#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?

[bejeweledinterludes]

── .✦ ⌈ dean x reader headcanons that are 2 specific.⌋

『 part 2 of @bejeweledinterludes’ headcanon series. 』

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> being a decent hunter, the winchester brothers had heard of you before, and you them— you’d heard stories, of course, but you never officially crossed paths until you were at bobby’s house at the same time they were. you’d known bobby— because everybody knew bobby—since you started hunting.

your greeting to them came almost as quickly as your goodbye, nodding at them with a “hey” while clambering down bobby’s front porch to your car, your usual bag full of weapons and books in hand— but not before you notice the jet-black ‘67 impala next to your own.

and you know your way around a car, having your own ‘baby-esque’ vehicle that you love more than life itself (can be vintage or newer model, doesn’t matter, because it’s yours). dean had noticed your car in bobby’s driveway immediately, too— who wouldn’t? the man had eyes.

anyways, you walk past baby in all her glory while nodding appreciatively— turning just a little to dean and tossing a free thumb towards her with a grin before saying a quick: “dude. bitchin’ car.”

and after initially being thrown off by the way you carried yourself, a mixture of confidence, respect, and almost familiarity— dean shoots back with a “could say the same about yours.”

at that remark, you freaking smiled. and dean almost fainted right then and there at the sight. you got in your car, and that was it, due to your visit to bobby’s house really being just a pit stop/supply run before you headed right back on the road again, a new hunt already waiting for you in montana.

> because despite sam and dean being the most good-looking hunters you ever laid eyes on, you weren't one to dilly dally over just a pretty face (when lives were on the line, of course). but somehow, you knew that you’d see them again. hunting wasn’t exactly a booming career field, after all.

> that being said, it took dean a while to get comfortable around you whenever you did end up working together— like a while. you’d only crossed wires with the brothers a few times, helping them out when you could on hunts over the next few years. sam and you made easy friends almost immediately, but dean took longer to warm up to you. but you didn’t mind, or take it personally. you never pushed dean to be your friend even with how much you wanted to be.

> when you guys do work together, though, you and dean understand every single pop culture reference you guys throw at each other. he was shocked when he referenced a classic 80s movie (it was weird science) while working one of your first cases together.

and not only did you understand it and laugh— you made your own joke about it. now you two can’t shut your traps once you get going (for the love of god, do not ask about die hard around them).

> dean and you have also almost blown your cover and gotten caught on hunts because you guys laugh/giggle too loud at what the other says (especially in serious situations).

your favorite running joke is finding old portraits of ugly dead guys, pointing a finger at them and saying to dean “huh, i didn’t know you were alive in *checks plaque under painting* 1837” (and don’t worry, he does the same exact thing to you.)

> dean once fell asleep on your shoulder during a stakeout/recon/watching a potential victim’s house and you didn’t move an inch the entire time. when you finally tried to gently wake him up, he had the audacity to sleepily mumble “jus’ five more minutes” into your shirt and cling to you like a koala in the car. you, being the saint and not wanting to argue, let him sleep for another 2 hours couple minutes.

> and soon enough, dean eventually came around. you knew he cared about you way before he did, but you never forced anything. he appreciated that more than you knew.

and it wasn’t just one single moment of realization like in the movies when dean knew he cared about you. it was quiet, simmering, and when he looked, it was already just… there. but the feelings he hadn’t noticed he’d been pushing down for so long came to a head on a hunt when you almost died— the way they always did when someone he cared about was hurt.

after that, something shifted. you could feel and see it, even if dean didn’t say anything outright to you. for one, he called more often when you were away— he’d need help with something you knew that he already knew damn well how to do, or with something you knew he had much better contacts for.

i mean, come on. he knows freaking rowena, and he’s calling you for assistance on a spell? and sometimes, he’d call for no reason at all, making up some excuse just to hear your voice. you never mentioned it, out of fear he’d stop calling entirely.

> because you always loved when dean called.

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you have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

i genuinely believe that i tweak out over this man at least 4 times a day stg. and the gif i picked lives in my mind rent-free. he looks so ethereal sigh i wish he was real 💔

ANYWAYS here’s my taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @figthoughts + if i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

[consistencynevermether]

If you’re still taking requests could I have scenario of the Mc asking Vere what they’re soul looks like? I really hope when the game comes out we find more about that ability of Vere’s

I got REAL interpretive with this one, I hope you enjoy!

content: vere x gn! reader, sfw, cannon typical swearing and violence, 1k words

“So, what DOES my soul look like?” you slurred, the alcohol inebriating even your ability to talk. 

“Huh?” vere questioned, trying to raise his head from off the ground and failing, falling back onto the stone floors of his bedroom.

The two of you had been plotting in his room, breaking down a plan to impress a Sinobium cleric, when Vere had casually mentioned he had some very strong alcohol.

The high stakes of trying to trick an institution that could kill you both with the snap of their fingers was not exactly great for stress levels. With you having a meeting with one of the Abbesses advisors tomorrow, there was a good chance you could end up dead.

There was also a chance the two of you would get closer than ever to your mutual goals. You had been working with the Sinobium on a contract basis, finding them scraps of information whenever they called upon you to do some of their dirty work. But now, you finally had a chance to join their little order. It meant more access to their research, libraries, and information that could get you closer to curing your curse and freeing Vere from his chains. If it went poorly, they could kill you. Or close the door forever on ever getting any more information. 

There was also something else on your mind. You knew it was silly compared to everything else that could possibly happen, but something had been weighing on you for a while. If everything went perfectly and you joined the Sinobium in a professional capacity, you would have to spend less time with Vere. The two of you couldn’t have the Sinobium thinking you sympathized with him, or worse, were plotting with him. You would need to keep any public interaction with Vere as professional as possible. As a member of the organization who was keeping him chained.

The thought of the changes you would have to make, how intentional every word you spoke would need to be, made you feel a bit sick. 

You needed a change of topic. Desperately. Which is why you had asked Vere the aforementioned question. In your first meeting him, he had said some line about how all of the suffering you went through made your soul irresistible. At the time you were too busy focusing on not dying to really think about it, but it had piqued your curiosity enough to remember what he had said.

And with trying to avoid the fear of what you would need to become to work for the Sinobium, this seemed like a good topic change.

You waited for vere to elaborate, staring at him from the chair you were currently lounging on. 

“You remember that?” Vere questioned, head still on the floor. 

“Yeah. just curious.” you shrugged. 

Vere smirked. “I didn't really need to see your soul to know it had been dragged through the mud.” He joked. 

“Oh, and that's what's tasty to you? Mud soul? Your favorite food is mud soul?” you giggled, the alcohol making everything seem more silly in the moment. 

Vere wobbly stood up and laid his head around the general area of where you were sitting.

“Don't be stupid.” he slurred.

“Answer my question.” you countered.

Vere gave a sigh, and seemed to sober up slightly.

“Think of a soul like a piece of pottery you made yourself. The shape, color, decorations, etchings, they're all decided for you. Your personality and being forms it, and it's unique to only you. The suffering you go through, that's outside forces. Cracks in the pottery, chips in the paint, the wear and tear of living. That's the best way I can describe it to you.” 

You were silent for a while. 

“So, how exactly is my soul holding together?” you asked.

“It's… seen better days, I would imagine,” Vere responded. 

You let out a breathy laugh, but there was no humor behind it. This wasn't shocking, but it still hurt, just a little. That some piece of “art” unique to only you had been treated so badly. Could you have done more to protect it? Or was it always meant to be broken? If you had tried repairing it sooner, would it have been in better condition? All philosophical questions that ultimately meant jack shit to you.

“I don't really see the “irresistibility” in that.” you remarked, thinking about the fateful day you met Vere.

He paused for a second, then he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a small shallow white bowl, probably used to hold jewelry or other trinkets. The cream white of the bowl was intercepted with gold streaks running across its form, like gold lightning or veins running through the bowl.

“It's beautiful.” you remarked.

“It's broken.” Vere responded. “The gold is where the bowl cracked, Ais repaired it for me. It’s called Kintsugi, you highlight the cracks when you repair them instead of hiding them.”

You stared at the bowl, mesmerized by the patterns.

