#He just laid down on the paint to look dead as a joke

[troylougferdaday]

Hey you should draw Troy dying in a glue trap.

Day 13. Who set the trap?

[drinksondaph]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐂𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒ೃ࿐

ೃ࿐𝗥𝗔𝗙𝗘 𝗖𝗔𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗢𝗡 𝗫 𝗞𝗢𝗢𝗞!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: reader is kind of weird, mention of butts, random sexual turn, blow job, dirty talk, pet names 18+ mdni

It was mid July and the cold air of Tannyhill caused the blonde to sigh in relief for he had escaped the hot air and humidity that he had to deal with the entire day

Rafe kicked off the heavy boots that he adorned before grabbing a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade from the fridge and made his way upstairs

The instrumentals of Brahms filled his ears as he pushed open the slightly cracked door of his bedroom, that's when he was met with the sight of you, cris cross at the vanity he built you which had the both of your names engraved onto the leg

The desk was littered with all sorts of makeup and fragrances that Rafe had bought you, one expensive thing cluttering over the next

Your brows were furrowed and your tongue slightly stuck out of your lips as you focused on combing the knots out of your hair, this caused you to miss the way Rafe snuck up behind you and laid his semi cold finger tips on your shoulder

“Holy fucking shit!” You slightly jumped, now seeing your boyfriend in the mirror, moving to turn your music down

“You have these damn violins and shit so fuckin loud” he kissed your forehead, making sure not to get in the way of the consecutive stokes through your hair

“You know classical helps me focus” you pouted, having a precise and strict hair routine is no joke, you can't walk around these streets looking any type of way, especially cause girl after girl tries to weasel their way towards Rafe, but he always made it known that he was yours

“I just don't see the appeal of dead old guys playing a bunch of instruments” he ran hand through his own hair, just for the same blonde pieces to fall right back in his face

“They don't play, they just composed it duh” you rolled your eyes, drenching your hair in even more water with your endless spray bottle

“Same difference” Rafe pulled you back by your cheeks, placing multiple pecks on your puckered lips

“Shut up before I put my finger in your butt”

This caused rafe to abruptly stop his movements, an overly offended look painted his face, “excuse me? How old are you?”

“Kind of late to be asking me that now buddy” you playfully stuck your tongue out him, the narrowing of his eyes indicating that his patience was wearing thin, oh how you loved to grind his gears

You watched as he took a seat at the edge of your bed, “You're a sick person, you know that?”

“That makes two of us baby cakes” you got up from your seat at the vanity, straddling his lap as your knees dug into the fur of your pink throw blanket

He captured your lips in a kiss, your eyes fluttering shut as his tongue slipped past your parted lips, he suddenly moves to bites your neck, gently biting and sucking on the skin, his hands now moving higher underneath the fabric of your dress, gently caressing the sensitive skin of your thighs, “this dress is so cute baby”

You could feel him grin against your neck as you let out a moan, “Thank you babe”

His hands move closer to your core, his thumb began circling your clit through your wet panties, wanting to hear you moan more for him

You put your hands on his shoulders pushing him back, “yeah buddy you're done”

at this point he can’t help but lean back a little to look at your face again You looked so perfect flushed, struggling to keep yourself together, he grabbed your jaw bringing your face to his lips again causing you to whine “stop itttt”

He mumbles against your cheek as he mocks you “you stop itttt”

You push yourself up, now just sitting on his waist as a slight pout painted your face “You're trying to be nasty but I need to get ready”

He rolls his eyes, hands still sneakily trying to creep around the hem of your dress as he rasps, “babe cmon, you look perfect already, jus give me some lovin'”

Damnit. The rasp of his voice and the lingering touches that inched up on your thigh had you folding. You pull him into a deep kiss, interlocking your lips with his

He gently bites your bottom lip, signaling for you to part them as he let his tongue slip into your mouth, once you do, he slides it inside, tasting every part of your mouth and grazing your tongue with his own

You tug at his belt, removing it as he lifts his hips to slip his pants down to his ankles, still mumbling against his lips “Gotta make you nut now”

Rafe couldn't help but let out a laugh, the way you acted when you were needy was a whole different animal, one of Rafes favorite versions of you, he wouldn't say that straight up though

“Yeah baby?” He smirked as you lowered yourself on his lap so you were face to face with his crotch, the hardness poking out through his boxers

You nodded and pushed his shirt up, kissing around his torso, encouraging him to grow harder, “Then go ahead and take care of me..."

You pulled his dick from his boxers, his tip leaking and practically yelling at you to relieve its aching appearance “wan' make you feel good”

You could feel his intense eyes on you before you took him in your mouth almost savoring the taste of his precum that leaked from his tip

He gripped onto your hair as you began to bob your head up and down his dick, tracing the throbbing veins with your tongue, the effort put into your hair routine completely forgotten as he started to rasp, “fuck baby, like this mouth was made just to make me feel good”

You hummed around him causing his whole body to vibrate, he continued to control your movements, spit pouring past your lips as you sucked sloppier, your eyes tearing up each time he drove himself deeper into your throat, “should shove this dick down your throat to shut you up yeah? Fuck it so hard til you can't speak”

Rafe groans, his breath speeding up as his heart races against his ribcage. His eyes squeeze closed and he lets out a moan, “gonna make you crave this shit 24/7 honey...mhm”

Wetness pooled your panties as you brought your hand up to the base of his shaft, beginning to stroke the length that you hadn't swallowed

Moans and curses of your name falls from rafes lips as he coaxed you, “My pretty girl, getting that mouth worn out, hm? Such a sweet slut for me”

The sound of your gags filled the room as you tried to take more of him, wanting to make him proud, knowing you succeeded as he groans and gasps for air, his body trembling as you flatten your tongue to take him even deeper

“Shittttt m'gonna nut baby tell me where you want it” you popped off his dick before you started to speed up the motion on his tip, jerking him as his breathing sped up and his abdomen tensed

“Wan you to shoot it all over my face baby, please, want to feel it all over me” now in retrospect it was a bad idea, having your makeup done and all, but your mascara was already kind of smudged so fuck it

This sent Rafe over the edge, overwhelmed by the pleasure you're giving him, his grip gets a little tighter on your hair, and he can hardly speak to tell you that he's reached his peak “ Take that fuckin load all over your pretty face baby, s-shit”

His warm load landed on your face, some on your lips, forehead and cheeks as shocks ran through his body and he jolted in pleasure before breathing heavy, attempting to calm his heart rate

He rested his tip on your lips, spreading the cum around urging you to lick it off, swiping over his tip in the process

You came back face to face with him as a smug look rested on his face “Mmm so damn pretty like this”

He referred to the remaining cum that occupied you face, causing you to roll your eyes “you're sick”

He laughs and gets up, making his way to the bathroom just to come back with a warm cloth, he started to wipe at your face, cleaning you up, “Should really let you go outside like this” he mumbled

You shook your head,brain too jumbled to make a smart remark

“Jus kidding baby, that's for me to see only” Rafe brings his face down to yours, kissing you passionately and pulling you close with his other hand

“Love you”

“Love you more baby cakes”

[theflagscene]

Let’s talk Jack and Joke’s perceived parental roles -

It’s laid out in plain words in episode ten so that there is absolutely no doubt whatsoever, Jack and Joke have taken Toi Ting in and have no plans on returning her to her deadbeat abusive bio-dad. I believe that it going to stay that way, so we’re going to keep to that assumption of her being adopted or fostered by them legally once everything is sorted.

Note: not looking for arguments about the legitimacy of blood relations verses found/chosen family. An adopted child is that person’s child, you do not need to have carried them in your body for them to be yours.

I adore that YinWar have been pushing back against the stereotypes around gay men and queer media in general about what roles a person takes in the relationship, they’ve mostly been focusing on the sexual aspect because that is the part that people tend to get the most hung up on.

Yet I find it wildly interesting how easily Jack and Joke fall into what would be considered the ‘heteronormative parental roles’ when it comes to Toi Ting. It’s not a bad thing! No, it’s actually quite nice to see. They’re not forcing any ‘husband/wife’ ideals into their relationship, they just naturally fall into the roles that are appropriate for them as a couple and a family unit.

Jack is very much in the ‘father’ role, remember, father does not instantly mean masculine or emotionally stunted. He is the protector, he is a trained martial artist and debt collector, he is physically intimidating. He is firm and chastising but also patient and forgiving, he is the one Toi Ting feels physically safe with the most, she runs to him for help, she learns her bravery and defiance from him. He absolutely will pat her back, smooth down her hair and allow himself be to dragged away by the hand to get ice cream. He is playing the role of not just a father figure, but a daddy. (stop giggling at that word, the internet has ruined us all 😝)

Meanwhile, Joke has one hundred percent filled the ‘mother’ role for Toi Ting. Again, not because he’s femme or whatever - side note, there’s nothing wrong with being femme! Joke is a natural carer, he wears his emotions on his sleeve because he never had anyone care about him before. He is gentle and a listener, both things that serve him well as a thief. When Toi Ting comes running to Jack for physical protection, it is Joke that offers emotional protection. He is the one that takes her into his arms and calms her down, he hugs her, reassures her and speaks with clam and loving words to bring her big scary emotions back down to a more manageable level. Joke can redirect her attention and is the one that sits and paints with her, Jack just ‘supervises’, aka is a big dope that’ll ruin the painting lol. But together Jack and Joke are able to offer Toi Ting what she needs, both a mother figure and a father figure, regardless of their genders.

Which leads me into the absolute heartbreak of a scene at the end of episode ten, where Jack and Joke find themselves in the one place no parent ever wants to find themselves. Stuck on the other side of those damnable white doors, unable to get to your child.

Joke has an emotional response, very much a mother’s response. Again, mothers tend to be the ‘emotional nurturers’ so them being more giving with their emotions is to be expected. And I would just like to point out how exceptional War plays that role, he is a mother waiting in terror to find out if his baby is dying or dead.

The blank horrified stare, the shaking hands and quivering movements, the fact that his legs fail him and he ends up curled up on the floor. Covering his mouth to keep the sobs in, yet unable to stop the silent flow of tears, barely even noticing when Hoy tries to comfort him. Joke doesn’t snap out of his shock until Jack shows up.

Jack on the other hand has a very ‘fatherly’ response, the pacing, the pinched expression, the heavy breathing and muttering before just exploding with anger, swearing loudly and looking for someone to blame. He can’t break down just yet, he’s too angry, too scared, he’s not the emotional support. He’s the protector, the provider and he hates himself for failing. Yin played that so well, how he kept moving to touch his head, putting his hands on his hips, fidgeting as he paced, forcing the camera to keep up with his near frantic movements.

Where Joke froze, Jack found movement.

Where Joke was quiet, Jack exclaimed loudly.

Where Joke allowed tears to flow, Jack held his pain tightly in.

Joke and Jack are Toi Ting’s mother and father, and that final hospital scene just proved it.

[chillinglyadventurous]

Spooktober Day 13 - “That costume really is convincing.”

It was just supposed to be a night of handing out candy to trick-or-treaters.

It was a chilly Halloween. A slasher film played on Stan’s television as you laid in his arms. Despite the occasional knocks from trick-or-treaters interrupting your movie, the night was peaceful. This child's laughter, however, was contagious. It was echoing outside as parents escorted their children from house to house. You loved to guess what each kid was dressed as. Stan was unimpressed or, at least, that’s what he wanted everyone to think. However, as you two stood side by side on the front steps of the Mystery Shack, you could see the little smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You set down the candy bowl by the door on your last turn. You gave Stan a smile and a sigh as you curled back into his arms. Immediately, you jumped when the girl on the screen was brutally murdered in her shower. Yeah, you wouldn’t be showering alone tonight. Stan would be grateful.

Stan pulled you close as your heart raced. “I can’t even tell what half of those kids’ costumes are. Can you?”

