#I actually find some cigarette smells pleasant

[acupofqueercoffee]

“Everywhere I go leads me back to you”

Farah Dowling x Female Specialist Reader

wc : 3000+

cw : smoking cigarettes // soulmate identifying marks // not actually unrequited love but kind of an ambiguous ending

i’m currently in my eve best brain-rot era and this is just a little something to blow off steam before i continue brainstorming for rhaenys. there is an awful lack of rhaenys x female reader stories, so if you are in need of some just like i am, you can come yell your ideas at me. farah breadcrumbs are welcomed too 🤲🏻

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There is a terrible ache dancing along your legs, pain faintly pulsing across the plane of your back. Behind the security of your palm shielding the unruly breeze, the cigarette which hangs between your lips is ignited by a spark from the lighter, made only brighter by a breath that you subsequently inhale. It burns your throat, but in a way that you are well accustomed to unlike the vexing agony that has found home on your body as of late.

This sensation, one that breeds irritation, is nothing akin to the pleasant soreness that you are used to feeling after every training session during your time in the Solarian Army. While, in the past, you go to bed satisfied despite your aching limbs, an indication to a day purposefully spent, now you brood over the state of your body. It is, after all, one of the telltale signs that you are not in your pristine condition, which has also brought you to once again roam these grounds that you have so intimately known and walked to begin with.

Getting severely maimed during a mission has led to you getting temporarily dismissed from your duties. Rather than taking leave as is suggested to you, you have instead requested to be sent to Alfea, your former school, to both recuperate and share your combat expertise with the students as a temporary instructor, not being entirely too thrilled at the idea of wallowing in bed-rest after days of rigorous trainings to hone your skills, or perhaps if you are to be unabashedly honest, out of a profound yearning of your heart.

A chuckle bubbles in your chest, bitter, tinged with self-mockery. It is with an exhale of breath that you distract yourself, expelling the uninvited thoughts along with a cloud of smoke that escapes through your nose, through the crack of your lips, and they swirl around your head. After taking a final, languid drag of the cigarette, you toss it to the ground, effectively dousing it with the heel of your boot.

You are in desperate need of a drink, preferably alcoholic, but given that work is in progress, not to mention a class that you have to supervise alongside Headmaster Silva at hand, you opt for something less strong. About a couple of minutes later, you find yourself in the staff lounge. With professors busy at this time of day teaching their respective classes, the room is empty, and you walk to the counter to brew yourself a nice, hot cup of coffee.

The aroma of freshly ground beans is rich, but richer still is the perfumed air that pleasantly tickles your nose. It smells of books, of sunny afternoons, of jasmines in full bloom, of a love left buried.

“You reek of cigarettes.”

At the familiar voice, amused rather than displeased, that spreads over you like a warm blanket, you cannot help but let loose a little grin, recalling many a time during your school years when you have suffered an earful from the woman herself for your misbehaviours.

“If you’re going to reprimand me for it, you should have known better by now, Headmistress, that it’s no use trying.”

“Even the mountains will eventually crumble, will they not?”

Amusement tugs on one corner of Headmistress Dowling’s lips by the time you turn to face her. She gestures to you with a small tilt of her head. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.”

“Coffee? I just brewed some.”

“Please.”

After pouring the freshly-brewed coffee into two porcelain cups, you put sugar and a splash of milk into one cup while keeping the other black. You carry them to where the Headmistress has seated herself on a nearby couch, handing the sweetened one to her.

“Here it is, my lady.” Your playfulness earns you an eye roll. “A cube of sugar and a splash of milk if I remember correctly.”

With a delicacy that you are sure only she possesses, she cradles the cup in her hands with a whispered “Thanks.”

“You remember correctly.” A blossom of a smile grows on her lips, beautiful and dizzying, but the soft tummy-butterflies inducing moment is abruptly eclipsed by the pain that suddenly flares across you ribcage.

Try as you may, you fail to rein in your emotions it seems, for one moment, the mind fairy is sitting, and the next, she is on her feet, the cup hastily discarded on the table. Her hands are poised to steady you should you falter on your feet. You stop her with a gesture of a hand, a chuckle freed from your throat as a sorry excuse of a reassurance. Although unconvinced, she makes no further moves, says nothing, only quietly observing you with her eyes as you move to sit on the other side of the couch. She retakes her seat.

“How are you finding your new job so far?”

“It’s…different. Slower than what I’m used to in the army. But the students are eager to learn and-” You take a sip of your coffee, chance a glance at her, and see that she is taking a delicate sip from her own cup. “-it’s good to be back here.”

As much as you like to believe that the last part of your confession is the product of it, the more logical part of you argue that it is the mention of her students that has her wearing a ghost of a smile, pleased.

“They are, aren’t they? And they’re fortunate to have someone with your experience as their instructor.”

After a beat, she adds. “And…how are you faring?”

The question has you hesitating for a moment, not wanting to appear weak, but nothing will come of lying to a mind fairy, much less someone who bears your name, the mark of your soul on her body.

“Recovering. Slowly. But it’s hard to stay still after being on the front lines.”

“I understand. Sometimes the hardest battles are the ones we fight within ourselves.”

Her face is unreadable, a masterful deceit, but you suspect there are hidden depths to her words.

“Last I recall, you weren’t a fan of coffee.”

It is with her own words that you begin your response. “You recall correctly, but many a white night has left me relying on it. And I’ve grown rather fond of its company.”

She levels you with a reproachful lift of a brow.

“You consume coffee, black I might add, because you can’t sleep? Aren’t you going around in circles?”

“I need it to keep me alert. Also, in case you forgot, I’m no longer your student, Headmistress.” Your reply comes out more venomous than you have intended it to, years of bottled up emotions suddenly coming to a boil.

“That doesn’t mean I’ve cared for you any less.”

Although the confession is but a murmured breath, the force of it is colossal against you, filling your mind with what-ifs upon what-ifs. With an exhale and a squeeze of your eyes, you hurriedly stand, a string of words fleeing your lips as you leave the room in a haste.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a class to teach.”

The brain may forget but the heart always remembers. She has eyes the colour of rich honey, brown at first sight but drenched in sunlight, swirls of greens and specks of oranges dance and mingle, a beautiful, enchanting lake that makes you want to drown in it. Although she carries herself with an authority as befits a Headmistress, her students matter to her above all else. She cherishes her job to a fault, so much so that once upon a time, she has simply dismissed the soul tie that you share without so much as batting an eyelid.

The class passes in a blur. You guide, you demonstrate, you regale them with tales of your battles all the while drowning in your own memories. Even as the last class of the day is dismissed and dusk sets in, you remain on the training grounds, practicing, fighting imaginary opponents, in hopes of giving your mind something else to focus on, which you find to be failing miserably.

From the very first moment you have met her all those years ago on your first day of school, there has been an inexplicable connection, a feather-light touch of magic that softly caresses your skin. “Sup.” has been your very first words to her, admittedly not the most ideal greeting of a new student to her Headmistress. A look is all she gives you, unimpressed, understandably so, and given that your class is mainly supervised by Headmaster Silva, you seldom cross paths with her after that. On rare occasions when you do cross paths however, despite your greetings, she refuses to acknowledge you as though you are invisible to her.

And finally, finally, when she decides you worthy enough to grace you with her words, it has been to scold you. On that fateful day, you have been standing on the sidelines as two of your classmates are locked in a fight on the platform. It just so happens to be one of those days where Headmistress Dowling is present on the training grounds to spectate the progress of the students.

When a dagger has flown astray from the middle of the fight, it aims at one person, who at present has her back to the imminent threat, trapped in a conversation with Headmaster Silva, you realise in trepidation. Without thinking, you leap, an arm darting out to catch the weapon in your hand. Inwardly, you marvel at your own reflexes, finding it hard to believe that you have stopped a weapon with your bare hand, albeit not without consequences. With your palm cut open, blood has oozed, and the thick liquid drips down your wrist.

The close proximity of the Headmistress to you is felt in that spine-tingling, knee-weakening way, and smelt in the fragrant wind, before her voice finally reaches your ear in the form of your name. The pleasant surprise that takes hold of you at her knowledge of your name is quickly overshadowed by annoyance at the tone of her voice, equally as annoyed, her displeasure apparent on the hardened plane of her face once you turn to greet her.

“A thank you would be nice. I just saved you after all.”

“Which was utterly unnecessary I might add. Don’t mistake recklessness for courage.”

Ouch! That hurts. Even more so than the dagger’s mark that has permanently found home on your body.

“Greenhouse, at once.”

It is amidst getting your wound treated that you notice something that has not been on your skin before. On the delicate flesh of your wrist appears a name in a beautiful cursive. Farah, it reads, but judging by the reaction of the earth fairy before you, unfazed and composed, you reckon that this must be for your eyes only.

No sooner have you had your wound properly dressed than you are seeking out Farah, determined to confront the reality of your bond. You find her in her office, standing by the window, looking out over the grounds.

“Headmistress,” you say, stepping inside. “We need to talk.”

She turns to face you, her expression a mask of cool detachment. “There's nothing to discuss.”

“How can you say that?” You have demanded, stepping closer. “We both know what those marks mean.”

Farah sighs, closing her eyes for a moment before meeting your gaze. “The revelation changes nothing. I do not own you. Don’t let mere words bind you to me. I’m only your headmistress and you are merely my student. And that is where this ends.”

Her words cut deep, but you refuse to back down. “Farah, you can't just ignore this. It's not just about words or marks. It's about what we feel.”

“What you feel,” she has corrected you, her voice firm. “I am responsible for the safety and education of all my students. I cannot afford to let personal feelings interfere.” And in that no-nonsense way, she adds, “Also, it’s Headmistress Dowling to you.”

With a shake of your head, frustration and hurt well up inside you. “It's more than that, Headmistress and you know it. We have a connection, something real and undeniable. Why are you so afraid of it?”

For a moment, you see softness in her eyes, revealing a flicker of the pain she is trying so hard to hide, but it is gone as soon as it has come. “Because if I acknowledge it, everything changes. And I cannot allow that.”

“You're wrong,” It sounds unconvincing even to your own ears, but a desperate murmur. “Ignoring it won't make it go away. It just makes us both miserable.”

She turns away, her shoulders tense. “Go back to your training. Focus on becoming the best specialist you can be. That's what matters.”

You have stood there for a long moment, dared to entertain the fool’s dream in which she turns back, says something, anything to acknowledge the truth you both feel. But she has cut that little thread of hope by remaining silent, a statue of unyielding resolve.

Finally, you turn to leave, your heart heavy but your resolve unbroken. “This isn't over, Headmistress. Not by a long shot.”

So you have declared but deep down, you have always known that you are doomed to failure from the start. And before you know it, the graduation day dawns bright and clear upon Alfea, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you.

Students and faculty have gathered on the grand lawn, the air filled with excitement and a tinge of sadness as friends prepare to part ways. Farah Dowling stands at the podium, her regal presence commanding attention as she addresses the graduates. You stand among your peers, listening to her speech but barely registering the words. Your heart is heavy with the decision you have made. Despite all your efforts, Farah has remained resolute in her stance, keeping the walls between you impenetrable.

As the ceremony eventually comes to an end bringing with it your inevitable departure, you have caught the Headmistress’s gaze from across the stage. Her eyes have lingered on you for a moment, a flicker of something unspoken passing between the two of you. Then she looks away, and the moment is no more.

In your dorm room, your belongings are packed and ready, each item a reminder of the years spent at Alfea, of the bonds formed and the love left unrequited. Your friends try to convince you to stay, to join them in their adventures, but you know that you are in desperate need of a fresh start, far from the memories that still haunt these halls.

So, with your bags slung over your shoulder, you make your way to the gates of Alfea. Behind you, the school stands in all her majestic glory, a place of learning and growth, and of heartache. You pause, taking a final glance, realising with a hint of melancholy that you are not only leaving a place that has been your home for three years but also a part of yourself behind.

You have not been expecting a farewell, one last goodbye, but there she is, standing tall and composed at the gates. A spellbinding beauty, you think stupidly.

Your name spills forth her lips, dainty and delicate in appearance, but you have not been given the chance, nor will you ever be allowed to find out how they feel against your own, a forbidden fruit. When she speaks, her voice is firm, genuine. “I wanted to wish you well in your future endeavours. You have been an exemplary student, and I have no doubt you will succeed in whatever path you choose.”

“Thank you, Headmistress. Alfea has been…” You pause, swallowing the lump in your throat. “everything to me.”

For a moment, she hesitates, then steps closer, lowering her voice to that excruciating, dizzying timbre. “I hope you find what you're looking for, wherever you go.”

You look into her eyes, searching for any sign of the connection you feel, but her walls are fiercely in place. With a heavy heart, you breathe. “Goodbye, Headmistress.”

By the time you turn to leave, once again, her voice halts you.

Your name leaves her lips in a soft murmur. You turn back, hope blossoming in your chest, only to have it crushed by her next words, both a gentle and a cruel finality to your fated encounter. “Take care of yourself.”

A sad smile spreads across your lips. “You too, Headmistress.”

With every step you take away from Alfea, and from her, a mixture of sorrow and determination burns in your chest. It is finally time to bury the past, to lock away the love you feel and move forward.

Months have passed as you travel, exploring new places and honing your skills. The pain of leaving Alfea and your beloved Headmistress, although duller than they use to, never truly vanish. You throw yourself into your new life, hell-bent on building something worthwhile.

One evening, in a small village nestled in a valley, you find yourself sitting by a tranquil river, the water reflecting the fading light of day. You trace the mark on your wrist, Farah’s name forever etched into your skin. Try as you may to lock away your feelings, the bond still remains, a silent testament to what could have been.

With a sigh, you close your eyes and let the cool breeze wash over you. The past is behind you, and while the future is uncertain, you know you have the strength to face it.

“Fuck, I should’ve never returned to these godforsaken grounds. So much for leaving the past behind!”

Presently, you curse aloud as you slash nothing but air with your twin blades, reenacting scenes from your battlefield. The efforts with which you have made to keep your feelings buried have been for naught, for in the end, in a moment of weakness, you have listened to your heart, and returned to where it longs to be the most.

By her side.

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[senka-mesecine]

Could you write for yandere Barnes finding a lost hiker-type in the woods? Maybe she was sweet to him and called him sir or she was so stubborn it grabbed his attention, whatever you want!!

Hiker in the Shed.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

---

(I'll be damned if this won't end up seeming like the plot of Deliverance (1972) so any similarities are intentional.)

---

He could already see the newspaper titles vividly in his mind;

Hiker lost on Appalachian trail.

Hiker presumed kidnapped.

Hiker's body never recovered.

And while it was all so abundantly easy to predict, what Barnes never counted on rotating back into the world that this new wave of hippies would be so braindead and hellbent on discovering themselves with any number of stupid shit and stupid activities like pot, strumming them guitars and hiking up mountains that half of them would end up in his neck of the woods, lookin' for God and the meaning of life or some shit, most of them the most loud, obnoxious, way-in-out-of-depth sons of bitches he's ever met and he's met quite a bit of those; perhaps why the presence of you in the middle of the forest came as such a pleasant surprise --- all quietude and focus, repacking your backpack set down on the grass, so immersed in what you were doing you never even noticed that he effectively walked in on you doing it and continued watching you well over ten minutes before he deliberately decided to make his presence known, choosing to step on a nearby twig and letting it crack in rehearsed mid-movement, making it seem like he was walking the entire time and not merely standing in place and observing, the cliff giving him a perfect vantage point and the upper ground need to get a spectacular view of you. Your back bend towards the ground, scurrying with the contents of your duffel.

-"Hello!?"-

You speak up, yelling, surprised and caught off guard, head swinging around desperately to assess the source of the sound you didn't know was tactically premeditated, your shoulders finally dropping once you catch his form looming from the nearby precipice, smoking. Your eyes shoot up, like a deer's. A woman alone in the mountains. And a beauty to boot. He allows his mouth to coil around his cigarette, lips pressing down on it so he'd avoid showing even the faintest shadow of a grin, deciding instead of keep his visage firm and stiff. -"Sir? Sorry, sir! I think I'm a little lost!"- You announce the obvious, standing up, dusting your knees off once the presence on the cliff proves to be human. A little lost? Just the right amount of lost, more like. Barnes chooses to say nothing, inhaling the tobacco smoke, feeling something hitch in his throat at the moniker of 'sir' and all the ways it tickled, letting you speak. It was oddly fun, actually, watching you try to make pleasantries and break the ice in the middle of nowhere with an absolute stranger. You wave to get his attention. Thinking he didn't hear or see you the first time.

Oh. He did. He's heard you forty five minutes ago from the other side of the valley.

Could almost smell you through the foliage.

Why he came down here in the first place.

-"Hello, there! Good day. You live here by any chance?"-

You ask, placing your arms on your hips inquisitively, shouting up.

-"Eyup."-

Is all he bothers saying, clipped and pleased.

Holding his cigarette between his index finger and his thumb.

Balancing it there lazily.

A hiker in his shed.

Now there was a thought.

Hiker in his bed.

Now there was another.

Well, he'll be damned, it even rhymed.

-"Do you think you could tell me which way back to the trail? I'm a little off track it seems."-

You explain, lifting up your arm at one point and raising it over your forehead at one point like a visor intended to shield your eyes from the fading sun, your hands doing most of the talking, like you were nervous, trying to cover it up being a tad bit over animated. All he does is wordlessly point --- out into the distance and your eyes follow the trail of his hand, vaguely, through the thick, blackened line of trees, your mouth agape, trying to gage the direction he was keeping intentionally indeterminate and unclear. -"What, that way? Alright, thanks."- You assess, politely but speedily, like you were already late to somewhere and off schedule, taking his word for the pathway like you wanted to scurry off as fast as possible and being too civil to show it too obviously, everything about your manner and airs reminding him of a newborn fawn walking across a frozen lake --- all fidgetiness and nerves. First impressions being first, you were sweet. Peach and honey sweet. Sweet but afraid. -"Thank you most kindly."- You say again, lifting up your rucksack's straps and slinging them over your shoulders, flashing him a brief smile. That is when he decides to speak. When you've already turned to leave, buying himself a moment. -"You've been done strayed straight into the wilderness. Head north-west and y'should be right back to where you ought to be."- He explains, standing on his precipice. Telling a bold faced lie. -"Across the creek and then straight on."- He adds --- you head out across the creek and you'd be walking around in circles on an oval cliff that stretched on for miles; too big for you to effectively notice you were goin' nowhere. You honestly buy that shit because you clearly didn't know any better, blind and crippled in the fog of war, lifting your hand up in an eager, warm goodbye and turn deeper towards the pine woods. -"Thank you! Please take care of yourself!"- You yell and that's when Barnes allows himself to chuckle, privately, so quietly even he could barely sense himself doing it, relishing it, watching your back disappear into the pine trees, nicotine smoke engulfing his vision.