“Does my soul look anything like this?” you questioned.

“No.” Vere's answer was blunt, and honest. “But I think you could get there. One day.”

“Hm. not any day soon, considering i'll be joining the sinobium if everything goes well. That's not exactly conducive to a healthy work environment” you spat, a quiet bitterness building. 

“I'll be here.” vere responded.

“Will you?” you countered. “You do understand we will never be able to talk in public right? And I'll be the one yanking your chain.” 

“You'll be the one helping free me from my chain. I won't forget that.” he stated.

"Here." Vere pushed the bowl further into your hands. "Keep it. its not like I use it anyways."

You stared down at the little gold and white bowl, its beauty still mesmerizing, as you gently stored it in your satchel to take home with you.

The two of you lapsed into comfortable silence, the buzz of alcohol still fresh in both your veins. It's true, you didn't know what would happen next. But you knew a certain fox had your back, and whether you liked it or not, that was a great comfort to you.

[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”

[rcvcgers]

Loathe To Paint You, part three

account masterlist , series masterlist , ao3

playlist

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pairing ; rafayel x painter!reader

synopsis ; you and rafayel attend a carnival. he gets into competition with his ex's new boyfriend while you secure an invite with rhys.

word count ; 11.5k words

author's note ; hi all !! no major note this week :) i hope y'all enjoy the part!

content warning ; vulgar language , a kiss ooh la la , maybe a sex joke here and there , raf lowkey gets bullied lmfao

my painters ✐ᝰ. ; @zeskyzed , @drowsyapple , @llamabois , @romils , @debrahhhhhhh , @kebarney , @mentaltrouble2201 , @itsmeaudrieee , @flamedancer13 , @lolightrealm , @ghoulishnero , @leeniverse , @justpassingdontworry , @yumesagashite , @m0ss-gremlin , @yunozumi , @azlyneamie099 , @m00nchildwrites , @mxkvlio , @nautismgremlin , @jexireads , @rafshottestgf , @blcknebula , @eve-ishu , @namjoons-toenails , @kaiii07 , @imhere2dosomething , @vyntheria , @queenkymmie , @animegamerfox , @achilleas-dream , @beaconsxd , @butterbiscuit444 , @eolivy , @shypotatoes013-blog , @cayrelyra , @curryexpress , @needsumcomfypillowstosleep , @plzdonutpercieveme

want to be a part of the taglist? click here!

“He said that to you?!” Abigail’s voice booms throughout the tiny art studio.

You stand at the bathroom sink, modified so you can dunk your arms in without getting water everywhere, scrubbing the paint off of your hands and arms. You push the stained towel into your skin, scrubbing so hard you’re about to tear your skin off. Glaring at the very slowly disappearing blotches of paint you turn your head and look down the hallway while Abigail heads towards you.

“I know! The bitch said I’m like Sister Wives but with men,” you roll your eyes, aggravation already flooding right back into your body. "A fucking harem!"

You thought that by channeling your anger into a new painting would be helpful towards your artistic pursuits but the canvas ended up as one big blob, an unappealing blob mind you, that resembled a dead fish rather than the mermaid you were aiming for. The painting is as unappetizing as a plate of under seasoned and overcooked chicken, a plate filled with saltines and no glass of water to help it go down.

You turn back to your arms, your scrubs now much lighter and nicer towards your body, as you clean off the last of the dried paint. Bright yellows and oranges remain beneath your fingernails but you’re too tired to care about it, not in the mood to become fully presentable for Rafayel and whatever his dramatic antics have planned for tonight.

“Are you sure you want to go to the carnival with him? Maybe he can say that you’re sick and handle Rhys on his own,” Abigail enters the bathroom.

She holds earrings in her hands and brings them up to your ears, trying to see which one she likes best before settling on a nice pair that will compliment the dress she has for you. You swat away her hands, rolling your eyes as you step out of the bathroom. You storm down the hallway and she is quick to follow.

“I have to,” you say, groaning to yourself. You enter the office where a dress is laid out and begin to peel the dirty smock off of your body, tossing it onto the sheet of plastic Abigail has laid down. “If he goes on his own, I know he’ll somehow fuck it up for us. I have to be the reasonable one since he decided to put the drama queen crown on his head.”

“You two are like ticking time bombs whenever you’re together,” Abigail muses with a smile, already moving to help zip up the back of your dress. “It’s just a race to see who explodes first.”

“Ha ha ha,” you sound out your sarcastic laugh with another eye roll, fixing the dress’ skirt.

It stops halfway down your thighs and the fabric is light with a floral pattern. It’s simple, something that a regular person who is in love with an insufferable twat would wear. All you can do now is hope that Rafayel sticks with the plan and doesn’t change his clothes. You flatten out the skirt, grumbling obscenities to yourself about how you’re going to shove where the sun don’t shine if Rafayel fucks this up tonight.

“It’s going to be okay! I already asked Thomas to help reel Rafayel back after the scene he made today and he said that he’s going to slip one of his xanaxes into his drink before he goes,” Abigail smiles at you, handing you the pair of earrings from before.

“A xanax?” you raise an eyebrow, laughing as you put the earrings on. “I didn’t know working with Rafayel made him get to that point so early in his life.”

“I can’t help but feel bad for the guy,” Abigail sighs, moving behind you as she begins to fix your hair. It’s too late to do anything special to it, so she’s going with the cliche of a low messy bun to make you look windswept instead of a sweating mess that painted what she perceived to be a chicken nugget form hell. “He has to deal with a newborn when he goes home and when he’s at work.”

“We should get him whiskey for the holidays,” you murmur, turning to look at the tiny mirror that sits on her desk.

“Thomas deserves tequila,” Abigail nods, “he deserves to have a good time.”

You gag at the thought of tequila. You can’t have it anymore due to overconsumption of said alcohol two years ago. It was Abigail’s birthday, which just happens to be the same day as a big holiday in Linkon. You can barely remember it that’s how bad you were. Your hangover lasted for a solid week, the first twenty four hours filled with constant puking and for the rest of the week, you were battling a horrible migraine that left you bedridden. At least Thomas will get some fun out of it.

“What time did he say he was going to come again?” you ask and bring the mirror to your face. You check out your makeup, which somehow stayed in tact during your painting session.

“Thomas texted saying he left ten minutes ago. He should be here any moment,” Abigail plucks the mirror from your hands and grabs a nearby sweater, tossing it into your small backpack.

You groan, already annoyed from Rafayel’s presence and he isn’t even here yet. You wonder how long this night is going to be. You already know that it is going to feel longer than it already is. It makes you want to stab forks into your eyes so you have an excuse to not go.

You have to, though. You have to face the purple haired bitch who thinks that you’re too difficult to be in an actual relationship, your rival ever since you laid your eyes on him.

A car honks from the studio’s driveway. You suck in a breath, rolling your eyes as you turn to look outside the window.

There he is: the price of drama and all things intolerable.

Rafayel sits in his sports car, the roof tucked away in the back so it’s a convertible. His purple hair is disheveled, messed up due to the wind. He has a pair of dark sunglasses on his face. You raise an eyebrow at the sight, glancing at the moon that hangs in the fresh night sky. He honks again but this time the honk continues, ruining the peaceful quiet of the beachside.

You groan and turn to look at Abigail, an unimpressed look on your face. She shrugs and passes off your backpack. You begrudgingly take it, the backpack swinging in the air as your drag your feet towards the front door of the studio.

“What happened to the Xanax, Abigail?” you ask, glaring at her from over your shoulder.

“Maybe the fish has a brain!” she calls after you with a laugh, closing the door behind you and locking it.

You slowly approach Rafayel’s car. You have your arms crossed over your chest, glaring at him while the car horn pierces your ears. He notices you and finally releases his hold of the car’s horn.

“Are you done yet?” you call out, annoyance prominent in your voice.

Rafayel swipes off the sunglasses, gazing at you. He honks the horn one last time, a petty move on his part, and gets out of his car. He leans against it, tossing the expensive sunglasses into the backseat. He wears a simple outfit made up of dark jeans and a brown hoodie, comfortable yet he still exudes a sense of wealth with the brands proudly on display.

“You look fine,” is the first thing you say to him, your greeting cold.