“Says the guy who wore a suit made of fake dollar bills last year,” you snorted as you tucked your head beneath his chin. Another gruesome murder played out on the screen.

Stan chuckled. “Hey, it was a statement.” His large hand rested on the back of your head as you hid your face in his chest to avoid witnessing blood spatter the scene playing in front of you.

Once another knock came, you reached for the remote in Stan’s loose grip to pause the TV. You stood from his comfortable and safe embrace to hand him the candy bowl. “Your turn, hot shot.”

Stan gave you a groan, full of fake annoyance, only to kiss you on the forehead before heading to the door. When he flung the door open, a figure stood on the stoop. It stood perfectly still. Stan was amused by the kid in front of him. The kid’s clothes hung loosely from its frame and patches of what appeared to be dead skin sloughed from the kid’s face.

“Hey, [Y/N],” Stan called from the door, “come check this kid out!”

You stood from the nest you had created when Stan went to answer the door. Standing next to him, you threw an arm around his shoulder. A loud laugh escaped you as you stared at the kid. It didn’t hold a bucket or pillow case to collect candy, but the costume was impeccable. The kid’s eyes were sunken in, lips cracked and twisted in a pained grimace. The kid played the part of a zombie very well, standing perfectly still.

“Wow,” you stared, mouth agape in wonder, “that costume really is convincing! I think yours is the best one we’ve seen all night.”

A stench hit you suddenly, making your face contort. You’d never smelt a corpse, but, damn, this kid went all out. They reeked of rotting meat and damp earth. Even the strange fluids covering their body smelled putrid. You had to give the kid credit, maybe an extra candy bar just to get them off your porch faster. The smell was making you nauseous. 

Stan looked the most impressed you had seen all night.”Great costume, kid! You got old steaks under your clothes or somethin’?” He gave a hardy laugh as you moved closer to him. Something wasn’t right, but only you seemed to notice. “Ya know, for a second, I though-”

The figure let out a low, guttural moan and Stan’s laugh died in his throat. The moan wasn’t playful, a kid just trying to get more candy by being spooky. It wasn’t a joke. It was too real. You felt it deep in your bones as a coldness that clawed its way up your spine. Your hand froze in midair, candy slipping from your fingers as you locked eyes with the thing on your doorstep.

The kid, zombie, stepped forward wih one foot dragging behind it. That smell, god that smell, became suffocating. The flesh hanging off its arm wasn’t the painted latex you had thought it was. The decomposition fluids weren't painted on. It was real. A zombie. Torn and festering flesh clinging shouldn’t to bone that shouldn’t be moving.

“Stan,” you whispered as you clung to him a bit tighter. Your voice was barely audible. “That’s not a costume.”

Stan gave a laugh as he looked down at you. You’d tried to scare him like this before, but you were a terrible liar. Then, he saw the look on your face. You couldn’t fake anything, especially not fear, and his face drained of all color. He dropped the candy bowl, its contents spilling on the stoop. His hand moved to slam the door, but the figure let out another loud groan, louder as it lounged forward with its arms outstretched toward you. 

You stumbled back as Stan pushed you behind him as he slammed the door just in time. However, that did not deter the corpse clawing and crashing against the door. The whole Shack shook as the crashing, scratching, and clawing continued. Its hands slapped against the glass, leaving dark, wet trails across the panes. 

Stan turned to you, his breathing shallow, but he tried to keep his voice steady. “We need to barricade this. Now!”

You nodded, your legs shaking as you raced to grab everything you could. Chairs, boxes, anything you could pick up. Outside, however, the scratching continued, growing louder and louder. In a moment of curiosity, you peaked out the window. There was no longer just one. The entire Shack was surrounded.

Stan was sweating, piling the furniture you had stacked up in a more secure fashion. As the horde grew closer, Stan pushed you behind him. He grabbed the baseball bat he kept by the door, pulling brass knuckles out from a drawer nearby.

“Listen to me, baby,” Stan said. His eyes were wide as he took your face in his hands. He kissed you hard. “Go upstairs. Hide. Barricade yourself in some room. Hell, find a hidden one if you can.”

You shook your head. You weren’t going to let him do this alone, “Stan, I will not-”

“Go!” He shouted as the windows broke.

[moodymisty]

A kinda funny anecdote: I asked my husband who he thinks tumblr girlies would like to fuck and he sighed and said Sanguinius or Magnus.

But he wished people would thirst over Jaghatai Khan more, since he's actually a good man, playing up a mysterious façade but actually being a loyal and intelligent man, a family man even, as he is from a culture that values family. Only thing faster than his sword is his wit.

So, if you please, I would love to see the Great Khan whisk away the reader, on his bike or horse, just something a bit romantic if you feel like it <3

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: YES! JAGHATAI TIME! I'm so glad someone requested him! He's really an awesome Primarch and one of my favorites, I would totally paint some if that didn't mean I had to paint white. It's sad how often people forget to mention White Scars when mentioning kinder space marines, they're awesome. Hope you enjoy.

Summary: Khan realizes he's in love not when he sees your beauty or your skills, but when he sees you in the mud with the horses.

Relationships: Jaghatai Khan/Gn!Reader

Warnings: None, Though I had a bit of trouble forming this one in a way I was happy with, so apologies if it reads a bit weird? It's also my first time writing Jaghatai

Word Count: 1143

While Jaghatai would be wrong to say this would be the oddest sight he's seen in his already long existence, perhaps it's up there.

"There you are."

His voice travels easily over the sound of the wind raking the tall grass, blowing fabric and hair along with it.

Sitting cross legged in the grass of a massive rolling field is where he found you, playing with the snout of a horse that has lazily laid on his legs to be at a similar height to you. He blows air through his lips, making an odd whinny at you when you turn and stop giving the stallion your full attention. You catch Jaghatai's eyes for a moment before looking away, a bit contrite.

"Apologies," You say, and he can hear the title Lord Primarch on your lips. You stifle it now, as he finds it far less palatable than his others.

"Do you have need of me?" You move to get up, but the Primarch gives a response before you're able. Jaghatai's mouth quirks up ever so slightly to one side, watching the horse attempt to get purchase on your clothing with his lips while you aren't looking at him.

"No. I was only curious where you had managed to lose yourself this time. My captain was beginning to think we were down one remembrancer."

You don't directly answer him, but the way you glance over at him with a guilty smile is enough.

Your hand brushes along the stallion's cheek, the thick fur of his growing winter coat raking through your fingers. The nights are getting colder, and the baseline humans that serve the massive, overheated Astartes find themself bundling pelts and fabrics tighter, skin burned from cold wind.

Jaghatai can hear you now whispering to the horse under your breath, even as the cold air whips across the barren, grass covered field. He can see the plume of smoke from another camp far in the distance.

They aren't hostile, but he never allows himself the sheer foolishness of assuming they will remain that way. Especially since they're carrying with them valuable cargo this time; Remembrancers and Navigators, and other such. Humans that would be an easy and worthwhile target, if they were ever so foolish enough to do so with a Primarch so close.

He gestures to the horse who's snout you gently rub, feeling the soft, tiny hairs on the stallion's upper lip. What a rare moment of relaxation you've gotten with no overseers looming over you as they would on Terra. How interesting that it seems the Astartes of the White Scars are less rigid than your old Imperium higher ups.

"I am surprised he's letting you do this. The last man that got close, he killed."

You look up at him as if he's telling a sort of terrible joke- then you realize that he is dead serious, as much as that soft, ever so slight upturn of the corners of his mouth might say otherwise. The Horses of Chogoris have always been so untenably wild, perhaps you shouldn't be surprised.

"I'm no stranger to that sort of thing, nowadays." He finds it amusing that you don't seem to state it negatively. "Going from Terra to Chogoris has been quite the adjustment."

The horse's tail whips sharply once, before settling again. You continue playing with him, occasionally looking to the Khan as he stays in silence. It's peaceful, far more peaceful than he's had in a long while, and the moment allows Jaghatai to finally piece together what has been gnawing at him since you'd entered his life. To think that was so long ago now, at least in the timeline of a mortal.

His eyes watch over you, your gentleness as you treat the stallion in the same, abit foolhardly way of kindness he's seen from you before. For someone who has seen more than their fair share of things that would make other mortals crumble, you seem to take it all in stride.

Perhaps its why you've managed to fit in so well. His men much prefer your attitude to the few other pompous, stiff Imperium operatives they've had the misfortune of being in the presence of. It may not be often, but more than once has he caught one of his captains rolling their eyes.

But now he finally understands what that feeling was that had dug it's nails into him; The one that had been heavy in his chest and on his mind. The one that had his mind drift to you in moments of slowness.

He is in love with you. Or perhaps more accurately, he's striding down the path closer to it. Each step he takes, each time he speaks with you, he makes his way closer and closer.

He enjoys the way you look at him, speak to him without so much formality, the way you treat the galaxy like it's full of wonders instead of horrors. You know in reality it is, but you once joked it's better to simply keep moving than to sit in the corner and weep. Perhaps that was the moment that this all started.

A part of him knows that something like this is only going to bring problems. To entangle this with a labyrinthine crusade of Astartes, of other Primarchs.

But in the end, he doesn't care.

The Primarchs were doomed to this feeling of being separated from humanity- their own internal humanity- by a pane of glass; So close and able to watch, but not truly feel. Even with how much they mimic, the Primarchs all feel a distinct emptiness within them from how cast away they are from those who they share species with.

To have a chance to maybe feel love, to actually feel truly human for the first time in his life, he isn't going to pass it by. Perhaps it's selfish, but he has little care. He is going to live his life the way he wishes any he will deal with the difficulties as they come.

Jaghatai Khan can easily vault the fence with zero effort, given his height. In doing so, he steps close to you, and the massive horse raises his head and begins to rise to his hooves, no longer allowed to slack off. He roughly gestures with his hand for you to rise.

"Up. I'll show you how to ride him."

You get up on your feet, and look up at him. He looks down at watches the light of the brightest moon of the month reflect on your skin. There's the faint smell of smoke in the air from the fires, and that stinging scent of cold air. You easily climb up onto the horse's bare back, Jaghatai even then still taller.

"Perhaps if you can tame him just enough, he can be yours."

[ravennaortiz]

Moaning in the Morgue

Summary: Tig and reader get naughty in the Morgue. As always 18+. *Consensual/planned out roleplay with paralytic drugs mentioned as well as minor knife play*

“This is probably our most expensive role play yet” chuckled Tig as he glanced up at you as you made your way into Charming’s newly renovated morgue. He had gotten there earlier to setup in a smaller room that hadn’t been used yet in the new building. Cameras and screens were on and facing the stainless steel table in the middle of the room. He had a thin heating mat on top of it to help keep you comfortable. Tools and a syringe were laid out neatly on the mayo stand next to it as well as exam gloves.

“Is this too crazy? I mean fucking in a morgue is one thing. Sedating myself with a paralytic to give a more real feeling?” you inquired as you set your bags down on a table. You had not gotten ready yet as Tig wanted to see you for the first time on the table for authenticity. Your face scrunched with worry as you turned to him.

“Getting cold feet already Doll?” joked Tig as he grinned at you making you roll your eyes. Tig walked over to you and pulled you into his arms kissing your forehead. “Jokes aside. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want too” he murmured as you leaned into him. You mulled his words over as you took in his soothing presence. You two were adventurous to say the least and this had been just as much your idea as his. The two of you had planned this out well. Even roping Chibs in to hangout in the hall in case of an emergency due to his medical knowledge.

“I still want too. Let me go get ready”. You gave him a kiss before grabbing your bags and going to get ready.  Tig smiled as he watched you disappear before he went back to double checking everything was in place and ready. Moving over to the thermostat and turned it down before turning the main lights off before going to change himself and wait.

Tig glanced up as Chibs stepped out of the room and gave him a quick nod before taking up his seat outside the door. Taking a deep breath he made his way inside. His eyes zeroed in on the table where you lay. He chuckled as he approached. You were completely covered head to toe in a white sheet, ever the perfectionist. Whistling he grabbed the sheet and whisked it off, tossing it casually to the floor.