Him? You were telling him to take care of himself?

Bless your heart.

The sky is low and overcast on the horizon and he smells rain.

---

Thing is, he lived by this belief that what you catch is yours to keep.

A creed that was well understood in the war; trophies were inherently the soldier's unofficial loot, be it an NVA buckle belt, weapon caches, scalps, flags, teeth, bones, fingers or gook ears. Barnes thought himself a man with a predilection for those and he's captured more than he can account for during four full years in-country --- so you stumbled into his territory. His mountain. His hill. His backyard. His particular neck of the woods. Pouring down from the devil's asscrack with the a shower, who was to have the guts to come tell him collecting you too wasn't his right? Vermucci's words come to mind, unbidden then, like an old, bygone ghost hovering in the wet, drenched foliage, along with all the figurative newspaper articles he's imagined when he's first spotted you. Ten years for killing an enlisted man. Ten years climbing the walls, man. He wasn't going to kill you and it sure wasn't illegal and against the law to offer someone shelter. In fact, it was a particularly homegrown gesture, if anything. Hospitality and all. It's just that you didn't have to know you weren't leaving it, is the whole thing. He could almost visualize it now, two or three years down the line the same group of hikers you came in here and got separated from with stumbling upon this very same patch of wilderness again and they spot you by the cliffside with him, barefoot and pregnant, all while they thought you were dead and gone, lost forever, eaten and consumed by the mountain.

Finding your tent is child's play then.

Sticking out like a sore thumb, practically in the middle of the clearing.

Flimsily erected, too small, slick and shiny with beating rainwater. No tactical cover.

You could be picked off like a lame, blind, deaf sitting duck.

You should've been lucky it was him and not a boar.

But you jump just the same.

-"You!"-

You're startled and nearly explode out of your own skin as he practically walks around the cover of your windswept dome, strolling in from its back and showing up at the slit of the canopy you were huddled in, your knees hugged against your chest in the tightly confined space you were tucked away in, your hood up, zipper up to your neck, wide eyes downcast and your body relatively dry, regardless, you look properly miserable after several hours outdoors have gone and done their toll; a red nose and a shivering mouth right at he center of you. A stray strand of soaked hair lining your forehead. Eyup. Figured so. You trailed around the wrong directions for so long that you got caught by a storm. He allows himself a tiny half-grin. Taunting. Only just a little. -"Out for a dip, ma'am?"- He inquires, his rifle's strap slung over one shoulder, not intending to hide he was armed, in fact, he wanted you to see it the same way he wanted you to see him. His woods, after all. You genuinely looked like a partially soaked beastie. To his most internal of surprises, a soaked beastie excited to see him of all people. What were you on? Were you high or sum' shit? Another pothead? A tourist? You recover from your fear-soaked disposition well enough to get on your feet, huffing and puffing in the process, all smiles, like the joy of seeing another living soul sent the blood down into your cheeks. Everything Barnes caught was Barnes's to keep. That was reality.

-"God, what a chance running into you again!"-

He catches the desire for you to reach out and grab his shoulder in gratitude and relief; maybe shake his hand quickly in a greeting, tap him on the forearm, introduce yourself and receive an introduction back --- anything --- a desire caught and interrupted halfway through completion even as the rain beat down on you once you undoubtedly realized that you didn't know if you should; Barnes finds you staring at his scar only briefly now that he was close enough to be face to face instead of being high up on a cliff and he measures the gesture, staring at you right back. You observed it but had enough reasoning not to come off like someone gawking. He tells as much. You avert your eyes. Barnes sure as hell doesn't avert his. You ramble, yelling out against the loudness of the cloudburst, crossing your arms around your torso protectively like a shield, genuinely maintaining pleasantries with an armed, scarred man out in the badlands during a squall. -"I really have the lousiest luck! Got lost and got caught by the rain! Can you believe this!?"- Sure could. He did this to you, in part. He stands there, leaning on one leg, legitimately letting you rant, taking it in, not minding how the rain pelted down on him not unlike a million fucking torrential needles during monsoon season. -"What is this weather, honestly!"- You chuckle, all friendly like, briefly gazing up at the sky, eyes squinting against the raindrops falling like bullets.

Your voice manifests in the form of a warm fog meeting the crisp air.

-"It came out of nowhere!"-

You add, shouting from under your tent, your gear behind you, obscured and dry.

Their owner sweet, polite and nervous; a beaut.

Yep.

Barnes saw everything he needed to see.

Just like that, he turns around to go back from whence he came from.

As suspected, you wail out again, not catching a hint.

-"Hey!"

You call out after him, worry lacing your tone.

Like the idea of being left here alone caused you undisputed distress.

If you were smart, you'd do as you're told.

-"Y'comin'?"-

He says abruptly, casually, in stride, once he finds you needed to be told to follow along. -"Where to!?"- You shout your inquiry, brows furrowed, genuinely confused, but already in movement before an answer was even given; he could hear the rustling of the tent wing, the crackling wet leaves underneath your bootheels and sashay of the rucksack promptly grabbed and thrown over your shoulders in a haste from behind him. -"Home."- Is all Barnes responds with, not stopping, keeping a straight direction through the mud and he understood you didn't realize then how prophetic those words would be.

Everything he catches, he keeps.

He digs his fingers into the red star adorned metal belt buckle under his jacket.

[corellianhounds]

Original post: The Bad Batch body swap!AU

I have a few short chapters outlined right now, though I’m debating on whether it works as a fic or just some loosely connected scenes posted here instead of AO3.

A few scenarios:

The first day after the whole switch Omega is getting irritable and twitchy and can’t figure out why until she checks all of her symptoms against space MayoClinic and storms off to find Crosshair and is like “are YOU a SMOKER”

Crosshair is a little chagrined but he’s not going to be scolded by a CHILD so “Yeah? What of it? Mind your own business”

“This IS my business now, I’M the one going through nicotine withdrawal!!”

“So go have a cigarette and get off my back already.”

Echo (with Hunter’s hearing) yelling back from the cockpit: “What did you just say??”

Later Hunter crosses his arms and is looking disapprovingly at Crosshair (who again just looks like a sulking teenage girl) and Crosshair’s like “Do you MIND?”

Ok but that being said. Who catches Crosshair trying to sneak a cigarette NOW 😆 Because to anyone else it’s just going to look like some girl got caught smoking and her uncle/dad/older brother is mad at her like anyone would expect them to be

—

Ventress shows back up on Pabu at some point and takes one look at Crosshair or Hunter in passing but then stops, her eyes narrowing before she starts investigating and looking them over all “What did you guys do because the Force vibes in here are absolutely RANCID right now”

Later Wrecker’s like “What's up with Ventress? She looks like she smelled something bad” and Echo’s like “I think she just looks like that.” Omega hollering across the room “DON’T BE RUDE”

—

Fennec also shows back up somewhere down the line during a job, just antagonizing ‘Hunter’ for the heck of it and Echo tires of it REAL quick. Hunter may have fast reflexes but combined with Echo’s age and experience, Echo is downright LETHAL and easily gets the upper hand, getting his point across quite clearly to a much more alarmed Fennec who is surprised at Hunter’s more militant efficiency and assertiveness.

(Unfortunately ‘Hunter’s’ gruff, no-nonsense, equally sharp-tongued venom back at her (because Echo is more forthright and obvs doesn’t like her and won’t put up with her crap) has Fennec going a little 👀😳 so. Consider her curiosity piqued.)

—

Wrecker being caught completely off guard showing back up on Pabu and being yanked into an alcove by Phee whose welcome-back kiss makes it very clear just how much she missed Tech~

“WHOA whoa WHOA whoa WHOA—”(Wrecker’s holding her back by the shoulders because WHAT and WHEN and most importantly WHY—)

“Something the matter, handsome?” Phee asks with a smile, lazily playing with his hair

And… well now it’s sort of catching up to him, to be honest that did feel pretty good…

Wrecker going “uhhhhhh Nah we’re good” 😘 Goes back to kissing her because yeah actually this does feel nice. Maybe even picks her up to do it, which is a pleasant surprise to her because that’s a first, she didn’t even think Tech could do that

Tech is incensed when he finds out about it later. Phee’s off to the side doubled over laughing because she actually thinks the whole thing is very funny

“Hey, two-for-one special! How ‘bout that!”

“PHEE”

Her later, to Tech: “I would kiss you, but I don’t think I’ve got Echo’s sign-off on that—” (*Echo distantly in the background*: “Thank you.”) — But I suppose I can wait ‘til you’re who you’re supposed to be again.”

—

Crosshair breaks a couple of boys’ fingers or puts them in wrist holds when they try to get too handsy with ‘Omega’ and won’t back off. Him not saying anything but subtly building up her reputation as someone who’s not to be messed with. Later telling the rest of the guys “Arlo Dace isn’t allowed around Omega anymore and if you hear anything about me threatening him once I’m back in my own body no you didn’t”

Further ideas/scenes

Calling up Rex and crowding around their flip phone when it first happens, going “Hey buddy sorry to bother you but we don’t know any Jedi and we think the Force? just messed us up?”

And Rex, who WAS a captain under Anakin and Ahsoka, is going like 😬😬 and telling them “uh we weren’t exactly simpático at the end of the war, boys, can’t exactly call them up”

Wrecker working out a bunch as if trying to bulk up. Tech telling him it’s not going to happen overnight, and will he PLEASE eat some vegetables with all that protein

Tech noting each of Echo’s aches and pains and updating his medical charts. Working on designing/modifying better-fitting and more comfortable prostheses and cybernetics, telling Echo he’s overdue for some improvements.

Hunter noticing Echo struggling with the amount of sensory input he’s dealing with all of a sudden, telling him the helmet is fitted with a neutralizing air-filter and tinted visor so he can get at least some of his senses under control

Hunter himself having to consciously duck his head to keep from hitting it on stuff, his sense of sight and hearing being thrown off too

Tech subconsciously going to adjust glasses he no longer has

Hunter having to pretend to be Wrecker and it’s super awkward because of everybody he’s typically the most quiet, while Wrecker is… not

They come up with some lie about laryngitis so he doesn’t have to talk at all for a while

All of them having to pretend around Cid, who’s suspicious the first time they come in, but it isn’t until the second time there that one of them slips up and she starts to piece it together. She’s mildly amused but doesn’t care. Go do the job I hired you for.

Crosshair being frustrated that he can’t use HIS gun because it’s too big for him now. Training Omega to use it instead, maybe being too hard on her and Hunter having to tell him to back off.

Sorry but the visual I have of Hunter catching a grenade midair and crushing it in his hands, stalking forward through the smoke on a warpath to their enemies. Whoof.

Either Omega or Hunter telling their counterpart that they can cut their hair if it’s bothering them too much. Echo or Crosshair mulling it over but ultimately declining. There’s so few things you’re able to make your own when you share the same face and DNA as a couple million other people

“Tech’s” behavior is the most obvious change to outside observers, him knocking back a couple drinks faster than he really should and finally feeling the effects of alcohol for the first time in his life. Before this Wrecker just metabolized it so fast it never actually hit him.

People asking Wrecker about information or research outside of his wheelhouse also sends him into a bit of a tailspin and he ends up pulling a lot of “ *gasp* What in the world could that be?!” distractions, pointing over their shoulder before dashing away

Echo is honestly dealing with things the best. He feels more like his old self, just in peak physical condition. The renewed vigor makes him equally as lethal as Hunter normally is when he’s in his own body, and there’s a different way he carries himself that commands people’s attention in ways Hunter naturally avoids, simply by virtue of the fact hunters are meant to be unseen, lying in wait. Echo here walks more like a seasoned veteran, a leader capable and in control. The kind of person others look to for guidance and stability, like a lighthouse in a storm.

Hunter doesn’t even feel like Echo’s overstepping his bounds. It’s more like Echo’s stepped up to the plate and is aware his stewardship of the role is temporary, but one he takes as seriously as if it were his own responsibility. Hunter feels like he can take a step back and breathe for a minute, the weight of leadership being shouldered more equally between the both of them, and he can genuinely relax knowing the team is still in good hands

It’s a welcome reprieve because Hunter’s reeling from the change as badly as the rest of them are. They’re all having to deal with the ramifications of not having their own assets and advantages at their disposal. Who are you if you can’t fulfill the role you were designed to do?

Crosshair somehow manages to get even more paranoid knowing he doesn’t have his original height and strength to his advantage. Omega is so much smaller than they are, and it would be very easy for her to not be able to fend off or take a hit like they can. It makes him more protective over her once they switch back, now much more aware of what she actually is and isn’t capable of, though in typical fashion he does it without making it obvious or calling attention to it. He more reflexively moves to shield or save her in ways he only became aware she was at risk of when he was stuck as her. He’s almost appalled by some of the stunts they’ve had her do.

He’s not complaining about the regained flexibility and energy though. She can bounce back from more in terms of minor aches and joint issues. She can also sleep contorted into more bafflingly uncomfortable positions than any of them have been able to get away with in years, and on a good day he’s getting a minimum of six hours in a row uninterrupted, if not more

Definitely uses his size and appearance to his advantage, letting people underestimate him before striking with violent precision and unmerciful retaliation. There’s at least one fight where Hunter doesn’t even realize Crosshair’s jumped into the fray until after Crosshair snatches one of his knives off his belt without Hunter even feeling it

Him “acquiring” a specific type of rifle when they’ve made a stop on one planet that has an armory; it’s lightweight, breaks down easily, and is more suited to Omega’s wingspan and strength. Sure, he can use the energy bow, but he’s a sniper for a reason.

Echo hesitating when it’s time to switch back. Everyone understands, and Hunter doesn’t push him until he decides he’s ready.

[wizisbored]

wip wednesday sentences for 20th november

gonna start linking the wip wednesday community on these posts here it is

on an incoming deadline productivity kick because apparently my brain is incapable of writing 6000 words on a topic that i find really interesting yay for mee

content warnings:

from the back of a blood red mare: animal death and slight gore, alcohol

ten paces: physical abuse

from the back of a blood red mare @twyrewolf @eriquin @balthazarusrex @enigma-the-mysterious @stonemaskedtaliesin @kallisto-k @sourb0i

He shakes his head, turning his attention back to his own rabbit, examining it. It’s a clean kill, shaken hard until the spine broke.

“Can I borrow your knife?”

It’s a fairly pleasant evening. Sure, Boldheart seems a bit put off by her dinner of a whole rabbit plus the entrails from his, whiskey, and cigarettes, but not enough to say much more than a comment on her bone-crushing jaw strength. She just shrugs that off with a grin, looking him in the eye as she crunches down on a rabbit skull.

Eventually, though, she gets the smell of blood and smoke out of her nose long enough that the boss’ actually cooked meat smells pretty good. She sticks a damp dog nose over his shoulder to investigate.

“Hey, no,” he says, nudging her snout away. “You’ve had your- God, you stink of alcohol. How much have you had?”

She leans over and picks up the flask in her teeth, testing the weight. “Mm… Most of it.” She flashes back into a human girl, just to have hands. “Enough that I could down the rest in one, I think.”

“I’m not sure that’s wise,” he says, far too late. It was an inevitability as soon as the thought entered her mind, like most impulses she has. Down it goes.

“You’ll regret that in the morning.”

“Eh.”

She stands, and the world swims in a familiar way. Ah, the realization of just how much you’ve had once you’re up on your feet.

its not me @zyrafowe-sny @somefishycat @tamsinswriting @auburnlaughter

It’s getting dark. Nimona sits with her head against her bedroom window, cold glass not really doing all that much for her head. The hum of the city is the same as ever. The traffic, the lights, the occasional random firework. On and on, regardless. A chill can wrack her body, for her that can be all there is for a moment, and it will just keep going. An ageing streetlight will still sputter a few streets over, a billboard too far away to really make out will repeat the same pattern of shifting colours, cars will still drift by. It all just is.

Sometimes it feels stupid to love it the way she does, but you don’t really hang around places this long without feeling some sort of way about it.

She’s trying to use the window as a distraction, currently. The last handful of ibuprofen seems to be doing more against her stomach lining than her fever, and even her pain tolerance has a limit somewhere south of weeks of headaches and throat swelling. Eventually, though, she finds herself unable to sit still any longer.

bugebroph @asha10100101010

“Yeah, he’s convinced Beetlejuice is my dad. Bleugh.”

“Well, he certainly seems proud of you, weird pet or not.”

“Course he is, I’m great.”

the paranormal investigative society of dormitory four @quietly-sleeping @aparticularbandit @whimsicalmeerkat @oriharaizayadividesintoslytherin

“And how,” Lydia asks through gritted teeth, “is any of that your business?”

“I’m your life coach! I can’t help you if I don’t know about your life.”

“So you talk about me behind my back? You’re supposed to be adults, why are you gossiping about me?”

“It’s not gossip, Lydia, your dad thought-”

“I don’t care what he thought, he should have asked me first!”

“Okay, I can see you’re getting upset, how about we just take some deep breaths-”

“Fuck off!”

Lydia stands, snatching up her bags and heading for the stairs. She can hear Delia following but she doesn’t look back, stomping all the way up to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

“Lydia-”

She pulls her headphones on as she goes to grab her desk chair, which she promptly wedges under the door handle. After all, if she’s willing to talk about her personal issues behind her back then why wouldn’t she barge into her room?

With a sigh Lydia falls onto her back on her bed, pulling out her phone and opening her groupchat with her roommates. How would we feel about sneaking me back in through the window.

