his head around and took in the scene: the shower at his father’s house, the glass door open beside him and letting water splatter out from the stall and onto the tile of the floor, onto the bathmat that had been knocked askew. Under his armpits he came to recognize the shape and mass of the arm that held him up, the soft red of his father’s shirt darkened by the stream of the water, and he sagged even further into his own self-pity. 

“Dad…” he choked out, the word becoming a long line of sadness from the center of his chest and out into the hard steam of reality. 

His father didn’t answer, happy to keep his peace and simply hold his disappointing mess of a son under the hot water of the shower, the two of them locked together to this pain like the first two men to watch the sun go down. They stood, Joe braced back against him, and with every passing moment he felt more and more awake, more and more despairing, until he had no choice but to tip his head back onto the angle of his father’s shoulder and begin to weep into the steady stream of the water.

How could he have gotten here? He missed his mother.

Against the mountain of his despair his father remained unmoved, keeping still and strong in his sodden clothes with Joe balanced easily in his grasp. 

Why should he have been moved? After all, they had been here before, what felt like eons ago: a tired father with his baby son wailing desperately in his arms, the water breaking the fever that nothing else could.

[darkx-the-dragon-kn1ght]

Chapter 20- Part 18

“Antares” is the name of a major star, which I felt was fitting considering the Gothita line's association with stars and astrology. Speaking of, here's the PokéDex entry, once more:

And since this chapter is getting pretty long, I think we'll do one more encounter. And this one's a special one, which makes it even more fitting to finish off with.

To start, we need to go back to…this place.

The sadness of being back here after…what happened aside, there's something left behind in Corey's room to go and find.

Now with this item, go back to Rhodochrine Jungle and the Underroot and-

Encounter a Shiny Woobat, apparently??

Man- I get (what assume are) the increased Shiny odds are probably really great for people who like to Shiny hunt, but I'm…not that. I like running into Shinies casually and rarely! The rarity is what makes them special to me! When it's like this, that special-ness is kinda wearing off, you know?

I mean, I'm still gonna catch it, a Shiny is a Shiny, but still-

Yeah, Woobat has such strong suction, it's sucking up the pixels in the PokéDex text box!

Coming up with a name for a Woobat was kinda tough- at first I was thinking of something related to “heart”, then I realized heart sounded like the name “Art”, but that still didn't sound proper, so that's how I settled on “Arty”.

Now, continuing on with no further interruptions, go to the bottom of the Underroot, where those lakes were. And there, we find…

A very sad, very familiar-looking little guy.

Yeah- with the Silver Ring, Xera is now able to seek out Corey's Pokémon and take them in herself, starting with Skrelp!

“Kuzu” comes from the etymology of Skrelp’s Japanese name- specifically, mokuzu, which means “seaweed scraps.” Fitting in with Skrelp’s seaweed associations:

Out of all the names I've given to Pokémon throughout this chapter, this one might be one of my favorites, I feel really proud of it.

Alas, that will have to do for this chapter. There is one more side quest I wanna complete before taking on Shelly's Gym, but I'll save that for next time. For now, thank you everyone for reading! I hope you're looking forward to the conclusion of this Lapis Ward Gym business, I know I'm looking forward to the upcoming battle (as terrified as I equally am)!

So next time, we'll finally challenge the Lapis Ward Gym, and even before that…we're gonna join a gang!!

CURRENT TEAM:

Riptide

Species: Feraligatr

Gender: Male

Level: 34

Ability: Sheer Force*

Item: Quick Claw

Brave nature; Alert to sounds.

Glare

Species: Arbok

Gender: Female

Level: 34

Ability: Intimidate

Item: Protective Pads

Naughty nature; Highly curious.

Prong

Species: Charjabug

Gender: Female

Level: 32

Ability: Battery

Item: None

Rash nature; Loves to eat.

Decibel

Species: Noibat

Gender: Female

Level: 32

Ability: Telepathy*

Item: Focus Sash

Bashful nature; Often lost in thought.