“Wow” he murmured as he looked over your naked body. You had used body paint and makeup to make yourself look very much dead. His fingers traced along your cheek noting how cold you felt before moving his thumb along your lip . He then leaned over and planted a gentle kiss to them before moving back to put on the exam gloves.

You followed his movements on the tv screen above your head. It was surreal to see him touching you but not be able to feel it. Too know he was running the blade of a knife around your nipples making them harden before tracing the knife down your abdomen to your core.

“Wet already Doll” he stated in amazement as he pushed your thighs apart. Your arousal glistening in the overhead light. Carefully Tig slid the knife through your folds before bringing it to his mouth and licking it. His eyes locked on yours the whole time. “So sweet”. Setting the knife down Tig grabbed a couple clamps from the stand and attached them to your nipples and clit. You noted these weren’t the usual ones you too played but it didn’t take you long to realize his plan.

“mmm” you choked out somehow when the pulses of electricity coursed through your body as Tig fiddled with a remote. “I hoped that would work. Feel good love?” questioned Tig as he caught your eye waiting for your blinks. “Good” he stated once he got the affirming number of blinks.

Quickly he slipped two gloved fingers into you clamping his eyes at how wet you were as he pushed In and out of you. The only sound that of your wet pussy as he finger fucked you into an orgasm. “Think I’m going to have to go deeper” grunted Tig before opening his doctors coat and pumping his cock a couple times before moving to the foot of the table. Grabbing your legs he gave you a tug and pulled your ass to the end. He put one leg over his shoulder as he lined his cock up with your entrance.

While holding eye contact he slowly pushed into you. Biting his lip as he moaned as your soft walls gripped and fluttered along his length. Once he was all the way in he turned the electrical clamps on low to pulsate randomly.

“Fuck baby” he hissed as you tightened around him in response. “So tight” he groaned as he started to slowly fuck In and out of you. You watched the screen as he fucked you and your body was shocked. Breakthrough moans and whimpers escaping from your mouth every now and then. Tig was panting as he fucked you harder and faster his pace starting to falter. A rush of fluid and your clenching body told him you had cum again. Pulling from you he flipped your body over in a swift movement before shoving himself back inside of you. Grabbing your hair in one hand he used it to pull you back towards him while the other hand slapped your ass. Tig frantically pumped in and out of you a few more times before he released himself deep inside you calling your name as he did.

After a couple minutes he pulled from you slowly. His eyes fixed on your core as he dripped out of you before turning you back over and pushing you back onto the table. Carefully he climbed onto the table his cock hardening again as he looked over you. Grabbing your hips he lifted your lower half onto his lap, angling his cock to notch the head at your ass. Your eyes widened a bit.

“You are okay Doll. Just like normal” soothed Tig as he pushed two curled fingers up into your pussy as he started to push his cock into your ass. You felt full on top of the warm and floating sensation. The room was soon once again filled with Tigs moans and grunts, the slapping of skin and the squelching of your pussy as Tig fucked you. After a few minutes he came again with a snarl.

“Can’t wait to fuck you while we watch this. Have your legs locked around my waist as you claw my back up.” Murmured Tig as he sucked at your neck before kissing down your chest to your breast. This was going to be a long night you thought to yourself as you saw his cock starting to rise again as he sucked at your nipples.

[ghosthoard]

PART 2

parts 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08

CW: starvation, aftermath of torture, main character death

With their treasure secured, the chain formed a protective circle around Twilight, their swords out and eager for more. However, once they left the dungeon the yiga hideout was disturbingly empty. Only the echo of their footsteps and stale air left for them to confront. Paranoia seized fast as they swiftly headed to where they guessed the exit was, checking around corners and careful of shadows, waiting for the fluttering of paper and grating laughter to signal an ambush, but their diligence proved unnecessary. They weren’t stopped even once. They got out, and at the behest of Warriors went further than they usually would to get clear of the place. Even then, most of the group couldn’t shake off the feeling that they were being watched. 

“What’re they playing at?” Four muttered, looking back toward the direction of the hideout. There wasn’t any sign of pursuit.

“Hell if I know,” Legend replied, sweeping his eyes around the clearing they had settled in. “But I don’t like it.”

“Four, please,” Twilight called. 

Four couldn’t stand hearing Twilight plead. He approached where Twilight had laid Wild, fussing over him just like he would when their brother was sick or injured even though the pillow under his head and the cot laid out for him was something he couldn’t appreciate anymore. 

The stress of escaping the hideout and the unnerving absence of their enemy fled their bodies for the reality to settle. 

Wild was dead. 

He was with us this morning, Red insisted. He laughed at our joke about how Warriors can’t handle spice to save his life. He can’t just be dead. He was alive when they took him. He can’t be dead.

Why does he look so malnourished? Vio was muttering. His ribs are sticking out, he has significantly less body fat, we were separated for maybe 5 hours, how is this possible?

Stress of torture, Green replied weakly, though Vio didn’t pay him any attention. 

Wild’s dead, Blue repeated. 

“Get them off,” Twilight’s helpless voice broke through Four’s haze and the colors’ voices grew distant. 

Twilight was glaring at the shackles around Wild’s ankles and wrists. “I can’t get them off. Four, please.”

They got the shackles off (Four had patted Wild’s mangled hand, and said with a reassurance that trembled, “Don’t you worry, Wild, it won’t even hurt. I’m good at what I do.” With skillful swiftness, the metal snapped free), they cleaned him up (Legend and Warriors did so silently and tenderly, and if they both took a second to brush hair out of Wild’s face or to fiddle more than necessary over his clothes nobody said a thing), they laid his cloak— the one Sky was holding onto to return— over his head (Sky kissed the top of his head before covering him up. That seemed like the limit for the Chosen Hero as his carefully still expression cracked and he hid his face in his hand, swaying on his feet until Warriors and Hyrule swept in to help him sit down against a tree).

Wild could’ve been sleeping. 

Twilight transformed and laid a heavy head on top of Wild’s chest, whimpers escaping him more often than not. 

It was a nice day, Time had to admit.  

In the rush of figuring out the portal, the fight in the windowless yiga base, the dungeon, Time hadn’t had the chance to notice it. Now, the crisp breeze blew through the emerald green trees, sunlight danced and dappled, he could hear a creek close by. Wild’s Hyrule was just like him. Bright, free, and unrestrained. Whenever any of them returned to their eras, they fit in like a glove, like they were the missing subject of a landscape painting. The land would rejoice at their return every time.

Now, the boy’s body lay uncharacteristically still among the thriving backdrop of his own land. 

It was said when a fairy died, a flower would blossom or a tree would sprout. Time thought that would suit Wild very much, for his spirit to be the scurrying of a fox, the snuffling of a bear, the cool dirt under their feet, the sun that peeked through the leaves of a magnificent tree. But Time couldn’t find him in any of them. Couldn’t find him anywhere. Couldn’t rip his eyes away from how still, how silent, how wrong the body that had been Wild’s was. 

A movement ripped his gaze away and onto Wind, who was swiftly heading to hyperventilation as he jerked around this way and that, still looking for something, growing more desperate. Time hurried over to him. 

“Sailor,” he said sharply. 

Wind snapped his eyes onto Time, big and brown and lost.

Time took a knee and placed a hand on his shoulder.  

He seemed to deflate under Time’s hand, bottom lip quivering as he squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists open and closed by his sides.

“He didn’t say goodbye,” he wept. “I guess it’s good he can move on. It’s a good thing, really. Being able to move on right away isn’t something a lot of people like us can do, you know. I’m happy for him, of course I am…But—”

A few shallow breaths filled the silence as Wind quickly lost the battle against his tears. He sobbed, pushing the heel of his palms into his eyes. 

The next sob had Time scooping the boy into his hold. 

That was right. During the war, an older Tune had told Mask he could see ghosts. Mask hadn’t believed him or rather pretended not to. But right now— Time squeezed the boy tight—all he felt was heavy sadness that this was something else that added to Wind’s grief. Just another loss for their youngest to go through. 

Everybody watched silently as Wind cried. 

Time addressed the others once Wind had calmed down, still buried in his shoulder. “We should decide where we’re heading, we can’t stay here for much longer.” He didn’t like how easily they were allowed to leave the base. Were the yiga cutting their losses since Wild was already dead? They always were quick to run. But this unsettling feeling jittering around his chest told him differently, and it was further corroborated by how the others were just as uneasy. There was something they were missing. 

Four’s voice said, “We should bring him to Hateno. Wild said Flora is usually there.”

All at once, the breath left Time, leaving a tired, tired old man. 

Wild’s Zelda… What were they going to say to her? How could they do this to her?

A hand shook him out of his thoughts and he turned to see his big brother who was taking Wind from him. As Wind turned into Warriors to continue crying into his scarf, Warriors gripped Time’s shoulder, grounding him. “Mask, take some time. We have time.”

What’s the use of time now? Where was all this time when they needed it?

But he didn’t say any of this out loud, instead he followed Captain’s advice and finally went to join Wild and Twilight. 

Twilight’s eyes flickered to him, another whine. Time ran a hand over his head comfortingly. Gathering his courage, he pulled down the cloak enough to see Wild’s face. 

The blood was all gone, wiped clean by Warriors and Legend, leaving the pallor of pale skin and a good view of sunken cheeks and eyes. Wild was ever still in death. Time cupped his cheek.

He would never see this face crinkle up in mischief ever again. 

“This couldn’t have been done in less than a day.” Four had also gotten closer to examine Wild over Time’s shoulder.

Legend sighed from where he was sitting next to Sky and Hyrule. “Smith, let it go.”

Four turned to glare at Legend with a frenzied look in his eyes. “It couldn’t.” 

Before a fight could break out between them, Warriors intervened. 

“I agree,” he said with the air of knowing something he didn’t want to reveal. “Stress of torture is one thing, but his body showed signs of starvation.” 

“So what are you saying?” Hyrule whispered.

Warriors and Four stared at each other until a look of horror gradually overtook Four’s face. “No… the portal we took—!”

“It was the right place but the wrong time. It was less than a day for us but an unknowable amount of time for Wild.” 

Warriors would’ve kept this theory to himself if he had it any other way, but this group was smart enough to eventually realize by themselves. He rationalized that it would be better to take the hits all at once, together. 

It was almost cruel. Just another way they’ve failed. 

“He was there long enough to starve,” Hyrule said, eyes glistening with outrage. 

The estimated number floated to the surface of Warrior’s mind unbidden. Longer than that, the body yelled, refusing to be ignored. Fed just enough to stay alive longer than that. 

“He was waiting for that long,” Wind’s despairing tone sharpened into anger, “just because the portal decided to spit us out in the wrong time?” 

“Maybe we took too much time trying to figure out how to make it wide enough,” Legend said morosely.

“You and Hyrule were the only reason we were even able to get here. None of us are at fault, least of all you two.”

Legend didn’t respond, not eager to continue putting his work down if it meant dragging down Hyrule too no matter how much he blamed himself. Warriors knew invoking Hyrule’s name was backhanded, but he needed to do whatever possible to nip that self-blame in the bud. 

There was a vibrating force that was emitting off of Hyrule as the boy wore a fierce expression, but just like his predecessor, he remained silent. 

Warriors glanced back at the group huddled closest around Wild to see that other than one of Wolfie’s ears pointed towards them, Wolfie and Time both hadn’t moved despite this revelation. Sky had sunk deeper down where he was sitting, his face completely hidden by his trembling hands, the master sword held tight against him. 

The only one not looking enraged was Legend who just looked sad, fiddling with his rings absentmindedly as he stared at Wild’s body. 

Four’s eyes looked violet at this angle, a horrible twist of rage to his face that Warriors had never seen before. “What a sick joke,” he spat. “Must have had a good laugh, making sure the group of heroes can’t save one of their own. Ironic. Poetic, even.”