That bad already? Bertha replies.

ten paces @bald-rights

The smack on the temple that gets her is light, as far as smacks from demons go. “You really are stupid, aren’t you?” she says as he fastens the collar around her neck. “If bribing me to like you was actually working then you’d have just undone it all.”

[ask-doctor-wombat]

NOSY ANON’S HERE AND READY TO ASK AWAY ONCE AGAIN!! 0 (don’t lie, little one), 3, 11 and 39 please!!

"Little one" - that's a new one. A bit too kind-sounding to really hit as a dig at my height. Go back to insult school. I know a guy who could teach you some things, but unfortunately he'd find this hilarious.

0. Height?

I don't know how many times I'll have to say this on this blog, but contrary to popular belief, I am a perfectly normal 5'10.

3. Do you smoke?

No. I've enjoyed a few blunts in my years, but never cigarettes. I'm a doctor and my dad died of lung cancer, I'm well aware of the dangers and I don't actually think emphysema sounds very pleasant. Also, it smells nasty.

11. Best friend?

Maybe Thirteen? I don't know if there's anyone really who I consider my best friend, and I'm positive that I'm not anyone's best friend.

39. Favorite ice cream flavor?

Anything fruity. Except strawberry, obviously. I'm also a fan of mint chip.

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: currrent PARTIES: @kadavernagh & @mortemoppetere LOCATION: the same alley where regan lost her necklace. SUMMARY: emilio helps regan find her necklace... he probably wishes he hadn't! CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

The sun was cruel. Of course Maine was seeing an unusually hot summer now that Regan was stuck in her winter coat. Which was black, of course. She refused to purchase a lighter one because doing so would be giving in, admitting that it was something she’d need to grow accustomed to. No. She would find her necklace. Even if she had to bear the shame of asking for help.

Perhaps a detective could expedite the process.

Regan rounded the corner with Emilio – who, true to their prior encounter, still smelled of cigarette smoke and looked exhausted – and stopped right at the opening of the alley way. The dumpster she’d found the child in was there, but vacant this time, and she couldn’t see any of the black and white rats scurrying about. “This is the place.” She said, arms extending in show. “It was evening, and a couple of rats popped out of the trash, followed by more, and soon the alley was practically flooded with them.” Her eyes drifted up to the fire escape she’d used as egress. “We had to escape up there,” she pointed, “otherwise they would have suffocated us alive. Items were lost in the process.” Though she wouldn’t admit exactly how she’d lost her necklace, which had actually been voluntarily removed.

“You’re the detective. So start… detecting.”

The medical examiner was wearing a winter coat.

It was the first thing Emilio had noticed when he’d walked up, largely because it was very out of place. Even the detective, who got cold fairly easily and tended to lean towards warmer clothing even in summer, was sweating under the afternoon sun in his jeans and t-shirt combo. He could only imagine how uncomfortable a winter coat would be, couldn’t begin to comprehend why someone might choose to wear it. It was clear that Kavanagh was uncomfortable, but he got the feeling that if he suggested she remove it, she was going to take issue with it.

So he kept his mouth shut. The medical examiner was wearing a winter coat. It wasn’t the weirdest thing the medical examiner had done in his presence. He followed her to the alley in silence, eyeing the dumpster she indicated to carefully. “Rats,” he repeated, trying to determine what supernatural thing this really was. Because there was no way it was just rats. Regan didn’t seem to comprehend (or, rather, believe) the world outside what was considered the norm, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t responsible for this. He wondered absently if a rat king might be to blame, tried to decide if he should call in Kaden if it was. Probably not. “All right,” he agreed, nodding his head. “Do you remember exactly where you were standing when it came off?” It probably wouldn’t still be in the alley, but it was worth a shot. Emilio approached the dumpster, getting down on his hands and knees to look underneath it.

Though Regan had attempted to remain pleasant and professional during their previous meeting, she was going to try extra hard today not to let her frustration get the better of her. Emilio was being helpful, and it had nothing to do with one of her cases. It was genuinely appreciated. Also genuinely appreciated was that he wasn’t mentioning the coat. Regan could feel his eyes burning into it, but he didn’t make a remark, and she was just as content ignoring it… however much she could.

He seemed to be thinking about something, possibly about the rats, but Regan couldn’t discern what specifically he had in mind. He believed her, right? 

Regan tread carefully into the alley, like a misstep might cause the rats to come rushing out again, ready to scurry of with other belongings. “Here, under the fire escape. But they ran off with it. I didn’t simply misplace it.” Her eyes followed Emilio's movements, hoping that he would uncover some trace of the necklace. “There was… I was with someone else, too. They had a backpack with them that was taken. If we find the necklace, perhaps that will be with it.” She wasn’t sure how she would locate the child again, but maybe Emilio would be able to track them down.

Regan's impatience got the better of her, and she took a step closer to Emilio, crouching down to join him in his search. She brushed aside some debris, scanning the ground intently. The alley was filled with discarded trash, making it difficult to spot anything out of the ordinary. "Damn it," she muttered under her breath. "It has to be here somewhere. I can't lose it. It's... important." Her voice wavered slightly, betraying a hint of vulnerability. “I know I told you that already, but I can’t emphasize it enough.” Especially as the sun still managed to beat down relentlessly, even while they were in the shadows. She shook her head. If only someone had died here, maybe she’d have better luck trying to find it. But… Regan felt something in her knees as they supported her on the ground. A tremor. Not coming from her, but the ground, like it had moved slightly. Her wings tried to twitch in discomfort from underneath the coat, but they were smothered in place. “Sorry, I… thought I felt something.” She paused. “I mean, something on the ground. Not emotionally.”

As far as clients went, Kavanagh wasn’t the worst he’d had. She was a bit eccentric, sure, and he was becoming increasingly certain that she wasn’t human, but she didn’t talk his ear off or complain about how fast he worked and he couldn’t see her leaving a poor review on his page because of his personality. She didn’t seem to give a shit about any of that. Kavanagh cared about the work, and Emilio was good at the work. Even if he wasn’t particularly good at very much outside of it.

He watched her moving, noting the caution. Emilio was neither particularly interested nor particularly capable of doing the same, so he moved how he moved. Not heavy on his feet, but not particularly light, either. If these ‘rats’ that Regan had run into showed up again, he was more capable of handling them with violence than he figured she was. She didn’t strike him as the type to use that as a first resort the way he tended to. There was nothing wrong with that, of course; it just meant Emilio’s experience was going to be… a bit different than hers was. 

“Okay, okay,” he nodded, straightening back up into a standing position. There hadn’t been any necklace under the dumpster, anyway. “Just covering our bases. Probably hard to keep a good eye on shit with that many rats running around, if you were focused on getting out.” 

Someone else in the alley? “You got a name for them? Or a description? If we find the backpack, we should try getting it back to them.” Depending on what was in it, of course. He wouldn’t be handing over a backpack full of perfectly good weapons to a stranger. He’d tell Kavanagh it was for public safety, if that happened. She might believe him. 

He glanced up as something in her voice shifted. She was really interested in this necklace. Sentimental value, maybe? His thumb rubbed absently at his wedding band. He could understand that. “Hey, I get it. You don’t have to explain. I said I’d do what I could to find it, and I meant that. Not looking to leave you without any answers if I can help it, all right?” She twitched and, for a moment, he thought she might say something else about the necklace. Instead, she said she felt something. “Something like rats? Could be a good sign. If we can follow them, we can find your necklace.” He kneeled down again, putting a hand to the cement to gauge whether or not he could feel anything himself. “It feel anything like it did before?”

“No name, but I can provide a description,” Regan said, knowing she would intentionally be leaving out the most important details. “The child was in the dumpster. She had short, red hair, and was equal parts timid and competent. She indicated she might have eaten rats before. I do not know what was in the backpack.” She shrugged, though she had a feeling it was probably either scrap metal or something that had actually been important. Either way, the girl would surely appreciate having the bag back in her possession. It was a small kindness that felt, in a way, like repaying that Emilio was extending to her right now.

“I… appreciate that.” She nodded at Emilio. He seemed to respect her privacy. That was something others in her life could do to learn. “If I can ever be of help to you… but nothing illegal.” She said that last part crossly, suspecting a couple of situations of dubious legality might tempt him to reach out, try to call in a favor. Not that it was a favor. Not officially, anyway.

Regan gave him an odd look. “How am I supposed to know if it’s –” There it was again, some movement in the ground, like a huge truck was driving past the alley. But when she turned, there was nothing there. Only some leaves blowing across the curb and the scent of a bakery pervading the – wait, why was the scent of a bakery smacking her in the face? In the past, it would have been pleasant. Now it was foreboding. Regan rose to her feet, squinting her eyes around the alley warily. 

A giant, white, almost masked face peered around into the corner. Huge fingertips curled around the bricks. It was simultaneously expressionless but radiating menace, and Regan froze in place. It was like the rats she’d seen here earlier, but impossibly large. The size of an elephant. She couldn’t even see its body but it cast a long shadow, and its hand was fit to grab and crush her like a baguette. “This isn’t real.” She said it aloud. As she did, sometimes, when the visions grew too strange or too visceral. But in those cases they weren’t real. This had to be one of them. Emilio could not be seeing this, too. That would make it real. “Tell me you don’t see this.”

The moment she said the child is in the dumpster, Emilio had a pretty good guess as to where this was going. As she continued, his suspicions were only confirmed, and he sighed. Was Gael not feeding the kid enough? Why the hell was she still digging through dumpsters and eating rats? “I know the kid,” he acknowledged with a nod. “Know where she lives, who she lives with. Might have to talk him into making sure she eats a little better.” Gael didn’t seem particularly afraid of his threats at this point, but that was fine. Emilio knew he cared enough about Ren to want her to not eat out of the dumpster, anyway, so he’d probably be pretty agreeable on this point, at least. “When we find this shit, I’ll get her her backpack back to her. Do you want me to tell her how to contact you at all?” He figured the two probably hadn’t had time to exchange numbers, though he could have been wrong about that. Kavanagh didn’t know Ren’s name, but that might just be because Kavanagh was Kavanagh and Ren was Ren and neither of them would think to ask for something like that.

He nodded, taking note of the way she thanked him. Like someone who knew a thing or two about how dangerous the word thanks could be in a town like this. Another note in his mental file on Dr. Regan Kavanagh, the local ME who he still couldn’t get a good read on. Doesn’t believe in the supernatural. Takes steps to avoid being bound by fae. The pieces didn’t quite fit together, but maybe he was just missing a few. “No problem,” he replied with a nod. “I wouldn’t ask you for any illegal favors.” Not after seeing how she’d reacted to his suggestion that they steal a body to give it a timely, proper burial. Kavanagh was clearly someone who upheld the law. Emilio might not understand that, but he could respect it… especially if it meant avoiding having someone snitch on him.

Oh. Okay, he felt it this time. A quiet sort of shift, the kind of thing he might not have felt if he weren’t looking for it. Emilio straightened, unwilling to remain close to the ground when there might just be a fight headed his way. He’d never really fought a hoard of rats before, but he had a feeling whatever they were dealing with was different. If it could make the ground move like that, it had to be.

And then, the thing showed its face. And it definitely, without a doubt, was not a rat. How had she ever thought it was? How had Ren? It was huge, and unnaturally terrifying. Or, rather, supernaturally terrifying. Not undead, and he didn’t think it was a shifter or a fae, either. It certainly wasn’t something he’d had experience with in the past. It was just… there. Big and strange and imposing. And Kavanagh was already insisting it was fake, somehow. “No, doc, I see it. Don’t know what I’m seeing, but I definitely see it.” He shoved a hand into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a knife. “Gonna go stab it.” What else was he supposed to do?

“You know of her?” Regan lifted a brow. Emilio was somehow familiar with the strange fae child, and that was more than a little surprising. Although… maybe she was at the center of one of his cases. It was a good question, though: did Regan want to be put in contact with her? She stopped to think, perhaps for too long. The fewer people who could put her name to the fact she was fae, the better. And even worse, the child surely knew she was a banshee. Regan didn’t know what kinds of connections she had, and whether there was a risk of word getting back to Saol Eile about her presence here. It was best to play it safe, let Emilio deliver the backpack… if they even found it. “No. Please do not speak of me to her.” She said, decisively. 

Emilio saw it too. And if he saw it too, that meant… Regan backed away from the entrance, and found herself up against a brick wall. Last time, tiny rats had come pouring out of the spaces between the bricks, but that seemed preferable to the giant rat peering down at them now like it intended to swallow them whole. She could smell the creature’s breath wafting toward them, a thick sheet of fresh bread and artisanal cheeses. Her stomach churned. Someday she’d be able to find bakeries pleasant again, but not anytime soon. Stab? He was going to – “W-wait. That won’t work. There are more. There are always more.” Or were they all present now, like they had conglomerated into one big rat-shaped rat hive?

It had a mile long stare. Its eyes were so tiny. But they managed to see right into her. And as it peered down at them, something like a smile crossed its eerie white face. Just a hint. Enough that a chill rolled down her vertebrae.

And its thin cut of a mouth opened.

The rat’s massive, long black and white tongue unfurled. And right there at the tip was… “That’s it! That’s my necklace!” And the backpack, too. Her voice rang through the alley – not quite a screech but more than she’d intended – and the rat squinted its tiny eyes and its fingers lifted from the brick, as if in distaste. But before either of them could do anything, it rolled its tongue back into its mouth, her necessary possession with it. Regan’s eyes snapped to Emilio, expression a mix of shock and disgust, though she tried to hide it. “They were smaller than this, really. I think we should run and not stab.”

“I don’t know of her,” Emilio corrected. “I know her.” Pretty well at this point, he felt. Ren was a mirror he didn’t always like looking into, a reflection of the parts of his childhood that felt so okay when it was him going through them but seemed less acceptable when it was someone else. He watched for a moment as Kavanagh seemed to debate with herself how she wanted to answer his question, but he wasn’t particularly surprised at the response he got. She didn’t strike him as the kind of person who was looking for more friends, and he wouldn’t try to force it for either her or Ren. He doubted they’d be particularly good for one another, anyway. More than likely, any time they spent together would be little more than long bouts of shared silence. He wasn’t sure that was what Ren needed. “Okay,” he agreed. “No problem. Won’t go talking about you to her, or her to you.” They could both keep their privacy; Emilio wasn’t someone who’d violate it.

Besides, he had other things to focus on now. Namely, the massive shape at the end of the alley that was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Kavanagh told him to wait, to not stab it, and Emilio paused with a frustrated grunt. “If there are more, I can just stab them, too,” he pointed out, sounding a little irritated. There was a giant, supernatural something at the end of the alley, and she didn’t want him to stab it? What the hell else was there to do?

Its mouth opened, and there was a glint of something inside. Bright metal, silver. The damn necklace. Ren’s backpack was there, too, trapped in the mouth of the thing, and Emilio thought about just how little that kid actually had. He thought about how desperate Kavanagh had been to get that necklace back, about the way it clearly meant something to her even if she wasn’t willing to say what. Again, the weight of his wedding band felt heavy on his finger.

Kavanagh said they should run, and Emilio hated that idea. Even though the necklace was disappearing back into its mouth with the tongue, even though it was looking at them both like it might want to suck them into its mouth right along with it, even though he had no idea what this thing was or how to kill it. “No,” Emilio said stubbornly. “No, fuck that. I said I’d get your necklace back, I’m getting your damn necklace back.” He raised his knife, taking a few purposeful strides towards the… were they really going with rat here? That was not a rat. Turning back to Kavanagh, he raised his brows. “I am going to stab it,” he repeated carefully. “And I’m gonna get it to give me the pinche necklace. And then I’m going to look up a photo of a rat, and I’m going to show it to you, because I think you may not know what one is.” That bit was more of a joke than anything. As always, Emilio’s sense of humor came into play at the worst of times, and was funny to no one but him. So it went.

“Is your solution to everything to stab it?” Regan called out after Emilio, but it was too late to stop him. She could tell when someone’s mind was made up. How did this man make it so far in life without reaching his end? He wouldn’t die here; she at least knew that much. “I’ve seen rats before, you know.” Regan hissed, and the giant creature paused for a moment, beady eyes blinking in… pain? It didn’t look so bothered, but it clearly didn’t like when she spoke. She thought back to all the little ones pouring into the alley, how she’d popped them with a scream. Did this big one know she could do that? Well, at least to the little ones – Regan had never attempted such a thing with a creature so massive.

Had Emilio noticed? Regan wasn’t sure it was something she wanted to draw attention to, but a detective was a detective. “Didn’t you see that it ate it? I don’t think there’s any getting that back, unless you intend to –” Of course he was going to bisect this thing and open its stomach. “--Look you know what, how about I just tell animal control and have them – I mean, this is a little above your pay grade, don’t you think?” The big rat had that eerie shadow of a smile on its thin mouth again, and dread gnawed at Regan’s bones. Something was about to happen. And even though it wouldn’t kill Emilio, it was not going to be good.

The answer to Kavanagh’s question was, unfortunately, yes. Emilio’s solution, nine times out of ten, was going to be to come at something with a knife and hope for the best. Most of the time, stabbing something would either solve your problem or give you a far bigger one. Either way, it seemed preferable to sitting still. “If you think this is a rat, you have not seen rats.” Something shifted in the creature’s expression, something that seemed to imply some kind of intelligence behind those eyes. It was unnerving, particularly because Emilio couldn’t begin to fathom what had caused it. Was the creature offended to be compared to a rat?  Was it capable of that? A whole new slew of questions arose with a single change in expression.

“I have a knife,” Emilio reminded her, letting the implication hang. If he had to cut the necklace out of the thing’s stomach, he would. It was important to her. And maybe it was a matter of pride at this point, too; the idea of calling Kaden made him scowl, just imagining how insufferable the Frenchman was bound to become. He’d probably be more equipped to handle this sort of thing; it was far more likely to qualify as a beast than it was anything undead or fae, he suspected. But he’d never live it down if he had to bring in Kaden, and he knew it. He’d rather handle this himself. “You wanted your necklace, I’m getting your necklace,” he insisted, turning to look back at the doctor. “It’s fine. I’m a professional.” He turned back to the creature, closing the remaining space between them and burying his blade up to the hilt in what he assumed was its chest. That’d show her.