“Oh? Are we starting off strong today?” Rafayel comments, matching your crossed arms.

“Depends,” you tilt your head to the side, looking him up and down, actually liking the way the outfit looks. Your eyes meet again and you’re reminded of his unnecessary comments about you being too difficult to handle. “Are you wanting to meet my boyfriends? One of them wanted me to ask when you’re going to join the group. They want to know if you prefer washing dishes or cooking dinner.”

“First off: I am very sorry about my comments from earlier. I feel really bad—”

“Really bad?” you quietly mock him, your words falling onto deaf ears.

“—and second of all, I prefer cooking. I have this thing where if I touch soggy food, I have the urge to throw up.”

You raise an eyebrow at Rafayel, foot tapping against the loose gravel of the driveway. Rafayel’s eyes move to you, the blue and pink hues catching you off guard by the remorse that hides behind them. You let out a quiet sigh, your arms falling to your sides as you round his car, getting into the passenger seat. He follows suit and starts the car, looking over at you.

“Truce for tonight?” Rafayel asks, holding out his pinky to you. You glance at it, having to hold back a laugh by just how childish the gesture is.

“You know,” you lean towards him, reaching your hand up. You wrap your pinky around his and yank his hand towards you. Your narrow your gaze at him and he swallows the lump that forms in his throat. “If you break this pinky promise, I get to chop off your pinky.”

“Yikes.”

“I’ll have my brother husbands put it in clear resin, a trophy of how you broke the promise you’re making right now.”

“You need psychiatric help,” Rafayel whispers, half genuine with his remark.

You release his pinky and turn to face the front of the car, crossing your arms back over your chest. Glancing up at your hair, you groan, glancing over at Rafayel as he starts the car once again.

“Hey, Rafayel?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think we can…put the lid back on the car?” you ask with a sweet smile. Rafayel turns to you, an unimpressed and insulting look on his face. You lean forward, your fake smile growing as wide as it can.

“Do you want me to?” he asks, reaching for a random button that sits in front of him.

“Yes, please! It would be so—”

Rafayel turns the volume up of the car. Music pours out of the speakers, one of today’s pop music hits that you simply cannot stand to listen to. A smug smirk crosses his face as he shifts the car out of park, the back wheels spinning against the gravel, launching it into the bushes. 

The car lunges forward as you gasp, reaching for the handle that isn’t there, your hand meeting air. Rafayel laughs, throwing his head back as the car makes it onto the public road. The two of you zoom down the city street as the fresh sea air hits your face.

Your once semi-okay bun made by Abigail is ruined. Your hair falls out of place, sticking up and everywhere as the wind tosses it everywhere, knotting it with every turn that Rafayel takes, the car practically leaning on two wheels every time he yanks the steering wheel in one direction. You gasp and yell, screaming at him to slow down and to use his blinker as his maniacal cackles fill in the quiet spots of the screaming wind.

The carnival, which is being held in Linkon inside of Jiexin Park, which is connected to a large fairground. Rafayel drives you through the city, weaving through the lines of skyscrapers and districts that the city has. You watch as the buildings pass you by, a blur before moving into the next district.

You’ve given up on your hair, thinking that it’s not the worst thing to come out of tonight, like almost dying with the way Rafayel is driving. You internally blame Thomas for not slipping him a xanax like he told Abigail he would but here you are: butt cheeks clenched as Rafayel recklessly drives through Linkon City’s traffic.

The car comes to a screeching halt in front of Jiexin Park. Your body lurches forward, your hands smacking against the dashboard in front of you. Slowly turning to look at the man beside you, watch as he casually tosses his perfect windswept hair out of his eyes, a smile on his face. You turn to look at yourself in your phone’s camera, looking like you were just running for you life in a zombie movie but as one of the extras that are made to look much uglier than the main leads.

You glare at Rafayel. He knew exactly what he was doing. This was a targeted attack on his behalf.

You get out of the car and slam the door behind you, the vehicle shaking. Rafayel gasps, scurrying out and following after you as you walk towards the park entrance. You ignore him as he yaps into your ear about respecting the car, that it is worth more than all of your paintings combined.

You approach an empty table, a line quickly forming behind the two of you.

“Two tickets please,” you smile at a woman at the plastic table, which acts as a — quite poorly made — ticket booth. 

“Of course! Is it date night?” the woman asks, nodding her head at Rafayel.

You glance at him, deciding that now is a good time to practice your fake affection towards the Lemurian. Slipping your arm into his, you bring him to your side, catching him off guard as you rest your head against his shoulder. Rafayel looks down at you with a raised eyebrow, ready to push you away before he realizes that Rhys can be watching from any angle. He relaxes and clears his throat.

“Yes…it is date night. I thought I’d take her out and have some fun,” Rafayel shrugs, a smug smirk plastered across his face.

“Well isn’t that just peachy!” the woman muses. She reaches to the side, dealing with the tickets and punching in the numbers.

Rafayel chuckles, leaning down, his lips grazing the outer shell of your ear. You shiver from how close he is, darting your gaze away. He doesn’t say anything, though, and makes it look like he gave your head a kiss before pulling away.

“Fifty gold coins,” she says in the most unimpressed tone ever.

“What? Me?” Rafayel points to himself. He turns to you and all you can do is look. Between him and the ticket lady.

“You’re taking her out on a date, are you not?” the woman asks, leaning forward with a stamp in her hand, ready to lunge at him for his carelessness.

“I’m a feminist,” Rafayel leans forward, offering a wink to the ticket lady before turning back to you, nodding his head in her direction, “my beautiful girlfriend will be paying.”

A silence befalls the line. All eyes land on Rafayel, who is oblivious to their shocked gazes. The ticket lady’s smile falls, all joy from within her eyes dying as if she heard the worst thing imaginable.

“She’s going to be paying? Because you’re a feminist?” she asks in a deadpan tone. Your eyes slowly widen, looking up at Rafayel who proudly nods. “Well in that case, let me give you the ‘man who claims to be a feminist’ discount,” the lady absentmindedly presses imaginary buttons on the plastic table.

Rafayel’s smile falls as he realizes what is happening. You cover your face, slight embarrassment over whelming your body. You look around and give everyone sympathetic looks as your fake boyfriend becomes enemies with the ticket lady.

“That’ll be fifty gold coins, Mister Feminist.”

Rafayel nods, not wanting to anger her further, and looks bewildered as he moves his touch from your body. You step to the side, watching as he gives himself a full body pat down. You cross your arms over your chest, looking back at the ticket lady who looks so unimpressed with your “date.” Rafayel stops and looks up at you, eyes big and wide.

“Hey, erm, babe,” Rafayel begins. You hold up a hand, closing your eyes.

“You forgot your fucking wallet didn’t you?” you know that this is going to embarrass him. It’s pay back after declaring to the pier yesterday that you’re the new version of brother husbands with all the men who lay at your feet, which is a grand total of none. Rafayel doesn’t need to know that, though.

“I can run back to the car—”

“No. It’s fine,” you huff, making your movements exaggerated. “It’s just like all of the other times you forgot your wallet—”

“Oh okay. I see what you’re doing here. Very funny,” Rafayel rolls his eyes while he watches you dramatically rummage throughout your backpack.

“—I feel like your sugar mommy, Raf,” you sniffle for extra effect, earning the ticket lady’s sympathy.

She stares at Rafayel with daggers in her eyes, slipping a red wristband over your hand. She grabs a green one, not even putting it on for Rafayel as you drop cold coins onto the table in front of her.

“She’s being dramatic—” Rafayel tries to reason with the ticket lady as she tosses him the green bracelet.

“You better treat her real well tonight, you hear?” the lady glares at him.

People from around you chuckle, turning their faces away to hide their laughs. Even you have to stop yourself from smiling as you help Rafayel put his wristband on.

“Oh look, he needs her help to put it in, oh I mean on—”

“I GOT IT!” Rafayel, who is clearly overwhelmed by the sudden attention on him, swatting your hands away as he shoves the tiny bracelet over his hand.

“Oooh, someone’s touchy,” the ticket lady’s side comment makes you snort, your hand slapping over your face to hide your giggles.

