#I know it doesn't look all that accurate to the reference

[callsign-rogueone]

the love letter

sawyer henrick x healer!reader (peach!) words: 1.7k 🏷: no book spoilers, no warnings, set in iron flame, the 4th chapter in sawyer and peach's story, more of james being creepy but he doesn't make an appearance this time, nolon is still out of office, two points extra credit if you find a reference to another gf in here somewhere, both of these kids are still in denial and will be for another... three? chapters, first chapter of 2025 lezgeddit

Two more shelves of supplies to inventory, and then you’ll be done for the day. You pull yourself up from the floor, wincing at the ache in your knees from squatting in front of an under-the-sink cabinet. “Almost done,” you sigh. 

“I’ll finish up,” Sarah says, nodding toward the door. “You go see loverboy.”

“He’s a friend,” you correct, hoping she can’t see the warmth in your cheeks.

“Mmm,” she hums, clearly not buying it. “A very good friend, then. He’s here almost every day.”

She’s right. Like clockwork, Sawyer is waiting for you at eleven twenty eight. Always just a little bit early, but never ever late. You suppose riders have to be even more punctual than healers. 

“Thank you,” you say, giving her a rushed half-hug before you head out to the main room of the infirmary.

He’s always sitting at one of the study tables, and always stands up as soon as he sees you. 

You don’t wait for him to ask. “I got a hundred percent on my foraging assignment,” you say by way of greeting.

He smiles. “See? I told you not to worry about it, miss future Head Healer.”

“You’re not letting that go anytime soon, are you?”

“Nope.”

You roll your eyes at him playfully, but there’s no denying that his belief in you feels good, even if it’s exaggerated — there’s a tiny bit of truth in every joke. 

“Could you thank him again for me?” you ask softly. 

“Of course,” he says warmly. “And I brought you something, to celebrate.”

“It’s not another knife, is it?” you ask with a nervous laugh.

“I promise it’s not a knife.” He reaches inside his jacket, pulling out a piece of cloth, then folds back the edges, revealing something that glitters in the afternoon sunlight — a delicate metal chain with a tiny flower pendant at the end of it. He lays it in your palm, pocketing the cloth. 

“Oh, it’s beautiful. Where did you get it?”

“I didn’t. I made it myself.”

Your smile fades near immediately. “You made this?”

He looks a little crestfallen. “Yeah, why?” 

“I love it,” you reassure him quietly, still gazing at it, “but I don’t want you to be in pain. Especially not for me.”

He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

You look up at him. “Doesn’t it hurt? Using your signet?”

He looks concerned, his eyebrows furrowing. “Of course not. It felt a little weird and tingly at first, but it never hurts.”

“But the Colonel always looks so uncomfortable, and the other mender… fixing a broken bone nearly brought her to tears,” you tell him, looking back at the tiny metal flower that you hold in your palm. You wouldn’t want to wear it if it had caused him pain to make it — but then if you don’t wear it, the pain would have been wasted. Which is worse?

“Hey,” he nudges, his hands settling on your forearms. “I promise you, it didn’t hurt me at all to make this, or to adjust that dagger for you. It’s easy, like shaping clay. Easier than that, really. I don’t have to sculpt all the details, I just picture them and they appear.”

You crack a smile. “I was wondering why you stole a single flower from my basket the other day.”

He blushes. “Sorry. I needed a reference — I wanted to make it accurate.”

“It’s perfect,” you tell him. “Thank you. Can you help me put it on?” You know you could do it yourself, but some part of you wants him to be the one to close the clasp, to lay his claim to you.

He takes it back from you, roughened fingers brushing against yours. “Turn around,” he prods.

You move your hair out of the way, letting him drape the thin chain around your neck. It’s just long enough for the tiny flower to sit exactly above your heart. The metal is pleasantly warm against your skin, seeming to glow under his touch as he clasps it, his fingertips brushing against the sides of your neck. 

He wants to kiss the soft skin there, to wrap his arms around your waist and press his chest to your back, to nudge his nose against the side of your throat and just breathe you in, because you smell absolutely intoxicating — sugary, fruity perfume and a hint of whatever herbs you’d been working with this morning. He settles for a gentle, fleeting touch to your shoulders, smoothing out the sleeves of your shirt before he shoves his hands back into his pockets.

“Thank you, Sy,” you say quietly, turning to face him again. There’s a soft pink blush across his cheeks, his lips curved into a shy smile. It’s adorable. You’d definitely kiss him right now if this weren’t all an act. It would be so easy to step forward and rise onto your tiptoes and just… Nope. Boundaries. He’s just doing you a favor, as a friend. Don’t make it weird.

He isn’t saying anything, so you attempt to cut the tension by changing the subject. “You’re pretty good at this pretend boyfriend thing, you know. Bringing me gifts, slipping that love letter under my door…”

His head tilts to the side in confusion. It's unbearably cute. “What letter?”

You give him a sly smile. “I know it was totally over the top and super cheesy, but you don’t have to pretend. It was kinda cute.”

His gaze hardens. “What letter, peach,” he repeats, with an edge to his voice that you’ve only heard a few times — it’s not a question, but an order for you to tell him what the hell is going on.

Your heart drops. “It really wasn’t from you?”

He shakes his head no.

It all starts to add up. You haven’t seen Sawyer’s handwriting in years, but now that you think about it, it didn’t look anything like what you’d seen this morning, and there isn’t any trace of amusement on his face as he looks at you — he’s telling the truth. It wasn’t him. It was James.

All those sweetened words now feel like taunts, the promises like threats. Maybe they are. Maybe you’re right to be scared of him.

“Do you have it with you?” he asks gently.

“No, it’s… it’s on my desk.”

He picks up your bag, shouldering it and gesturing toward the door, as if to say lead the way. You make the trip silently, taking him down hallways that have become familiar to him in the last few weeks. He’s memorized the turns by now; a left past the infirmary, up two flights of stairs, another left, third door on the right. Room 322.

You unlock it with an actual key — something he’s still not used to — and shrug off the healer’s robe as soon as you walk in the door, tossing it over the back of your chair.

He’s walked you to your door a few times, but he’s never been inside. He realizes that the way everything in the riders' rooms is black, the healers’ are powder blue; the sheets and drapes, and the woven rug between your desk and the bed. He steps back, not wanting to dirty it with his boots.

It’s just as sparsely furnished as the riders’ rooms, but you’ve added a few things to make it less austere. The stuffed bunny you’d carried around as a child and taken meticulous care of sits on your pillow, there’s a neat row of tiny nail polish bottles on the desk — and a small piece of paper there among your books.

You hand it to him, chewing your lip. “I just thought you were being overdramatic about it to be funny, but…” You watch his eyes flick back and forth as he reads through it, and you make a second, sickening realization. “I don’t know how he figured out which room is mine,” you whisper. “All of my healer friends think he’s crazy, so they definitely wouldn’t tell him. And you’re the only other person who knows, besides the leadership.”

He looks up from the paper, his jaw clenching. 

“I’m so sorry for dragging you into this,” you whisper, holding back tears. “Hey,” he soothes, dropping the anger completely. “Don’t apologize. None of this was your fault.”

“Maybe it was,” you say softly. “Maybe I was too nice to him, did something to make him think I liked him…”

“Whether or not you were nice to him, he should have taken no for an answer the first time,” he says firmly. 

“I just don’t know what to do anymore. I told him about you, because I thought that would finally get him to stop, but I think that might have made it worse. I don’t want him to go after you.”

“I’ll be fine. Nobody else is allowed into the rider’s quadrant, and even if we crossed paths, I could totally take him in a fight,” he says with a half-smile — it doesn’t make you feel any better. “C’mere.” 

You step forward without hesitation, letting him gather you into his arms and resting your head on his shoulder. The leather of his jacket is cold against your cheek.

“I promised you we would get you through this, and I’m not going to quit. Is Nolon here today? Or the head healer?”

You shake your head. “No. I never know when they’ll be around. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Then tomorrow, you and I will talk to them about what’s going on, and see what he can do about it. I’ll meet you in the infirmary, like always. Bring the letter with you.”

“Okay,” you sniff, worrying the little flower back and forth between your fingers nervously. “Thank you, Sy.”

He reaches up to cradle your cheek, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. “Of course, sweet girl. You know I’d do anything for you.”

You nod silently, leaning into his palm. He lingers there a moment, until you hear the muffled chime of the tower bells. “You should go,” you say quietly. “I don’t want you to be late.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he soothes. “Are you going to be okay for the night?”

You nod. “Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

He gives you one last little squeeze before he pulls away. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You hum in response, silent as you watch him leave.

Tomorrow. You just have to make it to tomorrow.

[sheshkastudios]

drew this in art class

moo Deng :3

Reblog appreciated ^_^

[dkettchen]

I am obsessed with her

[hansoeii]

Hullo! I’ve been watching a bunch of your Timelapses and I was wondering how do you always come up with the colours for your pieces? They’re always so cohesive and pleasing to look at (I almost exclusively work in greyscale so if I’m using colour it’s always a lucky guess and it never looks quite right)

Hey there!

I have to be honest that most of the time I don't actually know what I'm doing and that I have no idea how most of my pieces are gonna turn out. My work process is usually based on "Fuck around and find out", haha. I'm happy to know that it apparently doesn't come across that way, though.

A lot of it comes very naturally to me simply because I've been drawing non-stop for so long, but I can give you some small tips that really help me:

1. Have as many references as possible!

Here's what my reference sheet looked like for the Jayvik piece:

It helped me a lot to understand the overall color scheme I wanted to convey. Lots of very cold tones, pinks and very light blues and greens. These colours sorround Jayce and Viktor throughout all of season 2 and I wanted to keep them, especially since in my piece they are lying in the glowing hexcore.

Don't shy away from using references, get as many as you possibly can! Look at other poeple's art too and try to understand how they work with colours.

2. Work with complementary colours!

Since I paint a lot of romantic illustrations I want them to look pleasing and comforting, which I can accomplish by using complementary colours! You see this a lot with couples that are blue and red coded, for example. And I wanted to do the same thing in the Jayvik piece! For that I used the highlights in their hair!

Viktor's highlights are a soft pink hue.

While Jayce's are a soft blue hue.

The colour wheel works perfect for figuring out if two colors compliment each other because they are literally right across from one another!

3. It doesn't have to be true to life.

Pretty self-explanatory, but I thought I'd add it in here anyways. It's important to understand how colour and light works, but you don't always have to follow the rules. Does the rim light look cool but it makes zero sense? Who cares! Keep the cool rim light! Just have fun and fuck around.

4. A little trick to make your life easier!

I'm not excatly the best at colour theory, I still struggle with it quite a bit, but here's a little trick I like to use from time to time:

If you want all your colours to look coherent, take one specific color as your flat colour. Choose a hue that you would like your piece to have. Like this:

Now you choose whatever colours your characters have and paint them in. For example, here are the skin colours I chose for Jayce and Viktor:

Looks off, right? These colours don't fit the overall piece at all. So what do we do?

Turn down the opacity! It's that easy, wahoo!

I went from 100 Opacity to 72 for this specific illustration. And look at that!

It's so much nicer already! Now you know what colours to use as your actual flats! Just repeat this with every other part of your illustration and you'll have a great starting point. :)

I really hope this was helpful! I'm not an actual teacher and I don't have a proper illustration degree, so some things might not be completely accurate, but I thought I'd try my hand at this anyways!

[ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit]

Yuu has the audacity to ask a question. It leads to some interesting moments  

Jade Leech, Rook Hunt, Vil Schoenheit, Floyd Leech

Jade Leech 

“Jade, can I ask you a question?” It’s not often that the library is so packed that you end up sharing a table but if it had to be with anybody, at least it was Jade.  