As he yanked the blade free, he took a step back in order to avoid the spray of blood that was sure to follow the knife out of the creature’s chest. But there was no blood. There was no liquid of any kind. Instead, what poured from the creature’s wound was… more creatures. Tiny versions of the beast in front of him, crawling free from the opening and down the creature’s body to the floor of the alley. Emilio watched, brow furrowed and jaw dropping open. “That’s… new.”

Had Regan not noticed the absence of her need to scream, she would have been sure Emlilio was going to get himself killed. He plunged the blade into the creature, and instead of a stream of blood, what sprayed out were tiny little…

Oh no.

Small rats shot out of the wound in all directions, several of them smacking Regan in the face – silently – while others congregated on the ground, moving in mute unison. She sprung on her toes, as if that distance would keep them away, but there was something strange. They weren’t swarming her. Why weren’t they swarming her?

Their beady eyes blinked up at her, and they jolted, like a shiver ran through them. Did they… recognize her? Regan’s rational mind saw that as an opportunity to get away, or at least give them a taste of last time, a reminder. But her lungs swelled with pride at the recognition. Good. She inhaled a deep breath and the horde of little rats backed up, as if expecting her to unmake them just as she had some of their brethren. Their faces, however, were unchanged; that same emotionless mask that Regan couldn’t help but admire. Before, they had been so numerous they could overwhelm her before she could let out another scream. This time, though, they were fewer in number. The advantage was hers.

As long as Emilio didn’t – “No more stabbing!” Regan called out, and a couple of the small rats ran around in frantic circles, reacting to her voice. “Don’t you see the problem? You’re only going to make more of the smaller ones. And trust me, they are not easier to deal with.” The big rat turned its massive head toward Regan, and once more, she swore she saw a hint of a smile. Its giant tongue lolled out of its mouth again, just enough for her to see the gleam of silver atop all the black and white. And just like before, it was consumed, the great black neck of the creature stretching and contracting as her possession passed down its esophagus. She clenched her fists and locked a scream behind a snarl. She wanted to do it, to just destroy the damn thing and rip the necklace from its belly like Emilio intended, but she couldn’t. Not with someone else here, and then, on principle… it was shameful enough that she needed the necklace. The only way to make that worse would be to lose her temper trying to get it back.

“That’s enough.” Defeat stained her voice. That was no better than anger pouring out of her. But it was smarter. “I should have known the… rats would still have it. We can’t get it back. They’ll be all over us just like before.”

What the fuck was this thing? Emilio stumbled backwards as dozens of smaller versions of the beast sprung from its wound like blood, swarming together on the ground of the alley. He’d had a pretty well-rounded education, as far as hunters went. The Cortez family had prided themselves on being well-informed slayers, aware of pretty much every kind of undead thing there were. At twelve, Rhett had come into his life and begun educating him on fae, a whirlwind of information that he tried to hold on to even when the fae he only heard about felt so much slippier than the undead he’d seen and fought for himself. And then, in adulthood, there’d been Juliana, with her vast library of knowledge in regards to shifters and beasts. Those lessons had been a thing all their own, a system in which he was ‘rewarded’ for learning instead of punished for failing. 

All in all, he liked to think he knew more than even most hunters when it came to the different kinds of creatures out there. He knew he didn’t know everything, because no one did. But he always figured he knew enough to puzzle out the things he didn’t know all on his own.

Except he had no fucking idea what this thing could be.

He didn’t even know how to categorize it. He only knew it wasn’t undead because its senses weren’t telling him as much, but beyond that? It could have been anything. Fae, beast, demonic. It certainly felt like the last one, if only because of how goddamn unsettling it was. But the tiny creatures pouring out of the wound didn’t move to attack right away. Instead, they seemed… afraid. Not of the man with the knife who had freed them by plunging it through the skin of the thing they’d burst out of, but by the woman with him.

Emilio looked over at Kavanagh, confusion furrowing his brow. “Yeah,” he said, sounding irritated, “I see that now. But how was I supposed to know that before? You’re not going to believe this, but this is not what usually happens when you stab something.” Which was frustrating. Stabbing was Emilio’s go-to move as a slayer, and it was beyond useless here. Something told him holy water and rosaries wouldn’t do the trick, either. 

The necklace was still in the creature’s mouth, and it seemed to be taunting the doctor with it. Emilio’s frustration only grew as she seemed ready to give up on it right then and there. “It’s right here,” he argued. “There has to be some way to get it back. You said it was important, and I said I’d help. It’s right here. We can do something.” But Emilio didn’t know what. He’d exhausted all his ideas already, and Kavanagh wasn’t offering any new ones. 

Even though Emilio had backed off from the creature, seemingly not intending to stab it again, small rats continued to spill out of its wound. Until finally they… just stopped. Like it had been plugged, or the faucet turned off. As wrong as the entire situation was, and as relieved as Regan was to not need to deal with any more of the tiny ones, that didn’t seem right, either. She turned to Emilio, her mouth open and ready to shout a word of warning, but she couldn’t find any and couldn’t predict what was about to happen. All she knew was that it wasn’t a death. Anything else? Well, just about anything seemed possible right now.

The ground trembled. Regan looked down, and the tiny creatures were… frozen? Scared? Were they scared stiff? Good. But then, simultaneously, the rats started melting. “Um, Emilio?” Another tremor shook the alley. Now, she looked up. The large creature tilted its head down at them, its small eyes somehow piercing through her and Emilio at the same time. 

And then it exploded. Silently. Blood spattered everywhere, like an endless arterial spurt, drenching Emilio in the process. Or… Regan had assumed it to be blood, but she immediately recognized something was wrong with it. Not blood. It was the same dark, oily material that the small rats had been dissolving into before they had been subsumed into this larger quantity. The alley was thick with the black, goopy liquid. It pooled under Regan’s shoes and threatened to suck her in, but rather than obeying the laws of gravity, the dark ooze moved of its own accord. Out of the alley. Away from them. And with it, in the center of the dark mass, she could see the glint of her necklace and a good-covered lump that looked vaguely backpack-shaped. They drifted in the black current, pulled into the street, only to be slurped down into the nearest storm drain with the rest of the ooze. Regan raced over to the drain, nearly slipping on the last trails of the liquid as it, too, cascaded down. 

There went her necklace. Again.  

“Do you still think stabbing is a good solution?” She turned to Emilio, a cross expression falling on her face. She knew it wasn’t his fault. She had been the one to bring him here, and he was doing this partially as a favor. Even if he believed it was an “I scratch your back…” situation. Regan watched the last of the liquid swirl around the grate and trickle down into the drain. Gone for good, most likely. She hissed a sigh that came out more like a shrill whistle. That only frustrated her more, and she ground her shoe against the pavement, scraping any remaining ooze off and trying to shed her bitterness with it. “Forget it. I’m not angry at you.” She shouldn’t have been angry at all, though, and she had best remember that. “You tried. Perhaps I should focus my efforts on trying to find a replacement instead… if such a thing is out there.” She stared down into the drain. “There is a lot out there.”

The small creatures stopped pouring out of the big one, and while normally Emilio would find some relief in this, everything about the situation leading up to it meant that he was filled only with dread instead. They’d done nothing to stop the flow, which meant the creature must have stopped it itself, somehow. And if it had done this itself, it meant it was part of some bigger plan. And that was bad. Plans were bad. He turned to look at Regan. Maybe she had a point about this being a lost cause. They could always regroup, come back later. “I think maybe we should get out of —”

Before he could finish the thought, there was a rumbling. It wasn’t enough to take his feet out from underneath him, but it was definitely enough to find his attention snapping back to the giant shape in the alley. He didn’t like the way it was looking at him, at either of them. This was bad. This was going to be bad.

Turning back to Regan, he started an attempt to usher her out of the alley that was interrupted by a silent explosion. Some kind of goo rained down on him; it reminded him of the liquid he’d slapped out of Van’s hand the first time he’d met her, the black goop that came out of the ground. It absolutely soaked him, whatever it was. His hair, his skin, his clothes. He managed not to get any in his mouth, but nothing else was spared. And then it just… melted off. As if it was moving of its own accord, sliding off him and onto the floor of the alley where it joined the rest of the mess to make its way down the storm drain. He spotted the glint of the necklace and the lump of the backpack and made a dive for them both, but he was too slow to catch them. For mindless goo, the shit was moving pretty quickly.

And then it was gone, leaving only the two of them in the alley. Emilio stared at the storm drain, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. Regan was asking him if he still thought stabbing it had been the best idea, And Emilio kind of wanted to scream. He opened his mouth, throwing his hands up in the air. What the fuck else was I supposed to do, he asked, except… Nothing came out. His mouth moved around the words, his throat pushing his voice from his vocal chords, but there was no sound. Emilio’s hands went to his throat, as if the answer might lie there. What the fuck, he said, but again it was silent. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck. ¿Qué chingados? 

He looked at Regan, eyes wide. Something is wrong. Something is wrong with me. What the fuck is going on? The words rushed out in silence. She was talking about replacing the necklace, but it was hard to track the conversation when he couldn’t participate in it.

When Emilio grabbed his throat, Regan’s first thought was that he was choking. Her body was just starting to adjust to the lack of a threat, and now there was a new one, and she rushed over to him, alert and prepared. He rasped silently, and that was when Regan realized he wasn’t trying to breathe; he was trying to speak. And failing. Regan’s thoughts spun back to those mushrooms in the woods, how she and Kaden’s senses were stolen and they were rendered unable to speak. Was this like that? Were these creatures somehow connected to the mushrooms? More importantly, would the same thing work to fix it? Her lungs were springy and keen, ready to jump into action, but she tugged them back. Not here. 

Regan gave him some space now that she was fairly sure he wasn’t choking, and at least positive he wasn’t about to die. “Oh, um… are you not able to – right, you probably can’t respond. Actually, just nod. You can’t speak, right? Hold on, that was confusing. Nodding could mean either outcome. Are you able to speak?” Emilio seemed increasingly frustrated and confused. She paced around him, looking toward the grate and the ground once in a while to check for any remaining black sludge.

She considered, searching for something that at least sounded plausible. “You probably have laryngitis. We were speaking loudly. You lost your voice.” Her eyes landed on a splotch of goop on Emilio’s shirt, and she lost all confidence in that being true. Though that didn’t provide an answer. Still, best to brace Emilio for what was to come. Probably. At least until she could figure out a way to surreptitiously test her hypothesis. “But, um… you know… it might not hurt to brush up on some sign language. Or practice charades. Just in case your voice doesn’t come back.” She added, quickly, “Soon, I mean. In case it doesn’t come back soon.” She looked over at the grate once more, wistfully. “We’re not going to find your voice here. I don’t think we’ll find anything here.”

Emilio glared at Kavanagh as she spoke, which he knew wasn’t entirely fair. None of this was her fault, but he was angry anyway. He usually was, regardless of how little that anger might have been earned. She asked if he could speak and slowly, deliberately, the detective shook his head. No, I can’t fucking speak. If I could speak, I’d be speaking. His mouth moved around the words, no sound coming out.

What the fuck is laryngitis? Again, there was no sound. Whatever it was she was saying, he didn’t think it made sense. Speaking loudly wouldn’t cause him to lose his voice like this — not when the event was directly preceded by him being covered in goop by whatever the fuck that thing had been. Sign language? There was no way in hell this was permanent. This couldn’t be permanent. The idea of it sent Emilio into a brief panic, eyes wide as his heart ticked up a beat. (He was already damaged. His bad leg twinged with the thought, making itself known. He was already damaged. What was the point of him, if things got worse? Who needed a knife so rusted that it could no longer cut?) 

He swallowed, suddenly wanting nothing more than to go home and melt into his couch for days. Already, his limbs felt heavy. He’d blame it on the goop, but… this was a familiar feeling. The kind that usually came hand-in-hand with the days where all he could manage was to sit on his couch and stare at the floor. He opened his mouth to agree with the doctor, realizing belatedly that it was pointless. With a soundless sigh, he waved a hand and trudged out of the alley. Fuck this place.

[slutwithagut]

Post #2

The amount of cigarettes I’m smoking is insane for someone with no income! It’s time to ration. It would be cheaper to roll my own… but I don’t know how to roll. Maybe now is the time to finally learn? I digress. We will worry about that at a later time n date.

I have a close friend who employs me to give him rides home from work. Usually every Monday he needs a ride home from work around 8:10 pm because he goes in at 8 something the next day. Occasionally he asks for rides from the local trolley stop that’s about a 10 minute drive from my house.

I bring this up because my weekly income is about $28 on a good week.

So I need to chill on the tobacco.

Things were easier when I smoked spliff bowls (mole bowls, moke bowls, party bowls, whatever u wanna call them) which is cannabis mixed with tobacco. I’ve purchased a great many bags of bugler tobacco. It’s much more cost effective then buying a pack of cigs. The bugler pouch is roughly good for about 30 cigs versus the 20 you find pre rolled. It costs $7/$8 while a pack of cigs is $10/$11

I had purchased a joint rolling machine and filters earlier this year to roll my own. I found it just didn’t hit the same. I also proceeded to break the joint roller. A common theme in my life. Breaking useful objects due to carelessness and or intoxication. If only y’all knew me when I did XANAX and drank heavily while popping. I broke so many things… three lovely bongs, a babyliss hair straightener, bottles, and endured countless bruises and scratches. I also strained some of my personal relationships as you don’t give a single solitary FUCK when your xanned out.

So moral of the story is I am going to start rationing out my cigarettes.

I might buy a vape but I have to go on the black market for one and it seems like such a hassle.

Smoking cigarettes may seem glamorous and look cool. It feeds my oral fixation. But it makes you stink. I literally need to buy gum, scented hand sanitizer, and a small bottle of body spray so I don’t smell bad.

Wish my luck my loves! It ain’t easy trying to kick my vices.

It’s also 12:19 a.m. while I write this. My brain is tired but my body is on high alert. I do suffer from insomnia and weed helps that a lot.

It’s tough to learn how to live my life with out mind altering substances. I also find myself becoming more irritable. I might need to up the dosage on my medicine. I also kind of want to ask my doctor for sleeping pills… but it seems wrong? Since they have a potential for abuse. It would be nice to actually be able to fall asleep around the same time every night. I’ll probably be up until 2 or 3.

If I fall asleep before that I usually wake between 3 and 4 to pee. Then toss and turn till 6 or 7. Get up, smoke a cigarette and if I’m lucky fall back a sleep for a bit. I awake groggy and feeling worse than when I first woke. But still I nap after waking up. It’s a vicious cycle.

I’m going to start wearing my FitBit smart watch to bed again so I can track my sleep. It lets you know how many times you wake up, how deep your sleep was, etc. and it gives you a sleep score for the night. I want to see if my sleep is truly fucked up enough to constitute medicine. The less pills I’m on the better. But sleep is important and staying up late with my thoughts is not the most pleasant experience.

At least now I have you guys to talk and write to, to pass the time.

Restlessly,

D

[stormyoceans]

Mork had left his T-shirt on his chair again. Day’s nose told him as much even before his mom did. When she announced her intent to remove it, he was perhaps a little too quick to stop her.

“Just leave it,” he said, and then, to add more conviction: “I’ll give him an earful tomorrow.”

He could tell by her tone that she only half-believed him. Maybe even less. Whatever, it didn’t matter. Day waited for the door to shut and take the light from the hallway with it. Then, when he was sure he was alone, he felt his way to the chair and returned to bed with the T-shirt.

It wasn’t the first time he slept with Mork’s forgotten garment. As always, it stank like hell: oil, metal, cigarettes. Day pressed his face into the fabric, letting it infiltrate his nostrils. Nasty. Lovely. It soothed him to sleep everytime. Even when Mork wasn’t here, his presence lingered, and Day was at ease.

He shut his eyes–not that it mattered much on a visual front, but he wanted to close himself off from the world. It made pretending Mork was next to him that much easier. Day wished he could fall asleep in his arms.

Another inhale, and something in him stirred. Day hesitated slightly, but then reached down. Full mast. Shit, he didn’t mean to get hard. But then again, what did it matter? No one was going to disturb him or confront him about his feelings. Not to mention it had been god knows how long since he was in the mood to touch himself.

So Day’s hand slipped inside his pants as he indulged himself with another deep sniff. Ah, Mork. If only he were here to touch him instead. In Day’s mind, he was no longer next to him, but hovering on top of him, already nude. Day wondered what his body looked like. He had a rough idea of his face, but everything below it was a mystery. Was his body soft and smooth, or rough and calloused like his hands? Did he have scars, or birthmarks? Tattoos? Piercings? An extra toe?

Day wanted to touch every inch of him, discover every little detail. He wanted to run his fingers down his spine and ass and discover what sounds that smug mouth made when he pleasured him the way he envisioned Mork pleasuring him. Oh yes, his mouth. His lips, and tongue, and teeth–Day wanted it all. He wanted Mork to claim him, consume him. Day moaned into the T-shirt as imaginary Mork let his teeth graze his neck, choking out his hot breath against his skin every time he thrust back into him.

“P’Mork–P’Mork,” Day whined. With a final stroke of his thumb, he froze helplessly as his orgasm took a complete hold of him. He didn’t move then, and he didn’t know how long it took before he did.

Satisfied, Day reached for the tissues next to his bed so he could clean up, having freed himself from the restriction of his clothes and let himself come on his stomach. His head was tired and lazy and the thought that some of it had landed on Mork’s T-shirt would not occur to him until tomorrow.