“Our tragedy is someone else’s comedy,” Legend said distantly. 

Tears had once more welled up in Wind’s eyes. He aggressively tried to wipe them off his face. “Pathetic excuse for heroes we are. We have eight of us and couldn't even do our job right. What’s the use of us?”

Warriors wrapped an arm back around the boy’s shoulders and Wind promptly buried his face into his stomach. Thoughts to Time’s story about defeating Ganon to win an already lost kingdom only to have to go back in time to fix it, to Wild’s story about dying and coming back a hundred years later to try again, to Sky’s misplaced guilt around failing to prevent the curse Demise had placed on them all. Heroes never get a clean win, but he didn’t think it was the right time to point it out. 

Instead, he squeezed Wind closer to him and said, “He didn’t deserve this.”

First | Next

[makriiii]

Caught IX (Arthur Morgan × f!reader)

Word count: 2.5k

Authors notes: ao3 is messin' about, so I'll upload this there when it quits with all that 😭

Warnings: 18+, blood, cursing, angst.

♡

Caught IX

You huffed in a few breaths, watching another horse bolt away after leaving its rider for dead.

Everything happened so fast. Your heart beating faster than a horse at a gallop as you collected your thoughts for a mere second.

Your head swiveled around to Arthur, who sat up against a tree, his hand clamped around his shoulder.

You didn't waste another beat getting to him, your chest tightening at the sight of crimson spreading across his button-up. You knew more than well what that had felt like.

"There's still gauze in my bag." He breathes out. His voice more labored, and his voice rough.

You scrambled around in his bag, each of his exhales and groans behind you, making you work faster.

"Just, hang on, Arthur..." You trail off, kneeling down to his arm. You hesitate as your hands hovered over his chest - his buttons needed unbuttoning.

His eyes were plastered to you, that much you could feel as you worked your way down.

He sucked in through his teeth when you moved his hand.

Warm, deep red painted your fingertips, and honestly, you couldn't help but feel a bit squeamish at the sight of broken flesh.

"This'll hurt, I'll bet. Since you aint passed out."

"Unfortunately." He grunts, squeezing his eyes once your hands met his wound.

Gently, you packed the wound with the gauze, mumbling small comforts to Arthur. And every time you did, it felt strange to you, yet you didn't stop until you had wrapped the bandage tightly.

"A little lower, and we could've matched." You gave a slight smile, trying to calm your own nerves with a joke.

"Suppose it's my retribution." He leans his head back with an exasperated sigh before he lets you help him up to his feet.

"Yeah, what's it now? Two to one?"

He grumbles something, but his paindd smile didn't leave, looking away before staring you in the eye.

"It's technically two - two. Flat even."

You give him a contemplative hum as you helped him up to your mount. "Said yourself the first one dont count."

He shakes his head, his breathing calming the longer you spoke to him.

"I take that back. Calling it even." He makes a movement with his now injured shoulder, wincing with regret as he fully came to terms with having to break with using it for now.

You gave him a chuckle, standing him just before your horse. Both of your hands were covered in blood that was now drying.

You grabbed for your flask, giving your hands a quick wash. You weren't sure what you'd do about your shirt, feeling a bit of guilt for getting them stained so quickly.

Motioning his hands out, you poured a steady stream, water replacing the previous liquid.

Once you returned your flask back, your hands found the side of your hips. Eyeing him up and down inquisitively, doing your most to mask the worry.

"How are we supposed to get you on the back of my horse?" You clearly referenced his freshly bullet bitten shoulder.

He scoffs, furrowing his brows with your words. "I'm not that badly incapacitated."

You nod all cocky like, waiting for him to prove himself.

He shoots you a look while preparing himself before pulling himself up.

He bit back a grunt of pain as he returned himself back to the spot he had been beforehand.

"Alright." You gave a quick glance around for Arthurs horse, but the thing had already run off beyond sight. "Hold out for me until we get back to camp then."

Holding onto the horn, you pulled yourself up and turned your horse back to the direction of camp.

Arthurs' uninjured arm wrapped itself around you again. This time, you didn't mind so much.

Despite the man that he was to you, you were worried. His arm around you was meek, not like it'd been when he first got on.

The further you got, the closer Arthur got to you until his entire front laid on your back. His breathing soft, and his head resting on your shoulder.

When you looked back, he looked to be sleeping peacefully, but it alarmed you.

"Arthur?" You ask softly. Was this how you were when you passed out after getting shot? "You aint dead, are you?"

He was barely cognizant of your words or the position he was in as he near slept on you.

He mumbled out something you didn't quite catch, yet you didn't find yourself nagging him more, instead asking for a quick pace to get back to camp instead.

By the time you got to camp, Arthur was still pretty out of it, though he had enough in him to hold onto you as if he were hugging you with one arm.

You called over Ms. Grimshaw, who looked mighty confused until she spotted the blood that painted you and Arthur, releasing a gasp at the sight.

"What on earth happened?" Her voice striken with anxiety and panic, which caught the attention of Bill.

She ran up to the side of your horse as you gently removed Arthurs arm from your waist.

"Jesus christ." Bill chimes as he joins the four of you, reaching for Arthur gently who groaned as he slid off the horse with Bills help.

Ms. Grimshaw all the while inspected your handy work, which was mostly stained with blood now while Bill helped him to his bed.

More worried glances and murmurs from camp came about as you followed closely behind Arthur to his bed.

"Who was it, Arthur?" Bill questioned, his face stern and his eye firey.

"The goddamn O'Driscolls." Arthur grunts with a sigh as he hits his bed, remaining upright for Ms. Grimshaw to care for his wound.

"The raiders, now the O'Driscolls, huh?" Bill shoots you a look, but it didn't seem so accusatory, more contemplative. "Think we have enough in camp already."

Arthur gives a short chuckle, cut off by a wince when Ms. Grimshaw started prodding his wound.

When Ms. Grimshaw finally moved away to get the first aid. She walked by you and stood for a moment.

"Did you get hurt too?" She eyes your bloodied sleeve, to which you shake your head.

"No, I'm okay. Do you need any help?" You offered your hand, but you weren't sure what use you'd be made of.

She shakes her head, moving past you to gather first aid. "You got him back safe enough, I can take care of the rest."

You left it at that, and by the time you turned around, most of camp was crowded around to make sure Arthur was okay, and the ones that had already were asking you what had happened.

That's how you spent the rest of your night. Retelling the story to everyone, the feelings being very mixed. You either got blamed, or you got courtesy.

-

You'd been away for a day, hunting. Mainly to keep Arthur out of your mind. He would be more than fine, just as you had been. So you kept telling yourself.

Lucky as he was too, you didn't tie him up to a tree.

You had made it a point to hunt in the area Arthur's horse had been, which you did eventually find, to your surprise.

Now you were helping Pearson make dinner with your days catch. Anything you could really do to earn your good graces in camp.

You saw what a rough time Keiran was often given around camp, with Sean and especially Sadie. You didn't want much part of it, but you still sometimes got your share.

Arthur was the one who made up most of that share, and now you were finally with peace. Though, bickering with him certainly gave you something to do.

With the soup done, you grabbed a bowl and helped yourself before traipsing over to sit by the fire.

The flames danced and crackled before you while you sipped at your soup - with much tranquility.

"Where's mine?"

No. His voice made your face fall from its previous delight to a terribly discontent stare.

You sat there, leaving him no response while you continued on with your business.

"Oh, no back talk, huh?" You could feel his shit eating grin, you didn't even need to turn your head. "I got shot for you yesterday, I think the least you could do it get me some."

He slides in next to you on the bench, so much so that his body met yours, side by side, even sliding you to the side slightly.

The blood in your veins had to be hotter than the soup in your bowl.

Slowly, you turned your head over to him, trying your utmost to calm yourself as you did.

"Or I can just have yours -" You slapped your hand over his mouth, he looked stunned, to say the least.

He mumbled something muffled by your hand all the while he maneuvered his face around to try and get your hand off, eventually using his own to grab yours away.

"No more out of you." You scold, trying to bring your hand back to your spoon, but he wouldn't let go.

You eyed him, an eyebrow cocked up, and your wrist tense in his grasp.

"I think I'll try yours first. See if I want any." To your resistance, he uses your own hand to grab the spoon and feed himself. Your eyes wide, completely stunned.

The spoon was shakey due to your battle, but he held it still enough to get it to his mouth. Your other hand completely out of commission as you kept your soup bowl from spilling.

"Makin' me regret savin' your ass. Again."

He snickers, your jaw clenching with the shit he was pulling now.

"Oh, I'm sure. A favorite shared pastime between the both of us." He agrees, finally releasing your wrist. But, he sat there instead of getting his own dinner.

You stared at him, still unbelieving in this mans actions.

Both your eyes held contact for a few moments before he grabbed your spoon again and ate from your soup.

"What the hell?" You snatched the spoon out of his hand and slid away from him on the bench. "Do you remember what you did to me after you shot me?"

"Remind me." He offers, inching closer to you again.

You scoff, preparing yourself to prod at his wound to ward him off. "You're pushin' your luck, Arthur. A rope and a tree are in your near future."

"Yeah? I'd like to see you try." Arthur and his challenges. A challenge you'd be willing to take after you ate your dinner.

You glared at him, waiting for him to get closer so you could inflict the same pain you had felt when he'd grab at your wound.

As soon as you did, as if he knew beforehand, he deflected your arm and grabbed your spoon again with the other. When you reached for it, you accidentally slapped it out of his hand and to the floor.

"Are you gonna get that?" You grumbled at him, unimpressed with his antics.

"Nah, dont think so."

"Hold this then." Shoving the bowl into his hands but without the want of spilling it, you gave it to him more gently than desired.

You leaned over his lap, pressing into it as you reached for the spoon, one hand on his thigh to keep you steady.

He held the bowl up above you, high enough to keep you from hitting your head on it and spilling it over.

Now he looked shocked. You'd have to be kidding yourself if you didn't see red on that face.

"Thanks, cowboy." The soup now back in your hands, you scooted away from him and cleaned off your spoon.

His look of shock wore off as soon as you grabbed it. His eyes were dark with what you had just pulled.

Finally he got up and went for his own food, promtply coming straight back to where he sat before.

Your eyes kept trained on him every now and then. Whenever he moved his shoulder too much, he winced, but he did try to hide it, as far as you could tell.

He clearly wasn't enjoying being incapacitated so greatly or sitting around camp for the whole day. Restless, and annoying you with it.

The time was needed, of course, to relax. Though every time you started feeling bad for him, the memory of being tied to a tree for so long after being shot kicked into your mind.

Even now, you weren't quick to forgive him for that.

"You know, Arthur..." You consider the challenge you were conjuring in your head. "My old gang? If they're somewhere around here, we should sort em out."

He gives you his attention, but not the type where he was much interested - yet.

"I'm thinkin, whoever can find their operation first, or hideout, or whatever it is." You continue, sliding closer for him to hear the terms clearly. "Buys the other as many drinks as they please."

His head cocked at your offer, scrunching his face with confusion. "That's it? I say we make the stakes higher."

"Shh. I was getting to it." You put your finger up to his mouth again to shush him. He wasn't so happy to have your hand waving in his face again.

The longer you sat thinking up some terms, Arthur took to himself to start making up his own ideas.

"Money?" He grants, looking to you for approval.

"I think drinks is pretty close to that already."

He nods, much in agreement already with that.

"How about winner gets all the others belongings?" Now you looked to him for approval.

He furrowed his brows with thought. "You dont have much of value to me."

"Yeah, but it would be pretty funny to see you with nothing."

His eyes grow as he realized you meant everything. "First, my pants, now everything?"

Your mouth dropped, not even having thought out that he'd take it that way. "Obviously for humiliation purposes, not for my eye purposes."