“I got the fucking junior size or something,” Rafayel mumbles under his breath.

Rafayel takes your hand and glares at the people that stare at the two of you. You sigh and lean close to him, following him as he walks past the table.

“It’s okay that you’re broke, babe,” you claim loudly enough for the people to hear, “next time I’ll give you the coins so it looks like you paid—”

“I’M NOT BROKE STOP TELLING PEOPLE I’M BROKE! AND THAT I’M BAD AT SEX. I AM GREAT AT SEX!” Rafayel snaps.

You can’t help but laugh at his reaction, having to press your temple to his shoulder, shielding your face from the people in line, laughing as Rafayel squeezes your hand, trying to get your other squirm and let go first.

“Why did you have to do that?” Rafayel whines, dragging you along as you enter the carnival.

“A petty act of revenge,” you respond with a smirk, leaning up to whisper into his ear, “for my brother husbands.”

“Okay you can let it go now! Thanks!” Rafayel is snippy as always, making you laugh more.

The scenery is lively, golden lights hanging from inside the trees, strings of lights looking like they’re floating from one place to another. Stalls are lined up throughout the grassy park with a line of food trucks sitting off to the side. There’s a band that plays music with a small crowd gathered in front of it. To the side of the music sits a large white tent, where you can only assume the  art competition is being held.

Families sit at tables along the empty spaces of grass and many couples walk hand in hand with plushies hanging from their bodies or are tucked beneath their arms. You look around, taking in the fun ambiance. You completely forget that you’re attached to Rafayel’s hip as you walk through the bustling crowd.

A large sign displaying Asko Hospital makes Rafayel roll his eyes, watching as the medical tent is filled with its doctors ready to step in when needed. You wake up past it, peering inside as a dark haired man with glasses attends to a young child’s scraped knee.

“How long do we have to be here for again?” Rafayel asks you, your hands still connected, fingers laced together.

“Well,” you look around, spotting a row of carnival games. The booths are covered in plushies, a big blue and pink seahorse catching your attention. “We just need to see Rhys, make it seem like it’s a coincidence that we’re bumping into him, and then we can leave. Or—”

“You want to play games, don’t you?” Rafayel deadens. You nod, a small and genuine smile forming across your face.

“We can say that you won me the plushies,” you lean into him, steering him away from the art tent and towards the array of carnival games.

“Fine,” Rafayel turns his chin up, puffing his chest out, “we will play your silly little guppy games. Maybe I’ll even win you a few.”

“Sure you will,” your comment drips with sarcasm. You snort and earn a glare from Rafayel, who slightly pulls away and looks down at you, his eyebrows knitted together.

“What? You don’t think I can?” the Lemurian questions, actually flabbergasted at the idea you don’t think he can win a few children’s carnival games.

He was once the God of the Sea! Someone to be feared! Someone to kneel before! And here you are, mocking him into oblivion for the umpteenth time tonight, so Rafayel will be damned if you don’t leave the carnival tonight with every plushie you want.

“Alright, fine,” Rafayel narrows his eyes and looks around, his purple hair flopping with every move, “pick a game — any game you want! I will win you every damn plushie here!”

“With what money?” you snort. He turns his attention back to you. “Oh? You need your sugar mommy to pay for it?”

“Obviously,” Rafayel says the word so matter of factly that it drives you insane. You glare at him, ripping your hadn’t away from his.

“Fine. I’ll fund your little dick size competition — who you’re competing with, I’ll never know — but if I don’t get that blue and pink seahorse by the end of the night, I’m going to tell everyone here that you cry when you—”

“Fine! Deal! You’re going to get the blue and pink seahorse and so much more!” Rafayel snatches your hand in his, dragging you along to the first booth of the night.

It’s a ring toss booth. You let go of Rafayel’s arm, looking at the dozens of milk bottles lined up in a perfect hexagon in the center of the booth. People gather around it from all sides, the four booth attendants smiling and collecting money. They casually throw the plastic rings, the plastic bouncing off of glass rims.

“Are you sure this is where you want to start for the night, Raf?” you ask, your hip bumping into his as you pass off the metal coins to the booth’s employee.

Rafayel takes the multicolored rings in his hands. They’re minuscule in comparison with him, the rings resting in the palm of his hand. The Lemurian turns to you with a smug smirk, winking at you.

“This is exactly where I want to start off, thank you very much,” he leans in and scrunches his face up, mocking your question. You roll your faces and push his face away from you, groaning. “I have to win my…beautiful girlfriend the best plushie here! Pick out which one you want, cutie! Cause they’re coming home with us!”

“You are insufferable, Raf,” you groan and take a step back, giving him his much needed room.

Rafayel tosses the first ring. It glides through the air, the two of you leaning forward as you watch it connect with the milk jugs’ rings. It clinks and bounces away, falling onto the floor. You let out an audible ‘oof’ and turn away, hiding a small laugh. Rafayel turns and looks at you as if it’s your fault for the ring not landing on the glass bottle.

“Well,” the booth’s employee steps up to the barrier, looking straight at Rafayel, “you can’t win the large prize, but you can still win medium or small!”

Rafayel groans and turns back to the booth, his face scrunched up as he tosses the next ring towards the center of the booth. It collides with the glass rims but ultimately slides across the top, landing on the floor with the others. You move to his side, smiling at the booth employee, before turning up to Rafayel.

The tips of his hears are a bright pink color, a big frown overtaking his face, glaring daggers at the milk bottles. You pat his back and watch as he flings another one into the air just to immediately bounce away and onto the floor.

“What in the actual fuck,” Rafayel stutters. You hold back your laughs of pure joy and amusement and watch as he slams his fits down onto the booth’s wooden counter. “I want another go! Now!”

“Calm down, Raf,” a woman’s voice sounds from behind, “you’ll get another turn soon enough.”

Rafayel freezes beside you. You turn and look to see a pretty woman with dark hair and vibrant eyes standing beside a hunk of a man. He has white hair and red eyes, his gaze dominating and making your legs feel like jelly. You quietly gasp and look him up and down, feeling Rafayel give in to his urge to turn around as well.

“MC?” Rafayel asks, his eyes darting between you and her. He takes a step to the side putting space between you two before realizing that he’s your fake boyfriend and moving right back to your side. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you close as your fingers lace together on your side. “What are you doing here?”

“My boyfriend and I thought it would be fun to come support a friend and the hospital’s cause,” she responds with a casual shrug and smile.

“Boyfriend?” Rafayel repeats the word, leaning forward as if it’ll help him hear better. You nudge his side, still unable to take your eyes off of the behemoth of a man in front of you. He turns to look at the man beside her, having to turn his head up because of the sheer size of the man.

“Yes! Rafayel, meet Sylus! Sylus, this is Rafayel, my ex I was telling you about.”

“Ex?” you blurt out, turning to look at Rafayel. He grimaces, lips tugging upwards as he tries to play it off as best he can. He shakes his head ever so slightly, turning his attention back to MC and Sylus.

“It is very nice to meet you, Sylus,” Rafayel says through gritted teeth. He looks the man up and down, taking in his all black outfit, his jacket with red and white lines running down one side of his jacket and sleeves. “That’s…a lot of leather.”

“I need it when I’m riding my motorcycle.”

Oh. My. God. His voice!

You contain a giggle, having to bury your face into Rafayel’s shoulder, turning away as your cheeks immediately heat up. His voice is so sexy — so husky and low — if his motorcycle engine isn’t purring right now, something else is!

“A motorcycle? That’s so…yeah!” Rafayel awkwardly comments, his hand swallowing yours whole, putting all of his strength into squeezing your hand. You glance back at Sylus, your eyes meeting, which makes you giggle and blush further. Rafayel smiles through the pain, leaning down to whisper into your ear, “Get a hold of yourself, woman! Stay strong!”

“Are you still playing the ring toss game?” MC steps forward, releasing Sylus from her touch.

You move away from Rafayel, right on cue of course, and step away as the two of them begin to talk with each other. Their repertoire with one another comes so naturally to them, their laughs and side nudges coming to fruition as if it is muscle memory to them. You can’t help but feel just the slightest twinge of jealousy in the back of your mind.