Crater

Species: Camerupt

Gender: Female

Level: 34

Ability: Magma Armor

Item: Quick Claw

Hardy nature; Often scatters things.

Kirin

Species: Girafarig

Gender: Female

Level: 32

Ability: Sap Sipper*

Item: None

Quirky nature; Thoroughly cunning.

CURRENT BOXES:

NUMBER OF RELOADS: 13

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[peaterookie]

Iron Launcher's Pokemon Infopost

it's Iron Launcher's turn!!

if you haven't seen my previous post about Elongated Emperor, please check it out, it explains a couple things about my creations for those who don't have the full context. -> [Elongated Emperor's Infopost]

---

if it isn't super obvious already, its design is based on rockets and airplanes. they're shaped much like longkii, very very longe

it was a bit difficult to figure out how to make a rocket hi-tech and super cool, so i had to look at some references, and i found that reshiram's tail and rings quite fits the futuristic feel i wanted. (floating rings are cool

other than that, there's not much i can say about this design? longkii's shoes are essentially works as the engine IL uses to propel itself, the crown is just a smaller ring around its body, and the ++ eyes are inspired by chinchou's eyes, to kinda give it that silly lil happy guy energy that i will explain a bit later.

there wasnt much thought put into the design sadly cuz i have a biiit of a bias for the past paradoxes, so i struggled a bit in putting my all for the future version like displaying their personality and such. fortunately, i have tried to make up for this by expanding more on its personality in its learnset and game data!

---

Game Data

obviously, IL would be more on the speedy side, and i've made it be primarily a mixed attacker with weaker defenses. i'm not sure if this is a good spread? if possible i would like to improve this.

i also wanted to built this guy to be a bit of a glass cannon, so i made this custom ability !

this ability, plot armor, was me trying to expand on its personality as a rather rash and reckless type of pokemon, but is stubborn enough to never back down against an opponent, much like a heroic protagonist !!

this is also why i named the ability plot armor LOL i just imagine those types of shonen protags where the more the villain beats them up, they magically get stronger or they get a power up out of nowhere

anyways, its an ability thats like a double-edged sword, its frail but it can get super powerful very fast if you dont kill it immediately!!

i sadly don't have a lot to say about this, its also just me trying to expand on its personality, they're very silly and hyper!! and they love to be super active and beat each other up !1!!!!!!!1!!!11!

they also have a built-in instinct to befriend as much people and has a savior complex kinda, you gotta love em'

---

Learnsets

lastly, here's IL's learnset! I try to incorporate a lot of moves that involves a lot of it headbutting and charging to showcase its reckless personality

status moves like lock on is there to compensate for the couple of inaccurate moves, because as you know, 90% is basically 50% accurate. follow me can be used in double battles, to encourage the opponents to attack it to give it that plot armor boost.

they also learn a couple moves that do recoil later on, which does activate its ability ! they also know a couple of electric moves due to their pokedex entry explained above.

their signature move, Gigaton Bullet, is also made by my friend Gold, and here is the description for it! (i really dig this move ngl

Gigaton Bullet - Iron Launcher charges up for 1 turn, and launches full speed towards the target. It goes out of control and flies in different directions, and can attack the target 3-6 times. After the move ends, it takes 10% HP recoil damage.

---

anyways, that's all i got for Iron Launcher! here's the moveset i would have for the lil guy... thank you for listening to my ramble :)

Item: Focus Sash

Gigaton Bullet | Wild Charge | Ice Beam | Aura Sphere

link to the spreadsheet again ^

[barbwalters76rev]

TMNT AU Idea the Foot Clan

What if the turtle bois weren't raised by Splinter but rather raised by Shredder/Oruku Saki. I'm still thinking about how they got kidnapped and where it goes from there but to quickly say they are indoctrinated into believing the foot clan's ideals and beliefs to bring New York under their heel.