A heavy chuckle erupts out of him. Your lips thinning with irritation. "Drinks, and the one who loses has to do the others bidding for two days."

That was fair enough. "Deal." You shot out your hand for a shake. His gripping yours tightly.

But immediately after, you realized maybe you should've fleshed out the details more.

"You look way too sure of yourself, y/n." He had already noticed the look of pure confidence on your face.

"Why would you say that?" Your lips parted even further, unfortunately giving yourself away.

He shakes his head, laughing. "Watch yourself, darlin'."

The others' bidding was open to a lot of possibilities - very broad. But you didn't plan on losing.

[toochizombie]

Nightmare Waltz

Rafe had no idea where he was. 

Everything was void of colour, painted in scales of gray and black and white. 

What happened…?

All he remembered was the sick grin on Jacko’s marred face when he suddenly ambushed the ship he was-

The ship. The ship. Capitan- Everyone.

Rafe started to breathe heavily as images of terror flooded his brain. Jacko appeared. He fell and hit his head. The great monster Capitan warned him about. Drowning. 

Rafe remembered drowning, sinking deep into the icy waters, debris descending along with him. He hazily recalled being looked at by men in gas masks, warnings of low oxygen flashing an eerily bright red across the eyes. Low oxygen. Low oxygen.

Clyde.

Rafe choked out a sob as he heaved forward, his best friend crushed to bits in front of his eyes. Both his best friend and the man he loved ripped apart before him, as he stood helpless. Rafe lurched forward, as cold sweat beaded down his forehead. The images of Capitan and Clyde torn apart, their blood staining his face. Capitan’s ripped hat, Clyde’s stray bits of flesh, Capitan’s intestines-

Rafe doubled over, clutching his head tightly. 

This was a nightmare. This wasn’t real. There was no way that Capitan had actually lost to Jacko. Rafe was able to get a good hit on Jacko, and Capitan was way more adept than he was at the blade. That’s right. This was all a nightmare.

None of this was rea-

“You’ve made a terrible mistake.” 

Rafe’s head snapped up. That voice. He’d know it anywhere. But how? Rafe froze completely, not daring to turn around. This isn’t real. He saw it happen. But that couldn’t have been real either, could it? If he really didn’t believe that Capitan was dead, why was he so afraid to turn around?

Rafe continued to stay still, his breath coming out in heavy huffs as his fingers shook horribly. Suddenly, a hand laid itself on his shoulder, causing Rafe to jolt violently, finally coming to face the familiar voice. 

A TV set. 

Set on a few boxes, was an old looking TV set, static running in a frenzy across the screen. 

Was this some sort of sick joke? 

“What th-” Rafe stammered before the screen flashed. 

“You’ve made a terrible mistake.” The face of his beloved came onto the screen. Rafe’s eyes widened as he immediately lunged forward to grab the TV. 

“Capitan! Capitan! Are you trapped ?” Rafe held the TV’s corners with clammy fingers, groping around for anything that seemed like it would release Capitan. “I’ll get you out! Don’t worr-”

“You’ve made a terrible mistake.” came Capitan’s voice again, static, and not the clear, deep voice he had known and loved.

Rafe paused to look at the screen. “W-what? I don’t understand.” Rafe looked closer at the screen, the image of Capitan deeply unsettling. His blank eyes started straight ahead as waves of static distorted the image as they floated over the screen. “Capitan, what did they do to you?”

Suddenly, the TV began to rumble, causing Rafe to drop it. Rafe gasped in surprise, fearful that he had hurt Capitan, as large mounds of inky goo flowed out of the TV, rising over Rafe’s head. The ink materialized into a shape, a silhouette he’d know anywhere. 

His beloved stood over his crumpled form, Rafe unable to take his eyes off Capitan. Completely devoid of colour, Capitan reached out a hand to Rafe, who took it hesitantly. Ice cold fingers closed around Rafe’s hand, as he pulled him up. 

“Capitan please- what happened to you? I’m s-sorry I couldn’t- I didn’t” Rafe stammered as he looked at his lover’s gray face. Capitan stood completely still, staring straight ahead. Rafe immediately enveloped him in a hug, grateful to at least be able to see him. “Come on,  let’s get out of here.” 

Rafe tried to pull him along to try and find an exit, but Capitan had an iron grip, tightening his hold and tugging him harshly, pulling Rafe as close to him as possible.

“You could just stay, like everyone was saying.”

Rafe looked up at Capitan in disbelief, eyes widened and mouth open, as if he wanted to protest. “What are you talking about? Stay here? I don’t even know where we fucking are!” Rafe tried to wrench his hand free but Capitan held on. “God, what the hell did they do to you?!” It was then Rafe took a step back, finally looking at Capitan properly. 

Something wasn’t right. 

“I don’t understand. How did you- how did you even survive?” He questioned. “I saw him… I saw him get you and- and you were- he killed you. He killed you.” Rafe’s voice grew weaker and weaker as he recounted what he believed to be Capitan’s fate. His head bowed in exhaustion as he heaved out a loud sigh. “I don’t get it…”

Capitan’s other arm snaked around Rafe’s waist, nudging him into Capitan’s embrace. He pulled Rafe around, his feet stepping into a box like pattern. Rafe instinctively followed suit, nights and nights of dancing retained in his muscle memory as his other hand came to rest on Capitan’s shoulder, the two trapped in a musically absent waltz. 

As they danced around the void, Rafe began to hear something. A deep bass began to rumble throughout the space, reverberating slightly through his soles. Rafe looked around for the source but saw nothing, growing more confused as clicks and beats started to fill the area. 

“It’s your end.” Capitan spoke suddenly, his voice unclear, sounding like it was filtered through sand. Rafe could only stare in a mixture of uneasiness and confusion as Capitan pulled him across the space, his dancing growing bolder as he took larger steps and more space. 

Suddenly, the same inky goo that emerged into Capitan surrounded them in a large circle. Slowly, they grew into humanoid shapes, forming into different silhouettes, as the noises grew louder. An array of odd looking people were all around them, different noises from screams to fearful choruses emitting from them. They would rise fully formed up to the waist, then sink back down into the ink, before a new group would repeat the action, each being more frightening than the last.

The dizzying dance Capitan spun Rafe in got him close to the edge, allowing him a good look at the tortured souls who rose from the ink. Monsters, ghosts, whatever they were, they all made horrid, terrifying music for the death waltz he partook in. The music grew louder and more eerie, broken melodies and disturbing voices filling his ears, accompanied by grotesque beats. 

As the ink rumbled, the next group to emerge nearly made Rafe throw up. 

“Sticla…. Dou… Woodpeckers…No- no! What have they done?!” Rafe cried in anguish, tears pooling in his eyes. More figures began to form. “What happened to them?! Please, let me go!” He tried again to pull away but it proved impossible to break free. 

“There is nothing left.” Capitan droned monotonously, infuriating Rafe. “What the fuck are you talking about?!” He cried out in rage and confusion. “Stop dancing! We have to-” Rafe wrestled in the Captain’s grip to no avail, letting himself be helplessly swept around as he watched his former shipmates serenade him with a twisted melody. “Let- go!” 

Rafe craned his neck to get a look at his old friends, just as gray as everything else in this hellhole. To his horror, Sticla had a gaping bullet hole through his head, matted blood staining the area. Dou and Woodpeckers didn’t seem to be injured, but looked just as uncanny. 

“Just accept it.” Capitan tugged their intertwined hands up sharply, before swiftly dipping Rafe. Rafe felt the wind get knocked out of his lungs at the sudden motion. Capitan turned Rafe’s attention back to him, pulling him closer, their faces mere inches apart. Ice ran down Rafe’s back, freezing his blood. Capitan let go of Rafe’s hand, his cold fingers coming to gently cup the contour of Rafe’s horrified face. 

“There is nothing.” Capitan began to melt, his face and hand wilting back into pure black ink. Rafe screamed in pure terror, the fear of everything finally settling in. To his dismay, the black ink began to reform into another shape. One much taller than Capitan. With a round head, and a sick, sick grin.

“Nothing.” Before he knew it, the viscous form of Jacko was wrapped around him, black ink swallowing him. Rafe began to hyperventilate. 

No. No- no. No. No. Hel-

A large wave of black ink engulfed him whole, with Jacko’s evil laughter being the last thing he heard.

[tiptapricot]

Watched ITSV and ATSV back to back earlier today, and there’s just… so much with expectations. I know that’s obvious, it’s a theme and focus pulled through every part of this franchise, but just… gonna garble some thoughts out.

The mural in the underground, of course, is the starting point. First it’s that dark silhouette against the blinding wall of possibility and expectation, the stifling weight of hanging and dying within the things you can’t control. It’s how Miles feels with the new school, with his dad, with everything he is told he should be. And then he gets bitten and his powers come out and he is stranger and stronger and more confused than ever before. He tears through the comic pages, seeing an origin he’s living, a story already written out of what will happen and who he’ll be, and he is scared.

He goes looking for the spider, and when he steps off the train he mirrors his painting. New rules are setting in, new stakes. He comes back to a dead spider in front of a wall of expectation, and everything falls apart.

Spiderman dies and in his final minutes tasks Miles with saving the world, with doing what he can’t, with being Spiderman. He has placed that weight on him, intentionally or not. We know Miles lives up to them in the end, but it is the struggle that guides him through the first movie, that idea of doing things right, of learning how to be a hero in the right way.

And he saves the day! He is Spiderman! But Miles does it with a leap of faith, without knowing what will happen or who he’ll be, without following the Right Way because there isn’t one. He does so with the help of other Spider people who show the breadth of who they can be, the different routes life can follow. They trust him and see him and know he can be amazing. Aaron does too. He tells Miles to keep going, to push on.

So Miles does.

And what joins that wall? What joins the mass of expectation and the world to live up to?

They do. Miles paints Gwen and Peter (B) and Aaron and Peni and Peter (Porker) and Peter (Noir). They are his universe, the legacy and life he is aspiring to bring to his world. He is filling the mask they said he can wear, the person they said he could be, those expectations, and embracing them, making them beautiful and powerful.

But they don’t live up to his expectations of them.

The spiders leave him alone, they follow Miguel’s fear and grief, they view Miles as something to manage and protect and avoid. No one comes for him. No one believes he can be anything else because they believe the path is immovable, that canon and growth are linear and set in stone, and are resigned to the fact that they can’t break from that.

But Miles does. And Miles will.

He pushes back against being in a certain role, being a certain hero, being a certain spiderman. And that’s mirrored in his opposite, in the Spot.

Spot is a black hole, the hanging body within it all. Even though he himself defies what people thought of him, becomes a threat large enough for all of them after being seen as a joke, he still, too, can’t break from the idea of predetermined fate. He believes it was all planned, all destiny, that he and Miles created each other and are meant to play out the same story that has been hammered home again and again. He is the lynch pin in bringing down the future everyone is telling Miles will happen, their future, Spot calls it. Their set, their life, their purpose.

But what they both see doesn’t show the ending.

The visions don’t show the deaths of Inspector Singh and Miles’s dad. They show the lead up, the moments before, leaving us to think we know what happens next, to anticipate the bad ending. But we know Miles changed things in Mumbatten, that his whole world is being written and laid out by him.

Miles defies expectations because there aren’t any that can hold him back. He writes his own story, he drives his own canon. He is his own main character in his own movies and his own life and no one can tell him how to do that, how to be that. He is a blank page that he gets to fill with art and hope and persistent love.

It’s not about surviving suffering or being defined by struggle, being in the box people assume you’ll inhabit, that is never how it works because people are multifaceted and rich and hold an infinite amount of life and choice in everything they do.

How can you expect the unexpected? How can someone doing their own thing, doing what they think is right to the end, cave beneath the will and rightness of others?

Miles defies expectations. Miles breaks the mold. Miles pushes past the shadows covering the world of possibility and potential and never stops because no matter what, Miles Morales always gets back up.