Sure, you and Rafayel are fake dating but god damn, where is this effort with you? Rafayel and MC look more like a couple than the two of you do! This is going to ruin your chance with Rhys and your chance of being one of the greats is going to die and wither away!

At least you get to chop off his pinky and have it as a trophy of his fuck up.

“So,” Sylus’ deep voice sounds from behind you. You slowly turn, your head fully looking up at him as he rests his weight onto his back foot. “Are you and Rafayel are dating?”

“Me and Raf?” a laugh leaves your lips before you can even realize it. You quickly shut up and let out a horribly timed cough, covering your mouth with your fist as Sylus raises one eyebrow at you. “We are…yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re nervous,” Sylus cocks his head to the side, his red eyes peering deeper and deeper into your soul. You lean back as he leans forward. “You aren’t dating. It’s fake.”

“What the fuck,” you breathe out, watching as he pulls away from you, his eyes moving back to MC and Rafayel as they throw rings. “How did you—”

“I know. I’ll keep your secret.”

“Ooh,” you shimmy your shoulders and turn to watch them, “how nice of you.”

Silence sits between the two of you. You and Sylus watch as MC and Rafayel toss more and more rings, Sylus handing her as many gold coins as she wants with a small smile on his face. They’re so cute together. Just absolutely adorable. If Rhys sees them compared to you and Rafayel, he’ll choose them to be the headliners instead.

“So, Sylus,” you decide to ruin the silence, turning to face him just as he turns to face you, “what do you do for work?”

“I happen to run a…very humble fruit stall,” a tinge of a smile spreads across his lips as he glances at MC. There is nothing but love behind his eyes for MC.

“Do you know anything about gardening?” your question catches Sylus off guard, the tall man looking down at you with a perked up eyebrow, his crossed arms slowly moving to his sides.

Rafayel groans as his ring misses a milk bottle. MC chuckles at his side, nudging into him. He glares at her, a slight pout on his face as he hands over more coins.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, turning his attention back onto the rings.

“Nothing! I just love seeing how determined you are to win the game,” she smiles and tosses another ring, the small piece of plastic bouncing off the glass jars, lodging itself in between bottles.

“It’s rigged and we all know it, Gary!” Rafayel narrows his eyes at the booth’s attendant, earning a laugh from him.

“Are you doing this for her?” MC asks with a smile, leaning in and wiggling her eyebrows.

Rafayel scoffs and rolls his eyes. He moves the plastic rings between his fingers, the colorful circles swinging around his fingers with ease

“Her? Puh-lease,” Rafayel chuckles, “we’re…partners. Not in that way, but in schemes.”

“Is she now?” MC turns around and looks at you and Sylus. “Is she your rival you were always spewing nonsense about?” Rafayel nods, confirming MC’s suspicion.

You look up at Sylus, mouth slightly agape while he watches MC and Rafayel. Rafayel turns and follows her gaze, his eyes landing on you, a small smile spreading across his lips.

“You’re built like a Dorito,” your voice carries over the loud crowd.

“Oh?” Sylus hums.

“Yeah…I would say you’re like the Nacho Cheese variety but you scream Sweet Spicy Chili instead.”

Sylus pauses for a moment, nodding to himself before glancing at you and saying, “Good choice.”

Rafayel’s smile falls at your weirdly framed compliment towards the man. He rolls his eyes and looks back at the bottles, jealousy tickling the back of his mind.

“Definitely not winning it for her,” he groans, his face scrunched up as he rills the rings between his fingers.

“Uh huh, sure, keep telling yourself that,” MC comments.

He absentmindedly throws another ring, watching as it spirals around one of the bottles finally landing. Rafayel gasps, his posture straightening as he claps his hands together. He turns to MC, who jumps with him, pure joy sounding out from their yells and cries of victory. Rafayel snaps his fingers and points to a very small seahorse that sits on the bottom level of trophies to win, the level being that of a participation trophy for those who have spent obscene amounts of money at the stall.

“Gimme the damn seahorse, Gary!” Rafayel yells.

Just as Gary hands over the tiny seahorse, which is vibrant and tiny, its neon colors fading from pinks to greens to purples and blues. Rafayel turns around, holding the tiny seahorse up into the air. He crosses the space between you and him, watching as he lowers it into your outstretched hands.

“This is for you,” Rafayel smugly smiles, leaning in. MC stands behind him with crossed arms, rolling her eyes as he openly contradicts himself from not even thirty seconds ago.

“Why thank you!” you smile, looking at the seahorse with a spark in your eyes. Funnily enough, you kind of want to paint it, the colors calling to you. “Who knew that after fifty coins worth of tries that you’d be able to win something!”

You turn to look up at Rafayel, laughing as he rolls your eyes, draping his arm over your shoulders, tugging you into his side. His cologne, a scent that reminds you of the ocean but also those ads where the actors run through a desert or swim in the ocean while sharks circle them. The two of you smile at each other, faces scrunched up as you lean in, your noses barely touching to try and show the world, and Rhys if he’s watching, that you are a united and very much in love couple.

“It’s okay if it takes you more than twenty tries, Sylus,” Rafayel proudly boasts. You can feel him flexing his biceps through the fabric of his hoodie, “not everyone is as good as—”

Rafayel quickly shuts up as he watches Sylus approach the booth, rings in hand, tossing them into the air with such precision that it’s shocking. Every single one of his rings lands around the milk jug’s necks, swirling around the rims before making itself at home around the neck. Rafayel’s jaw drops.

Sylus turns around, a big kitten plushie in his arms as he passes it off to MC. She cheers, taking the plushie into her arms. In Sylus’ hands, it looked like a normal size, but in MC’s, the plushie is ginormous.

You turn to look at Rafayel, who wears a scowl on his face. You gently push him towards the next stall and listen as he grumbles obscenities underneath his breath about how life isn’t fair and that his rings must have been rigged to automatically win. You pat his back as an attempt to console him.

“That’s okay, you’ll get the next one,” you lean into his side, smiling as your eyes scan the crowd to see if Rhys or any of the other part people you know are also at the carnival.

“Hey!” MC’s voice comes from behind you yet again. Rafayel doesn’t turn around as he sits himself down at a chair, his hands latching onto the handles of a water gun, ready to win. “Would it be okay if we joined you? It would be so much fun to have a double date!”

“Of course!” you beam back at her.

Rafayel gasps, looking up at you with an angry expression. You push his face away, though, his nose smushed beneath the palm of your hand as MC and Sylus take their seats beside you. You sit down and release Rafayel’s face from your hand but he’s quick to lean in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“What the fuck are you doing?” the Lemurian asks, irritation in his voice.

“What? It’ll help us with Rhys,” you angle your head towards him, leaning in, “a double date will help us sell the fact that we have other couple friends to hang out with.”

Rafayel slowly pulls away. His eyes are narrow and fixated on you. The pink and blue hues move away from your face, staring at Sylus who sits on the other end of the group, a smug smirk on his lips. Rafayel moves his attention back to you. You shrug and bat your eyelashes at him, Turing away as you grab the handles of the water gun.

“Are you fellas ready?” the game’s attendant approaches the group, a big and goofy smile on his face.

You and MC cheer, clapping your hands, while Rafayel and Sylus simply nod at the man, barely even paying attention to him as they glare at the target in front of them.

“Well…alrighty then! Let’s get started!”

The game alarm sounds off, signaling the beginning of the game. Rafayel and Sylus immediately hit the target, the steady stream of water flying across the small distance while you and MC laugh with each other, giggling about how competitive the boys can be. The two of you barely pay attention to the game and instead choose to try and get your streams to touch, earning a wiggling of eyebrows from the minimum wage employee.

The game’s bell sounds off. The two of you gasp and turn towards your respective men, seeing which one won. Spoiler: it’s Sylus with Rafayel right behind him.

Rafayel stands from his chair, glaring as the man grabs another large plushie from the hooks, passing the obnoxiously large pufferfish off to MC. She smiles and thanks Sylus, who gives her a shrug and playful flirtatious comment in return. You stand and follows Rafayel as he leaves the booth, arms crossed over his chest.

“Raf? It’s okay! You’ll get it next time!” you try your best to encourage him as he walks to the next booth.