WHEN YOU FINALLY GET TO TAKE A BREAK AT WORK SO YOU DECIDE TO CHECK TUMBLR FOR THE FIRST TIME TODAY AND YOU FIND THIS SITTING IN YOUR ASK BOX AND YOU START READING IT IN A PUBLIC PLACE BECAUSE APPARENTLY YOU HAVE LEARNED NOTHING IN YOUR 31 YEARS OF LIFE AND BY THE END OF IT YOU JUST WANT TO DROP EVERYTHING AND CLIMB A VERY TALL MOUNTAIN JUST TO GO LET OUT THE MOST INHUMAN SCREAM BUT THERE ARE PEOPLE AROUND YOU SO ALL YOU CAN DO IS SMASH YOUR HEAD AGAINST YOUR DESK A FEW TIMES

i've said it before and y'all are gonna have to bear me saying it over and over again (or until p'aof actually puts a scene like this in the show sfjksgf), but i absolutely LOVE this trope in queer media, it's such an inexplicable serotonin boost to me. JUST!!!!!! a smell that may not even be pleasant in normal circumstances suddenly becoming your favorite thing in the world because it belongs to the person you love and by associating it with them it gains the power to comfort and stir up so many different emotions in you!!!!! the act of actually smelling a piece of their clothes because you're desperate for connection but are so worried about how they might respond that you turn to inanimate objects first!!!!! and i think you captured this SO WELL, especially when you said "Even when Mork wasn’t here, his presence lingered, and Day was at ease"!!!!!

THERE'S ALSO SOMETHING TO BE SAID ABOUT DAY JERKING OFF WHILE HOLDING MORK'S SHIRT AND MINGLING THEIR SCENTS TOGETHER IN DOING SO BUT IM NOT COHERENT ENOUGH FOR THAT. YOU CAN BLAME IT ON DAY CALLING OUT "P'MORK" AND WANTING MORK TO CLAIM HIM IM SORRY BUT THAT DESTROYED ALL OF MY MENTAL FACULTIES AND IM GONNA NEED 3 TO 5 BUSINESS DAYS TO RECOVER

[theunvanquishedzims]

Coffee beats cigarettes

In my ongoing quest to become a Disney character I bought a fur coat online, white with black spots. (Mwahahaha.) Only problem? When I picked it up it REEKED of smoke. It was PUNGENT. I had to pull over a few houses down from where I got it and bundle it into a garbage bag in the trunk, and even then I could smell it.

I took it to the dry cleaners, they couldn’t help, I took it to specialty cleaners, they couldn’t help, and the fur cleaners they outsourced to had shut down. Cruella De Vil is a smoker, but there was a line I would draw for the sake of authenticity, and exposing myself and the people around me to that horrible smell was the limit. In my desperation I turned to the internet, and it offered up a single word: coffee. (It actually offered up many more words but that’s the gist.)

This is starting to feel like the essay that comes before the recipe so let’s skip to the actual how-to.

How to get cigarette smell out of clothes

YOU WILL NEED:

The clothing item you want to de-stankify

A closed-bottom garment bag

A small sack of ground coffee

I literally went to the dollar store and got some hazelnut coffee for this, you don’t need to waste good stuff. I don’t know if instant coffee or whole beans would work, but I’d play it safe and just get ground. The garment bag wound up costing me about ten bucks for a pair, but if you’re careful you can do this with a full-sized garbage bag.

THE PROCESS:

Hang the garment in the bag

Open the sack of coffee and carefully place upright in the bottom of the garment bag

Zip shut and let them fight it out overnight

The important part is to isolate the two together, so if you use a garbage bag make sure you seal it tightly. I’d recommend hanging the garment up, putting the coffee upright in the base of the trash bag, then pulling the bag up over the garment and tying it off around the neck of the hanger.

After 12-24 hours check the garment. The smell of coffee will be strong so you will unfortunately have to get your nose in the fabric and take a good whiff. If the cigarette smell is still present, close the coffee sack, shake up to freshen, and restart the process.

Repeat until the cigarette smell has dissipated to your liking. The larger the garment and stronger the smell, the longer it will take. Most lighter garments should only take a few days at most.

After the first few days I left the coat in the garage and forgot about it for a month, now it smells fresh and hazelnutty. Hopefully next year I’ll have an updated Cruella cosplay to show off. A dollar’s worth of coffee grounds saved me from having to give up on a $50 coat, hopefully it’ll salvage something for you too.

[yokohamabeans]

I loved that question and your interpretation on their smell :0

Do you think you can do other tr characters ?

I hc sanzu smell like sanitizer or like fresh out the shower smell 👀 and I'm not complaining hehe

It was a super fun question right?!! Big thanks to the anon who asked!! Sure, I can do a couple more of TR characters, but I’m not sure which ones you want so I’ll just go off some of my faves and some others, if that’s alright!!

Sanzu: Yes I agree that he’s always smelling like he’s just fresh out of a shower, with a really pleasant soap/shampoo smell!! (I think it’s cuz he’s so pretty 😂) I envision him as someone who doesn’t really use any kind of perfume/body scents, and just naturally smells nice (though yeah it’s probably not realistically, biologically possible but c’mon now). Same with Senju!!

Edit: I totally forgot that Sanzu is canonically a clean freak so yes, please add sanitizer to the list—you are right, anon!! (I got reminded of this thanks to @penrose-quinn’s tags which you should check out too cuz she has HCs on Shin, Mikey and Baji’s scent I agree with 100%!)

Meanwhile, their brother Takeomi just smells like Marlboros. And he’s way more pungent than his buddy Shinichirou, who somehow smells only faintly like cigarettes, which is balanced out/neutralised by the laundry detergent he uses, or diesel and grease from the bike shop. During his days as a delinquent he probably smells like generic body spray (thinking it’d appeal him to girls) but loses this as he grew into a young adult and became more practical.

I’m not sure, but I vaguely recall a post saying that Mikey is somewhat stinky cuz he doesn’t shower? (LOL?!) Or was it in one of the chapters/tidbits from Wakui? Don’t quote me on this cuz I can’t remember!! But anyway, I honestly can’t find it in myself to disagree entirely…. I’m not saying he walks around smelling like death, but I think he has that slightly musty ‘just got out of bed’ scent. You know what I mean? This guy is extremely minimal with personal care (Draken had to mother him and do stuff like tie his hair) so he’s either entirely scentless or has a tiny bit of body smell, which may or may not be unpleasant to some people.

I think Draken wears a masculine scent / body spray / deodorant. But he also lives in a brothel, and brothels tend to smell very ‘sweet’, so some of that sickly sweet perfume would’ve probably settled into his clothes a little too.

Kazutora’s fashion sense is pretty flashy, and so is his room decor, so I wouldn’t doubt that he’d choose some kind of flamboyant scent too—or at least, that’d be what he wants to smell like. He may be scentless because Character Book 2 said he has sensitive skin, so he may not use or spray anything on himself.

Mitsuya is a really considerate person, so he’d probably just want to remain scentless or just lightly pleasant (Japanese people actually tend to avoid having strong scents or perfumes, so as to not risk bothering others with a smell that others may not like). Therefore, I don’t think he’d wear any kind of scent. It’ll just be from his laundry detergent. (He’d probably rather save the money as well.)

Hakkai probably started out wearing something rather strong and masculine cuz that’s what I think Taijuu smells like, even though Hakkai himself may not have liked it, or felt that it wasn’t ‘him’. That was until Mitsuya commented about how strong smells can bother others, and how Hakkai shouldn’t do or wear something he doesn’t enjoy. Thereafter, Hakkai ditched it and opted for a much lighter scent. Yuzuha will also wear a light, floral type of scent, in my opinion! She feels like a Jo Malone kind of girl for some reason 🤔

Chifuyu would smell like a cat and some citrus-based deodorant. But since starting his part-time work at Palme Pet Shop, he also has a canine kind of smell too. He doesn’t stink, he just smells like someone who’s always cuddling pets haha.

Ok it ended up being more than a ‘few’ but I hope these are alright!! 🥰

[mangohgeckoh]

“Somebody to Love”

A Silco x Reader fanfic

——

Minors BEGONE

Warnings: explicit, breeding kink, bondage, reader is a escort, unprotected sex, oral sex, pregnancy, age difference, shimmer addicted reader, minor body horror.

Word count: 5092

Part 1/4

Please note: this is my very first Tumblr post so if you see anything unusual that’s why. I’ve been ghosting the Silco fandom for a while now and decided to finally donate some of my fics! All of these will be on AO3 under my user: Reese_with_a_piece. Enjoy!

——

The smog filled streets of the Undercity were paved with the loud bustling of Zaunites selecting swords, illegal weapons and imported goods to purchase or shoplift. Even though I’ve lived down here my entire life, I still do find the fact that the flashing lights of the different brothels and bars could almost but not quite penetrate the smog that filled the air, upsetting.

This very reason is why I became an escort. Well, not because of the air quality. But the quality of life in general. I’ve been trying to save the earnings of my career to leave this godforsaken city. I might actually be the only Zaunite who isn’t proud of her city.

I stubbed my cigarette against the metal wall that lined the outside of the brothel I worked at. Lunch break was over. My boss was always happy to see me attentive, hard working and always on time. Even if I hated giving my clients blow jobs every now and then.

“Ah, there you are.” My face was met with my boss’s just as I stepped into the back room of the brothel. “Your next client backed out at the last minute.” She blew a thick smoke cloud into my face after taking a long drag on her pipe. Just as I was going to say something she continued. “The Eye of Zaun wants to see you at the time the last client scheduled.”

My heart sank. Silco? Again? He has been requesting me a lot lately, to the point where my clients are starting to become scarce out of fear, albeit respect for the Eye of Zaun. However, I sucked it up and nodded obediently. He did pay rather well, and tipped larger than the other clients to make it worth my while.

The most popular bar, or also known as The Last Drop, was a tall but thin building that laid in the middle of the Undercity. It would stick out like a sore thumb if the rest of the establishments on the street weren’t gradient with blinding lights and deafening music. Two large bouncers who guarded the bar’s entrance stared down at my short body. “I’m here for Mr. Silco.” I squeaked out at the towering men. But with a gruff, the two stepped aside to let me pass. Which I did quickly.

I kept the suitcase that I carried flush against my body since the bar was chaotic with the sounds of lust and the thick smell of shimmer everywhere. It made me shiver. Shimmer is an addiction that I can’t shake off. Chugged one vile to cure a sickness fast so I could return to work to make money- and so it did, but it also had me crave more.

Stained metal steps held firm against my loose shoes as I made my way up the balcony. A balcony hugged above the bar, which a bouncer also guarded as it was only staff only who were allowed above the chaos.

“Hi-“ I waved shyly to the bouncer who made a dramatic sniff of his large nose then stepped out of the way. I visit quite often- only for appointments of course, but I always feel embarrassed when a bouncer or guard recognizes me. “Thank you.” I mumbled and made my way to the owner’s office.

Before I could knock I heard movement from behind the wooden door. “Come in.”I obliged and creaked the door open. “Ah, Lorelei,” Silco stood behind his desk, lighting a cigar. “What a pleasant surprise.” My eyebrows furrowed with confusion. “You asked for my presence, sir.”

Silco’s expression hardened didn’t budge from nonchalant. “That I did. Please sit.” He gestured a long hand to the old couch lined against a wall in his office. I shut the door behind me before I sat down. The suitcase I plopped on the coffee table infront of me creaked as I opened it to reveal different sorts of sex toys, cuffs, lingerie to assist with my job. You name it I had it.

“What will it be for today’s session, sir?” I asked as I rifled through the forbidden items. A faint “hmm” rang out across his dark office. Mr. Silco was one who enjoyed control, any forms of it as long as he was on top so naturally my hands trailed into the loop of the shining handcuffs that sat in the case. “The usual?”

“I have a request.”

I looked up to see his thin form slink stoically towards me. “What I have in mind is a little…” He paused, both of his discoloured eyes looked up as he searched for an appropriate word. “Unfamiliar, maybe?”

My lips pursed in anticipation. What could it possibly be? The calloused pads of his pale fingers traced up the suitcase as he began to lean into my space. “I want to feel you, Lorelei.”

I giggled at his perplexing sentence, but then touched his forearms. “There, I am touching you.”

The scars on the charred side of his face pulled at the scowl he made. “I want to…” Silco’s red corrupted eye travelled down to my lower body before returning to my own gaze. He clearly isn’t used about talking about this subject. “Oh.” I stepped back after realising the meaning.

“Sir…”

“Call me Silco.”

“Silco, I don’t offer that- Only oral sex.” My eyes twitched at the pain of disappointing a man that I have begun to grow close to. It’s true that I like to playfully offer banter with my clients but with Silco…he was different. I felt as if I had unlocked a softer side of him, a very private side. Though, I’m not sure what did it. Perhaps through our intimate sessions or was it just the banter and small talk?

“I’ll pay extra.” His steel tipped shoe pulled his long covered leg forward. My cheeks flushed and with a gulp I stepped backwards suddenly which made my calves hit the bottom of his couch. I fell backwards against the squeaky but comfortable cushions.

Noticing my uncomfortable state, the older man ceased his pursuit and returned to his desk.

“Fine. The usual it will be.” Silco said in a grumpy tone.

I blinked at first, trying to process what just happened. But then sense grabbed a hold of me and soon I was standing in front of Silco with the handcuffs dangling from my hand. His pale hand reached for the cuffs but I suddenly pulled them away with a mischievous grin. “I am actually quite curious about what you were proposing.” My palm connected with his tunic and lightly pushed him to sit on the very expensive leather desk chair.

The frayed greyish brown eyebrow of the marred side of his face lifted with almost playful intent. “Oh?”

Making a “Mhmm” sound, I made for his lap straddling his also expensive pants. To add to the desired effect, my shoulders shrugged off my large- and also extremely unnecessary- fluffy coat, revealing the soft pale skin of my bare shoulders. I wore a black high collar vest that was cut above my stomach. But below my stomach, short denim shorts also hugged my hips to display my curves.

Silco always admired the earrings that I wore- or well, was always taken by them and at how weird they can get. (One time I wore pink penis shaped ones which he wouldn’t stop staring at.) Always making an observation through a comment about the various earrings I wear. “I see you have chosen hearts today.” His voice was gruff and smelled of whisky. The hot smell of his breath always entranced me. Snapping out of it, my face tilted to the side, making the hot pink earring jingle at the sudden motion.

The air around us suddenly became warm. “What did you have in mind, sir-Silco.” I quickly corrected myself which earned me a sharp squeeze on my thigh from his wandering hands. “How do you feel about-”

Sharp knocks hit against the main door to his office. “Papa! I made you a new mug!!” A little girl who I came to know as Jinx, the daughter of Silco, squeaked happily from behind the wooden door. Silco sighed and began to sit up, but I pressed him down further. “Allow me.” I whispered before shrugging my coat back on and made my way to open the door.

“Lorie!!” A happy shriek came from the nine year old as she barrelled into my knees with a hug. “Careful, dear. You don’t want to break that mug now.” I chuckled, kneeling to her eye level in order to hug back. Jinx looked up at me with happy sapphire eyes when suddenly they snapped to a panicked Silco behind me. I turned around to see her father, who had just frantically shut the suitcase full of toys before his daughter saw them.

Silco’s panting figure hunched over the closed suitcase as he wiped sweat from his weary forehead. “Papa!” Jinx ran over to her father and hugged him as if she hadn’t seen him in a week. “I made this for you!” She squealed after breaking the hug, shoving a mug into his chest.

The Eye of Zaun’s expression shifted so fast from mortified to soft. These were one of the rare moments I sometimes was lucky to catch a glimpse of a loving moment between the two mostly before appointments- always before Sevika finds her and escorts the sad kid to her room.

“Jinx!” A familiar masculine bark came from down the hall. “Where are you, you little brat-” Sevika immediately ceased her sentence when she rounded the corner to see a very unimpressed Silco. “Sevika.” He hissed as she slowly started towards him. Her robotic arm hid under the cape that strewn lazily about over that shoulder. Even though it was well hidden, I could see a hint of the purple glittering viles that were attached to the shoulder of the arm. My throat ran dry and my heart rate quickened.

“Bring Jinx back to her room.” Was all he could say when the kid started to whine. “But daddd.” She groaned when the muscular woman took her hand. “Sorry, sweetie. I’ll visit your room tonight for a bedtime story.” He promised with a kiss on her tiny forehead.

Jinx gave him a “hmph” when those crystal sweet eyes shifted to me. “Can Lorie play with me while I wait for you?” The young girl begged- making my heart slowly melt. I’ve always loved kids, especially little Jinx. She was so wild yet so sweet. Wiping a little bit of sweat away from my temple, I leaned in to her. “Later, sweetheart. I promise.”

With the verbal confirmation, she smiled. “Okay!” The small kid cheered and was voluntarily escorted away by Sevika. The mechanical arm twinkled when the light of a nearby lamp reflected off of it. It was only now when I realized that I forgot to take some shimmer this morning. It had become a nasty habit- an addiction, really. Every morning before work, I took a dose of shimmer to keep the haunting withdraw symptoms away during the work hours.

The long hand entered my vision, closing the door infront of me. My eyes traced over the well kept burgundy shirt to Silco’s mismatched glaring eyes. “I’m gonna need to use the restroom before we begin.” Simple words came out as almost a gasp. But his sharp eyes watched my now shaking form. I didn’t recieve an answer when he turned around to face a bookcase that hugged against the wall. Taking that as an acknowledgment, my body quickly ran over to the suitcase. The shakiness of my body turned to trembling as my hands tried to open the suitcase.

After a few failed attempts, I managed to open it and look for the unmistakable purple viles that clung in a secret pocket under the lid. My heart sank when my fingers curled under the pocket to find nothing.

The room started to become grayscale, as my body began to go into panick mode. I’ve become a shimmer-head, a term coined by the shimmer addicts that can’t control their urges. But a familiar purple twinkle appeared in my peripheral vision, I took no head as I reached out and yanked it from the hand holding it. Shimmer poured down my throat as I chugged the chemical substance with no grace. My body slumped forward for a moment as the drug began to do its job, pulsing through every bone in my body. I could feel my blood cells buzzing with energy and newly found strength- which is ironic because the side effect is cell decay. Slowly my eyes started to open when I regained consciousness. Thats when I noticed the cushy feeling under my thighs- I was sitting on the couch.

Silco sat beside me, eyes glued to my sticky form. If I wasn’t so zonked I would have thought that I noticed a hint of worry in his green eye. I sighed in defeat. “How did you know?” I questioned, referring to him knowing of my Shimmer addiction.