And I don’t know if I can fully encapsulate that for what it is. Because it’s all of it. It’s being a cop, a parent, a father, a son, a daughter, a minority, an outcast. It’s the warmth of an uncle that is so clear in your memory that shifts and changes when it’s not the same man. Its a gun getting pointed at you in a time of trust. It’s a bedroom you want to see, a bed you want to know, a stability you want to come back to that isn’t there.

We expect things in our lives, from people and groups and community, and it changes. We change. Others change. Identities and pieces of life overlap and impact each other. And we can’t control that. It’s scary and frustrating, it beats you down, pushes and hurts and forces adaptation. But the only real thing that will always be present is that nothing is solid or stagnant and we shouldn’t expect it to be.

There is a multiverse of possibility out there for all of us. For everyone.

[bells-of-black-sunday]

Sarmenti: L.eague Of L.egends au

Growing up in Ionia, Sarmenti had no real ambition. He learned to play the lute young, but never really wrote much, mostly learning to copy folk songs taught to him by elders and music sheets he'd find at the market. Not much changed as he grew, nothing more than a traveling performer the vastayan quickly donned white face paint and would dust his ears and tail in bright colors to catch the crowds attention. He played for coin, he played to well... meddling audiences. All that mattered to him is that he was supporting himself.

One day while camped outside of a village he heard a tune that almost seemed unreal. It wormed it's way into his mind as he tried to sleep until he couldn't bear it anymore, he had to find the source of the music. It was beautiful. Unlike anything he ever heard before. Pointing his ears he followed the haunting melody down the cobblestone path to the graveyard and to a man. A man playing for the dead. Sarmenti quietly slipped his way inside and took audience practically begging the man when he was done with his performance to teach him the song and the man obliged. It was almost unnaturally easy to learn and by the time he found his way to his next performance the meddling crowds had turned into thunderous applause.

No longer was he playing for the lines to the show, now he was center stage. No matter what he played people flocked to see the vulpine. He was on top of the world, fame, fortune, he was traveling far and wide to play for theaters. That's when a Noxian lord summoned him to his court. A larger sum of money than he'd ever seen... he couldn't turn down royalty. That was such a big opportunity, think of the publicity. He donned his mask and set for the iron city finding his way to the court excited for a new path in his career. Finally he had his life together.

The day of the large feast he stepped to the round stage like instructed, but... something felt off before he even spoke. Yet he pushed away the feeling and went along with the routine expecting the applause he was used to only to be met with mockery and jeers. His ears pinned and his chest felt tight. He wasn't used to this and it was so early in the night he just wanted to pack up and go home, but couldn't. The entire night was torture. He couldn't move, speak, or breathe without some pig faced noble making a comment about it. It felt set up from the start. His head was swimming while he his wide eyes stared at the knife that nearly hit his throat, the cacophonous laughs roaring in his head until there was silence.

A dull thud hitting the floor, he stared at the blood covered knife in his hand... eyes trailing every drip. It was so quiet now. He looked at the bodies, cut to ribbons like the sheet music had come alive like blades to clear the room and all he could do was laugh. Howling laughter as he held his face in his hands until the laughter turned to sobs. What had caused this? The song for the dead that's what, that old man laid the trap that clamped down over his life. If he hadn't learned that fucking song he'd be fine. His sides ached, his head throbbed, the scent of copper filled his nose and his eyes trailed back to the knife.

Maybe that's why he accepted that peacock's offer to join him and his God. Killing those that had wronged him to feed a darkin. Whatever that was.

Sarmenti is a fox vastaya, though his mask may have a full muzzle, he himself has a human face though he doesn't really recognize it as his anymore. He views the mask as his real face. It's easier to hide behind.

He is both a mercenary and belongs to Tarhos's and Haru's ( @witchcraftandburialdirt )blood cult, if he sees a Noxian encampment he clears it for Tarhos to feed, but a majority of the time he's traveling from job to job

He still plays quite frequently especially if he needs extra coin, but despite his joking to get put of playing the song that got him famous, he always gets suspiciously anxious and irritable every time it's brought up

The song itself, much like in d.arkest d.ungeon, isn't normal. It comes from the void and that's why it broke him by just having a really bad crowd and night. He still hums it sometimes, but it's never the exact same and he almost panics any time anyone points it out.

He doesn't trust many people and is very suspicious about anyone he meets, it's why he prefers to work alone, but he'll begrudgingly work with others if the pay is good enough

He's really close with Haru, them almost having a familial relationship after they bonded over what happened to them. It's easier to trust other vastaya than it is to trust humans. Not to say he isn't close with Tarhos either, but he does literally worship him like a God it's hard to feel as connected.

[qiuthewhumps]

Summer is a curse: [06/07/2024]

Heat Stroke / Panting / “Why don't we… find some shade, quick?”

[ALEKSY & CAIUS AU] — 876 words

Retired General & Retired Child Soldier found family, and the kid gets heat stroked. Aleksy is the same one from yesterday's post so highly recommending reading that one first! This is about 1-2 decades after yesterday's post. This is a bit late since I got a bit too busy than expected.

CW: Heat stroke, flashbacks of slightly graphic scenes (yesterday post)

@whumperless-whump-event

☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆

Admittedly, this wasn’t the first heatwave the two experienced. There were always hot days in the military where the sun posed just as much of a threat to them as their enemy across the battlefield did.

Yet, it never felt this hot. Then again, global warming and all had been plastered on the news for a while now.

Aleksy sighed as he sat in front of a fan as he flicked through the TV shows for any type of distraction. The AC was already on full blast while he and Caius had individual fans pointed at them to lessen the heat in their apartment and toward themselves as much as possible.

“Need to get some more of those cold drinks…” Aleksy mumbled out loud as he laid on the couch, thinking about the contents of the fridge. Well, certainly not now, the heat would strike him, or whichever poor delivery man, dead on the pavement. He turned to where he knew the kid was, drawing on some paper.  “Hey, Caius, what do you want from the convenience…”

The kid wasn’t there. “Caius…?” Aleksy called out quietly again before he heard the front door close with a click.

… The gods must be joking with him.

The time between noticing Caius left and Aleksy switching to something suitable for outside and getting into the elevator was a blur as he found himself running out of the apartment complex. The sun was far from kind as he started to run down the streets, heading straight for the convenience store that was a short ten minute walk usually.

But in this heat? It might as well be a death sentence for the kid.

Aleksy was taking ragged breaths as he finally spotted the kid, staring at the convenience store and not entering. “Caius, fuck… Kid, don’t just… Leave like that for fuck’s sake.” Aleksy sighed as he stared at the kid who seemed confused.

“General… Store’s closed… Sorry…” Caius mumbled out in reply. His voice almost sounded slurred. Still staring at the closed store. He looked like he had failed a mission that would have cost thousands of lives. Aleksy simply sighed as he walked over to the child.

“Hey, it’s okay. I didn’t even mean for you to just… Rush out like that.” Aleksy lightly placed his hands on Caius’ shoulders, only to realize how heated the other’s skin felt despite the shirt the kid was wearing. That couldn’t be normal. “Why don’t we… find some shade before going back, yeah?”

Caius didn’t object as Aleksy led the kid to a nearby shaded building. He placed the back of his hand on Caius’ forehead. Concern painted his face at the temperature and how dry Caius’ skin was when it should have been soaked with sweat from the heat.

“How do you feel, Caius?” Aleksy questioned as he carefully observed the other. The way the kid’s breath was shallow. Did the boy run here? Or was it due to the heat?

“Fever…I think? No… Not a fever…” Caius swayed a bit as he tried walking around. Disoriented. Aleksy quickly went to help the boy stand straight and held the boy close. “I… Feel weird…”

Aleksy could feel the boy’s heart rate rushing as if attempting to burst through his chest. He quickly picked Caius up. Panic ate him whole as thoughts ran through his head. Caius leaned against him—the boy’s broken breathing became even more obvious as his eyes were fluttering. His legs moved before he could think.

He couldn’t be oblivious this time. He couldn’t let someone else die when he could do something.

The soles of his feet burnt as he ran through the empty streets; the heat discouraging everyone to go outside except the one person he promised to protect.

“—stay still, be quiet and shut your eyes—”

He didn’t want to. He was running till he ran into his apartment complex. Immediately telling the reception to call for the hospital, any hospital. His eyes wide as he took the stairs, the steps made his calves sore. It didn’t matter.

His feet were sore. The material of his shoes rubbed bruises into parts of his ankles as some person yelled at him for running by the pool when it wasn’t even open due to cleaning. It didn’t matter. He turned the shower on, feeling the temperature before laying the kid under the cold water. His breath tried to keep up with all the exertion as he frantically opened his phone to call 112 just in case the receptionist didn’t bother. His eyes weren't concentrating as he fumbled through his keypad.

“Hey, you can’t be here—” The security guard grabbed his wrist—

“My kid is fucking dying! Spierdalaj!” Aleksy cursed as he tugged his wrist away as the line connected to an operator. The conversation was a blur as he checked on Caius. The boy was completely passed out even under the cold water.

—the body of once friends laid motionless. Bullets that dug themselves into every patch of skin they were aimed at. A disgusting mix of blood and fat—

He shook his head. He wasn’t late this time. He wasn’t defenseless. He wasn’t weak. 

Right?

He was too scared to feel for his child’s pulse.

[justsome-di]

Nobody Ends Up Dead in a Bathtub, Everyone Keeps Their Organs: Chapter 33

Summary: Alex is an ordinary, highly-introverted office worker. He clocks in and out and goes home to his little apartment he shares with his younger sister. He hasn’t dated in years by the time his co-workers set him up on a blind date.

The only issue is he and his date are not on the same page. At all.

While Alex thinks it’s a normal date, Damián is under the impression Alex is a client who paid to be there. No-so-quickly, they realize something is up. It’s all a prank. Damián is a sex worker Alex’s co-workers hired as a sick joke.

After reassuring that they’re both okay, Alex decides he wants revenge for both him and Damián. The plan is to use the stigma of sex work and start a 6-week, scandalous fake dating scheme with a big finale at the office Halloween party. Alex’s co-workers will be too horrified to try to prank him again. At least, that’s the plan.

You can also read this on AO3. If you don’t want to wait for new chapters, the complete story is on Patreon for only $4 with bonus stories! If you’re enjoying the story and want to support me in other ways, consider dropping me a message in my inbox or reblogging this post!

Alex ran. As soon as Leo had called him, he had taken off, telling Eve he would be back sometime—he didn’t know when. He just barely remembered to grab his jacket before racing down the hall of his building.

He must have looked awfully suspicious, a wild look on his face and a fast pace that turned into a sprint once he reached Damián’s street. When he got to Damián’s building, his chest ached and his breath was puffing out of his mouth in quick, heavy white clouds.

Leo answered the door with an air of calm Alex didn’t expect. He didn’t know how Leo could just stand aside and let him in without saying anything.

“Is he okay?” Alex asked.

Leo hesitated like he was trying to figure out what Alex meant. Or considering how stupid a question like that would be. “Yeah. He’s okay.”  

He led Alex down their short hallway, past a framed painting Damián had bought from a flea market when he was young and impressionable and willing to overpay to support an artist.

Immediately to the left, Damián sat on the couch with a blanket draped over his legs and a glass of water clutched between both of his hands.

And Alex wanted to cry.

Damián looked ill and helpless. His eyes were as large as always, and his pupils were totally blown. He didn’t say anything. He just stared at Alex.

Alex didn’t know what to say. He had never had to talk to someone who had been roofied. There were always stories he heard around his college campus but as it was a community college and his classes were spread out over so long that it took him three years to complete a two-year degree, he didn’t hear much about the shared social lives of his peers.

When Eve started her classes, he had heard their mother warning Eve about parties. It was a long list of tasks that Alex thought was impossible to remember. Never set your drink down where you can’t see it, cover it with your hand between sips, leave it with a person you trust if you need to go to the bathroom. Better yet, take it with you to the toilet.