Jade wasn’t naturally academically smart. He took a lot of notes and studied in order to come out in the middle. There were folks that thought he was simply keeping his head down, but Yuu found out by accident. She knew Jade was incredibly street smart and people savvy though, no matter what grades he got. It worked in her favor though, as Jade let them copy notes from last year in exchange for not sharing the information anywhere. Not that Yuu planned too, but they weren’t going to pass up such an opportunity either.  

“Of course, I will assist in anyway I can.”  

“Do you have any books that you would recommend for scavenging for local flora and fauna in the woods back at Ramshackle? I’ve tried searching through the library but it’s a bit too vague for what I need.”

If Yuu had blinked, they would have missed the brief surprise and delight on his face.  

“Well,” he sets his pen down, “As the president of the Mountain Lovers club, I’m sure we could discuss that during our meetings. If only you were a member.” he sighed  

“If only Crowley would allow me to join any clubs.” Yuu muttered, “I know it's a requirement for first and second years to be involved in at least one, but he says I have far more to offer as his unofficial assistant. Unpaid is more accurate but what do I know.”  

Jade smiles, the one that matches his brothers. Wide and full of teeth.  

“Leave Crowley to me, dear Prefect. You just meet me in the morning behind Ramshackle. Bring a basket and your camera, oh, and dress warm. It'll be cold for you.”  

He writes some extra instructions on a slip of paper and collects his things, turning left at the library doors. Damn, that was straight to the headmasters’ office too. Jade really doesn't play around when it comes to the Mountain Lover's club.

While Yuu isn’t able to attend every meeting, the Mountain Lover’s club apparently includes trips to other countries, recipes cooked in the Ramshackle kitchen as well as appreciating cultures and crafts made by various peoples which slowly starts to decorate the rickety dorm into something interesting and unique. Jade becomes a different person as a traveler and seems to find joy in just exploring and discovering all the different ways that people create and eat and live.  

After he graduates, Yuu gifts him the book that the two of them created, with pictures and descriptions of all the Night Raven College fauna and flora, their uses, if they are edible, and different recipe and potion ingredients, the regions it comes from, and even snippets of stories and memories they share.  

Jade is not an emotional man, but when he asks you to come with him on his next expedition, his smile is full of joy.  

Rook Hunt

“Rook, can I ask you a question?”  

Rook looks down from his spot in the tree, a camera perched in his hands. “Amazing eyesight, Mon Trickster! I did not anticipate being found. Ask away, but be quick, less Roi de Lion suspects me.”  

“Are there any plays or poetry books that would be good for a beginner? I read a lot back home but I know there is cultural and historical context I'm going to be missing-” 

“I am so happy!” he practically drops the tree, taking both of her hands to kiss the knuckles, “I would be happy to help you. Come, come!”  

Oh, they are going to the library now. Right now. Ok, Yuu should have expected that.  

Rook is always excitable, but he’s mindful as well. Picking out smaller volumes at first, and adding some reference materials, putting a few back as he asks questions about what she has already read or what she typically enjoys. He also writes out a list for audio books and radio performances. Thank the Seven that Crowley finally got them a phone and they could excuse the data usage for school.  

“I have the films I would be willing to lend, but I would ask you be incredibly careful.”  

“Oh, I don’t have a TV or any type of DVD player at Ramshackle. We try and keep the places as authentic as possible. It helps when the ghosts come to visit on Hallow’s eve.” They don’t have wifi either and their electricity runs off a backup generator, but Yuu doesn’t mention that. They are distinctly aware of how rundown Ramshackle is, but they try not to advertise how badly.  

“What dedication you have to your dorm and the history of Night Raven College. We may do so in Pomefiore!”  

And that’s how they end up having movie night basically every Wednesday night, sometimes with other Pomefiore members or even Vil himself refreshing on the classics. Rook would sit close by, quietly explaining certain contexts and even joining Yuu on reading through some of the poetry books. His passion comes out more with his knowledge than his speech in those moments, and it’s...nice. Normally Rook is the most reserved person she knows. He’s family is still a mystery, but she’s learned more about his beliefs and insights into how he perceives life in general. 

“This is how I met Roi de Poison, you know. He enchanted me at first sight, but his mind...he understood my passion for theater, music and beauty. He respected me, once I proved that I loved him for more than his looks and roles.”  

Crazy fan he might have been in the past, it was definitely more of an equal relationship once you saw past the surface level. Yuu eventually started picking a few habits and fashion tips, slowly becoming a bit more refined. Elegant even, she might say.  

When she hesitantly asks for help with other things, it's easier each time. Help with skincare routines, or experimenting with make-up, what colors work best and how silhouettes come across. It’s never been this fun to experiment with her style. It helps that Rook, while thinking certain things definitely work, will be gentle in the things that aren’t.  

“They do not enhance your beauty,” he says, sounding like Vil, “And you are already magnifique.”  

He is the first person that she shares her book of stories with, the precognitions that she has  

“Do you think fairy tales are fiction?” He asks her, quietly skimming over the passages of Snow White. The Fairest Queen is barely mentioned, but without her, there is no story.  

“Living here feels like a fairy tale, but if it is, you’ve made it a wonderful dream.”  

Rook looks at her, a surprised chuckle slipping out. Before he can hide it, his nose crinkles, a smile wide enough to show his gums, and Yuu thinks it enhances all the best of him.  

Vil Schoenheit 

“Vil, may I ask you a question?” 

“At least somebody paid attention when I went over manners. You may.” Vil says, as he adds in some sort of lilac powder. Normally, they wouldn’t have any classes together, but with Yuu acting as an ‘assistant’ towards the teachers to make extra cash, they got to see the second and third years more than even the other first years in their dorms.  

“How do you make time for it all? Between the acting jobs, getting good grades in school, indulging in potionology and homebrew makeup in your limited free time, it seems like you get so much done with just as much time as the rest of us.”  

“Thank you for noticing.” Vil says, looking up from his potion work. “And yes, I do keep a very organized schedule. Every minute is planned and my down time is spent decompressing efficiently.”  

“Is there any articles or techniques you would recommend? Or a template you used?” 

“You could just ask me for help, you know.” he retorts, huffing a bit.  

“I know I could, but I also want to be respectful of what you have on your plate.”  

“Ah, potato...I have plenty of time, especially in this season. I don’t schedule anything this close to finals. Come sit with me this evening for dinner and we will talk goals and progress markers. There is more to this mentally than most people think.”  

Vil is a bit less than impressed when he sees just how much Yuu accomplishes for Night Raven College with no credit and makes a note to talk to the teachers and Crowley about getting her properly compensated or at least. But overall, it goes well, making time for exercise, hobbies, studies and even some time with him. Telling her about the techniques he used and actually practicing them were two different things, and some things are just easier to show rather than tell.  

“Alright, let’s start here.”  

Mindfulness, ironically for somebody outside Scarabina, is important to Vil. Sinking fully into the experience of his daily life, looking at all the colors, enjoying his foods with no screens, or just enjoying the quiet while he removes makeup. His decompress is like a valve that he releases in minutes throughout the day, not hours at the end of it.

“This takes practice. Don’t discourage yourself if you don’t get it every time, eventually it will come more naturally.”  

And it does. Over the months, Yuu feels more productive than ever, even finding time to wonder about her own style. It is a bit embarrassing when Vil enters Ramshackle to use the Guest Room to study and sees her hastily trying to wash off eyeshadow. 

“Oh, spudling, not your color. No, no, here.” He sits, and teaches, a bit harshly at times, but he wouldn’t be Vil if he wasn’t direct. Much like Riddle, he fully believes that people can reach his level, and sees no reason why they shouldn’t. And while Yuu will never be Vil pretty, she certainly feels more beautiful and confident now than she ever has before.  

It isn’t until Vil is reviewing one of his performances that Yuu makes a comment, some offhand remark about the script not quite matching the vernacular expected for the period, that he invites her to sit and review more.  

Yuu doesn’t think it’s anything spectular, it’s kind of obvious, but apparently it wasn’t to the rest of the audience.  

Vil sits at thier usual tea table in the Night Raven Gardens, and slides a ticket over to her.  

“If you have time. I know you recently picked up a few photography jobs in town that would be a shame to miss. Rapport with clients is key, you know.”  

It’s the red-carpet event to a 5th year anniversary movie he did as a child. All glitz and glam, showing just how much they have grown as actors and people since their debuts. It’s a milestone even for Vil, the first and only role where he was played a supporting role that wasn’t a villain or antagonist.  

“What colors are you wearing? I might have something that compliments.” Yuu asks, already going through their mind for anything suitable in Ramshackle.  

“Well,” Vil preens, opening his laptop. “We will just have to buy something together to ensure we match, won’t we? When are you free?” 

It’s so small Yuu almost misses it, but hidden underneath his painted blush is a heated blush, quiet and pink and delighted.  

Floyd Leech

“Floyd, can I ask you a question?”   

Floyd doesn’t even bother looking up from his spot at the table, “Better not be a boring question Shrimpy, or I’ll squeeze ya~” 

“Where do you go to get your shoes repaired?”  

His head snaps up just a bit, left eye brighter than usual.  

“Ace had mentioned that your sole had torn during practice,” Yuu continues, feeling like they have to explain themselves with how intensely he was staring, “But the next day it had been stitched back on like new. There are some fantastic leather boots from the old NRC uniforms that I'd love to use, but I’m trying to find somebody who won’t butcher them or tell me they aren’t repairable just cause there old or out of style, you know?”  

Floyd nods, eyes still searching before ultimately just shrugging his shoulders. “Hmmm...at least it wasn’t boring. Meet at Monstro Lounge at 6 lil’ Shrimpy, bring the shoes!”  

He walks away before Yuu can even say that they have to meet with somebody else, but that really isn’t a possibility when a Leech brother has demanded your attention. Looks like you’ll have to reschedule with Deuce.  

The Monstro Lounge is fairly steady, though Yuu has never seen it slow. Always some sort of deal or exclusive that sets these rich bastards running through the doors, even if it’s just so they don’t have to deal with the lines in the cafeteria or cook their own food.  

Jade waves you in, taking the box from your hands in a gentlemanly manner, and leading you to the side. Floyd is quick to intercept, mumbling a thank you before his long strides leave you almost jogging.  

“Alright, let’s see what we are working with.”  

The dorm is clearly shared between him and Jade. Crisp white walls, a seashell and sea motif on the desk and headboard and some floating shelves that look vaguely like drift wood, exactly what she expected from Octanvinelle. But that’s about all the two sides have in common. Jade’s is organized, of course, but notable is the terrariums on the shelves and a stack of geology books tucked into the corner, along with photos of places he may have been or plans to go.

Floyd’s half is a mess, yes, but it’s organized chaos, like looking at Ace and Deuce’s dorm. High protein snacks are tucked on the shelves, completed 3D puzzles, and...fashion magazines? Huh, he did say that merpeople didn’t really have a reason to wear clothes so land peoples being so obsessed with it would be interesting, especially in different regions or cultures. And the trends are constantly changing. It actually started fitting, the more Yuu thought about it.  

Floyd set the box on the desk, picking up the shoes and bending them this way and that, pressing on the heel or pinches the toe.  

“You’ve taken good care of them,” He says, “The stitches are loose and the nails need to be hammered back in, but the leather is clean and strong. I’d get some new leather laces though, the wax on these has completely frayed from misuse. How old are these?”  

“They're from back when Ezra and the others went to school, but they don’t have a great concept of time.” Floyd raises an eyebrow. “Oh, the ghosts at Ramshackle.”  

“Huh, no wonder it felt like the place was trying to kick us out.” Floyd walks over to the walk-in closet and Yuu has to double take. She would have mistaken the closet for Jade’s! On the left, the clothes are hung neatly on the rack except for the everyday items like the basketball or school uniform which have their own spots hung neatly on the door itself. Below that are clear boxes that seem to hold all sort of tools. Are these hobbies that Floyd has picked up and gotten bored with?