“Am I?!” Rafayel snaps at no one, punching the air in front of him. “How can I win when he’s around! Oh, I hate him. I hate him!”

“Stop being a drama queen, Rafayel, pull yourself together,” you roll your eyes, trying your best to keep up with his quick pace.

He huffs and puffs to himself, his purple hair falling back and forth every time he whips his head to the side. You clear your throat and take his hand. He immediately yanks it away from yours, stopping to look down at you.

“What are you doing?” he asks, placing his hands on his hips. You groan and flick the space between his eyebrows, catching him off guard, before grabbing his hand once again. “Flick me again and I’ll scream.”

“Calm down,” your nails dig into the skin of his hand, making him wince, “I’m playing the role of sympathetic girlfriend who is trying to calm down her dramatic feminist boyfriend.”

“Oh…right. Yeah. That makes sense too,” Rafayel’s voice lowers in volume, the man smiling at the surrounding crowd.

“It’s okay if you don’t get me the pink and blue seahorse,” you say with a shrug, “I don’t want a memento of you anyways.”

Although, you wouldn’t really mind having it in the first place.

“No, no, I’m getting you that damn seahorse,” Rafayel looks down at you, his eyes flickering to the smaller ones in your hands, “they need a sibling.”

“You’re a child.”

“Am I? Or do I have an active imagination?”

“No, you’re a child. A big one that cries whenever he doesn’t get his way,” you roll your eyes, pulling him to the next booth with Sylus and MC hot on your tail. “What about this one?”

“Do you want me to look like an imbecile on that?” Rafayel groans, staring at the rope ladder.

A teen hops onto the inflated floor, climbing onto the ladder that lies across the small stretch of distance between the front and the back where a bell hangs. The ladder wobbles back and forth, the teen boy quickly losing his balance before he tips over. People who stand and watch laugh and clap their hands, shouting that he tried his chest and that he’ll get it next time as the person to the side of him makes it halfway. They’re quick to fall over, too, earning a fun comment from the person operating the game.

“I mean…yes, I always want to see you be humiliated, but this seems like fun regardless! You have great balance, right? This will be a piece of cake!” you try your best to hype Rafayel up, even going as far as to stand behind him, massaging his shoulders.

“You think I can?” Rafayel asks, glancing at you from over his shoulder. You nod and wink, encouraging him to try.

“Ah, another game,” Sylus’ voice vibrates your chest. You bite your lip and turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow at him. “Let’s do it. Seems…thrilling enough.”

“Oh, you bet your ass—”

“Language,” you chime in,

“—that we’re gonna do it! My girl wants the panda!” Rafayel announces, finger pointed in the air.

As soon as people hear Rafayel’s declaration, they turn to watch as the two men approach the ladders. Sylus hands the person gold coins, enough for the both of them much to Rafayel’s dismissal. You and MC stand beside each other, shoulder to shoulder as you offer to hold one of the plushies for her.

The first couple of seconds are awkward so you turn to look at MC who turns back with a smile.

“So…does MC stand for anything?” A beat. “Something like ‘Mary Catherine’ or ‘Marie Curie’?”

“Definitely not like the radioactive scientist.”

Rafayel glares at Sylus, the Lemurian taking off his brown hoodie to reveal a white t-shirt underneath. His eyes remain on the taller man. He tosses his hoodie at you, watching as the brown fabric pathetically falls to the ground at your feet. Rafayel’s face goes red, turning to look at you.

“Oh, was I supposed to catch that?” you ask, awkwardly leaning over the large teddy bear plushie to pick it up, dusting it off by hitting it on the metal fence.

Rafayel groans and turns back to Sylus, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Are you ready?” Rafayel asks.

“Are you?” Sylus counters with an amused chuckle.

Without another word, Rafayel turns away and approaches the first ladder while Sylus steps towards the one beside it. Rafayel drops down, grabbing the first rung. His palms are sweaty, his nervousness taking over his entire body once he realizes that a whole crowd has gathered to watch him fail while getting a panda for you. 

He is already wobbling back and forth. You step towards the fence, leaning over it, yelling encouraging comments in his direction. His breaths are slow and steady, slowly moving to the next rung of the ladder. He smiles, already making it halfway as the elevation increases.

“I’m doing it!” Rafayel yells, looking over his shoulder, ass popping out, his eyes meeting yours. “I’m gonna win!”

“Keep it up, babe!” you yell back, feeling a little too comfortable in the role as fake girlfriend.

Rafayel begins to make his next move when the crowd gasps. He stops, his pink and blue eyes moving from the ladder and to his side, watching as Sylus finally makes a move.

The tall, white haired man doesn’t get on all fours like how everyone has done it, no, no. Sylus takes a single step, hands casually placed inside his leather jacket’s pockets, and he walks across each of the rungs. Every step is precise and casual. The ladder barely even makes a move, staying as still as possible as Sylus effortlessly crosses.

“He’s an angel,” you breathe out, watching as Sylus glides across the ladder.

“I know…I can’t look away,” MC mumbles.

Rafayel’s jaw drops. He watches Sylus, unable to look away. Sylus glances at him, smirking, as he reaches the end of the ladder, reaching down to ring it. While he’s there, Sylus uses his Evol to grab the panda plushie, the same one that Rafayel declared he was going to win for you, and brings it into his arms, walking back down the ladder as if it’s just an average Tuesday evening for him.

Rafayel loses balance and falls onto the inflated mattress beneath him. The crowd screams, cheering for Sylus as he hops off of the inflatable. Rafayel scurries after him and watches as Sylus hands you the panda plushie. You take it from him with wide eyes, looking between the panda and the fuming Rafayel who stands behind.

“I…I definitely can’t take this,” you say, blinking at the oversized panda bear.

You look at Rafayel, who has quickly gained his composure back, and saunters over to the group. He swipes his hoodie back from your hands, quickly throwing it over his shoulder, finger hooked into the collar. He stands beside you and looks around, clearing his throat as if he wasn’t just casually humiliated by a man who looks like he was sculpted by the gods themselves.

Fuck. Does that include Rafayel, too?

“Well,” Rafayel looks at the panda bear, pinching its nose, “I did say that you’d get it. So I’m not technically wrong.”

Just by looking at him, hearing the slight crack in his voice, you know that he feels horrible. That his self esteem has just been shit on by a man who looks like he could break your back with just a simple thrust flick. You sigh, moving the teddy bear back to MC while you hold the panda. You reach out and take his hand, gently squeezing it as his fingers lace between yours like its second nature.

“I want the seahorse anyways,” you comment with a shrug, turning back to Sylus and smiling at him. “Thank you for the panda.”

“Of course,” he nods his head, looking down at MC who smiles at him like he is the only person to ever exist in the world. He smiles back, a hint of smugness in the gesture.

Oh, how you want to smack that smug smirk off of that damn face for making your fathead sculpin feel embarrassed.

“Hey Sylus,” you pass off the panda and tiny seahorse to Rafayel. He looks at you with bewildered eyes, trying to figure out your angle to your sudden proposition. “I’d love to take you on in a game. How about,” your voice falls off. You pretend to look around the carnival, acting like you’re trying to find something. “Basketball?” You shrug, facing him with raised eyebrows. “Sounds fun!”

“You’re on,” Sylus chuckles, nodding his head. He takes MC’s hand, walking them towards the miniature basketball court.

You watch and smirk, cracking your neck and fingers, loosening up your body. You begin to walk after them with Rafayel following close behind. He looks at the side of your face, watching as you tame your hair into a tight ponytail.

“Uh…are you sure this is a good idea?” Rafayel asks as you approach the court that has two hoops. Sylus hands over the money, turning to look back at you as he shrugs off his leather jacket.

“Rafayel, honey,” you turn to look at him. You grab his chin, yanking him down to your level. “Don’t you ever question me ever again. Now kiss my cheek like the good feminist boyfriend you are and hold my damn panda.”

Rafayel sucks in a breath, his cheeks and ears heating up. He leans down and kisses your cheek, quickly moving to kiss the other one. You smile at him, pretending like your blush is fake — news flash: it isn’t — and turn to the court, skipping towards it.