“Those symptoms are hardly hidden.” Silco said nonchalantly, shifting his arm over the couch. “That and you have a few purple veins travelling up from under your glove.” He pointed a slim finger to my hand which had a large vein poking out from under the fingerless glove I wore to cover it. “Shit.” I growled, my free hand tugging the top of the glove a little over the purple eyesore.

Silco pushed off against the couch to stride across the carpeted office. Staying silent, I focused my weight on the back of the couch as I recovered. “I suppose that killed the mood.”

A snap could be heard from across the office where Silco was cutting off the tip of the cigar. Carefully, he lit it and drawed in the smoke before exhaling a cloud of grey. “That? Oh no,” The man walked back to me, a smoke string followed his cigar, that sat lazily in his mouth, across the room. “What killed the mood was my daughter knocking on my office door.”

I sneered playfully. “No, yeah you're right. I thought you said you bought her new toys to keep her company during our…appointments.” The weary father groaned before taking another drag of his cigar. “I did. She somehow found out you were coming.”

I laughed. “Does this mean I’m auntie Lorelei? With how much she loves me-”

“You’re not her aunt.” Silco was swift to interject. A plume of smoke came bellowing out of his flared nostrils, following his words. That silenced me, taking the snap more aggressively than his intent. My gaze trickled down to my thin fingers that played with the glove I wear.

I heard a ruffle of fabric, which made my face turn to the source of the sound. Silco sat on the other side of the couch. “If you were her aunt, that means we can’t do this.” His hand grasped firmly at my cheek to secure my face before going in for the kill. Tobacco lined lips captured my smaller ones. His sharp jawline twister to the left, allowing the tongue of his to find purchase in between my lips. The kiss was different than the ones I share with my other clients. This one was…sensual. Usually this is where my clients like it when I moan into the kiss. Remembering this, I moaned dramatically into the kiss.

Silco pulled back, leaning backwards. His usual scowl searched my flushed face. “What was that?” The older man inquired but it sounded more like a snap.

“What? The moan?” I gasped, trying to catch my breath. Even though I was faking the moan, the kiss felt very much real and exhilarating.

He sighed and gave me a very annoyed look. “I’m not like the rest of those idiots that you call clients, dear. I know when something is fake. I only want to hear the real thing.” I watched as the scarred side of his face stayed stoically still while the other half was showing nothing but annoyance and desperation- with a faint trace of blush that peppered the pale skin of his. He took a breath in. “Do you understand, Lorel?”

I was about to answer when my eyes suddenly became entranced in his black eye. The black void of his sclera, where white should be, engulfed my gaze in its…beauty. I wonder if he gets compliments on it? The red iris which lined his pupil roamed the black sclera, watching me back.

There was a light squeeze on my neck which snapped my senses back to the heat of the moment. Eyes mismatched, strong and brilliant laid upon me with hunger as Silco’s free hand clasped on my throat, giving the sides of it a light squeeze. “Lorelei, do you understand?” He asked more firmly.

I tore myself from his addictive gaze. “Yes, Silco.” With that, the Eye of Zaun stood and strode carefully to his leather chair where he sat down. “I want you to wear this.” All I could see was the curve of his back while he knelt a little down to pick up a thin box and placed it on the desk.

Silco’s fingers met each other as he watched me open the box with curiosity. My face went red when I pulled out a very risque looking lingerie. It was a one piece and there were buttons on the crotch of it. “Well?” The chair squeaked as he slightly swivelled with anticipation.

“It is…nice.” Was all I could choke out. “Good.” His lips contorted in a sharp grin before his head nudged towards the door that was off to the side of his office. “Go put it on.” I would have thought it was a harsh order if he didn’t say that softly. I nodded, taking the small article of clothing. But just as my hand touched the doorknob that led to his room, Silco raised a hand.

“Actually, you will undress here. In front of me.” Silco said as if this was something that wasn’t out of the ordinary. I gulped. He always did this in our sessions, playing with me like a cat plays with his prey before attacking. I guess it makes it fun for him. Nodding slowly, I made for the couch. My body faced the wall as I lifted up my top after shrugging off my fluffy coat. I heard the chair groan. “Towards me, dear.”

‘Shit, right.’ I was often a very charismatic and charming individual during my work hours, but around Silco he reduces me to that of a mere swooning woman. My shirt fell to the floor and I began to work on my shorts. They unzipped easily and slipped off with just as much ease. Silco watched every waking second of my act.

My hands travelled up my back to find the bra clasp and successfully unclipped it. Most women would be shy and slowly take the bra off- make a scene of it. But I’m not like most women. I’ve been taking my own bra off in front of clients for years. The bra hit the ground with haste and I began to move to my underwear, slipping the garment off as well with just as much haste to reveal a very untrimmed part of me. Of which I didn’t give a shit about.

Silco sized me up, watching the movements of my hands assist me in putting the lingerie on. His finger brushed circles against his thumb while watching my performance. The elastic of the lingerie snapped against my shoulder, cueing the end of my show.

“Good girl.” Silco’s voice purred before making a motion with his hand for me to come behind the desk. “Well don’t you look pretty.” He admired my slim form that stood in front of his still body. I leaned down, my hands on each of his knees, and caught his lips in my own. The taste of whiskey and cigars could be traced along his lips. A tiny moan from the Eye of Zaun was what my sudden kiss earned.

Light hands held either of my shoulders and pushed me slowly back. “Now, now.” Silco leaned in to coo in my ear. His breath danced against my ear, making me shiver from the sensation. He noticed this of course and chuckled. “Let us not get ahead of ourselves.” He whispered and sat back in his chair, his hands leaving my shoulders to trail down my bare arms.

“Lets get that little mouth of yours ready, shall we?” The backs of his arms rested on the armrest of his leather chair, long legs moving apart. I took this as a hint to kneel to the carpet and smooth out the pants on his inner thighs with my hands. Silco only watched like a statue, not moving even when I gave a very sensitive part of his thigh a playful pinch.

A calloused hand captured my chin, lifting it up to meet his beating eyes. “I’m becoming impatient, dear.” He sneered and throwed my chin back before returning to the back of the chair. My face leaned in to the crevice in between his legs. The fingers of my left hand ghosted across his leg before lightly toying with the prize in the middle. That very prize was bulging against the black expensive pants that he always wore. “What do we have hear~” I teased and my hand made to gently grab at the bulge. This made Silco groan and his bulge to twitch a little at the stimulation. “Don’t play coy.”

I laughed. “If that is what the client wants. My fingers started to delicately unbutton the four buttons that sat atop Silco’s crotch- acting as a guard for his most sensitive body part. When I completed unbuttoning, the patch of fabric easily lifted off to reveal a damp garment. “It seems someone got a little excited-” Before I could finish the sentence at the awe of his precum sticking to his underwear, Silco’s hand tugged at my hair.

“What did I just say?” The groan quickly turned into a growl. “Don’t play coy?” I recalled with an innocent expression. “Well?” He looked down at me with a more than hungry gaze. My hand reached inside his pants, fishing out his pale penis from under the waistband of his undergarments. “Fuck.” He hissed. Only now had I just realised the amount of steam he needed to let out, men don’t often react so quickly. I started to assume that is why he booked our session at the last minute. Silco’s head tilted back against the cushion of the chair, but still made eye contact with me while my mouth kissed his tip. His chest heaved sharply and the side of his lips curled, showing chipped teeth. I licked his shaft, making an up and down motion until I decided his panting was enough. My mouth situated at the head of his cock as my head bobbed down against it.

The Eye of Zaun’s thin lips parted shakily. “Ah-” I could tell he was trying to not let any words escape but failed. Quickly, his body tensed up before realising his hot cum. I was ready for it and swallowed it all. A soft hand reached over my head to pat it. “Well…done.” He said in between pants and shifted his weight in the seat.

I licked the rest of the white substance of my lips before standing up. Silco clearly needed some time to recover so I walked around his office, surveying the room. Light pants could still be heard as I adventured around the office.

Feeling an odd sensation, I pulled the glove halfway off my hand. The once pale skin of my hand began to turn a faint purple under the darker purple veins that protruded from my skin. I gulped. The veins were conquering more parts of my hand each day with each dose of shimmer that I took.

“Couch. Now.” Silco’s voice was firm from across the office. I turned to see the ominous green window hover behind the Eye of Zaun, making him look like a silhouette but bathing his outline in green. His crotch was fully secured in his trousers. My body shifted to the fancy leather couch that sat flush against his office wall. Before I could properly sit down, a strong hand grabbed the back of my neck and lowered my body against the couch forcefully. Silco’s stomach flexed fast against my spine from his fast breathing.

However his fast breathing ceased the quick pace after he pinned me to the couch. Now it was me who was panting fast. The hand that held my neck down from the back slid to the front of my throat, making my face look at the ceiling. “I can hear your heart beating ever so quick, darling.” He hummed into my ear before nibbling on it. My stomach was flat against the couch, his body laid upon my own. My body practically buzzed with the excitement that his touch elicited.

“Now, before we begin I must have your confirmation that you’d be okay with this.” Silco’s hot breath purred against my ear. I thought for a moment. It’s not like I’m shagging all my clients…and he said he’d pay extra. Plus this is probably the one chance I have to shag the future king of Zaun- which would be pretty cool to brag about.

“You have my consent.” I began, snapping my ass back into his crotch which knocked him against the couch by surprise. Brooding eyes watched my body turn around and effortlessly clumber on top of him. Those thin lips of his pulled into a wolf like sneer at my victorious attempt at straddling him. “You think you’re impressing me, dear?” Silco’s body slowly pulled forward, slowly like a snake. “It seems you are once again forgetting something.” The palm of his hand ran up and down my back. My chin laid in between his shoulder and the crook of his neck. “Oh? What might that be?” My voice vibrated sensually against his coat. This upset me that his coat was still on. My fingers entered under his coat and helped him discard his coat onto the floor. If it had not been a heated moment, he would have neatly folded it and set it aside.

Silco’s hands grabbed my hips and used all of his strength to quickly turn my entire body around- I was back to facing the couch cushions. “I am always on top.” He snarled, licking my exposed neck. I gasped at how much that turned me on. “Do you understand, pet?” I could practically hear how his lips twisted in a sinister grin. His hand found its rightful place on my throat. This touch made the soft lacey fabric above my sex dampen with selfish desire that manifested in a slick form. I nodded quickly, needing relief. His grip tightened against my throat.

“I need your words.” Silco’s accent dripped with greed on the last word but the sentence sounded more like a plea for verbal consent.

“Yes!” I finally barked, making the man on top of me groan with lust. His lips lapped and nipped at the sensitive skin on the side of my neck as his trickster hands went to work feeling around my body. I felt his fingers trace along the intricate details of the lace on the tiny lingerie. His arms hugged my waist from behind, slowly slipping his hand under the clothing. Smooth fingers found the rough part of my mound, they entangled themselves in my curls before moving further down the plain of my skin.

Dipping into the heat in between my legs, Silco’s fingers resurfaced with clear slick sticking to the delicate digits. He groaned with approval and tasted my arousal. “Here I began to think you weren’t wanting this, dear.” His voice lingered in the air like the smog of the Undercity before he started on sucking my neck, leaving hickies around that area. “But your own body proved that theory wrong.”

I huffed in frustration, rolling my thighs against his now large bulge which earned me a sharp inhale from Silco. “You’re going to regret that.” He hissed, hooking his fingers under the crotch part of the lingerie and bunching it over to one side, completely exposing my rear to him. Fabric rustled and I could hear those four precious buttons being ripped off with haste.

Not a second later I gasped at the sudden push his dick made to press into my core. But instead of thrusting, he paused, letting me get acquainted with being filled. “Easy…” He groaned, positioning himself on the couch behind me. I panted hard with the slight twist the head made inside me. “Are you…” Silco paused, regaining his breath. “Ready?”

I laughed and looked at an equally sweaty man. “As I’ll ever be…Silco.” The green iris widened, pupil expanding at the sound of his name. That did it. Heavy thrusts pounded me into the soft but squeaky cushions. His sweat mixed with mine and founded loud slaps with each motion that echoed through the musty room. I, myself, made somewhat ugly moans with each thrust. I really hoped no one was standing even remotely near his office door, Silco’s walls aren't sound proof in the least.

“Silco-” My voice was stopped by his hand squeezing my neck firmly. The other hand held a fierce grip on my hip- securing a bruise for tomorrow. The mention of his name made his own hips thrust harder into me.

Faster and faster and harder. Until…

Both of our rapid breathing became synchronised and for a moment, our bodies and souls became one. “Fuck.” A veiny hand landed to my side, steadying his trembling body. Warm cum spilled inside me, triggering my own orgasm. His cock stayed buried inside me as he recovered from his violent orgasm.

I turned around under Silco’s hold, so my back was laying on the couch. Silco’s finger began to give my clit attention just as an old metallic grandfather clock that was nestled in the corner of his office began to chime. “It seems our session has come to an end.” The couch’s cushions groaned under Silco’s body as he stood up, buttoning his trousers

[achillieus]

we’re fools. (bucky barnes x reader)

summary: for all bucky barnes knows, he hates clichés. and this thing between you two, happens to be the biggest one.

(enemies to lovers trope or i watched the society on netflix recently and based this entirely on harry bingham and cassandra pressman)

pairing: college au!bucky x reader

warnings: alcohol, angst, too much tension, bucky and reader are stupid and in  denial, sexual tension all around the place

tagging: @tonystankschild​

(other parts)  (masterlist)

part 2/3:

And then it’s the last week of February and you have an assignment together, you and Bucky, the boy with black hair and a mind that you’re certain is not as clever as he insists it is. You know this cannot possibly end well. You feel it when he sits beside you and his knee brushes past your leg. You feel it when you take a breath and smell his aftershave. Sandalwood and vanilla. It makes you want to lick your lips. Please, get a grip. You try to get away, even propose to write the whole thing alone so you wouldn’t have to spend any time around him. In your mind, you call it self defense. But Bucky’s boastful and you can see him pumping the muscles in his neck, trying to intimidate you.

“My dorm, tomorrow at 7,” he says “Don’t be late.”

-

(your late night instagram search history)

(00:38 AM) #literaturememes

(01:15 AM) @buckybrns

(01:30 AM) #newgirl

(01:50 AM) @buckybrns

(02:10 AM) @buckybrns

You find it annoying; how he’s present even when he’s not around.

-

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that everyone, boys and girls, adore him alike. He’s charming, he’s crafty, he’s brilliant. He’s everything they want him to be and even more. It nearly condones his megalomania.

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that he’s aware he has an audience. Always plans his moves, knows how to play his character perfectly. He wears dark designer jeans and plain Henley shirts, buttons open, fabric tight around his biceps. Sometimes even a black leather jacket and a tag necklace. Girls are intrigued by the bad-boy, straight A student contrast, while the boys are envious enough keep him close and invite him to all of their parties. Bucky gives them whatever they need.

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that he’s utterly lonely. He has never said so, but it’s the truest thing about him. He has Sam. But for how long? Bucky’s used to people going away. It has been imprinted on him. His best friend, Steve, left with his girlfriend in an exchange program last month and Natasha, the one girl he ever came close to loving, just started dating Clint Barton. Clint fucking Barton. What a downgrade.

And then there’s you, sitting at the end of his bed, playing with the ring in your finger, reading some neatly written lecture notes. Usually, Bucky would think about 129 cheeky comments he could make to a girl in his room. But not to you. Are you sure, Bucky? He has grown accustomed to disliking you. It’s the one constant he has left and he’s not planning on losing it.

He leans down and takes the place next to you, a bottle of beer dangling loosely in his hand.

He offers and you decline.

“We need to concentrate on the project.”  

“You’re the biggest killjoy.” Bucky says with a hint of a smirk.

“I’m studying, Bucky.” He can see your left hand holding that dark green pen in a tight grip and your eyes trying to focus everywhere but on his face. He can see your hair glistening in the warm afternoon light that comes from his window. He can see the soft red blush on your cheeks and the beauty mark on your neck. What a tricky thing it is to see. And to feel. And to want.

Is that what dislike tastes like, Bucky?

-

He talks a lot, that’s the first thing you notice. He says all sorts of things, most of them having nothing to do with your project. You’re certain it’s because he’s feeling as uncomfortable and agitated as you. But still, it’s annoying as hell.

“Listen,” you say and turn to his side “I’m not going to fail this class just because you have the attention span of a two year old.”

A laugh escapes his lips and you watch, completely in awe, the way little wrinkles form around his eyes and his nose scrunches. Right now, he looks tender and warm. No, he doesn’t.

“I think we’re both pretty smart,” Bucky says nonchalant and wets his lower lip with his tongue, before he adds, “We’ve got this, so relax doll.”

There are rules, things that are solid, de facto.

Example 1: Bucky never praises you. At least not out loud.

Example 1: Not valid anymore.

Example 2: Bucky uses the word “doll” approximately ten times a day. To other girls. The girls he likes. Not to you.

That’s actually wrong, he called you doll the first time you met. That doesn’t count. He didn’t know you then.

Example 2: Not valid anymore.

It feels foreign. Pleasant and beguiling, but foreign.

“You always call girls “doll”. What is this?” You ask and he looks up. “Is it like your thing, your flirt move?”

Bucky meets your gaze, his forehead creased, and holds it for some seconds before he laughs again. Is this amusing him?

“No, I’m serious.” You bite your lip. “You even did it to me when we first met.”

“I did?”

Of course he doesn’t remember, what did you expect?

“Yeah, when you helped me find the admission office.”

“And you remember that, an entire year later?” He raises his eyebrows, looking entertained and partly interested.

Your mind empties and for some time you feel out of place, embarrassed. But you’re quick to recollect yourself. You can’t let him get you.

“It was my first day as a college student, I remember all of it.”

Liar. You don’t even remember who you sat next to.

Bucky smirks a little too long for your liking and then he leans in, his body bending in a way that makes you forget to breath. He’s so close and you only see blue, a rare kind of blue between the depths of the ocean and the brightest shade of the sky at noon. This would be so much easier if he wasn’t that handsome. Handsome and indomitable. What an awful combination.

“Interesting.” He whispers and lies back, touching the wall.