But the right side of the walk in closet is just racks and racks of shoes. Wing tip dress, loafers, even a few kitten heels and red backed stiletos. All perfectly shined and displayed.  

“Floyd, you repair your own shoes?” Yuu taking the box he hands her.

“When you are as tall as me and Jade, you end up having to customize and fix a lot of your own clothes, unless you wanna pay some stupid prices, and standing there while they pin and stuff is boring. I’d rather just do it myself.” He takes out a wicked looking needle and a stand, securing it to the desk with a flick of a lever. “Which pair is your size?”  

“Oh, these.” she says, picking up a pair of loafers and ankle boots. “I can’t afford for you to do this for me Floyd. I don’t have the funds right now.” 

He just leans against the table with a laugh, “Oh, I aint doin’ it for free. Your gonna pay me by letting me keep a pair, specifically those.”

He points to the bottom of the box, a pair of thigh high riding boots from what she can tell.  

“Those are the ones in the worst shape?”  

“Oh, I won’t be able to get them to their original form, but I can lengthen the sole and toe area a bit, add a heel, and have a wicked pair of thighs high stilettos that’ll have even Betta fish jealous~” 

“With your legs, you’d look really good in a skirt.”  

They both blink.  

“Shit, sorry, my mouth ran-” Floyd laughs, something softer than usual.  

“Your damn right Shrimpy.” He smiles, “I do look damn good in a skirt. I prefer dresses though.”  

He takes a seat, motioning for her to take the other side, sets the shoe inside the stand, and starts explaining the process. It doesn’t always make sense but he’s clearly passionate about it.  

This might be a truer version of him, Yuu thinks, seeing him carefully take out a rusted nail to pull out a fresh silver one from an even smaller box. One that isn’t bored or moody, but just...getting able to do something that actually interests him.  

“Hey Floyd. Do you want to go thrifting with me and Kalim on Sunday? I think you’d have some interesting things to say about some of the finds, especially the clothes mart. They literally have a bin of vintage pieces for a dollar a piece.”  

He leans back, and does that smile again. All teeth but his eyes relax, all boyishly charming.  

“You got all the audacity in the world, don’t you?” He chuckles, “I’ll get my shift covered.”  

[blackashbluephoenix]

I think one of the best fics I have ever read refers to Harvey as 'sweetly possessive' and I think that's accurate, even with all of the probabmatic implications that come along with it. If you're one of only the handful of people he lets in- Mike being the prime example- you can touch his stuff, since he knows you'll be careful. You can ask him for things. He'll look after you financially and physically, and he'll do his best emotionally even though he's not great in that department. He can't stand it when anyone or anything of his is hurt or under threat. He can't stop himself from stepping in, from trying to stop it. He doesn't mean to be controlling, but sometimes it can come off that way if the person he's devoted to doesn't want him to react that way or want him to take control of the situation.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Pac-Man

Debut: a box

We all know Pac-Man in the game. You know Pac-Man in the game. I do not need to explain what he looks like to you, and I am so confident in your knowledge that I simply will not. You know that guy.

Now let's instead look at and talk about Hiro Kimura's interpretation of him as depicted on the Atari 400/800 box art! Let's make this our default vision of the character!

This is Pac-Man. Pac-Man is a striking yellow humanoid with a massive, spherical head, no nose, and a set of rodent-like upper incisors. He's wearing a tank top with his in-game design on it, sneakers with high socks, and, best of all, jorts!

This design DOES register enough as a Pac-Man to me, but aside from how goofy he already is, I can't help but think of him as a Stanley S. SquarePants-style cousin to the original Pac-Man. It's almost uncanny how similar the duos are!

Now, an issue I have with many Ms. Pac-Man designs is that, unlike her husband, she is often given a tiny mouth, not a mouth befitting a woman who eats for a living. How is this Pac-fella's mouth? A bit small, but not as small as the bites he's taking out of those floating plastic discs! I guess it's as much as he can get with that narrow set of teeth.

But geez, reaching for another when he's barely made any progress in the first? I hope he doesn't choke! Since this is a still image, I will give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he is able to chew through these discs like a woodchipper, and we just happen to see the frozen moment where only the first bite was taken. He can turn these macroplastics into microplastics like nobody's business!

And I guess he's in some kind of castle labyrinth, and the ghosts are trying to eat him, specifically. They think he looks Yummy, and I will have to take their word for it. I would not eat this guy, OR his plastic discs! However, there is a reason I am glossing over these ghosts. They're nothing in comparison to... the others.

Yowza in the howza! My word, and then my entire sentence! The ghosts on the unused Atari 2600 cover art (also by Hiro Kimura) are certainly the most viscerally frightening things any Pac has ever had to contend with. It's quite impressive, really! I can see why this art would be replaced, since it is frankly not an accurate representation of the game itself, but dang am I happy just to look at it. The Pacmeister here is very similar to the previous one, but this time, clad in perfect, stainless chrome, for some reason! I'd want to eat this version even less than the previous one.

What I WOULD like to eat, though, are those rectangular prisms he's munching. To me, those are delectable baked lemon bars. I'm also realizing that there's a frog hopping away from the chaos in the bottom right! Strange... perhaps a cheeky Frogger reference? Like, get outta here, Frogger, Pac-Man is better, and it's illegal to like multiple things at once? Well I like BOTH of these wacky box arts! If Capcom can use Bad Box Art Mega Man in a game, perhaps I can hope for Pac-Stanley to return in an amazing digital fashion...?

[changbunnies]

Revelation (18+)

♡ Pairing: Vampire Priest!Jeongin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: very loosely inspired by midnight mass (tv), horror themes, vampire / human relationship, smut, possibly dead dove? read the warnings carefully and come to ur own conclusion on what you're willing to read before engaging pls :')

♡ Word Count: 4k

♡ Summary: The suspiciously young and extremely handsome priest of your small-town church has a very big secret– and it's not until he's sinking his fangs into your neck that you discover what exactly that secret is.

♡ General Warnings: usage of typical vampire abilities (increased senses, strength, etc), descriptions of blood, religious themes (specifically catholicism focused), references to religious guilt + shame, reader does not trust jeongin at all (for good reason lol), very blatant manipulation, cult vibes? jeongin basically has the whole town under his thumb so. do with that what you will lol

♡ Smut Warnings: dubcon, vampire venom that acts as an aphrodisiac, sexual acts inside a church (specifically in a confessional booth), some gendered language (dirty + good girl), dom/sub dynamics, dom!jeongin, biting + blood drinking, thigh riding, fingering (f rec), a lil bit of praise kink, corruption kink?

♡ Notes: this is possibly niche but well. the vampire priest concept lives rent free in my head thanks to midnight mass, and innie said he wanted to be a priest + he'd definitely be a sexy vampire so here we are lmao. and sorry i'm suddenly posting out of age order for my late kinktober fics but i ended up finishing this before the other members i still have left :')

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

There's something that isn't right about your local church's head priest. Firstly, his age doesn't make sense; who on God's green earth becomes a priest in their 20s?

At least, you assume that's around how old Father Yang, who notably prefers to be called Jeongin, is– you've never been told, and you've never asked, but he certainly doesn't look any older than that.

Secondly, why are his sermons always at night? In all the towns you've ever lived in, in all the churches you've ever frequented, this is the first time you've ever experienced your standard, weekly Sunday service routinely happening at 9 p.m.

And thirdly, why is it that everyone who meets with him for confession comes back looking delirious and.. euphoric, almost? You don't get it– sure, confessing your sins is freeing; asking for and receiving God's forgiveness is among the best feelings that can be experienced if you're a devout believer, but still.

Something about all of it just doesn't sit right with you– and to make matters worse, you seem to be the only person in town suspicious of him. You're new to town, have only been here a handful of months, so you get it– you're the outsider, you don't know him like they do, et cetera, et cetera.

But how can not a single other person in town be bothered by how strange it all is? There has to be an explanation– you don't know what it is, and you don't know why you're the only one who seems to care, but there must be a reason.

It's Sunday again, and you spend the entire sermon watching Jeongin like a hawk, trying to catch any sign as to what it is about him that has all these people so enraptured. And while it's not necessarily wrong for him to be, another thing that strikes you is that he's easily the most casually dressed yet stylish priest you've ever met.

He wears the standard clergy vest and rabat, as he should, but over it is a leather jacket, and he wears denim blue jeans instead of dress pants. His shoes are sleek and polished, he has pretty, ornate rings decorating his fingers, has expertly styled slicked hair and silver earrings dangling from his pierced ears.

Again, it's not necessarily wrong, but it's definitely something you wouldn't think a priest's Sunday best would entail. And maybe that's only because the priests in your life have only ever been old, and didn't put much thought into style, but maybe that's what people like about him?

Maybe it makes him seem more down to earth and approachable; maybe it's easier to confess your sins when, outstanding devotion to God aside, he seems like as ordinary a person as any other. Of course, that's logically always the case, but some priests have an intimidating "holier-than-thou" attitude about them, and it certainly helps Jeongin's case that he seemingly makes an effort to not give off that vibe.

And admittedly, he's charming– there's something so uniquely handsome about the way he smiles while preaching God's word, how his eyes twinkle while he recites a scripture and relates it back to a point he made several minutes prior; you can't deny that it's enthralling.

But when he looks over the attendees lined in the pews, it always feels like he's looking straight through you, seeing to the depths of your soul and laying it bare. It gives you chills, honestly; makes you feel exposed in a way that's indescribable; like with a glance alone, he knows all your secrets, your every sin, down to their most minute details.

It's near midnight when his sermon ends; you stay seated in the backmost pew to the left, brows furrowed as everyone shakes his hand or hugs him, thanking him for another "terrific service." It's so bizarre– and it's not until the last of the congregation exits the small, wooden church that you begin to rise from your seat.

Though you're sure the church carries electricity and that the lights can be flicked on, the priest never does so– he always uses candles, casting a warm yellow glow on the dingy, white wood of the walls. It casts more shadows, gives the place an almost unsettling air– and when he turns to you, just as he's closing the Bible in his hand and setting it down, it sends a shiver through you.

"You're still here," Jeongin smiles at you from where he stands before the altar, centralized at the head of the church. It's a kind enough one, but you don't trust it; you can't shake the feeling that something lies beneath it– something abberant and dark that you can't place, but are certain is there.

"Do you wish to confess?" he asks, motions to the confessional booth with his hand as he tilts his head. "No," you answer, perhaps too quickly– and his smile grows ever so slightly, as if he's amused. At least, that's how you perceive his expression; and it makes you narrow your eyes at him, the distrust that radiates off you certainly palpable.

Your opinion of him is no secret, really; and he can tell you're scrutinizing him, trying to catch him in whatever act you think he's playing– it won't work, but it does humor him that you're trying. He doesn't know what sort of wild conclusions you've come to about him, but if you see anything, it'll be because he himself wanted you to see it– until then, you won't learn a single thing about who he truly is.

"Is there a reason you're still here then?" Jeongin questions next, and you swallow, hesitant to answer. Admittedly, you only stuck around in case someone did decide to go confess to him– you intended to eavesdrop, to try to listen in and find out what's really going on behind closed curtains.

It would've been massively immoral, but you would've confessed and asked for forgiveness later– privately, that is. You have no intention of seeking the Father's help in such matters, given how little trust you have towards him.

But still, despite the fact that you were willing to sneak around and listen to private conversations, you aren't entirely willing to lie in the house of God– so after some internal grappling with yourself on what you should and shouldn't do in this position, on what is right and wrong, you end up admitting the truth.

"I don't trust you," you tell Jeongin plainly, and you can swear you see him trying to suppress a smirk.

"I'm aware," he says, so matter of fact that it almost sends you reeling. And it's not that you were so disillusioned into thinking you weren't being obvious; you know very well that you weren't being the most covert in your suspicion of him– it's how unbothered and amused by it he seems to be that really gets you.