One court belongs to you and Sylus while the other is occupied by other customers. The man watches you with a close eye, the muscles of his biceps flexing underneath the carnival’s bright and colorful lighting. You have to look away, screaming at your mind to stop having dirty thoughts, and grab the basketball as he passes it to you.

“The man was kind enough to let us have a court for our own use,” Sylus claims, sweeping his hair out of his face, “so whatever game you’d like to play, we will.”

You dribble the ball between your hands, making yourself look as awkward as you can. Sylus tilts his head to the side and you look at him, bouncing the ball on the floor so it lands back into his hands.

“I’ve always like the game of HORSE,” you smile, gesturing your head towards the basket, “I’ll let you have the first shot.”

Sylus nods to himself, dribbling the ball. He takes it easy the first time, standing at the free throw line. He shoots the ball and it swishes inside with ease. He passes you the ball and you easily match it, a small crowd beginning to gather around the court.

It goes on like his for twenty minutes. The two of you refusing to let up a shot, going all over the place before you miss the first one, a three pointer from the side with no backboard to rely on.

“Oh,” you pout, turning to look at him, “what a shame. Oh well, there’s plenty of game left!”

An hour passes and the game is tied. Both you and Sylus need the other to miss so the person gets the letter ‘E’ to join the accompanying ‘HORS’.

The silver haired man passes the ball to you, the placement of the shot being left up to you. You look around, moving the ball between your hands as you wander around the court. You glance at Rafayel, who looks like he is about to implode at MC’s side, unable to look at anything but you. Your heart skips a beat and you turn away from his gaze, looking back at Sylus.

You slowly make your way behind the basket, standing by the three point line. The crowd goes silent. Even nearby vendors and customers stop to watch as you launch the ball into the air. Everyone leans forward, eyes fixated on the brown basketball, watching as it plops into the basket with ease.

“Fuck yeah! Get his ass, cutie!” Rafayel yells from the sideline. He turns to the crowd and points to himself. “I’m her boyfriend!”

Sylus quickly intercepts the ball once it hits the ground, sauntering over to you. You step out of the way and place your hands behind your back, inching back towards the fence where Rafayel is. You press your back to the metal fence, feeling Rafayel lean forward and press his cheek against yours.

“Personal space, Raf—”

“Oh, right, sorry,” he mumbles but stays close, watching as Sylus dribbles the ball.

Sylus launches it into the air. The world goes silent from all around you. Even you lean forward with the crowd, watching as the basketball connects with the hoop. The ball dances around, connecting with everything but the net of the hoop. After a few seconds, the ball rolls across the rim and spills out, falling to the side of the hoop.

Rafayel launches himself over the fence, cheering at Sylus’ demise. He drops the panda and seahorse, pulling you into his arms. You jump up and wrap your legs around his waist, hands resting on the sides of his face while he holds the back of your thighs cheering before you collapse onto the ground with a thud. The basketball court employee rolls his eyes and approaches, catching yours and Rafayel’s attention.

“What prize—”

“We want the big ass seahorse!” Rafayel, who lays on top of you, yells. You point to the big seahorse, its pink and blue colors bright underneath the carnival lights.

“Whatever,” the man, who is most likely a stoner now that you think about it, rolls his eyes and collects the prize.

Rafayel stands up, pulling you with him, and snatches the seahorse teddy bear from the man, passing it into your arms. The two of you cheer and giggle with each other, looking at the glittery details of the fins and scales, details you never noticed from afar.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Sylus and MC share a kiss, giving the two of you a wave, before leaving. You wave back, nudging Rafayel to do the same, before he turns back to the plushie.

“Hell yeah, we won this!” Rafayel exclaims, grabbing its fins before spinning it around in the air, catching it with ease before handing it back to you.

“We?” you laugh, feeling as he rests his arm around your waist, guiding you towards the art tent.

“Yes, we did! I riled him up for you, cutie, don’t you ever forget that,” Rafayel comments with a smile. “You had to come and save me…you’re my hero! I’m a simple damsel in distress while you channeled the powers of your brother husbands to help you save the day.”

“This is your sign to stop talking like that,” you fake vomit to the side, earning another hearty laugh from the Lemurian.

“You were so badass, though. You really did give him a run for his money. I think I saw him sweat a bit,” he comments, leaning in to kiss the top of your head but he holds back, diverting his gaze elsewhere as he tries to play it off as cool as possible.

Rafayel can’t kiss your head otherwise cheek or lips because you two totally aren’t dating and will never, ever be a thing. Like ever!

“He totally did, didn’t he?” you bask in Rafayel’s praise, never having heard it from him before, and laugh as you approach the white tent.

People move in and out, two young artists standing outside the tent’s flaps passing out fliers for the event. Rafayel situates the panda on the back of his shoulders, holding onto its legs, while you keep the seahorses tucked underneath your arm, smiling as you accept one of the fliers.

“Where is he?” Rafayel whispers, nodding his head with a bright smile at people who wave to him, colleagues from within the art industry. “He’s supposed to be here, right?”

“Well, we did get sidetracked because of your quest to get a seahorse for me,” you whisper back, trying to get him to drop the panda from his shoulders.

“No! My panda!” Rafayel whisper yells at you, dodging every attack that you throw at him. He fights you and slips away from your touch, rushing to the other side of the tent, his giggles floating throughout the tent.

“Be careful!” you whisper as he leaves but he’s already vanished into thin air.

A deep and hearty chuckle approaches you. You turn around, noticing Rhys approach you with his wife on his arm. Your smile widens, posture straightening, as you hold the seahorse on your hip like it is a baby.

“Rhys? What are you doing here?” you ask, waving to him and his wife.

“I love supporting young artists! It’s always nice to see what up and coming talent there is and who to look out for,” his presence is already so comforting despite the heightened anxiety you feel inside your chest. “Now, where is that boyfriend of yours?”

“What day is it? Tuesday? Oh, right, it’s Rafayel’s turn today,” you laugh along with them, earning a wink from his wife, her approval already coming your way from the sly joke about rotating boyfriends. “He’s around here somewhere. He wanted to win me as many prizes as he could before stopping by.”

“What a gentleman!” Rhys’ wife gushes. She leans forward and grabs the fin of the seahorse plushie, giving it a little shake. You laugh, indulging in the comedy of the older generation and scrunch your face up as they laugh and look at each other.

“Cutie! Why didn’t you tell me you were in need of some company?” Rafayel slips himself into the conversation, panda still on his shoulders. “Rhys! It’s way past your bedtime! How are you still up, old man?”

Rhys and Rafayel laugh with their entire bodies, hunching over and slapping each other on the back. You and his wife look at each other, both sharing an eye roll by their dramatics and antics.

“I heard you won many prizes for this pretty lady right here,” Rhys gestures to the toys that hang off of your bodies.

“I did, yes!” Rafayel wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you to his side. “I will win any game that people throw my way if it means that I get to see her smile.”

You blush, looking away before hiding behind the seahorse’s head. You know that he’s lying, that he doesn’t truly mean what he says, but you can’t help but feel satisfied that he’s the one winning you prizes — well, trying to at least — and nobody else. That’s a secret you’ll never tell, though.

“Look at them, darling,” Rhys leans towards his wife, kissing the top of her head. “Young love is something special. I hope that you two never lose your spark. The fire behind your passion!”

Rafayel and you nod, letting out awkward and quiet laughs. You both feel guilty about tricking Rhys into thinking you’re in love, that you two haven’t been enemies ever since you laid eyes on each other in this life.

“Before I let you go, may I ask a favor from the two of you?” Rhys asks, stepping forward and lowering his voice.

“Of course,” the Lemurian responds, “we’re ready to help out whenever you need us!” Rafayel immediately looks at you, the smile on his face growing alongside yours. His grip on you tightens before you turn back to Rhys, nodding as excitement floods throughout your body.

This is it! He’s going to ask you to be the headliner! Are you excited! Oh my sea god you’ve made it! You’re not a failure! Who cares if you and Rafayel used each other to get here? You’re winners, baby! Nothing is going to stop you now!

“As you probably know, I teach a life drawing class at The Dreamscape. We just recently lost our two models, something about restraining orders and divorce or something—”

“Oh what a shame.”