You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and clear your throat.

“I should go, it’s obvious we’re not making any progress.” You pick your books and stand up. “Sometimes I wonder how you get all those perfect grades, you clearly-” You merely finish your sentence before he grabs your arm and swiftly, he has you pressed against his wooden bookcase. You don’t have time to blink.

What’s happening? He was sitting down a second ago.

“That day,” he says while his thumb draws circles on your wrist. “You were wearing a denim dress and some Saturn shaped earrings. And you were holding a cherry juice box.”

It’s utterly terrifying how your emotions toss and turn the moment you realize what he’s talking about and the fragile muscles of your heart ache because Bucky cares. Bucky remembers.

“It wasn’t my first day of college, but I remember.”

You want to throw up. Or kiss him. You’re not sure. You know you hate Bucky. Do you? You’ve taught yourself to. And it was never supposed to change. It shouldn’t have to.  

You part your lips to say something, anything, but he shakes his head and steps back.

“You should go.”

And you do. And you’ll never tell him, but you’ll always regret not kissing him then. You’re sure now.

-

your inbox, the next morning

(10:25 AM) from buckybrns@gmail.com

              I’m sending you our assignment. You only need to add a few things and it’s done. If anything else comes up, it’s better we work on our own.

-

For Bucky, it all came crashing down the moment he first saw you. It was all over the moment his eyes met yours. A gourmand perfume lingered in the air around you that day and it stained his pores. And it’s been with him since then. Clinging onto his flesh.

It’s partly obsessive and partly romantic and Bucky tries to keep it locked inside. He thinks he can make it go away easily, the way he flicks a crumb off his expensive cashmere scarf. He thinks if he doesn’t talk about it, it’ll be less true. That’s not how things work, Bucky.

Yeah, he’s starting to notice.

And he’s trying so hard to hate you. The problem is, he doesn’t think he can.

(his late night instagram search history)

(00:45 AM) #tomfordperfumes

(01:30 AM) @y/n

(01:50 AM) #funnycats

(02:15 AM) @y/n

(03:45 AM) @y/n

-

You make it your mission to avoid him and it’s going well until the fifth of March. You spot him at Sam Wilson’s party. You should have known he’d be here, they’re friends. There’s a thick cloud of cigarette smoke all around, but still, you can perfectly see him. He’s standing alone, his skin changing colors under the neon lights, a plastic cup in his hand, eyes crystal blue and swollen and fixated on you.

The room is small and everything feels known but unfamiliar at the same time; the atmosphere, his gaze, the lump on your throat.

They’re suffocating you, the looks you give each other.

-

“Buck, what do you want?” Sam asks, holding both vodka and gin and he observes the way Bucky merely turns his head to look at him.

What do you want Bucky?

Not to play a role anymore. For Steve to be back. Maybe, Natasha. No, he hasn’t thought about her in a month. Perhaps a Pulitzer Prize. Definitely a new pair of sunglasses. But there is one more answer he has behind his teeth.

Y/N, he almost says. Always.

“Vodka.”

-

He leaves before midnight and you can’t remember where the urge came from, yet you’re following him. You know he has noticed. But he just keeps walking until he reaches the door of his dorm and presses his back against it. He sees you and you see him and his eyes cut your heart open.

“Your place is on the other side of the building.”

“I know,” you mumble, “I just never got to say good job on the assignment and I wanted to.” You are unable to meet his eyes. You sound pitiful and you want to hit a wall; with your head.

Why the hell did you follow him here?

Because sometimes you do stupid things.

Bucky mockingly opens his mouth, as if shocked. It almost makes you groan.

“Did Miss high and mighty just comment something nice about me?”

“Why do you have to contradict everything I say?”

He shakes his head and you can feel your heart beat loud and irregular and it’s not because you’re mad. It’s because he’s coming closer, almost chest to chest now. And it’s because you can swear, he just glanced at your lips.

“Someone has to, you can’t act like you know everything all the time.”  

“I don’t do that, you don’t know a thing about me Bucky.”

“Oh, but I do. You’re Y/N, you like plaid skirts and Homer and dark green pens. You expect everyone to be perfect. You expect yourself to be perfect. And you always want to do the right thing.”

His pupils are dilated. Yours must be too. Bucky Barnes is dangerous and fatal. He makes your blood coil and your mouth dry. And there’s a tension, almost pain, almost agony, deep in your lungs and it burns. And you don’t know who leaned in first, probably you because Bucky isn’t that brave yet, but suddenly your hands are everywhere. Your fingers blending in his hair, his digging in the skin on the back of your neck. He’s bringing you closer and it’s a mess and all you can hear is the beating of your heart; a rapid vibration between your ears. It’s pure and raw and it doesn’t hurt anymore.

He tastes like ambrosia and a year-old despair and you think you can go on forever. You eventually break apart because you both need to breath and for a second you worry because he looks like he’s ready to cry, but instead he smiles, softly touching your cheek.

“Did I do the right thing?” You whisper.

...

feedback is so appreciated and motivates me tons, thank you :)

[therewasatale]

go back

On Ao3.

Summary:  Would you go back? Would you leave him?

It was quiet, for once. And you were alone.

Sitting in the doorway of the wide barn, you could still feel the slow throbbing of the huge factory beneath through the ground. As if something gigantic was slowly inhaling and exhaling deep below. If you would have focused more, you might have heard the of tapping knocks, crackles, and rhythmic clicks as the plethora of machines did their thing ceaselessly.

The noise of the place has seeped into your very being. You didn’t really think you’d get used to the place so soon

You pulled your black coat closer to yourself while you watched the storm. The rain fed the puddles with fat drops. The drops fell into the water, creating big bubbles on their surface. It will rain for quite some time.  At least that's what your parents always said. By now, it seemed like a memory from a different life.

The wind rose and you took a deep breath. The sound of approaching footsteps mixed with the monotonous thumping filtering from the factory and the raindrops on the roof.

"Finally found you." Heisenberg stopped, then sat down next to you without question. "God damn it." This wasn't address to anyone, or more like it was addressed to everyone. A huge sigh escaped him and you two sat like that next to each other for a while.

"How was the family-meeting?" You glanced at the man. Even with his glasses on, you knew he rolled his eyes.

"I told you not to call it that." He pulled out a cigar from the depths of his coat and lit it expertly. "Bunch of freaks gathering so they can worship the mother." He almost spitted the last word.

You watched from the corner of your eyes as he slowly blew out a cloud of smoke, your gaze lingered on his lips for a few moments.

"The Dimitrescu daughters said hi..." Heisenberg grimaced and took a deep breath from the cigar. "They annoyed me until I promised I will relay this to you. So there." He pointed theatrically at himself and then bowed his head a little. "Now, no one can say I don't keep my word. God damn, annoying bugs."

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, and at the same time as a pleasant warmth feeling spread through your chest. So the three of them haven’t forgotten about you, they even think of you time to time. "Thank you, it's very kind of you."

"I know." He grinned slightly. However, his smile didn’t last long when he looked at you. "I still have a hard time believing how long you managed to put up with them." His voice was unusually serious.

"I think they think the same thing about you now."

Heisenberg snorted. "Smartass."

"Thank you." You pushed him softly with your shoulder then you ran your eyes through the landscape behind the pouring rain.

It's been half a year since you got here.

You and Lady Dimitrescu still haven't talked yet, but you thought it was for the best. The Lady could be very convincing, sometimes intimidating and you were afraid you couldn’t have said no if you found yourself facing her again. She could be scary, but the same was true for Lord Heisenberg. You secretly hoped that the difference was that, while Lady Dimitrescu would have been able to hurt you, it would not be true of the man sitting next to you.

As you thought in silence, Heisenberg also found himself sinking in his thoughts. He would never have admitted it, but in a strange way he was able to calm down now. Somehow, everything seemed more peaceful when he was with you, or even just around you. At times like these even his anger subsided. He rolled the pressed cigar slowly between his fingers and tried to lengthen this moment as much as he could. Nevertheless, he was never a patient man.

"You…don't want to go back to them?"

"Hm?" You asked glancing at him.

The man didn't look at you.

"Alcina looked less mad than sad when her kids asked how are you doing. Maybe she would-" he stopped when his gaze met your eyes. He didn't tell the whole truth; he couldn't get himself to do it. How his so called sister stopped him before they returned home.

 'You should give them back.' Lady Dimitrescu raised her voice, which almost trembled with emotion.

'Give them back?' He, on the other hand, wouldn't even tried to hide his annoyance. 'What are ya talking about? (Y/N) perfectly fine with me. Besides, if I remember correctly you were the one, who threw them out.'

His sister rolled her eyes. 'Oh, please. Maybe I've made a mistake. But-'

'No,' Heisenberg snarled. 'It was not just a mistake! You have no fucking idea how much you hurt (Y/N), but I'm not going to let you do it again!'

'They are mine!' Her voice became more filled with darkness with every word 'You don't know anything about them!' As always she stepped closer towering over him, trying to intimidate by her size. 'They are mine! You don't know anything about them!'

However, Heisenberg couldn’t care less, and was getting really riled up too.

'Shut your mouth! They chose to leave you; they don't need a giant SELFISH WHORE LIKE YOU! ' He knew he didn't supposed to be this angry. But he heard your muffled crying just one time too many. His fingers tightened around his hammer. There was more than enough metal around him to use, if its needed. He couldn’t really help with easing your pain, but if he could get rid of the source of your pain, maybe, just maybe, it would help.

The woman's eyes burned with anger, and her blades were ready to cut through anything that got in their way. Lady Dimitrescu leaned closer. 'Maybe they chose to leave, but they will choose to come back. They're not yours. They still belong to me and when they realize this, they will come back to me. I was the one who helped them, who took them in. A weak man-thing like you could never make them happy. And if it's needed then I'm going to take them back from you, you miserable wretch!'

'Go ahead and try, you big piece of useless TRASH!' The hammer moved behind him by itself and rose into the air.

'You two, enough of this non-sense!' Mother Miranda had been waiting silently until now. She couldn’t let two of her most important subjects start a pointless fight and get one of them injured. 'Go to your place. Now! '

There was a sharp wind as black branches burst out of the ground separating Lady Dimitrescu and Lord Heisenberg.

 "No, I don't want to go back." You leaned back on your hands, not even noticing as Heisenberg's shoulders tightening.

You let the smell of tobacco and rain creep into your thoughts. "I was happy there, most of them time."

The man felt his chest grabbed by an icy hand. He took a deep lung full of smoke from his cigarette again.

"Actually I had to, be more cautious there to keep myself safe, but when Lady Dimitrescu took me as her personal maiden. Well." You scratched your head. "Everything was alright for a while." You shuddered, you could still recall the Lady’s touch in your memories and on body vividly to this very day. But it all didn't matter now. "But, you know, after a while I started to think…I was really just a toy that they got bored of, maybe not for the daughters, but for the Lady? Certainly."

You didn’t have the strength to look at Heisenberg. If you had seen some sign of the same thing in his eyes now...If you were just an object, and he maybe started to find you less interesting now…Would he do the same?

"I knew it was going to end like this. It's fine." You lied with a fake smile.

Dense smoke rose from his lips. "So, that's why?" He almost sounded annoyed. "Why are you still here?" So maybe you would go back?

"Hm. Partly…maybe."

"Get to the point, (Y/N)." He muttered under his breath, but he was still listening seriously.

"I love being here, Heisenberg. This place is amazing, I got used to the sounds and the smell and I can do a lot more than in the castle. I don't want to go back because I can be better here, maybe even happier next to you."

Heisenberg felt his heart skip a beat.

"I can be an asshole."

"Yes, you can." Your smile became more earnest.

"So?"

You grabbed his coat with one hand, took the cigarette out of his mouth with the other, then pulled him in a kiss. You could smell the bitter, smoky taste of cigarette on his lips. He snorted in surprise but hugged you closer with one arm. After putting your cigar aside, you caressed his face gently. He kissed you the way she behaved, without holding back or acting nice. Couple of minutes later you had pull away, fully out of breath. Panting and deeply blushing you faced him.

"You are an asshole. But you are also mine." You carefully took off his glasses so you could look into his gray eyes. "Would you hurt me, Heisenberg?"

"No." The lord grinned widely, still, deep in his eyes you could see true warmth hiding there. "Only if you want me to, if you're into this kind of stuff." Pulling you into his lap, he kissed you again."

Around you, the noises of the factory and rain were pushed into the background, and you could only focus on the man's smoky lips and his strong arms, embracing you.

[whaleofatjme1920]

Denying Feelings on the Tiled Floor (Masky X F!Reader)

[Masky X F!Reader]

[Warnings: blood, angst]

[AN: I genuinely dont think I've posted this here before but it's from my quotev and I want it here lots of love <3]

Tim can’t really describe the first moment he knew he felt something for you, only that he did. And he knew the risks that came along with having such feelings.

Hanahaki, it’s a terrible disease, really. Instead of giving flowers to the person you love, you grow them in your lungs. If the person that you’re so willingly throwing your affections at doesn’t return them, you die. The flowers cloud your lungs and unfurl, sprouting and taking root as they invade your chest, making it harder and harder to breathe until you eventually choke.

He wasn’t supposed to have feelings for anyone, especially as a proxy and even more so as a respectable group leader. His job is to guide and lead, not feel softly for someone who might never return his feelings. Tim doesn't really think he even deserves to have these type of warm feelings, if he’s being honest.

Not after he failed to protect Brian. Not after he failed to protect Amy. Not after he failed to protect Sarah. Not after he failed to save Alex. Not after he barely managed to protect Jessica. And certainly not after he failed to do right by and protect Jay. His existence was always bound to be one of suffering, not warm feelings and sly glances at someone he feels so deeply for.

He supposes that’s where the Hanahaki comes in from. He can’t just have warm feelings, he must suffer for those two. The warmth he felt for you was at first a spark, small, floating on the wind from something greater and bigger than he could ever imagine. Then, it took hold on every part of him, consuming him until it was ablaze and the flames licked upwards to the heels of the sky.

It was something he never wanted to feel, something he wanted to shove back. But sometimes, it was pleasant, and sweet, and it lured him in like sailors to a siren song.

Sometimes it was just a little smile.

“Good work today,” Tim complimented as he patted your back, watching as you tiredly stumbled back into the house. “I wasn’t sure we were gonna be able to get that guy but you? You were on it.”

You glanced over your shoulder and smiled at him. “Thanks! He was a slipper bastard, but I make it work,” you giggled.

Tim chuckled and closed the door of the temp house his group was currently staying in. “Get some rest tonight, okay?”

“Why? We have something big tomorrow?” You asked, tilting your head slightly.

He followed you into the kitchen, watching as you began to rummage in the fridge for something cold to drink. “No,” he started. “I just want you to get some rest.”

You poked your head from back out of the fridge, genuinely smiling at him. “Sure thing, Masky.”

His heart skipped a beat.

Sometimes it was your laugh.

It had just been you and Tim in the car coming back from a late night convenience store run. Apparently, the rest of your group wanted to have a movie night but the snacks were severely lacking.

There was music playing in the car but he hadn’t been focused on it all. In fact, he was more focused on you telling him things from your childhood.

“I can’t believe they just let us do that,” you had giggled. “I know senior pranks can get out of hand but I’m certain we cost them thousands in actual damage and even more in water damage.”

Tim chuckled and nodded. “I remember for our senior prank, Hoodie and I got the bright idea to steal three pigs from one of the local farms in the area with a group of other guys, and marked them with a one, two and four,” he explained, watching from the corner of his eye as you began to grin. “So, we let them loose in the school and of course, the staff and the students that weren’t in on the prank spent the entire day looking for pig three-” he’s barely able to get the rest of the anecdote out before you burst into laughter.

Tim’s heart grows softer as he joins you, fighting the desire to hold your hand. You sound so beautiful to him.

Tim knows he can’t deny his feelings. He couldn’t try any harder, and unfortunately for him, he has the inkling you don’t feel the same. It’s painful because he can feel the seeds of that terrible disease spreading further and further, consuming him slowly.

You’ve mentioned it before, not wanting to be in love. Not desiring a relationship and by extension, him.

“I just don’t think I’m up for those kind of things,” you said one night as the two of you say up on the roof together.

He tilted his head slightly to the side. “What makes you say that?”

You shrugged. “I’m a proxy, and I don’t think love is in the roster for people like us.” You giggled slightly and fixed your posture before shaking your head. “I think the only types of people who would work with people like us is people like us. But, even then, I think we’re way too emotionally unstable.” You then paused and looked over to your group leader. “What about you?”

Tim shrugged, a small, sad smile on his face. “I think I’m in agreement with you.” He said it, but he doesn’t mean it. He watched you carefully after he said it, looking for any signs that you wanted to challenge him, and when he didn’t see them, he felt the flowers bloom.

Coughing is absolutely normal for Tim. He’s handled the Operator’s influence for far longer than anyone should, which has been since his childhood. It’s just his body’s natural reaction to being poisoned all those years. But what wasn’t normal was when he started coughing up petals.

Oh how he hates the color pink now. Carnations. They’re pink carnations. He has no idea why they’re pink carnations as you have shown no type of fondness or specific admiration for the type of flower, but they smell so sweet and the color reminds him of you. He tries to smoke his cigarettes more and more in a vain attempt to smoke the roots that have taken hold in his lungs before they consume him in his entirety.

But he knows he won’t stop them, and that he won’t give into that surgery. What’s the use of living if you cannot have the feelings that come alongside it? All of the things that still make proxies human, life, death, love and birth - peace and war? Happiness when you laugh with friends, confusion, anger and somberness. It’s worth it. Every single part of it is worth it. He doesn’t want to lose the warm feelings he has to you either,

Even if it kills him.

It’s not like you haven’t noticed Tim coughing up pink carnations. The way the sparsely blood covered flowers find their ways into vases or in the trash have been greatly concerning you, and as far as you can tell, it’s not from Toby, Brian, or Kate. The only habitual cougher is Tim, and that makes you concerned.

You don’t know how to feel about Tim most days, but you know it’s something sweeter than what should be allowed as a proxy. You’re finally making your decision when you think you’ve almost lost him.