Shouldn't he be offended? Question your reasoning? Try immediately to dispel your doubts and clear up any misconceptions you may have? Instead, he seems more than ready to just accept it for what it is– even seems entertained by it.

"Does it not bother you that I don't trust you?" you ask, and he almost laughs as he shakes his head. "No. There's no reason for it to," he answers simply; and before you can ask why, or what he means, he's already answering– you suspect he could already tell you were going to press him on the matter.

"God teaches us to love one another. So even if you do not love me, or trust me, I love you, just as God instructs me to," Jeongin smiles as he speaks, and again, your brows furrow. It's a perfect answer, really– but it feels.. inorganic, almost rehearsed.

And the glimmer in his eye throws you off; it doesn't feel like the pure, honest delight you'd see on a priest putting God's word into practice. It feels mischievous, deceitful– like he doesn't believe an ounce of what he's saying, but he wants you to believe that he does.

"I know what you're thinking," he says, and you swallow, stiffening where you stand as he continues, "And if you really want to know what goes on during confession, want to see for yourself what it is I do to help the people who look to me, I can show you."

If you're being entirely honest, the offer is tempting; and strangely, it also makes you feel.. bad, almost– makes you second guess yourself. Because if he's freely offering like this, surely it can't be whatever you've been making it out to be in your head.

There's no way he'd out himself, and whatever it is he does, just to gain the trust of one person out of hundreds who doesn't believe his pure intentions. And maybe the other townsfolk really do trust him for good reason; maybe you've just been examining the situation and looking at Jeongin and the church in the wrong light.

Maybe you've been blowing everything out of proportion with obscene assumptions, and maybe he really is just a good priest. Maybe he makes you feel so seen, heard, and whole, that all your worldly problems melt away, feel trivial and light in comparison to God's plan for you.

Because after all, you are the outlier here. You're the only one in the whole town that doesn't trust him; and surely that means you're the one in the wrong. Jeongin does things differently than you're used to, but that doesn't mean he's inherently bad. And maybe you should confess– ask God to forgive you for not being receptive to the word of one of His servants.

Jeongin smiles when you concede and start to slowly step your way to the confessional. You pull back the curtain, step inside and prepare to sit in the small, wooden booth seat, but you quickly realize he's followed you inside. You gasp as you turn around, back pressing against the intricately carved hardwood window of the booth as he closes you in.

"Sh-Shouldn't you be on the other side?" you ask, much too meek for your liking. It's a cramped fit given that the booth is only meant to fit a single person on either side at a time; it makes you unconsciously hold your breath as you're effectively caged inside the booth with him– nowhere to go, and nothing you can do but stare at him, bewildered.

"No," he answers as quick and simple as before, his smile once again growing ever so slightly. And maybe you could push him, try to dart past him if you manage to successfully make him topple back, but you feel frozen– because even in the dark, barely lit confessional you're in, you're certain that you see his dull canines become long, pearly white fangs.

"Don't worry, it will only hurt for a second," he assures you as he brings his hands to your arms, gripping them just below your shoulder as he leans towards you. You shudder, his breath fanning your ear as he inches towards your neck, "but after that– it's bliss."

You feel the sharp points of his teeth poke at your skin, and it makes you gasp as your head tilts to the side, making room for him to sink his fangs into your flesh. Instinctively, your hands search for something to grab; you end up reaching for his shoulders, twisting your hands in his leather jacket to ground yourself as his sharp teeth pierce into your neck.

Your legs wobble, and he forces one of his own between your thighs, uses it to keep you upright as he drinks from you. And there is pain, but it really is only for a second, just like he said it’d be– within seconds it melts away, and oh, you instantly understand.

It’s much, much more than bliss– it’s ecstasy, it’s rhapsody, it’s the greatest pleasure you’ve ever felt. Spreading from your neck to every last nerve ending in your body, every atom of your body becomes alight with euphoria as his bite sends tingles throughout you, raising goosebumps along your skin.

You cry out, an embarrassingly loud sound that you barely recognize as your own voice as one of your hands finds its way to his head. Your fingers thread into his hair, hold him to your neck as if you don't want him to ever separate from you– and to be fair, maybe you don't.

It feels so good, so exhilarating, intoxicating, that you almost don't want the sensation to ever end. Jeongin meanwhile lets out delighted hums, eventually slowly retracting his fangs to latch his lips around the sensitive, bruising skin, his tongue lapping away at the blood that pours from the two little marks left behind.

The beating of your heart quickens, breaths quickly growing labored as the inexplicable want continues to seep into your veins. Your thighs tremble as tension builds deep in your gut, and they try to press together to seek relief, but Jeongin's leg stays firmly nestled between yours, preventing it.

And were you not so utterly blissed out, maybe the incessant, desperate throbbing of your pussy would make you feel ashamed– but all you can think about is the deep seated desire overtaking every receptor, every tiny cell, every molecule within you, as if the very chemistry that makes up your being has been altered for Jeongin alone.

Unable to resist, you rut against his thigh, entirely shameless and feverish– because it's all you have access to, all you can do to relieve the growing ache between your legs. It’s sinful, your growing lust is– and the last place you should ever be doing this is inside of a church; but you’re too far gone to care, too gripped by the need for stimulation.

Jeongin lets go of your arms, reaches between your bodies to hike up your church gown, giving you easier access to his lean, muscular thigh. He’s gracious, tugs your soaked panties to the side so your clit can catch on the denim of his jeans– and the delicious friction makes you moan for him, loud and sweet. 

He pulls away from your neck to watch your desperate humping, eyes gleaming with mischievous satisfaction as he watches you pleasure yourself on his thigh. His eyes are perfectly adapted to seeing in the low light, and so he can easily see every little detail of you– from the mess your pussy leaves behind on his jeans, to the sweat beginning to drip down your temple, to the trembling of your bottom lip before you tuck it between your teeth. 

And when he smiles at you now, it’s like the fox that got the rabbit; even in the extremely dim candle light you can see the way your blood coats his lips, messily dripping from the corners of his mouth and down his chin. His dark eyes are gleaming– because he has you ensnared, and you both know there’s no going back. 

You untangle your fingers from his hair, and you watch as he reaches for your falling hand, grabbing your wrist and bringing it to his mouth. He holds your gaze as he kisses over the pulsing vein, and it makes your breath hitch, the blood on his mouth smearing over the surface of your skin, staining it crimson. 

“Should I bite you here too?” he asks, placing another kiss over your vein before he shoots you a grin full of fang, “you’re so delicious– I want to taste you even more.” You gasp and squirm as Jeongin presses the tips of his bared fangs against your skin– not quite biting just yet, but it’s enough to spread another wave of tingles over your body. 

“Yes, bite me, please!” you cry, voice almost frantic in its urgency– and you can see the corners of Jeongin’s lips twisting into a devious smile before he’s obliging, burying his fangs deep into your wrist within an instant. You wince, your fingers clenching as he squeezes your wrist in his hand, keeping it tightly pressed to his mouth. 

And just as before, within seconds the sharp sting dulls and ebbs into incomparable pleasure, goosebumps spreading over every inch of your heated skin. Faintly, you can see your blood dribble past his lips, slowly flowing down the length of your forearm before it drips to the floor of the booth. 

You can just barely see his tongue licking over his bite, doing his best to collect all the blood that spills from you, and it's mesmerizing– especially when he brings his fingers to your arm to swipe up what his tongue misses. Your stomach flutters as you watch him separate from your wrist and bring his bloodied fingers to his mouth; they're so long, so pretty and enticing– you want them.

Jeongin can see it in your eyes– how brazenly you stare at his fingers, how your eyes follow every move he makes with them. You're still panting, sweating, chest heaving from the exertion, but the rutting of your hips has faltered; and he grins as he gazes at you. You're once again left with the feeling that he sees through you– that all it takes is a glance for him to know everything you're thinking.

"You want them? Want me to stuff your cunt full with my fingers? Make you cum all over them?" he asks, entirely rhetorical; he already knows the answer. And he likes the way you writhe over the question, how you gasp over the sinful words he so freely spills in such a sacred place, your ears positively burning.

Even if your face didn't obviously show your desires, you don't think you'd be able to deny them; you've never wanted anything as badly as you want this, want him. It should make your gut twist with shame, because deep down you know this is wrong, know that you shouldn't want him to touch you as badly as you do– but the craving for Jeongin to bring you pleasure is almost primal, so deep and innate that your rational mind can't even hope to fight against it.

Slowly, almost playfully, he trails his fingertips over your thigh, and the anticipation is enough to make you unconsciously hold your breath. "You're so fucking messy," Jeongin says as he brushes his fingers over your soaking, sensitive clit, "so wet– you're a dirty girl, huh?"

You want to whine, want to shake your head and vehemently deny that you're dirty, attest to being a good, honest, and God fearing– but you're so overcome with your desire for him to touch you, that you don't. Instead you agree, concede that you are dirty, and messy, and that you want him more explicitly than you feel your own words could ever attest.

How easily you agree to being dirty seems to please him– and with a light chuckle, he slips his hand further down while carefully removing his leg from between your thighs. You wobble a bit when the support of his leg is gone, but he's quick to wrap an arm around you to hold you, effortlessly keeping you upright with the strength innate to who, or rather what, he is.

The cool, silver band that he wears on his pinky makes you jolt when it touches your feverishly hot thigh, and he chuckles again as he spreads your folds with his fingers. You're dripping for him, so slick with arousal that it hardly takes any effort at all for Jeongin's fingers to become coated with your juices.

You rock your hips against his hand, wordlessly begging him to give you what it is you crave most. "Oh look at you, so impatient, so desperate," he laughs as he presses the pads of his fingers to your hole, delighting in the way you look at him with glassy eyes and pinched brows.

It's obscene how badly you want him; you've never felt this needy, never been rendered so desperate for stimulation– and you're in a confessional of all places. This is the very last place on earth you should feel this way, or be doing something like this, and yet the shame you should feel is far from your mind– because all you can think about is your need for his beautiful fingers to fill you up and dull the throbbing ache between your legs.

Jeongin coos when you start to beg for his fingers, a rambling string of "please," and "want it, want you," and "need it so bad." You can tell how much satisfaction it gives him, and if your mind weren't so hazy from desire you'd certainly feel embarrassment build and twist from deep in your gut– but any such feelings are silenced by your body's need for his touch, by your craving for the sensations that only he can grant you.

It takes your breath away when he easily sinks two fingers inside you, thrusting them in and out slowly until he curls and bends them to find the spot that makes you see stars. "That's it, there you go," he grins when he finds it. He watches your eyes roll back, your hands clutching at his jacket as he continues to press the tips of his fingers into your most sensitive spot.

He returns to your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin and nipping it with sharp teeth before he kisses and licks over the bruises he leaves behind. He applies pressure to your swollen clit with his thumb while relentlessly targeting your spot, an easy task for him thanks to the length of his fingers, and his hold on you tightens when the shaking in your legs grows more intense.

You're so, so close, and Jeongin can tell too– not just from how your pussy pulses and squeezes around his fingers, but because he can hear the loud, erratic thumping of your heart, as well as the rush of blood pulsing in your veins. "C'mon, let go– cum, you can do it, cum for me," he urges, speaking softly against the shell of your ear while swirling his thumb over your clit.

"There you go, good girl, just like that," he praises as you string out a loud succession of whimpers, your thighs closing tight around his hand as your high finally takes you. Your world feels like it’s spinning, your heartbeat ringing in your ears as you ride out your high, your release gushing messily around his fingers.

His hand stays in place until your thighs untense, and he’s careful as he slips his fingers out of you, though you can’t help but shiver and whine from the sensitivity regardless. You're unsteady on your feet following your orgasm, but Jeongin makes sure you don't fall over; he keeps his grip on your firm, carefully helps you turn away from where you were pressed against the carved window to sit in the booth's only seat.