It was a lot to expect of someone, and the lecture really should have been toward the boys that were apparently dropping roofies in drinks. But Eve—ever the feminist Eve—didn’t bring attention to that. She would just nod and say over and over again, yes, I know. I know. And never let anyone bring me a drink.

Damián looked at Alex with his stupidly big eyes. He looked like an injured deer laying out on the side of the road injured but not killed by a car.

“Hi,” Alex said.

Damián took one hand off his water. The glass almost spilled. Leo grabbed it and laid it aside on the coffee table. Damián didn’t seem to notice and reached out for Alex.

“Should we take you to a hospital or something?” Alex asked.

Damián shook his head.

“He said no hospitals,” Leo said. He sat next to Damián, pressing their legs together. “He said it’d be okay to keep him here.”

“Will it?”

Damián’s hand was still reaching out for Alex. It was hanging limply in the air. His fingers were curling in towards his palm but would every so often weakly try to straighten out to get closer to Alex.

Alex wanted to take his hand, but he held himself back.

“What happened?” he asked.

“A client drugged him,” Leo said. He sat next to Damián, close, protective. “A group of women stopped the guy from leaving with Damián.”

“Leaving where?”

“The bar. The hotel. Damián had a reservation for a room. The guy ran off with the door key.”

He had gotten so close, then. If those women hadn’t intervened, Damián could have been dragged out, taken to the room. He would be there right now—

Alex didn’t think about that any further.

“What kind of client drugs a sex worker?” Alex asked.

Leo repositioned the blanket on Damián’s lap and looked up at him. “A client who wants to get away with rape?”

“I know, but what about—if you’re already paying someone.” Alex was sounding like he was nearing hysterics. His breath was coming out in short, desperate gasps. “Why do that?”

“I don’t—I don’t know!” Leo snapped. “I’ve never hired a sex worker before, and I’ve never raped anyone before. I don’t know why anyone would want to do it beyond some sick power play.”

Damián was still looking at Alex, his eyes growing brighter with maybe fear. Trauma was settling behind them.

“I guess—I’m sorry, Damián,” Leo said. “I guess sex workers are easy targets. I’m sorry.”

That was it, wasn’t it? Alex had spent so long being so grateful that Damián would spend any time with him that he had forgotten the most crucial part. Damián was initially there for the money. It was a contract. It was his livelihood.

That night they met, how easily could Alex—not Alex, someone else—have trapped Damián in that hotel room? With Damián sitting shocked on that bed, pale face, unable to stand from fear, when did the consent end?

Was the first prank some type of sexual violence? Was Alex brushing it all of way too seriously?

Had Damián been through this all before?

Like a selfish, stupid idiot, Alex had never asked. He had never asked for details about how safe Damián was on these appointments. It just never occurred to him—and there he stood feeling like such an ignorant, close-minded bastard—that these things happened to men. It was like Damián’s eating habits that Alex didn’t analyze too far because that wasn’t the type of eating disorders men got.

Alex couldn’t do this.

At the end of the day, he was someone who participated in the whole ritual.

He couldn’t be someone who hired an escort and put him in uncomfortable situations. He couldn’t take Damián out to a party with people he knew didn’t like sex workers. Every single reservation he had had over the past six weeks came back to him, full force, with some bonuses.

Through all the little appointments, all of the planning, the fake dates and the real ones, Alex had kept stringing Damián along. For his own enjoyment, Alex had crossed the line between professional work and personal pleasure and pulled Damián with him.

He had been so selfish, and he hadn’t considered all the dangers that came with Damián’s job. How could Alex be any better than the bastard who had roofied Damián?

Damián’s hand fell into his lap. Leo took it.

“I’m looking after him. It’s fine,” Leo said. “He’ll be fine.”

Leo’s brow was furrowed and strong. All of him was stiff and tense, and Alex had never totally realized that he was bigger than Damián. His shoulders were broad. Sitting as he was, Alex could see subtle muscles flexed in his t-shirt.

Or maybe Damián just looked smaller than usual. His frame was always slight. Much more so than Leo’s boxy build. He looked fragile and tiny wrapped in the blanket, pressed against Leo, his usual larger-than-life personality drained out of him.

How many times had they been in that exact position together? How many times had Damián ridden something out by himself?

“Damián.” Alex wrapped his arms around himself. “I don’t want you to come with me to the party. And I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Leo’s mouth hung open. Damián blinked.

Alex pulled out his phone and sent the $625 he owed Damián. He had paid. It was the end of the deal. It was all over. The contract was filled.

“I’m sorry,” Alex said.

“Are you fucking serious?” Leo asked.

“I paid for everything, okay? You can put that in your spreadsheet. We’re done. That’s it. It’s over. I’m sorry I put you through everything and used you. I’m sorry I contributed to all of this shit. But you never have to see me again.”

He turned quickly. He couldn’t stand to look at Damián’s confused face any longer—confused because his drugged mind couldn’t keep up with Alex’s word vomit or because he didn’t know why Alex was fleeing. Leo shouted after Alex, calling him some not-so-nice names.

It was bitterly cold outside. Alex’s cheeks stung as he walked down the sidewalk, away from Damián’s building for the last time.

It was dumb to even think that something between them could ever work. Damián was gorgeous and interesting and smart. Alex wasn’t any of those things. He was boring and awkward and exploited sex workers and dragged them through hoops for six weeks.

Just to dump them when they couldn’t even speak.

Whatever. They needed a clean break. Alex would never be able to look at Damián ever again, and he didn’t want to put Damián through even more misery than he had been through already.

It would be okay for Damián, in the end. He’d get a happier ending. He’d find someone who could actually handle a relationship and didn’t pay him for half of it. He would find someone better than Alex, and they would have such a happy life together, and Alex would never let himself fall for anyone ever again.

“Is everything okay?” Eve asked when he walked past her.

“Fine.”

He closed his bedroom door behind him, threw his jacket on the floor, and fell onto his bed.

He was such a dick. He was such a massive, awful dick. Why did he even think of that plan in the first place? How did he think it was ever right to come up with that shitty plan and then ask Damián to join?

Alex pulled out his phone. Maybe he could at least try to help Damián and make up some of it to him. There had to be something left for Alex to do. He just had to do some research.

What should a sex worker do if they almost get sexually assaulted?

Google results popped up, links to forums and articles on various websites. There was no shortage of answers and related questions running down the screen.

Quora: If a prostitute gets raped, is that considered theft?

r/LegalAdvice Is it possible to rape a prostitute?

NPR: 2020 Stats For Sex Workers and Sexual Violence

r/UnpopularOpinion: prostitutes can’t be victims of sexual assault

HuffPost: Prostitutes Are Left With No Legal Options After Sexual Assault

r/AmItheAsshole: AITA for saying prostitutes should expect to get raped as an occupational hazard?

Alex threw his phone across the room. It made him so angry, he was dizzy. The world was so fucked up. All a sex worker was to those people were statistics or objects. And no one could be fucked to be sensitive about it.

It was just how Andrew and Stu probably thought of Damián. Especially Andrew. Fuck. Alex should have known better. He should have never planned to let Damián near him in the first place. Everything should have ended there, that first night, and Alex would have never gotten Damián mixed up in a gross revenge plot.

He was a shitty person. He had used Damián. He had used Damián, and now his thoughts were spiraling.

Had he ever been a good person? Why was he so eager to exploit Damián? Why, from day one, was he willing to make Damián part of his personal problems?

He was such a piece of shit. He hoped Damián never forgave him for walking out on him or for tangling him up in his messy, awful, poor excuse for a life.

[bleghbleghladydeath]

THE TREE!!!

Teehee. TW: Cursing, blood, slightly gross imagery, suggestive sentences and actions, Habit being Habit, and The Rake eating a random chicken raw. Thoughts of cannibalism and murder induced by abuse, attempted murder.

Habit sighed as sap stuck to his fingers and ran down his arm. The Tree was staring at Habit silently as he checked it for termites, wasps, and other types of burrowing bugs that can damage it. Habit sighed, Evan's voice screaming in his head. He pulled the serum out his pocket and dripped it into The Tree's stomach hole. Its limbs creaked as it looked at Habit. Habit reached up and The Tree leaned forward so it's flat face connected with Habit's calloused hand.

"You alright buddy?" Habit hummed.

The Tree groaned and laid down. Habit sighed, leaving the room. Vinny waited outside the door silently. "Come on." Habit snapped.

Vinny rushed to follow Habit nervously. Vinny rubbed his eye; his dark eye bags made him look older as well as his thick beard. Habit stretched. "So, Vin, want to get McDonalds?" Habit asked.

Vinny shrugged and Habit smiled. "Ah, Vinny, I love it when you're not babbling, your better quiet!" Habit said.

Vinny nodded and Habit wrapped an arm around his hip, smiling. "But maybe I would like you making noise if you were in bed." Habit joked.

Vinny's eyes got big and jerked away from Habit. Habit laughed and froze. Rake was tearing into a chicken, blood running down it's chin and arms. The chicken's intestines hung out, dripping blood on the floor. Rake turned and stared, it dropped the chicken and ran. Habit hummed and looked at Vinny. Vinny turned away. Habit smiled and walked off. Habit went back to the higher up's halls. The Observer was scribbling some pages aggressively. Habit sighed, getting some neon purple spray paint. He shook it and started to spray paint the walls as he does when bored. He drew a rabbit head with an arrow through the head. The walls are covered with neon purple spray paintings of dead rabbits, killed in many ways, some are hyper detailed, some are just a simple something. He started to do something much less simple, staring at the wall. Vinny sat down next to The Observer, watching him scribble. The Observer looked over and shoved Vinny away, onto the floor. Vinny sighed and sat on the floor behind Habit's favorite armchair, leaning against the back. He listened to the spray and shake alternation. He then looked up as Jeff's body nailed to the ceiling, at this point he's rotted enough that his muscles have rotted, and his skin is peeling off. Vinny stared silently and looked at Alex next, poor kid. Habit peeked around the chair and looked up. "...Why you staring at a dead body?" Habit asked.

He then noticed the tears in Vinny's eyes and groaned. "You're such a big whiney baby!" Habit groaned.

He flopped around and grabbed a ladder and started to spray paint rabbit ears next to the top of Jeff's head, then Alex's head. "Boom, now they're really rabbits!!" Habit laughed.

He went back down, and Vinny just stared silently. Habit then had Vinny lay down and sprayed rabbit ears on the floor. Vinny rolled onto his side, hugging himself. Habit groaned. "Stop being depressed!" Habit whined.

Vinny covered his ears, closing his eyes. Habit stared before gasping and running over to a box. "Oh, oh, oh, guess what I found at a costume store!" Habit said.

The Observer looked over and smiled as Habit pulled out rabbit ears and tail. He went over to Vinny and nudged him in the stomach with his converse. Vinny opened his eyes and jumped back when Habit dropped them in front of Vinny. Vinny stared and looked up at Habit, confused. "Put them on!" Habit said excitedly.

Vinny grabbed them and put them on, he refused the tail though, but he didn't have much of a choice when The Observer picked him up and held him still while Habit forced it on him. Vinny stood there, glaring at the floor. Habit laughed and The Observer started taking photos, cackling. Vinny held his arm tight, digging his nails into his arm until blood trickled down his arm. He bit his lip till he tasted copper in his mouth to. He started to shake. Habit and The Observer didn't notice, they just kept laughing. The Observer started to film Vinny. "Come on bunny, dance!" The Observer laughed.

Habit was holding his stomach now, tears in his eyes.

"O-Oh my god, this is fucking priceless!" Habit cackled.

Viny dug deeper into his arm, blood staining his fingers and dripping on the floor. He stopped biting his lip and just grinded his teeth together. He felt The Observer throw a Monster can at him and he flinched. "Dance rabbit!" Habit cackled, throwing another one at Vinny.