It’s a warm summer night when you finally come to terms with how you feel. You’ve just returned from some kind of ‘cooperation mission’ with Eyeless Jack and Jeff and you are more than exhausted after the mess you had to put up with.

“Anyone home?” You call out. From the kitchen, you can smell fresh pastries. Looks like Kate and Toby have been baking again. You follow the scent and see platters of brownies, cookies and other sweets laid out on the countertops with little sticky notes telling you to only take from the brownies - the rest are for other proxy groups and independents.

You’re just about to pluck one of the fresh brownies when you hear coughing. It’s soft at first, thick, but sounds like normal Tim coughing. You wonder if you should head over and see if there’s anything he needs. “Masky?” You call out again.

He coughs again. “What?” He sounds exhausted.

“Do you need some water?”

“No, I don’t-” he begins to cough violently, and you swear you can hear something falling to the floor as he does so. Tim rumbles around his room, crawling out of bed as he continues to violently cough and to the bathroom.

Worried, you exit the kitchen hastily to see what’s wrong just to see him slinking into the bathroom. “Masky? What’s going on?” You ask in a growing concerned tone, walking down the darkened hall to where the bathroom light shines from under the door.

And there you see it, flowers. Pink in color, carnations. They’re soft under your shoe as opposed to the hardwood. You feel the blood run cold in your veins. “Tim? Tim? Tim, you gotta open up please-” you rush out as you begin to pound on the door.

“Don’t you dare!” He snarls, pushing his weight against the door, still coughing. “I don’t need your hel-” he practically coughs up his lungs as he falls to the floor.

You panic. “Shit, shit, shit!” You cry out as you lean back in the hallway. “I’m coming in!” You know he can’t really hear you as he continues to hack out his lungs, but you kick the door in, bursting it from its hinges. You catch it and practically tear it out of the frame before shoving it back into the hall.

You widen your eyes upon seeing the state of Tim and immediately fall downwards, your hands sliding over his trembling form. There’s blood all over the sink, the mirror, even some of the sub and on the floor. The red drops leave trails down his mouth like snail trails. “Oh my gods,” you murmur as you rest his head on his lap, stopping his skull from knocking around on the tile floor.

“You shouldn’t-” he coughs more. “You shouldn’t be in here!” He’s not able to reprimand you because he’s practically puking up a bouquet.

“Nonsense,” you shrug off, trying to bring him comfort. “What the hell brought this on?” Your fingertips gently trace around his mouth and help claw the budding flowers out. You’ve never hated carnations so much until now.

Tim glares up at you before closing his eyes in pain, feeling the flowers cloud his lungs further. “It’s nothing-”

“Does this look like nothing?” You sound so cross, but it’s just because you’re so worried about him.

A long, pregnant pause passes between the two of you.

You continue to pull the blossoms from his mouth before looking over his form, seeing how his hand is slowly reaching up for yours. “Tim…”

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, I never meant for you to-”

You shake your head, your hand reaching out to hold his. You grip him before taking his hand warmly up to the side of your face, allowing him to caress your cheek. “Don’t.”

“But it’s true,” he barely manages to wisp out. “I never meant to throw this onto you,” he finishes before weakly coughing up more petals and full budding flowers. He can barely breathe now.

You sigh as you press his hand up to your cheek just a little firmer, letting him feel your warmth before you softly pull him back. “Open your palm, please,” you say softly as your free hand fishes out yet another bundle of carnations.

He weakly nods, closing his eyes and giving into his labored breathing as his lungs compete with the roots and sick blossoms for air.

You sigh once again, a small smile crossing onto your face before you plant a kiss on the center of his palm, remaining for just a moment before allowing him to pull away all on his own. “You always had me you idiot,” you whisper as you watch his fingers curl inwards, gripping the kiss that you had just planted.

Tim looks up at you, starry eyed before resting his hand on your cheek again.

The garden in his lungs begins to wilt.

[idontblushsrry]

How the Jujutsu Kaisen Characters Smell

A/N: Absolutely no one asked for this but I have thoughts and now yall have to hear them. Btw gonna put a keep reading because I’m trying to cover as many jjk characters as possible so it’s gonna get long.

Warnings: Spoilers if you’ve only seen the anime or haven’t read the manga up to the Shibuya Arc (relatively minor but you’ve been warned)

Itadori

He’s nowhere near the best smelling but his scent isn’t awful 

He sweats a lot so he takes showers a minimum of 2x a day

Overall his smell isn’t that bad, he just smells like outside 

5/10 points for effort but he always smells like he just got done rolling around in grass

Fushiguro

Fushiguro smells like the suave ocean breeze body wash with an undertone of pen ink 

His smell is very nice, it’s not the most remarkable but it’s not stinky

Middle school Megumi was definitely a hot mess that smelled solely of axe body spray and other middle schoolers he beat up (Tsumiki tried her best but there was only so much he’d compromise on)

After he started attending the Tokyo school, Maki threw out his axe and made Gojo buy him actual cologne/scented body wash

7/10 smells like a friend (points reduced because he used to use 3 in 1 body wash)

Kugisaki

Kugisaki is very much clean

She keeps up a beauty regimen and doesn’t play when it comes to upkeeping it

She has this light floral scent because of that; it varies between cucumbers and roses

Her body wash is also consistent with the smell of her beauty products

One thing about Kugisaki’s smell is that it does change completely depending on what products she’s using

Although, if she were to be completely clean with no scented products, she’d have a smell that’s a little bit metallic because of the nails and a little pumpkin-y

10/10 points because she sets the standard

Gojo

Smells like the inside of a guys car

He smells like bergamot and cedarwood mixed with a hint of leather

Overall he smells nice and it’s frustrating because his scent lingers. It’s so distinct that even when he’s gone, his scent will stay behind just to taunt you

9/10 minus one point for being Gojo

Maki

She’s very particular about hygiene 

It mainly stems from 1) her upbringing and 2) the level of cleanliness needed to clean all the weapons she uses regularly

She smells of metal polish, lavender with a hint of patchouli, and a slight undertone of rust

10/10 overall very strong scent but it’s so uniquely her that it’s calming 

Inumaki

This makes no sense but I feel like Inumaki smells like the sandwich part of a deli

Specifically that fresh baked bread and sliced lettuce smell

It can be a bit nostalgic at times especially because the smell in general occurs in a lot of places 

10/10 because bread smells good

Panda

It’s canon that Panda smells like the sun but we can get more specific

Panda does smell like the sun but I think he smells like a freshly cleaned room with the curtains open

The smell is like air freshener mixed with the sun

The air fresheners he smells the most like are: morning and dew, wood, pine, pet odor eliminator

10/10 no explanation needed

Yuta

Smells like teen spirit

Pre-jujutsu high (and before he was sent away to Africa); Yuta smelled like deodorant

He smelled like wayyy too much old spice, it was pretty bad

Post trip to Africa (idk which country he went to), Yuta smells of shea butter, frankincense, and charred wood

8/10 the crimes of pre jujutsu high Yuta will not be easily forgiven

Nanami

He smells like the blue Ralph Polo Lauren cologne

No I will not take criticism

He also smells a bit like the wrinkle spray people use when ironing clothes

10/10 we been knew that Nanami looks good, smells good, and dresses good

I don’t even like that cologne but for him...

Shoko

Love Shoko but her smell isn’t the most pleasant

Literally smells like cigarettes and alcohol with the sterile smell of cleaner to top it off

She’s an icon but her smell can be overwhelming at the best of times and suffocating at the worst

5/10 some people might like it but it is not for me

Utahime

Her scent is very foresty, either pine or spruce, with an undertone of gree tea

Her scent is a bit muted too so you can only really smell it if she’s really close or if you’re hugging her

It’s not a bad scent though, it’s the type that immediately sets you on ease

10/10 smells like a warm hug

Mechamaru(spoilers)

He’s a robot what’d you expect???

Jkjk Pre-Shibuya he smells really sterile and clean due to his condition

His robots obviously smell like metal and wiring

Post-Shibuya arc(or yk during technically): He smells kind of like nothing

There's the slightest smell of sparks from his cursed technique and the hint of mojito’s smell lingering, but otherwise he smells like absolutely nothing

6/10 the lack of smell is a bit off putting

Miwa

I can’t explain but I feel like Miwa smells like banana and vanilla

Like Mai and Momo tricked her and she ended up actually liking the smell

6/10 not the worst but not the best

Mai

Mai smells really heavily of metal and gunpowder

Obviously brcause of her cursed technique but she ever expected it to stck to her like it does

She doesn’t make any active effort to change it though because she thinks it makes her seem cool and mysterious

4/10 because while it DOES make her seem cool and mysterious, she scares locals

Momo

She definitely uses bath and body works perfume (tempted to say she uses the glittery versions but alas)

She loves using all the candles, lotions, and perfumes because of how girly they make her feel; has a collection that’s probably on a rotater

Definitely uses sweet pea above all

Tries to get Mai to try some of her fragrances but she has a 30/70 chance of getting her to agree

7/10 another scent that’s not for me

Todo

He has a really intense cleaning regimen and is never caught lackin in the smell department

He gets all the more embarrassed when Yuuji smells stinky next to him and will always make Yuuji shower if thr boy stinks

Other than that, he smelled of an ocean-y cologne before Takada-chan released her perfume collection

Now all he talks about is how he smells like the perfect husband for Takada

Takada’s perfume is really light a floral (along the lines of rose + vanilla) and if Todo runs out, he tries to steal it from Momo’s collection

9/10 minus a point for being a simp

Noritoshi

Smells really clean except for when he’s using his cursed technique

On average, Noritoshi smells like the clean linen spray/ clean laundry

When he uses his technique, he smells like blood and when he uses his technique to “dope”, he smells like sweat

Usually he smells like clean laundry though, he’s very picky about how he smells and hates the smell he gets from using his technique

10/10 for keeping clean

Naoya

If you think this man washes his ass...

Sorry but he’s a little too busy being a misogynist 

Naoya saw the term gooch grease and was like “wow someone gets it!”

-400/10 I’m sick of talking about the ways this man smells like a popped neck pimple

Mahito

Only person that smells worse than Naoya

If Naoya smells like a popped neck pimple, Mahito smells like a literal sewer

He smells like sewage, garbage, rot and decay, melted plastic,etc.

Not only does Mojito’s body stink, his breath stinks, hair stinks, just everything stinks

Jogo and Hanami can’t tell since they don’t have noses but everytime Geto gets a whiff, he dies a little inside

-21982913293237932392379319210391090320323019/10 GET BACK. GET BACK. GET BACK.

Sukuna

Pre-death; he smelled like blood 9 times out of 10 

The other 10% of times he smelled like incense or jasmine but you’d never smell it for long

Post-death; stinky funky and rotten

I’m sorry but 1) he’s a mass murder who literally sits atop a mountain of skulls 2) he’s technically dead and only exists thriugh his fingers

If you think that man smells like anything other than rot and grave wax...

-2/10 be glad he got a higher score than Mahito

Choso

I love Choso with every ounce of my being 

That being said, he smells like a scab

Scabs don’t even have smells but somehow he smells like one 

Alright I’m done slandering him

3/10 because I didn’t have the heart to give him anything lower

Geto(spoilers)

Pre-Gojo angst: Geto was the best smelling sorcerer in the world

He was very meticulous about his grooming routine and showed Gojo how to care for himself w/o the aid of servants

A king of self care and personal grooming 10/10

Post-Gojo angst: Geto really stopped caring about his appearance

He’d keep clean to set a good example for his kids, but he didn’t really see the value of looking decent

Probably says “I refuse to use the technology of monkeys”

Even though Mahito smells worse, Geto does still hang around Mahito and that’s gonna rub off

2/10 take a shower man, sea water doesn’t count as cleaning yourself

Junpei

Junpei smells like dandelions/picked grass and cigarettes

Cigarettes are obviously because his mom smokes them so frequently the smell sticks to him

The dandelions/ picked grass smell is because Junpei spends a lot of time outside 

Out of boredom or a need to keep his negative thoughts at bay, Junpei started picking at the grass

I do think he eventually started weaving flower crowns made of dandelions and strips of grass

6/10 because I feel bad for him

Toji

This man...

As much as I’d like to pretend he smells good, he has a drooling worm hanging off him and  probably owns like one outfit

That being said, he’s not as stinky as Naoya or Mahito (or even Sukuna), because he does clean himself when he has the chance

It’s just that he spends his money so quickly that he kinda forgets sometimes

Although he usually has no problem finding some woman who’d be more than willing to put him up in a hotel room

His smell is musky but it’s not funky

He smells like a guy right before they start to get stinky, it’s a delicate balance

4/10 he’s a lil funky but it kinda feeds his image

[kuroshitsuji-scenarios]

Little things the Kuroshitsuji boys would do?

Undertaker:

Be the one who always listens to you talking, even if other people are losing focus on your words. He would pay a lot of attention to the details, even if he wouldn’t look like it.

Would bring you adorable gifts from wherever he would be—small rocks which reminds him of a funny face, double shells, weird cones or other apparently useless things. He tends to be unique, even with the gifts he’s giving.

Sebastian Michaelis:

Would mindlessly enjoy a slight physical contact between you two, trailing his fingers along your arm and elbow when you would be sitting next to each other, playing with your hair when you would be falling asleep on his shoulder, leaving quick kisses behind your ear in the break between doing the chores.

Would wake you up whenever feeling the change in aura of your soul during a nightmare; offer you a warm drink, an embrace and an ear to listen.

Ciel Phantomhive:

Be the one who waits for you when you have to tie your shoe when the rest of the group is heading forward. He might even leave some snarky comment later about them being rude.

Would leave the last piece of his favourite cake for you to eat and pretend that he did not want it at the moment.

Claude Faustus:

Would carry you piggy-back if you felt tired during a stroll. The distance wouldn’t bother him in the slightest, he could actually carry you all the way there and back.

Would secretly take care of your plants and pets to make sure that they are feeling as good as possible to reduce your eventual stress. Especially about the plants dying—with him by your side, they will all wonderfully bloom.

Alois Trancy:

Would often leave some surprise gifts for you, including your favourite candies, the pair of shoes which caught your attention one day, the perfume which smell you enjoyed, this overly expensive and completely unnecessary mug you spotted in the shop, the supplies needed for your passion.

Would run a bath for you, the one with a lot of candles, oils, foam or the most ridiculous bath bombs he could find. It is important that you would feel like a princess all the time and spoiling you is one of his favourite activities.

William T. Spears:

Would always bring a bottle of water, a candy bar and either a scarf or a sunscreen wherever you go together. Just in case you got thirsty or hungry or cold or if there was too much sun. Humans are so fragile, after all, and who else is going to take proper care of you if not him?

Would always scold the person who interrupted your speaking and point out the lack of good manners. When you’re talking, the others should listen, he always does.

Ronald Knox:

Would always know just the right place to have some fun and forget about the everyday troubles. You will be surprised about the knowledge he has, no bar could possibly hide from him. Still, if you would want to come back home, he wouldn’t insist on staying and would always respect your decision.

Would take you to the escape room for your birthday and then be the one who panics the most about not being able to find the way out. If you would find more clues than him, he would pout a little but compliment you and your wit nevertheless.

Snake:

Wherever he would go, Snake would always leave you some sweet letters on the fridge. Sometimes they would lead to the breakfast he prepared for you when you were sleeping, sometimes they would only state the simple: ‘I love you.’

Would be the one to go the basement for that one jar of the strawberry jam you so adored, no matter how the chills on his back would tell him to go back.

Finny:

Would carry all the groceries for you. He might leave one single bag so you wouldn’t feel left behind but that would be it, the rest is his. Moreover, he would carry them all in one hand, the other reserved to hold yours while you go to the home together.

Would never miss an opportunity to kiss you in the rain, even if it means waking you up at dawn. The idea comes from all the romantic movies he wanted to watch with you, all of them bringing him to tears and the overwhelming happiness of having you by his side.

Baldroy:

Contrary to his usual driving style, he would be way too careful while driving with you, suddenly minding all rules and even using signals! He would shout at the other drivers and call them reckless if they outrun him. Your safety is top priority and he doesn’t want to look like a roadhog in your eyes.

Would send you a lot of random photos of things he finds nice, hoping to share his excitement with you. Sometimes it could be a cute dog, sometimes a limited edition package of cigarettes.

Edward Midford:

Would always offer his help in whatever thing you were currently doing, be it a laundry or some school/college/job project. Having a surprising amount of knowledge for many various subjects, he can actually be very helpful but if not, he would simply prepare your favourite beverage and keep an eye on you so you wouldn’t ruin your sleeping schedule.

Would always be a perfect gentleman around you, kissing your knuckles, holding the door for you and adressing you properly and speaking of you respectfully—even if you wouldn’t be around him at the moment. His attutude is not a game, after all, he simply is that way.

Prince Soma:

Would try and fail to prepare a breakfast to bed for you. It would look really nasty, toasts burnt, eggs almost raw and what is even that thing on the plate? Still, it’s the intentions that count, right?

Would often encourage you to dance in the middle of the room with him whenever your song would play. It doesn’t matter if you’re a good dancer or not, it would be all about fun and giggles and you’ll eventually forget about the eventual lack of skills or rhythm while being in his arms.

Agni:

Would always ask how did your day go, if it was pleasant or not, and then he would listen to the whole story you gave him, no matter how long. He loves hearing from you and it’s important to know how do you feel. Naturally, he would comfort you if it was bad and would cook your favourite meal.

Would agree to watch the film of your choice, whether he enjoyed it or not and would never complain about it, even if he almost fell asleep during.

Charles Grey:

Would take you to McDonald’s at 2 a.m.

Would literally fight anyone who’d dare to catcall you on the street, you won’t be able to stop him, he’s throwing fists already. And winning!

Charles Phipps:

Would pay a surprising amount of attention to the way your bedroom or apartment is decorated. It’s all because of his intention to make it as comfortable as possible and so, he would often buy you some useful gadgets or pretty decor stuff. He has some really good taste.

Would make phone calls and schedule any doctor’s appointments for you, it doesn’t affect him in the slightest and if you’re having troubles with such, he’s happy to help.