He wipes the sweat from your forehead after you sit, leans down to fix and smooth over the skirt of your church gown as you try your best to collect your breath and calm your racing heart. He's reverted back to his kindly priest persona it seems– you can tell by the warm smile he offers when you look at him, his sharp fangs fully retracted.

Still, bits of your blood remain smeared over his lips– clear evidence that he isn't the saintly man he portrays himself to be. You watch breathlessly as Jeongin licks the last of it from his lips before he pulls back the curtain of the confessional booth.

He offers you his hand after it seems like you've recovered enough to stand again; your own hand trembles as you accept it, and with his assistance, you rise carefully from your seat.

You're a bit dizzy when you stand, equal parts consequence of blood loss and the euphoria still lingering and tingling in your veins, but you're otherwise steady; and he smiles as he squeezes your hand in his, the other coming to rest on the small of your back as you take your first step out of the booth.

"Come back to confession again sometime," Jeongin says with his characteristically deceitful, charming smile, knowing full well that you will. Humans always find the sensation of his venom irresistible, always become addicted to it once they've felt it– and you'll be no different. "I'll be waiting for you."

[ghostgirl101]

writing for william afton?? Yeah sure I'll get craaaazy ヘ⁠(⁠￣⁠ω⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠) you can write headcanons of anything, really, I just want to hold this man and be extremely and overly affectionate with him (⁠灬⁠º⁠‿⁠º⁠灬⁠) (and and jealousy trope is so aaaaaa you can write something with that, right??? :33)

William Afton/Steve Raglan Being Obsessed With You Would Include...

A/N: Yeap, let's start with obsessive relationship stuff, and then I'll work on a request for jealous headcanons. Hope this is in character, I tried to make it as accurate as I could with what I could work with from the movie. Requests for the FNAF movie are still open if you want me to work on a scenario; just make sure its no smut and platonic or childhood sweethearts for any of the animatronics/missing children 🙃

🐰• Well, good luck getting out of whatever craziness you've somehow gotten yourself into. That's the first thing I'm gonna say ._.

🐰• You probably meet William as "Steve," the careers counsellor who asks a little too many personal questions for it to be strictly business-related, but then, he's got to know who you are to find a job that fits in with your life and personality. He seems normal enough, though there is a slight intensity in the way his eyes linger on you for a beat too long, and his questions become more specific and a bit non-contextual.

🐰• By the end of the interview, he offers you the place of a nightguard at Freddy's, giving you his card with a casual half-smile and going out of his way to show you the ropes. Then you start the job, as oddly unsettling and dark the environment seems, and you think that it's the last time you'll hear from him.

🐰• It's not 😏

🐰• Steve knows a lot about you from your files that he went through before, and from what you told him, and he's got a good memory. He copied all the information down, storing it safely at home, going through pictures and any sources he can find about you in some unplaced interest. William's very calm and calculated, and there's no way he'd be found out unless he let it happen or wanted you to find out for yourself.

🐰• So until he's ready to reveal his dark side completely, which will slip out in little actions and hints when you spend time with him, he's simply Steve Raglan, the relatively normal careers counsellor who keeps checking in on you to see how you're getting on with the job, often going out for a coffee to give you "advice" in his breaks. Anything to pry out more information from you, for him to understand what exactly it is about you that intrigues him.

🐰• Is it because you're unusually pretty? Clever? Quirky? To William, you're just a bit different, maybe a bit childish, or mature and deep, dark-humoured? Whatever it is, it caught his attention, which is a good thing, if you want it... and if it's not, well, you're stuck with it anyway.

🐰• You'll notice quite early on that he's a bit odd himself, maybe a bit invasive, possessive, especially for someone you haven't known for that long. If someone looks over at you for a second too long while you're having coffee with Steve, having a conversation that's veered off of references and employee skills to some personal aspect or interest in your life that he's cracked open. You'll see a shot of something dark pass through his blueish gaze before it passes almost as soon as it comes, and you'll know nothing more about it except never seeing that person again. Just another missing person to add to a list.

🐰• Same with if you happen to be seeing anyone; he's got his own ways to scare people off, and if that doesn't work, he'll be forced to do something a little messier. Again, you won't know a thing about it, and there'll be no proof, no body, no big questions. Suddenly your partner has run off on a job out of the country or broken up with you via text... and Steve will be around to "see how you're doing" and to pick up the pieces when you end up spilling more about what's been going on in your life and exposing more vulnerability. It gives William a rush, in a way, to be needed and ran to and relied on when something goes bad, especially if it's you looking up at him with big pleading eyes. He can only smile and squeeze your hand, not letting go for a long moment as you get yet another drink and finally end up getting somewhere closer to a proper relationship.

🐰• Friends start getting a little distant, past lovers end up disappearing and little conveniences in life become more frequent. Wonder why that is?

🐰• Afton has a great memory, and if you tell him you like something in particular, your favourite show or book, he finds the exact thing by chance in the shop and had to get it for you, just to see your eyes light up and smile thankfully. Or he recorded a new episode of your series for you to watch if you come over on one of the nights you're not working, or he's just finished reading that book, come round to his so you can talk about it some more? He always finds a way to get what he wants, and when it's a person, victim or not, the rule still applies.

🐰• You may not be a victim of violence or murder, but he's got an obsession, an unhealthy desire to watch everything you do, everyone you talk to and in your life. He doesn't name a specific reason for it, doesn't think he needs to, doesn't see the point in it. If you ever catch on to that kind of behaviour, he'll just give you a warm smirk and shrug. "Well, because it's you," is his casual response, though you could swear there's something more behind his eyes. "And I care about you, you know?"

🐰• This is still William Afton though, and for all he can be surprisingly romantic and thoughtful when he thinks to be to see your reaction, he's a sadistic murderer and kidnapper at the end of the day... and it does start to show through. He can be manipulative as we see in the movie, and a bit arrogant, though I don't think he'd outrightly manipulate you. It's more your surroundings and the people you're with. Maybe he'll dig up some dirt on one of your close friends and put it somewhere where you'll find it and cut off the friendship yourself, exactly how he wanted it. And on the occasions when he gets his hands dirty with those types of people, he will get his hands dirty, and enjoys every minute of it. He taunts and mocks them until their dying breath, hating the thought of someone else holding your attention for longer than he can, which only causes more blood to be washed out of clothes and off his skin before you notice.

🐰• I have the idea of William watching you sleep deep in for some reason, since he's affectionate in his own ways, not majorly into PDA or clingy, since he prefers you being the one to run to him. But in the moments when you're not aware that he's around, like when you're sleeping. He'll trace calloused but featherlight fingers across your face, down from your forehead to your cheek and your neck. There's a beat of tensity where you might think he's tempted to do something extreme, something violent, but it passes time and time again. I think the only time William would be tempted to be harsher and forceful is if and when you ever found out about what it is exactly he does, and try betraying him. He wouldn't kill you, nothing like that, but he'd have to lock you away someplace safer...

🐰• But Afton will cross that bridge when he comes to it. For now, it's just an attentive and dependent relationship that William will keep going for as long as he can, accepting any gesture of affection or admiration or any positive attention in general with open arms and a pleased smirk on his face. Life will be pretty easy for you, everything seeming to go your way, and his, he'll make sure of it. And when you finally uncover the truth behind Steve and meet the real William Afton, he'll expect things to stay exactly the same: bloodied hands, spring locks snapping, glowing grey animatronic eyes or not.

[helluvathings]

Satan and the Nature of the Deadly Sins

First note: Viv has confirmed that Satan is lying.

But I do have thoughts on where the lie here is, and what's being said or implied about the Sins. Because even accounting for the falsehood, I actually think this does strongly hint that the Sins aren't angels, and have been part of Hell from the start: presumably created when Eve ate the apple and humans gained free will, leading to sin, implicitly leading to "the Sins."

Note, Satan talks about an endless dark, "long before" Lucifer fell. He's making himself out to be a primordial entity that preexisted Lucifer and Hell's current system by a substantial margin. As if way, way back when, Satan was "in charge." If the Hazbin creation story is accurate, Hell existed without Lucifer for the duration of time it took him to be banished. We don't know how long this was, but presumably it wasn't that much time.

We also have Ozzie saying he knew Mammon "from the start of Hell." I've seen people theorize that this can fit the fallen angel theory, and he's referring to how they all met when Lucifer rebelled, but there's been so little indication that there was a big rebellion in heaven previously—as opposed to Lucifer getting kicked out for the sole act of the apple/trying to institute change as an individual—that there doesn't seem to be much evidence for additional angels having been punished. (In Hazbin, Sera warns Emily she might end up like Lucifer, citing him as an individual). It'd also be an awkward way to phrase it (something like "from before our Fall" would work better in that case). Ozzie's words in 2x07 imply, I'd argue, a common origin point, and that he and Mammon began at the same time in the same place. Which fits the Hazbin story (Eve -> apple -> free will -> sin/Hell -> Sins). It even matches with Bee saying Satan is like a brother. Common origin, but not technically related.

In which case, there possibly was endless darkness like Satan mentioned. But also, likely not much to rule, or much time for Satan to do so before Lucifer fell, when Lilith took over and structured Hell into what it is today. Given there would've been confusion and a lack of order, it likely would've been chaotic and undeveloped (Lilith being the as-of-now-canonical reason things shaped up). Satan, implied as the strongest, maybe would've scrounged up a semblance of power, but a) not for long, and b) not over anything substantial. Hence, this look from Ozzie and Bee:

But what really stands out to me is the way Satan refers to Lucifer, and the way Lucifer is separated out from the other Sins on the whole. Calling him "the golden angel" and referring to "his fall" as a distinct event separate from Satan himself does make it seem like Lucifer was something foreign that came crashing in. Note how Lucifer still looks like his angelic self. Notably, the very distinctive angel's wings none of the other Sins possess. Being a fallen angel is a massive part of his character, his motivations, his actions and beliefs. It dyes every part of who he is. On the door to the courtroom, Lucifer's angelic wings and nature are dominant in his symbol's design, and he's placed above the other Sins, whose designs revolve around their sin, or prominent physical features.

It could be argued that the others got over the Fall better, or were different classes of angels (so look different after being punished). But it's a factor that's so absent from their backstory or characterization that it'd almost undermine Lucifer's struggle to have something that colors his whole existence be totally irrelevant to the other fallen angels. I get the impression more so that Lucifer's angelic nature actually stands out, and might be one reason he feels so isolated, especially after his divorce. If he had six people who'd gone through the same trauma, he'd have something. If he's instead forced to brush elbows with and work alongside six demons that symbolize his ultimate failure, and who resulted directly from his actions with the apple, that's more complicated. Again, Satan calling him "the golden angel" makes it see like he's separating angels as something other. And "the angel's fall" is another separation. Satan lying about that part doesn't serve much purpose; if anything, if he was a fallen angel too, he could assert himself as the one who stepped up while Lucifer crashed and burned.

Instead, Satan attempts to distinguish himself from Lucifer in this entirely different way, by framing himself as something far, far more deeply rooted in Hell, older and better. It's not just an 'I'm the strongest' bluff, but there's an attempt to establish himself as the one who's always been here. And I'm thinking, when Viv says Lucifer has always been "first," she means in terms of hierarchy. Where it leaves room for the Sins to have been created as part of Hell, but Satan's lie comes from asserting the "a long time" and that he'd ever been in charge. It feels more natural to assume that Satan is doubling down and exaggerating his past authority, but not lying about his origin.

Final note: it is canon that Lucifer inadvertently created Hell, and was thrown into the pit he created. Also, confirmed that Ozzie has known Mammon since the "start of Hell." While there's a chance Ozzie is using hyperbole: it's framed like Hell was, in some form, around at least a short time before Lucifer showed up. And that Ozzie and Mammon were present. Unless there are wordplay shenanigans involved, discounting Satan's words to the extent it butts against that established timeline is probably throwing the baby out with the bathwater.