The Foot Turtles

Foot Leonardo: He's the faithful servant that doesn't know how to think for himself, like he believes fully that his master is everything there is and puts nothing else in his eyes, he is also rash even if skilled, he tries to act calm and collected but he has a really short fuse whenever someone or one of his brothers talks badly about Shredder or Karai he would have them put them in their place, he is a mix of both 03 and Rise, Leo is pretty ominous when fighting him he acts like a ghost as he turns invisible to make you question where the pitch or tone of his voice is coming from til he has you in his hands before you could beat him, Leo takes the role of an assassin religiously Leo kills his targets quick so they wouldn't suffer. he's in charge of his brothers despite being fully close to them he spends his time as a teacher in the foot ranks, he spend his time assuming the role of Shredders personal Ninja learning from both Kunoichi and Shinobi honing their skills and lessons ever since the older ones taught the blue turtle at a young age, the Blue Turtle believes he is helping the world saving the people from themselves. Leo is the Ghost of the urban jungle.

(Leo's appearence)

The eldest turtle is a red ear slider turtle adding more red patterns to connect from his face to his arms and legs almost like the phases of the moon,he has brown and green hazel eyes and his armor is a mix of both a Samurai and a Ninja, his bandana is a dark blue with ocean patterns behind it, scars are etched into his biceps and legs for the hard enduring training from the Kunoichi and Shinobi foot member's, he has a sash wrapped in his chest proudly wearing the foot colors and their symbol stamped on his armor pauldrons

Foot Raphael: He's the rash brat with a violent temper and aggressive attitude with how he was picked on or mocked at as a mutant turtle, he thinks he's the strongest one amongst the foot clan is, he is somewhat arrogant because of his harsh training with Oruku, Shredder has put the red banded turtle through hell and torture training Raph physically and mentally with a blend of manipulation. The big guy believes what Saki did to him is the right thing to him, Raph has a sense of superiority due to being chosen by Oruku with a baggage of the need of validation from his master to have the Mantle of his title was indeed an honor to Raphael, if something happens to Oruku than the red turtle would become the next Shredder, he would never let his brothers hear the end of it, if they got cocky about their abilities or how they think they'll beat him. Raph is a aggressive fighter that uses you're expectations of him and exploits that to his advantage to purposefully miss his attacks til you lose, the big red turtle is quick and finishes his target. Raph has the most compassion when giving his trust and believing that shredder is counting on him, his sense of validation is ever present to show he can be a better son and a hero of NYC he's a mix blend of 2k12 and Rise Raph

(Raphael's appearance)

Raphael is an alligator snapping turtle with ocean blue eyes, spikes on his shell, sharp nails and spikes on his skin, but most of it has to be filed down or completely removed, Raph has armor that is both armored and cloth covered giving that he is an apprentice of Oruku becoming the next Shredder, his red bandana covered half of his face while wearing a whole face mask leaving his eyes exposed that have black and red eyeshadow to blend with his mask which has kanji written behind, along with the foot clan symbol on top of his mask,

Foot Donatello: Donnie is a practical thinker, he believes fighting is useless and so he makes the best and most efficient choices to keep one from happening he's more focus on surveying his brothers and keeping them out of trouble trying not to care but still does. Donnie won't hesitate to prevent his brothers from fighting because of some occasions they would fight each other for Shredders attention, but the purple turtle at times has to commit acts of violence or assassination like his brothers when Shredder demands it and Donnie has to begrudgingly accept while being empathetic in taking out his target. Donnie has a moral compass that makes him question if what he and his brothers are doing the right thing and this dilemma is ever growing onto him, being Shredders covert spy says a lot about how the foot spies depend on Don to give and process crucial information to expose the foots enemies. He's a mix of Rise and IDW Donnie

(Donnatello's appearance)

Donnie is a spotted turtle painting his shell in purple dots shaping it into a purple dragon, his eye color is honey gold colored and he wears a long sleeve jacket with a bandana that covers his head with the dragon pattern from behind, fishnet top and leggings, both covered in leather and black wraps along with a strapped chest belt with the foot insignia. With a wrist com that acts as his mini computer and a wrist phone to call his brothers