“—and I would love it if you two would be able to step in and be our models! The theme is love, of course, and we want a couple to be our models for the class. What do you think?”

You turn to look at Rafayel, tilting your head to the side, puckering your lips as you narrow your eyes. He matches your expression, raising his eyebrows halfway up his forehead.

We have to! He signals to you.

Bad idea! What if he catches us bickering?

Every couple fights! Don’t be a pussy and do it!

Fine! You owe me for this!

“We’d love to!” You and Rafayel turn back to Rhys and smile. You lean in, temples touching each other as the seahorse is smushed between the two of you.

“Wonderful!” Rhys claps his hands together. “I’ll send the date and time to your agents! I won’t bother your date night with the details. Go have fun, kids! Be sure to stop by the table in the back for a gift just in case you decide to buy a piece of art from one of the kids who presented their paintings tonight.

“This art?” Rafayel snorts. “It looks—”

“The sick children did the best they could. They’re so sick and tired all the time and see ing their smiles while they worked is one of the most fulfilling experiences that I will ever have in my life,” Rhys’ wife gently speaks.

“—it looks so great and amazing! I love how abstract is is! They have an eye for art and I bet it’s because of your influence!” Rafayel quickly recovers.

You have to turn your head away, hiding behind Rafayel’s shoulder, as you cough through the laughs. His hand leaves your waist, moving to your ass as he pinches it. You gasp and he smirks, waving away Rhys and his wife.

“Hey! Why did you do that?” you pout, pushing away from him as you rub the spot where he attacked you.

“That’s for laughing at me! Now, let’s go buy some kid’s art and get out of here,” Rafayel walks away, panda bouncing with every step he takes.

You laugh and follow after him, eyes scanning the wall of art. A lot of them are of flowers, which is easy to draw, while others are of outer space. One of them catches your attention, though, and you grab Rafayel’s hand to stop him before he goes too far.

“I want this one,” you point to it.

“That one?”

“Yes, bitch, that one,” you look up at him, brows knitted together. “What did I say about questioning me?”

“I’m not a brother husband,” Rafayel turns to look at the painting, tilting his head to the side. He holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers at you. “Card, please. I’m a feminist who forgot his wallet.”

“Very slick,” you roll your eyes and turn around, shimmying your backpack. “It’s somewhere in there. I don’t know, have fun finding it.”

Rafayel lets out a dramatic groan, leaning down. The panda’s face hits yours and you swat it away just for it to round back to you. Rafayel rummages through the backpack, giggling when he sees your backup tampons, grabbing your wallet. He walks away, giving you the middle finger as you protest him taking the entire wallet, stating that he only needs a card.

You sigh and turn back to the painting, the smile returning to your face. Your eyes move over the blue waves, looking at the crabs that sit beneath the surface. A couple walks hand in hand on the beach, their feet submerged beneath the water as the sea life flourishes to the side. Something inside of it calls to you, your connection to the sea knowing no bounds.

“Alright, we got it!” Rafayel comes back a few minutes later and tucks the wallet back into your backpack. “I had to fight an old lady for it, so, you’re welcome.”

He helps take it off of the wall, a clear plastic bag full of water in his hand with a small fish floating on the inside. You stare at it, unable to even comprehend how the fuck he got a fish. 

Rafayel casually rolls the painting, making sure not to ruin it, as he slips it inside the complimentary tube to take home. You point to the fish, head falling to the side.

“Hey, Rafayel.”

“What now?”

“Where the fuck did you get a fish?”

“Oh, this is Reddie,” Rafayel casually holds the bag up, pointing to the tiny red fish on the inside of the bag. “He’s the gift Rhys was talking about. I fought a four year old for him.”

“Why wouldn’t you let the kid have him?”

“Because this fish spoke to me.”

“And you were the one who said I needed psychiatric help,” you roll your eyes and take the tube, turning on your heels, and exit the tent.

Rafayel stays close to your side, holding Reddie in one hand while balancing the panda with the other. You follow as the crowd leaves, making sure to wave goodbye to the ticket lady, who mouths fuck her good to Rafayel. He cringes, making a face just as the two of you step out of the park’s gates.

You reach the car and sigh with relief, already feeling your body relax. You set the tube in the backseat of his convertible and place the seahorse in the seat. You lean in and buckle its seatbelt, watching as Rafayel snorts at you.

“You’re ridiculous,” he comments.

“Says the guy who couldn’t win a single game today,” you shoot back.

“I got you the smaller seahorse! What more do you want from me?” Rafayel frowns, slamming the panda into the seat beside the seahorse.

He grumbles under his breath and proceeds to buckle the panda in. His eyes move to you, watching you get into the car, smile on your face as you give Reddie a finger wave. A soft smile spreads across his face, his expression softening. He turns to the panda and scowls, giving it a big ol fucking slap before getting into the driver’s side of the car.

He reaches over your lap and opens up the glove compartment, plucking a silk scarf from the abyss, and places it onto your lap. You stare at it then at him. The car roars to life with Reddie vibrating in the cupholder.

“What’s this?” You ask, feeling the patterned material beneath your fingertips. It’s smooth and cool, looking like something a woman from a spy movie from the 1950s would wear.

“It’s for your hair,” he shrugs, the car already moving out of the parking spot.

“You had this the whole fucking time and now you’re giving it to me?”

“Whoops,” Rafayel smiles, laughing as he looks over at you.

“You’re such an asshole,” you mumble, unable to hold back the smile on your face. You hide your hair under the silk scarf, protecting it as much as you can as Rafayel watches you form the corner of his eye.

He’s unable to contain his smile as well, looking at Linkon City’s skyscrapers to distract himself from the way his heart pounds inside his chest. He revs the car engine and pulls out of the parking spot, making sure to drive slow just for you instead of being a mad man like before.

The car ride home is nice. The music plays in the background as you two familiarize yourself with he fresh sea breeze instead of city smog. You smile and feel the wind between your fingers, looking at your painted nails while Rafayel gazes at you.

It’s so peaceful, so serene. One would think that the two of you are an actual couple instead of enemies who are forced to work with each other. Rafayel takes the long way home, driving through the scenic route of Whitesand Bay. He loves hearing your laughs as the car quickly moves up and down the rolling hills.

He wishes the night isn’t over as soon as he stops in front of the tiny studio you also use as your home. The two of you are so alike and yet so different, it’s interesting to think about.

The convertible comes to a slow stop in the house. The lights are still on with Abigail at home, probably watching some shitty reality tv show without you. You sigh and begin to unbuckle your seatbelt, gathering your belongings. Rafayel, is quick out of the car, racing around the side to open the door. You smile at him and get out, a quiet laugh leaving your lips.

“Thank you,” you say, feeling Rafayel tuck the seahorse and panda underneath your arms. “I think Reddie will be in better care with you than me.”

“Totally,” he nods, matching your smile. “I, uh,” he scratches the back of his head, “wanted to apologize about earlier today.”

“It’s okay, Raf,” you wave him away, the plushies wiggling with the movement.

“No, I was out of line and you didn’t deserve that,” Rafayel sighs, looking down at the gravel, unable to bring himself to look into your eyes.

“I forgive you,” you say the words before you can think about it. He looks up with widened eyes, the pink and blue color looking so beautiful under the moonlight.

“You do?” he asks. You nod, biting your lip. “Thank you.”

Rafayel steps forward, taking your face between your hands, and kisses you. You gasp, eyes flying open. You quickly melt into the kiss, though, with your eyes fluttering shut and you stand up on your toes, helping close the distance between you two.

The kiss lasts for a few seconds, your lips lingering on each others for more than they should have. You slowly pull away, looking into his eyes while his hand caresses your cheek.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” you breathe out.

“I don’t regret it,” Rafayel quickly says.

The Lemurian takes a step back, watching you with a small smile as he gets back into his car. He drives away, giving you one last wave before disappearing down the street.

You smile at nothing, lips tingling from the kiss. You slowly turn around, laughing to yourself, when you look up, eyes connecting with Abigail, whose jaw is dropped. She stands in the open doorway, tub of ice cream falling to the floor.

“What the fuck?!”

likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3 i love seeing what y'all have to say! <3

[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.

[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 09 10

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.

[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.”