Summing it up: I've seen a few reactions to Viv's post about Satan implying that it doesn't make sense with previous lore or that things aren't adding up, but I think that view overestimates how much of what Satan is saying is actually false. He's bullshitting being a primordial god-like power for sure, which fits Ozzie and Bee rolling their eyes. I think if he was lying about the whole creation story altogether, they'd have been less 'shut up, wtf,' and more visibly confused. Of course future episodes could disprove all of this, but my impression is that the way Satan referred to Lucifer and his presence in Hell actually solidifies that he (and the others) aren't fallen angels, and his "for a long time before" thing being untrue is actually a mark in favor of the Hazbin creation story being at least mostly canonical (since it wasn't a long time; he probably had like two weeks to try flexing), as opposed to proof against it.

Also maybe sets up Satan having a quiet rivalry with Lucifer or at least pushing his authority? I think it might be very relevant that Satan goes the route of I've always been here when he's trying to set himself above and apart, and that he points out Lucifer falling in as an outsider. That might just be speculation, but that framing feels intentional.

[scivors]

Andre Nikto head canons

We have little information about Niko but here's what I've gathered..

((Also I'd like to kindly add, hi, hello, my name is Mika and I am a Bosnian. The chances of me adding some accurate slav head canons are always high but never low!!🙏🏻 ALSO IM TERRIBLY OBSESSED WITH NIKTO SO IF ENJOY THIS AND YOU WANT DATING NIKTO HEAD CANONS PLEASE LET ME KNOWWW))

Genuine head canons:

Andre Nikto (Никто) is a (scary) Russian military man, roughly 193/194 centimetres (when you compare him to Simon's height) He suffers with acute dissociative disorder (better said DID) yet is still serving the military cause of how he preforms during battle.., so the military still views him as a ideal soldier for combat despite his disorder..

No hate but from what I've seen in some art works claiming it's his "face reveal" you people have to understand that under his mask, his face is disfigured.. so, no he won't be an attractive super model under that mask of his..

I don't think you people are aware how badass Nikto is as a character, almost SIMILAR as Ghost who's in the military for the same reason as everybody else, to risk their life.

Although judging by Nikto's voice lines, he doesn't care who he's killing..if it were up to him, if his teammates serve him zero purpose he'd care less if they die..(after all, you're just a target..) but being a professional, he can't allow that to happen to his teammates

If you look up closely, Nikto wears a military uniform that is different from everyone else with MP-0 written on it. Now if you don't know, MP stands for Military Police (enforcement agencies connected with, or part of, the military of a state.) and zero next to it meaning "nothing" and this is important which is what Nikto refers himself as..

Yeah so about that..

I have a theory about Nikto's nickname

After being captured and brutally tortured with whatever sick tendency mister Z had in store for him. It was Mister Z that couldn't really get much Information about Andre.

They would start torturing him while repeating to Andre that he's nothing, he's no one, what he is is nothing but what he is is everything. Those words play in the back of his head and they never seen to go away.

(This is extremely relevant cause Mister Z tried to get to know a bit of Andre by looking through some research come to find his citizenship and language are censored making him a nobody. Keep in mind, if he found any information about Andre viewing from personal life etc. it will be used as blackmail..)

After recovering his scars and taken to therapy after 7 years he was diagnosed with DID

NOW moving on to the DID part

(What I said about the fact that people overlook Nikto's disorder, I mean it..

Some don't really write about his disorder which is fine but when someone does it gets messy. )

Alters aren't easy to deal with, it's actually gonna haunt you till the day that you die cause there's no cure for it. And in Nikto's case it's from PTSD and Nikto is very aware of his alters..

Let me tell you how Nikto's disorder affects him. Switching can be consensual, forced or triggered, Nikto values silence as much as the next person cause he's dealing with much inside his head already. The kind of guy that would "watch TV" while dissociating with a 100 yard glare with very slow blinking and a slight headache..

There are times where his personalities would correct him when hes referring to himself (example: I'm up..(his personality correctes him) WE'RE up..)

"He made us do this" (and other voice lines I can't recall..)

Maybe cut bits of an apple with a knife and eat it while watching TV..

He has medication prescribed for him but he didn't wanna depend on medications cause they're just drugs..they're nothing to him but just drugs..

He has dissociative amnesia too, sometimes he would wander around confused maybe even annoyed. The amnesia appears to be caused by traumatic or stressful experiences endured or witnessed..Although the forgotten information may be inaccessible to consciousness, it sometimes continues to influence behavior

Like I said he likes quiet people, someone who doesn't waste their air on small talk..

Example; don't really talk to him about the weather, unless you have something interesting to say but if the conversation is gonna go nowhere , don't talk..he finds that a waste of time

People assume just because he's Russian that he likes vodka, he doesn't like vodka...-He doesn't like any alcoholic beverage cause it makes his problems a lot worse,...maybe If you were lending him some as an offering, he'll take it but he has SOME self control, he's okay with coffee, though..

It's relevant cause he stays awake at late hours since he finds it difficult to sleep, he'll stay up late with no music, nothing, just a silent room. It doesn't matter if he tries the military tactic where you just close your eyes and turn off your thoughts, it's very different when you have voices screaming inside your head...

Despite everything he's still intelligent, so being smart + strength + sharp reflexes and you got yourself a criminal

Death doesn't phase him, but to him death is like sleeping, he's not scared of death considering that he's been through hell those past few months.

He likes the simple things, don't complicate anything..because he's quick with catching an attitude..be blunt and forward and stumble over your words..

Nikto shows confidence in the battlefield,just like König, except he has a high rush of adrenaline and will laugh at the enemies death.

Fun fact: in this one comic Price calls Nikto "psycho"

And it's without a doubt that he is one.., a sadistic, sociopathic, psychopath

After splitting, his alters can and will get more aggressive and do more harm and damage to others cause they're doing the most at protecting the host.. (depending on the alter, some wanna protect him while some wanna hurt him)

Oh by the way about the intelligence part, I mean he has a good good memory with remembering faces..

He doesn't like people looking at him funny, he'll get angry really fast and annoyed at the same time.., he won't show hesitation when it comes to approaching you and asking you what are you looking at (it's like trying to avoid eye contact with a homeless man Infront of a store, that's how scared you would be)

He's slow with jokes or any form of humor that you throw at him??? You'll be excited to tell him a joke, and when you do he just looks at you and tells you never to do that again..,or just straight up tell you he doesn't get it...??? and probably trying to explain it either he gets it or not he'll still tell you that it's not funny

He doesn't argue, or he does? Arguing with him will costs you avoiding getting objects thrown at you so you can get out of his sight..tragic, now you have a teammate that hates your guts and won't apologize for it.

[netegf]

Hate It When You Leave

pairing: f!reader x rafe cameron

plot: you are trying to cope with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with your best friend. he's trying to cope with the fact that you don't go after the things you want... including him.

warnings: 18+, best friends to lovers trope, use of Y/N, mentions of alcohol and past drug use, non-graphic references to violence, some angst & jealousy, fluff and smut (public sex, teasing, oral female receiving)

word count: 6.5 k

There are parts about wearing your heart on your sleeve that no one ever talks about.

For instance, that it's hard to fix your face when the threads keeping that heart together feel like they're getting tugged, cut, and re-bunched into an ugly knot. 

The water bottle you're holding hardly has any life left. Even Kelce comments as much when he rounds his kitchen island, limbs swinging and loose thanks to the red Solo cup in his hand. He takes one look at the tight smile on your lips and tilts his head to the side, fingers twitching upward to your chin as he turns your head to face him. 

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He asks, voice a little slurred, but thick with concern.

That was Kelce. Polarizingly good at getting to what someone was hiding underneath. 

But appearances went a long way for him. And he was so agreeable, it made him easy to lie to. Especially when he and Topper had practically begged you to come to this party, his first one since graduating college. Everyone would be there, he'd said.

And he was right, they were. 

"Nothing, Kels, it's just my stomach being a little funny." You tell him with a renewed sense of enthusiasm. You gaze at him warmly and quirk a brow, smiling genuinely. "How do you always know?"

"We've known each other our whole lives!" He barks in a laugh. "There's nothing I don't know about you."

You feel your heart squeeze again, like there's a too-tight belt around it. But you humour him with a sweet giggle and convinced nod, and it's all Kelce needs before he's walking away to mingle with another. 

How shocked he'd be to know that there was something you were hiding. 

You keep the water bottle you're holding close to your body as if it would fall straight out of your hands otherwise. When you watch the brunette seated next to Rafe on the couch squeeze his bicep again, you think it might just fall anyway. 

Some things don't change. 

The sun goes up and down. The moon makes a nightly appearance. Kelce never dresses for the weather. Topper claims everyone else is cheating when he loses. 

You love Rafe Cameron.

"Fucking sucks, doesn't it?" A voice rings next to you.

You slowly turn your head from where you're sitting on the kitchen island to see a familiar face lounging on one of the high-chairs. 

Topper, apparently, had always had an inkling. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Top." You grumble, casting your eyes away from the blonde protagonist of most of your dreams. Some of your nightmares, too. 

You watch as Topper rolls his eyes without so much as glancing at you, a small scoff escaping his lips. He takes a hearty sip from his cup of brown liquid. Tracking his eye-line, you're unsurprised to find that he's staring wistfully at the very same blonde's sister. 

Sarah Cameron is dancing in the corner of the room with John B., her boyfriend. 

A Pogue at a Kook party... the thought still makes you skeptical.

Not because you didn't like John B., or more accurately, like him for Sarah. But because a few short years ago, all this seemed entirely impossible.

Nonetheless, Sarah was important to all of you. 

And, like she'd said, Rafe listened to you better than he did anyone else.

When you explained to him how smitten his sister was with the boy, and considering how their relationship had endured far past those murmurings of 'young love' to, what was at this point, years together, he'd begun to understand that John B. wasn't going anywhere. 

Much to Topper's devastation. 

He promised he was over her, and he dated like it, too. But there were those moments where he had a few drinks in him and it made you think otherwise. 

"Oh, okay. My fault." Topper replies sarcastically, downing what's left in his cup and finally turning away from the couple he's burning holes through. "I thought we were being honest."

"I am being honest."

He glances at you sharply. 

"Uh huh. Hey, don't freak out, but, your nose is like, growing really long. Never seen anything like it before. It's like in that movie! What's it called, again? Puppet boy? No, that can't be right..."

"Very funny, Topper." You say dryly, but the hint of a smile on your lips sells you out and he chuckles next to you. 

"I was thinking Pinocchio." He fake recalls, nudging your elbow. 

This time, you laugh with your chest, and when you lift your head up to take it all in again, your eyes meet familiar blue ones from across Kelce's living room.

By now, you know how to mediate the warmth that blooms at the base of your spine and consumes you completely. 

There's a comfortable silence between the two of you before Topper starts speaking again. 

"You know he would do anything for you, right?" 

You chew on your bottom lip, still holding eye contact with Rafe who gives you a crooked smile. The girl next to him leans in to whisper something in his ear. He keeps looking at you. 

"Yeah, I know." You mumble half-heartedly. "I just feel like I might need to cut my losses at this point." 

Topper frowns for a moment, then stands up from his seat. 

"Well, you suit yourself." He pinches your cheek affectionately. "Because I, for one, want to crash and burn."

You snort at Topper's words and just as quickly watch him round the kitchen counter to grab another drink. 

Preoccupied with the way he extends that gesture to you, fixing some gross concoction of different sodas for you to sip on, a shiver rolls over your skin when it feels like Rafe's smouldering eyes are still lighting a fire on your face. 

Aron Andersen is a douche, but he means well. 

At least, that's the excuse you aways placate Rafe with when Aron inevitably runs his mouth, the blonde's fists tightening nearly every time in conjunction.