Foot Michelangelo: out of all of the brothers Mikey is the most violent turtle trained to become Shredders personal weapon of war who is to believe he relishes in his passion for violence, he's the rebel out of the group and would sometimes talk back at Shredder or Karai, he would learn his lesson when he loses or is beaten down by Oruku, Mike has emotions but he simply cares about himself too much about himself and his own feelings than everyone else's. He knows he's good at his job and would gladly boast and revel in it, the orange turtle holds a lot of this pain and expresses it through fighting and taking out his target's and people would rather have anyone else to take them out than Mikey because he'll have you afraid before lights out he likes to him tunes and make them louder when he's getting closer, Mikey is very cynical and makes dark jokes to mask how much he despises how his life is and how he really hates yet loves the Shredder since he's the closest father figure the orange turtle ever knew. He's a hybrid of Rise, Last Ronin and 2k12 Mikey

(Michelangelo's appearance)

Mikey's a box turtle with golden dark yellow circles on his shell, he wears more punk styled clothes to feel like he's a punk, blue dark jeans with spike, a black hoodie with a leather harness with a black headband with flame edges at the back, underneath his black hoodie a black shirt with the foot ninja symbol, and a tongue piercing he won after defeating 80 clan members without letting them take off his bandana.

What do you think? Hope you like it guys and feel free to comment stay safe everyone!

[twcheaded-a]

ASHTON POKEVERSE HEADCANONS.

Gym/Elite Four Team

He has a gym team and a day team.

(Exclusive to Kalos/Elite Four) Ashton has 6 pokemon prepared but only carries 4 for battle. Given a rematch of his team, the opponent may see a Pokemon they hadn't previously. His Pelipper always comes out first.

(Exclusive to Kalos/Elite Four) Residing in Shalour City during his downtime, he trains and mentors at the Tower of Mastery. He has access to mega evolution and has Gyaradosite, Swampertite, and Ampharosite. All pokemon are level 48, except for his Swampert, which is level 50.

(Exclusive to gym teams) Seaking and Starmine may also show up in his team compositions. If he remains in the Hoenn region, he's the gym leader in Sootopolis City Gym. The levels of his gym pokemon vary from level 40 to 48.

TEAM BREAKDOWN

Myrtle (Pelipper) Item: Damp Rock Ability: Drizzle Nature: Modest Moveset: Hurricane, Scald, U-turn, Tailwind

Okeanos (Kingdra) Item: Wide Lens or X-accuracy Ability: Swift Swim Nature: Rash Moveset: Draco Meteor, Surf, Hydro Pump, Ice Beam

Romeo (Gyarados) Item: Gyaradosite OR a lum berry Ability: Intimidate Nature: Adamant Moveset: Dragon Dance, Waterfall, Crunch, Earthquake

Enzo (Swampert) Item: Swampertite OR leftovers Ability: Torrent Nature: Bashful Moveset: Stealth Rock, Earthquake, Ice Punch, Waterfall

Carter (Sharpedo) Item: Focus Sash Ability: Speed Boost Nature: Impish Moveset: Psychic Fangs, Protect, Crunch, Liquidation

Titus (Poliwrath) Item: Leftovers OR Choice Specs Ability: Water Absorb Nature: Brave Moveset: Seismic Toss, Scald, Ice Beam, Poison Jab

Day Team

Ashton's day team consists of Atlas (Lycanroc,) Ganymede (Sylveon,) Lance (Hydreigon,) Cadmus (Leavanny,) Neptune (Floatzel,) and Nautilus (Ampharos.)

Lance has been with him since he was a Deino.

In his Kalos verse, a few other pokemon may show up in his party. ( A Mawile, an Absol, and a Carracosta.) He grew up in Shalour city and trained along route 9 and in the reflecting cave.

Ashton's day team consists of Atlas (Lycanroc,) Ganymede (Sylveon,) Lance (Hydreigon,) Cadmus (Leavanny,) Neptune (Floatzel,) and Nautilus (Ampharos.)

In verses where he was raised in Hoenn (Slateport city) his day team may also feature a Starmine, a Seaking (these may also be featured on his gym team,) a Mightyena, and a Delcatty.