Vinny feels like he's on the very edge of insanity, the very edge of taking Habit's neck and tearing everything out with his bare hands before eating it all. He giggled softly and lunged, going for Habit's throat. Habit screamed, falling back as Vinny clawed at his neck. The Observer tried to pull Vinny off, but Vinny pushed him away, trying his best to get through Habit's flesh, his pupils are huge, he screamed at the top of his lungs, just deciding to punch Habit in the throat, over and over again. Finally, Habit kicked him across the room, coughing and hacking as he crawled away, blood running from the scratches along his neck. "Pin that fuck down!" Habit yelled at The Observer.

He coughed as The Observer tried to control Vinny. Vinny slung him away and ran back at Habit, going back to clawing at his throat. Eventually he sunk his teeth into Habit's neck and jerked. Habit screeched, eyes glowing purple. He slung Vinny off, crawling away. The Observer tried to catch Vinny again, but he just got caught in the balls by Vinny's fist. He got back on top of Habit and started to try and gouge his eyes out. The Observer rushed over with a blanket and wrapped Vinny up in it tight. Vinny struggled and screamed, biting at The Observer when his hands got to close to his face. Habit stood up, stumbling, his neck quickly healing. He growled and looked at Vinny who was screaming something unintelligible at the top of his lungs. Habit stomped over and kicked Vinny in the face. Vinny didn't react much but just cackled. Habit growled. "Fine, let's see how you like it." Habit growled.

He pounced on top of Vinny who was slowly realizing what was happening. He started to struggle but Habit dug his teeth in Vinny's neck, his unnaturally sharp canines digging deep, he then jerked his head just how Vinny did. Vinny sighed, going limp.

"Exactly, little shit." Habit growled.

He licked the blood away while The Observer got the reviving serum. Habit jerked it from The Observer's grasp. He dripped it into Vinny's neck. It started to slowly heal, and Vinny came back, panting. "Now, say sorry." Habit growled.

Vinny shook. "I-I'm sorry..." Vinny whimpered.

Habit then laid down on top of Vinny.

"I'm napping on you now." Habit growled.

Vinny stared, confused. Habit is a walking mood swing, it's so weird. Vinny just laid there, letting himself be used as a bed by Habit who soon started to purr as he laid there, sleeping. The Observer sighed and went to look at the footage he got curiously.

[fatherfigurefusion]

Introducing you to the cast of Downfall of the Uprising (4/4):

Part 1: (Here)

Part 2: (Here)

Part 3: (Here)

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Yasu Shimono

Talent: Ultimate Mortician

Birthday: October 31st (Scorpio)

Gender: agender (they/them)

Sexuality: pansexual

Height: 5 FT 3 IN (160 cm)

Likes: puns and corvids

Dislikes: hairbrushes and decanonization

Appearance: A skinny build with disproportionately-long arms, tanned skin, black hair that barely brushes their shoulders and covers their eyes, with part of it in a small ponytail, a black t-shirt with a ribcage design on the front over a long-sleeved shirt (with the sleeves hiding their hands) with black and red stripes on the sleeves, blue jeans and dirt/blood-stained black boots.

Yasu is a master at both organizing funerals and preparing the bodies for a proper burial, as well as being the first in line to inherit the Shimono Funeral Home. While one would expect such an accomplished funeral director to be prim, proper, and melancholy, Yasu is precisely none of those things. Constantly cracking jokes that vary from corny to dark, it seems as if they're unable to take anything seriously. But while they may be a bit insensitive and go a bit overboard with gags at the worst possible times, Yasu is still well-intentioned and just wants nothing more than to lighten the mood and make people smile in times of hardship. They are also all about respecting the dead and disrespecting the dead is the only way one could tick them off.

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Riki Kabeya

Talent: Ultimate Demolitionist

Birthday: April 20th (Taurus)

Gender: FTM (he/him)

Sexuality: gay

Height: 5 FT 1 IN (155 cm)

Likes: croquettes and playing the guitar

Dislikes: homework and ceramics

Appearance: An average build with some noticeable pudge near the stomach area, freckles all over his body, red hair in a buzzcut, brown eyes, a black hoodie with his company's logo on the back, ripped black jeans, red and white sneakers.

Riki is the youngest ever member of his town's local demolitions company, with his destruction of buildings and other structures around the city going viral on the internet, resulting in him getting the title of "Ultimate Demolitionist". Despite being the shortest of the boys (or perhaps, because of it), Riki has one hell of a Napoleon complex and an appropriately-explosive temper. Riki's anger issues often get him into trouble, when it comes to his interactions with others, leaving his social skills stunted, to say the least. While not the brightest of the bunch, Riki expresses a noticeable amount of self-awareness regarding his nasty temper that leaves him rather apologetic to others, once he cools down from his regular bouts of rage. 

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Chihaya Seta

Talent: Ultimate Skateboarder

Birthday: June 3rd (Gemini)

Gender: female (she/her)

Sexuality: lesbian

Height: 5 FT 3 IN (160 cm)

Likes: spray-painting and wearing hats

Dislikes: authority and wearing glasses

Appearance: A thin yet muscular build with faded scars, short bright pink hair that spikes outwards, green eyes, a green and black helmet, a green long-sleeved shirt with black and white details on it, black shorts with white and green tights underneath, and black and green heelies.

Infamous around and even outside her hometown for her skills in just about any form of skating (although skateboarding is her speciality), Chihaya's rebellious attitude and disdain for all forms of authority leads to mutual animosity from her hometown's adults and respect and idolization from the children. Carrying herself with a laid-back devil-may-care attitude, Chihaya dedicates herself towards looking "cool" and "keeping up her street cred", in her own words. Because of her natural skill at skateboarding, Chihaya's very lazy, and, if not skateboarding, one could most likely find her lounging around and barely exerting herself, and considers her talent to be little more than a "hobby". Although, rumors have it that she has a secret intelligent (some might even say "nerdy") side that she tries her best to keep under only the tightest of wraps. 

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Nanako Nakamura

Talent: Ultimate Lucky Student

Birthday: January 2nd (Capricorn)

Gender: female (she/her)

Sexuality: unknown/unlabelled

Height: 5 FT 7 IN (170 cm)

Likes: archery and big dogs

Dislikes: attention and snakes

Appearance: An average build, long and straight purple hair in a ponytail held by a red ribbon and a noticeable ahoge, purplish-blue eyes framed by glasses, an oversized black blazer with a red and gold armband over a grey seira fuku with a red ribbon in the center, dark grey tights and red Mary Janes.

In spite of what her talent would suggest, Nanako, as her peers would tell you, is far from ordinary. The student council president of a prestigious all-girls school (in spite of her middle-class upbringing), Nanako garnered a reputation for being friendly, polite, intelligent, and dependable, with some even calling her "a modern day Yamato Nadeshiko". Because she used to attend an all-girls school, she is noticeably awkward around the opposite sex, and seems to have trouble with casual speech and trends. Her luck could easily be considered the opposite of "Murphy's law", in the sense that anything that can go right will go right, but only for Nanako, other people be damned. Due to this, Nanako is highly-pessimistic and has a massive guilt complex, often feeling guilty for her good qualities (and especially her luck) and wishing to remain out of the spotlight. 

***********************************

Now that all of the characters have been revealed, I'd love to hear your predictions and thoughts on this cast!

[starlingsrps]

dead on arrival.

ben is leaving kimbolton with no crew, no girl, and a hole in his favorite jacket he’s not sure anyone can fix.

it’s been a month since regensburg, a month since his life went sideways and then completely tits up. no one’s seemed to know what to do with him. he was in the hospital at peterborough first, laid up with a concussion, with just him, carter, and owens left from the dandy delilah. carter and owens had been sent down to london for rehab but ben was sent back to kimbolton to spin his wheels and feel useless.

they transfer him to the hundredth and thorpe abbotts which feels more or less like a death sentence. he usually welcomes change about as much as he’d welcome the clap but doesn’t fight the transfer. he feels like he’s just haunting the place, waiting for one of his friends to come around the corner and knowing damn well it won’t happen. 

it doesn’t feel right. it’s a month later when he leaves and it still doesn’t feel right that he’s not going to spend another mission begging sully to paint at least a bra on delilah, telling him that he’s never going to be able to look his wife in the eye after sitting over her tits every time they fly. he can’t sleep for shit. all he thinks about the way sully had been alive one second and missing the left side of his head the next, how he’d had to peel his fingers one by one from the controls once they were finally back on the ground and that they didn’t start to shake until then. he felt vulnerable after regensburg, like that now that the worst has happened, it will keep happening until it’s him slumped over in the cockpit.

besides, he’d fucked things up royally with sylvia the day before the mission and no amount of sympathy is ever going to get him back in her good graces.

it might be good for him to leave, all things considered.

he’s processed and deposited at his new hut and the regularity of the military makes him feel a little more at home. here’s his hut, here’s his shit, see you later. his bed is right by the door and squeaks but he guesses he’ll get used to both. the door opens shortly after he’s finished putting away his clothes and is trying to get his bed made. the breeze snaps the sheet loose, causing a spark of irritation that he shoves down to put a friendly face back on. there are two men with mustaches stopped at the edge of his bed looking at him like he’s got two heads.

“who the fuck are you?” mustache number one asks. he looks back at the second man as though he might have the answer even though ben is right in front of him.

ben straightens and holds out a hand. “captain ben tucker.” neither one of them takes it and he slips it into his jacket pocket. “you guys the jackals?”

mustache number two seems to recall manners first. “jack warren,” he says with an awkward wave. “this is sam.”

“you’ve got a hole in your jacket,”’ sam, formerly known as mustache one says. 

even though he knows, ben glances at his left sleeve. “yeah, least of my worries after regensburg.” he says it like a joke but it doesn’t land at all. their faces stay flat. “know where i can get it fixed?”

the mustache twins exchange a look that communicates nothing. “might be shit out of luck.”

ben looks at it again and sighs. “got it.” 

“so where are you getting slotted?” jack asks, another half assed attempt at being polite. 

ben shrugs and goes back to making his bed. the mattress squeaks as though to mock him but he manages to get the sheets down this time. “i’m the new co-pilot.”

“you’re taking over for dale?” sam says and then immediately looks to jack for the answer again. “he’s taking over for dale.”

“can’t fly a fort alone,” he says uneasily.

ben feels like he’s walked into the middle of a conversation that’s been going on for weeks. “regensburg?” he asks and jack nods. before he can offer the olive branch that he loses his own crew on that same mission, try to gain some ground he lost before he even got here, the hut door opens again and ben groans.

today just keeps being a kick in the dick. he hasn’t seen sidney halstead since a random reunion of their training class in 38 and he was perfectly happy to keep it that way but here’s the little shit now. same punchable face, a captain insignia on his collar. ben can’t even hold that above his head now and he doesn’t know why that irritates him. he’s on halstead’s turf now and there’s no real use in getting territorial until he’s gotten his hands dirty. 

“halstead,” he says, forcing a smile extending his hand again. 

“tucker.” his handshake is brief, enough to be polite but short enough to make a point. “welcome to the hundredth. sorry about your crew.”

“sorry about your co-pilot.”

“not as sorry as me.” he smiles, sharp and fast and yeah, halstead didn’t grow out of being a shit even a little bit.

if the welcome didn’t already feel frosty, it’s gone downright arctic. begrudgingly, ben will admit that halstead is, was, and probably always will be the better pilot of the two of them and that’s fine. he’s learned in the past few years that he’s better at second fiddle and made his peace with that. at the same time though, halstead was never smart enough to learn how to bullshit or play nice.

“still a jackass, huh?” ben says, baring his teeth in turn. 

“they’re going to crash the fucking plane,” sam stage whispers to jack, who snorts a laugh.

“we’re not crashing the fucking plane,” sid snaps before his eyes dart back to ben. there’s a silent statement there - that he can be a professional when they’re in the air if he can. “right?”

ben nods in agreement. “right.”