Typically, you opt for the pacifist approach because blood is a bitch to clean, Rafe whines when you clean him up with saline, and frankly, Aron isn't worth it.

But tonight, he seems to enjoy testing your threshold for patience like no one else before him. 

You suppose he's not entirely to blame. Kelce makes his drinks strong, and half of Figure 8 is sucking up all the oxygen in the room.

Maybe that was why Rafe had almost swung on John B. only a few minutes prior, claiming the younger man was feeding his sister lies about him. Perhaps it was just one of those nights. 

Still, you sigh when Aron drunkenly makes his way over to your new spot in the backyard, and press your lips tight together when he shoves a beer in your direction.  

"I'm not drinking tonight, Aron." You tell him plainly. 

Aron haphazardly plops down into the lounge chair next to you with his glossy, red eyes narrowing.

He grudgingly pulls the beer back from you and takes a sip that pools around the sides of his mouth, then drains down his throat slow and loud. 

"That sucks. You're more fun when you do." He scoffs.

Your mouth falls open as the words leave his lips, head spinning to meet his annoyed gaze. The faraway look in his eyes makes you gulp.

In no particular mood to be berated, you have half a mind to scoff back and get up to leave. But there's something about the way he speaks completely unadulterated that keeps your body locked in place.

Like you're dying to know what someone really thinks of you.

"Why not?" He presses, gesturing with his finger accusingly. 

"I'm driving."

He continues to stare at you blankly.

"I'm driving." You reiterate, irritation seeping into your tone. "And drunk driving is illegal, Aron. You do know that, right?"

Unintentionally, your eyes flicker to a slightly rowdy and staggering Topper across the room. Aron zeroes in on that and rolls his eyes emphatically. 

"Now it makes sense. You're taking your boyfriends home." He pitches the word in a scornful taunt, squinting over your shoulder. "Where is Cameron, anyway?"

You feel your heartbeat rage in your chest, tongue numb and mind in disarray. 

"Don't be a dick, Aron. They're my friends." You bristle. But he seems unfazed, lazily quirking an eyebrow. 

"Please don't tell me you're that stupid, Y/N. Friends?" He laughs obnoxiously. "I get you're in love with the guy, but you run around for them like a maid. You ask me, the least you should be getting out of it is a good fuck."

Your fingers twitch at your side as you shoot up from your seat, really and truly considering that pouring his beer over his head might be the best option.

Given that Aron routinely takes up two parking spots to park his Range Rover and cheats on his girlfriends, you think it might be a long time coming. 

His words hurt for more than one reason. Of course, because he'd sooner die than recognize that you very much could maintain a healthy, platonic, and meaningful relationship with your friends of over a decade.

But also because, when it came to Rafe, he was goading you with a kind of intimacy you knew you'd never be able to access. At least not in the way you wanted. 

When a firm hand grips Aron's shoulder strongly and whips his body around, you soon realize you don't have to resort to such a physical display. 

While it was true that Rafe's face didn't make him look particularly kind, he'd only been seriously pissed off, to the point that his stomach felt like caving in on itself, a few times. Like in those months right after he'd graduated high school and felt like a big question mark. Every time his dad looked at him disapprovingly, it affirmed that sinking feeling in him, and he learned that he sometimes articulated his sadness in anger.

These days when he's mad, he mulls the feeling over a few times in the interest of scraping for another feeling underneath. 

Now, though, all Rafe feels when he meets Aron's arrogance with an intensity of his own, is unbridled rage. 

"What the fuck did you just say?"

Rafe speaks at a low register that makes your breath quicken. His movements are a little clumsy, blue eyes slightly glazed over, and his dirty blonde hair kisses his forehead that's speckled with sweat. Cheeks dusted red in that way that you love, more prominent when he's inebriated.

His fingers are still pressing harshly into Aron's shoulder, pressure concentrated and steady if the way he winces is any indication. For a second, his eyes flit over to you and the frown on your face, and they begin to soften. But then Aron is sputtering and stealing his attention and he hates him all over again for it. 

"My bad, bro." Aron offers lamely, hands jutting upward in surrender. He attempts to step away, but Rafe keeps him locked there. 

"Yeah, it's your fucking bad, bro." Rafe sneers.

He roughly shoves Aron backwards as he lets go of him and the man quickly scurries away knowing that if he sticks around, Rafe will probably force him through clenched teeth to apologize to you.

You feel your heart hammering in your chest for a different reason.

Your mind is trapped in a loop, repeating every word you said to Aron over and over again, wondering how incriminating they were, and debating how much exactly Rafe had heard.

And if he had, if he was coherent enough to either dismiss or believe the accusation that you loved him. No, not love, you shudder... in love. Aron had said, verbatim, that you were in love with him. 

"I would've handled it." You mumble with your arms crossed over your chest.

Rafe sighs as he turns his body to face you, rubbing a hand over his jaw, now partially relieved of the tension it was holding. He chews on his bottom lip cautiously, like it'll help break the fall of the words bound to spill out of his mouth, a little too unrestrained in his drunk state for his liking. 

"I know that." He nods slowly. "I just wanted to help to help you... handle it."

He stumbles a little as he moves toward you and you instinctively wrap an arm behind his torso, holding him against your body as a human splint. 

"Plus, I kinda have a reputation going for me. No one's losing their shit if I fight a guy."

"Or two." You say pointedly, thinking about his almost altercation with John B. earlier in the night. 

Rafe buries his head into your shoulder, groaning loudly into the bare skin as it heats up and vibrates. 

"Fuck, not you, too."

He lifts his head up to continue, and you lug his body towards the living room where you spot Topper talking with Kelce and some others. Without speaking, Topper seems to understand what you're saying, nodding then pointing to himself followed by the stairs. 

He'd driven you to Kelce's and you promised to stay sober and drive him back home. But now, it seemed like the plan was going to shift.

Topper would stay the night at Kelce's and take his car back in the morning. You would take Rafe's truck back to his place and walk the rest of the way. You were practically neighbours, anyway. 

"If she wants to talk shit about me to her boyfriend, that's one thing. But him, talking shit about me, to her? What's he trying to do? Turn my own sister against me?" 

"I get it, Rafe. I really do." You nod, an amused smile on your lips as you tug him out of the front door and towards his truck. "But you promised Sarah you'd be nice, remember?"

"I am being nice." He protests with his hands tapping at his chest. "I didn't even fucking touch him."

You scoff lightly as you strap Rafe in his passenger seat, noting the way his eyes begin to flutter shut. Humming softly, you poke a cold finger at his cheek and watch as they blink open again. 

"I'm taking you home, okay?" You murmur gently. 

"No!" He objects, large hand circling your wrist. He rubs his forehead with the other one, trying to remember something. "Got a meeting in the morning. Ward is gonna flip if he thinks I've been out all night fucking around."

You look at him uncertainly, waiting for the thing that you don’t want him to say, but know he will.

"Your house? Please?"

There was a time when sleepovers with Rafe were a common practice. Sometimes, after parties like this, with Kelce and Topper.

Other times when you convinced the boys to binge a new movie or TV series, usually ending with at least two of them falling asleep. Rafe made a habit of grumbling his critiques of the things he watched, but always stayed up with you. 

For a while, when he hit an especially rough patch with his dad and spent more nights than he would've liked getting high out of his mind.

As much as he'd tried not to pull anybody else into it, he found himself seeking comfort in the warmth of your bed. It helped that you always received him with open arms, even when his early morning phone calls were disorienting and he cried silently into your shirt in the hours after. 

Those nights felt so distant, and yet, like you could touch them if you reached out just far enough.

Rafe had girlfriends on and off, and sometimes that version of him felt like a stranger. You felt a strange pity for yourself when you realized that it might've been a good thing. That he was getting better and without falling back on a crutch, even if that crutch was you. Suddenly, him sleeping at your house felt weird and misplaced more than anything else. 

"I don't know, Rafe...," you begin to trail off, but the blue desperation in his eyes makes you reconsider. He's still holding tenderly at your wrist. "Fine. But if you puke on my sheets, you're done. Do you hear me?" 

Whether or not Rafe hears you is unclear, but you take the delirious smile forming on his lips as a non-verbal affirmation. He huffs out a long breath as if he can feel himself finally relaxing. His eyes start to close again, too, as you start his truck and drive the short way to your house. 

"Don't even think about falling asleep on me, Cameron. I am not lugging you up the stairs."

"You're strong." He reasons smoothly, lids still shut as he smirks. "You were about to deck the shit out of Aron Andersen when I found you."

Getting Rafe up to your bedroom goes better than you'd imagined, now with a few years of experience under your belt. 

You get him to sit down on your bed, and he fiddles with the items on your nightstand while you rummage through your armoire for an old pair of his pajamas. He complains when you throw him a pair of sweatpants and a sports t-shirt he used to wear in junior high, claiming that it'd be too tight over his arms and chest.

Plus, he'd added, it was far too hot to be wearing a shirt, anyway. 

"I love these." 

Changing into sweats of your own, you exit the bathroom to find Rafe sitting up in your bed, part of his bare torso obscured by your white sheets. His attention is fixed on a small group of rings on your bedside table, silver and gold hues reflecting under the dull rays of your lamp.

He slowly picks one up.

"Yeah, I'd hope so." You snort, tentatively slipping into bed next to him and painfully aware of the sorry excuse for space between you. "You got them all for me... kook."

Rafe cracks a sleepy smile, rolling his eyes playfully.

"You wouldn't tell me which one you wanted." He shrugs like it's the simplest thing in the world. 

He sets the ring back on the table and switches off your lamp, blanketing the room in a stroke of darkness. Rafe lies on his back and you opt to turn to your side, facing the wall.

Looking at his face only a few inches away from yours, when he's about to sleep in your bed, feels like it will be too much. 

"Asking for what you want is weird, Rafe. Nobody likes it."

You chew on your bottom lip in the dark.

"I do." He says in a scoff that turns into a yawn. "How else is anyone gonna know? People don't usually stop you and beg to find out."

You swallow roughly. That was true enough, they didn't.

But Rafe did. He always did. You revered him for it.

There's a long silence between you and all that echoes against the wood framing of your bed are the heavy and sometimes irregular sounds of your and Rafe's breathing.

Against your better judgement, you think he might've fallen asleep and almost turn around to check. 

"Is it me?" He asks quietly, voice scratchy with exhaustion. "... what you want?"

You feel your shaky breath hitch in your throat. 

"Because if it is... you don't have to ask."

His words linger in the air for as long as it takes your wildly beating hard to calm down.

By the time your body regains some feeling, the sound of Rafe's soft snores pierce the oddly crisp air clouding your room, and the choice to unpack what he said right now, or in the morning, is made for you. 

A shiver runs down from the nape of your neck to the tips of yours toes. 

Rafe is gone by the time you wake up.

The harsh but comforting sound of rain clangs against your roof, and you stretch your limbs to the thought of a cloudy and obscure summer day. 

It's better this way, you think. The absence of Rafe's warmth next to you would feel worse if the sun was shining, teasing. 

Your fingers play underneath your comforter to locate your phone. Scrolling through your notifications, you frown seeing that none of them are from Rafe.

In his defense, it was only about 9AM now, and he'd probably just had enough time to take a quick shower, get himself the smallest bit presentable, and still barely make it to his meeting with a client.

The used bathroom towel in your hamper and flannel pajama pants hastily thrown on his side of the bed are compelling indicators. 

In his defense, he was drunk, and there was no telling if he remembered anything about last night. 

Drowsy proclamations of desire and confession, included. 

You wrestle with the idea of calling him and letting it all spill out.

Kissing him on your front lawn, in the rain, with dewy blades of grass nipping at your feet. Hands threading through his wet hair and tugging, hungrily, because you're starving and happy, and these are liberties you can afford in imagination.  

But you settle on seeing him later tonight, in person. It's your dad's charity after all. 

"I just wish you would have told me earlier." Your disappointed words hang in the air for a few moments as you play with the hem of your silky baby blue dress.

Your father had mentioned to you once before that his new business partner had a son about your age, newly graduated from UC Irvine. 

He hadn't mentioned, though, that this mystery guy would be attending the charity tonight, and he'd offered you up as his own personal tour guide.

Your father hadn't used the word date explicitly, but that's what it felt like when you were handed an odd-smelling bouquet of flowers, standing awkwardly next to the brunette who you were apparently to keep the company of all night, though he might as well have been a stranger. 

Daniel was nice enough.

He complimented your dress and your makeup, smiled and pulled out your chair before you sat down at your assigned table.

But it felt weird accepting praise and chivalry from him when your heart was busy beating erratically at the simple thought that your dress matched Rafe's eyes.  

The venue is extravagant like it always is, what with it's elaborate crystal chandeliers, ice sculptures, and floral center pieces larger than your head. 

At your table, you note your and Daniel's name cards labeling your seats. Next to them, are Topper, Kelce, and Rafe's. There's a sixth seat that has no label and you tilt your head to the side thoughtfully, considering that Topper or Kelce must be bringing a date. 

"This place is incredible. Your dad is so impressive." Daniel says in awe from the seat next to you. His eyes trail around the room, wide in amazement, reflecting back all the vibrant lights in the brown of his pupils.

You smile weakly at him, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear that always seems to take flight despite your attention to detail.

"Yeah, he's really something. Likes to orchestrate a big show. You should see him at the winter ball. Live doves, and everything." 

Daniel nods, moving on to say something that starts to sound unintelligible when something else piques your interest. Someone else. Multiple someones, entering the banquet hall. 

Craning your neck, you make out Topper and Rafe. And a girl. 

No. Topper... and Rafe and a girl. She has her arm tucked around Rafe's as he escorts her in the direction of your table. He's wearing the grey tux you like, the one he wore to Rose's sister's wedding with the ornate thread detailing. His smile makes the two halves of your heart squeeze together. 

"Hey, you okay? You're squeezing that wine glass pretty tight there."

Daniel likely means well, eyeing the way your fist clenches around the stem of the glass you've yet to take a sip from. You shoot him an embarrassed smile and release your straining fingers.

An emotional support water bottle sounds like it would be really nice right now. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little nervous... my dad always gives a speech at these things." You explain.

As the trio begins to approach, you realize it's Shelley Thompson gripping Rafe's arm, a sweet girl you knew from the Kook Academy.

Even now, she always waves when you run into her at the Island Club, and she has a swing on the golf course like no other.

She's a good match for Rafe. You hate to admit it, but it's true.

When Daniel speaks again, you can barely hear him.

"I'm sure you have nothing to worry about." Daniel chuckles. "I have a hard time imagining that your dad would be bad at anything..."

Topper, having heard the tail-end of your conversation, plunks himself down in the chair across from yours and rubs his forehead tiredly. You shudder at the way he smiles empathetically at you. Like there's something to be consoled about. 

"Hangover?" You ask, shoving the shaky feeling down and shooting him a teasing smirk.

He groans loudly and buries his face in his hands.

"That's the understatement of the year. Feels like I'm getting my skull bashed in." He mutters through the skin, then he peels his head away and grimaces at the screechy music being played. If there was one thing your dad was bad it, it was decent music taste. Topper laughs heartily, shaking his head. "Then again, maybe I am." 

The lightheartedness is interrupted for a moment as Rafe and Shelley pull up to the table, taking their seats accordingly. Rafe rakes his eyes over Daniel for a few seconds, but otherwise stays silent and it makes you frown. You look at him, desperately trying to uncover if he remembers any details from last night, but his expression is unreadable.

Shelley, on the other hand, grins at you enthusiastically and starts to chat with you about the time she interned at your dad's company. 

You find yourself glancing at Rafe every so often, each time catching him staring blankly ahead or at his lap, and always fidgeting with his fingers. 

"Who's this?" He asks suddenly, nodding his head at the man next to you. 

"Oh." You swallow. "This is Daniel."

Finding that insufficient, Daniel takes it as an opportunity to formally introduce himself. 

"That's me." Daniel waves sheepishly, gently squeezing your shoulder with his other hand. "Y/N's been showing me around. Well, her and her dad. I really love what Mr. Y/L/N's been doing with his company. He does some incredible work out here. It's not often that you see-,"

Topper snickers when he cuts him off. 

"Maybe he should've been your date."

Daniel laughs it off, blushing slightly and concealing it in a short cough. But you kick Topper under the table in retaliation, ignoring the way he holds his shin and groans out a soft "Ow!". 

After that, Shelley, Topper, and Daniel divulge into conversation, shifting from topic to topic and at some points, sharing boisterous laughs together.

Rafe keeps his lips pressed together and his words concise. While you fiddle with your utensils, you feel his eyes on you, igniting heat under your skin. 

He stares at you hard, like he's waiting for you to say something. Begging, even, with the way his forehead tenses and his brow stays quirked.

But you didn't know what to say.

Or maybe you didn't know how to say it. Especially not here. Especially not when he had a date. 

Rafe rolls his eyes and chews on the inside of his cheek, standing from the table abruptly, the movement making the cutlery tremble.

"Hey, I have an idea." He says while tugging on Shelley's hand. "Let's dance."

You watch as Shelley squeals with excitement, jumping from her seat to follow Rafe towards the center of the large room where the music is playing. 

"Couldn't pay me to get closer to that band." Topper mumbles offhandedly. You're sure he's trying to make it sting less, but some pains don't have a perfect antidote. 

Daniel sends you a look, silently asking if you want to join them. 

"Maybe later." You reply quietly. 

Watching Rafe wrap his arm around Shelley's waist, you feel your heart sink slowly into your stomach.

In the middle of Daniel's rambling and Topper's occasional acknowledging hums, you rise from your seat and stumble into the courtyard for some fresh air.

Surely, your heart would keep sinking if you saw any more, and your heels were too tight to fit anything else. 

The courtyard is a beautiful mix of greenery, fairy lights, and concrete statues, but it does little to ease the ache in your chest. You sit on a stone bench and try to control your breathing with your head between your knees. 

Though it's turbulent and shallow at best.

"What's wrong?"

You know it's Rafe without looking up. Sighing into the palms of your hand, you slide them down from your face and lift your head up. Surely, your makeup is smudged, and the thought makes you more miserable.

"Nothing." You say more sharply than you intended. "Nothing's wrong. Just go away, Rafe."

He looks at you completely scandalized. 

"Are you... mad at me?"

You let out a deep breathe, averting your gaze to the ground as you collect yourself. "No, I'm not mad. Why would I be mad?"

Rafe scoffs, entirely unconvinced. He rakes a hand through his hair in frustration. 

"Well, fuck, if this is 'not mad', then I don't want to see what mad looks like." 

"Can you just drop it? Please, Rafe? Drop it?" You beg, sniffling slightly as you stand. You hadn't noticed when your cheeks started to get wet. Likely too much in denial.

Despite the way it's honoured you in the past, crying was offering no release at this point. It's not like any of this was Rafe's fault. Even if he had gotten your hopes up last night, he wasn't obligated to act on drunken pillow talk. Maybe he hadn't meant it in the first place and was only trying to make you feel better.

"You won't talk to me." He says sadly.

You bite down on every explanation you want to give him. Chest pain heavy and unrelenting.

"Just... go back to Shelley, Rafe. She's probably waiting for you."

Rafe looks puzzled when the words fall weakly out of your mouth.

Then, he nods, like something finally clicks for him. He meets your eyes with fervor as he presses his lips together.

"So, this is about Shelley?" He asks.

Your head hangs and silence intensifies between you. It speaks for itself.

"The same Shelley that's been fucking Kelce on and off for the past two years?"

He watches your mouth fall open and eyebrows furrow, continuing as you stare at him.

"Kelce promised to take her out on a real date, but then he got caught up at work... asked me to keep Shelley company until he showed up. We didn't come here together, together, Y/N. I thought you knew that." 

Your mind buzzes as he speaks, bottom lip wedged under your teeth.

So, he wasn't here with Shelley. And he probably did remember both what he heard and said last night if he could recognize that you were jealous.

Jealous. It makes you squeeze your eyes shut. The feeling was always two-fold. A person would feel jealous, then humiliated that they had. You don't know which one is worse.

You peak an eye open, chewing through your words. "Why couldn't Topper do it?" 

"Have you met Topper?"

That was a good point. 

Still reeling from the new information, you look down at your lap pensively.

"But you did." Rafe begins after a few beats of silence. When you frown in confusion, he clarifies. "... come here with someone."

You crane your neck up to look at him. There's something you can't place in his eyes, but it's cloudy and all-consuming. His hair is a mess from the way he's been ruffling through it, and his cheeks are flushed and tight.

"What, Daniel? Are you kidding me? I only brought him because my dad ask-," you begin to explain, but Rafe cuts you off. 

"I don’t care why he thinks he can touch you. I just want him to stop.”

Despite the small gust of wind that blows past you both, you feel a warmth at the base of your neck... in the palms of your hands. Maybe it was the beams of light overhead, illuminating your bodies amidst the greenery.

Or, maybe it was just Rafe's words.

The intensity of his gaze. The way he steps towards you as he speaks them, warm hand eventually reaching out to graze over your cheek in a way that makes you gasp in a mixture of shock and excitement. 

For a moment, you think about yourself and the many soul-crushing nights spent watching Rafe talk to and touch and kiss other people, the overlapping visuals making you queasy. 

"I know the feeling." You say quietly, hot breath fanning over his face.

Rafe frowns a little, soaking up the meaning of your words. He nudges his face closer to yours, until your noses are touching and his lips just barely graze over the pair he desperately wants to taste. He draws back suddenly, suspending all the air in your lungs. 

He eyes you cautiously, challenging silently as he licks his lips.

"Not gonna do anything unless you ask." 

You nearly cry out in response. "Rafe, please. I... I want you." Ignoring the way your desperation makes your skin feel tingly and your head spin, you shut your eyes tightly, realizing that only really skimmed the surface. You try again, gulping. "I've always wanted you."

"Fuck." He breathes out, eyes fluttering shut. "Never stop saying that." 

Stifling the sound of another whine from your lips, Rafe kisses you feverishly.

He moves his soft lips in tandem with yours, swallowing each of your breathy moans. One of his hands traces over the swell of your jaw while the other stretches tenderly around your throat. "Know what I wanted to do when I saw you sitting there next to him?" 

You nearly scream in protest when Rafe pulls his lips off yours, but fall silent when he trails kisses down from your jaw to your neck and collarbones, sloppily sucking the skin then laving his tongue over the afflicted areas. Unsatisfied until your pushing his head away from the sensitivity. 

"Wanted to knock his fucking teeth out." He murmurs with his head buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and leaving searing kisses. "But I don't do that shit anymore. So I'll ruin his night a different way."

Rafe moves your body with his until the backs of your knees hit the concrete bench. Your mouth falls open as he sits you down on it, kneeling in front of you. He presses a ticklish kiss to your knee and his bright blue eyes peer up at you through his lashes. When you nod, he parts your thighs and pulls your panties down in a single unbroken movement, committing every second to memory.

He stares longer than he should, groaning at the way your wetness collects on his finger when he traces a finger over your slit, spreading you apart. 

"Can't believe," he moans into your mound, running the flat of his tongue over your center again and again. "... you kept me from this pussy for so long." 

You throw your head back at the sensation, finding nothing but air and Rafe to support you as pulls you closer to his mouth.

"That," you say in a broken moan at the feeling of Rafe's tongue inside you. "That's your fault, remember? I was always here — shit! Waiting for you.”

Rafe hums against your pussy at that, neither agreeing or disagreeing. His nose nudges your clit as he tastes you greedily. You tug at his hair to dissipate some of the energy building inside your core, but it only makes Rafe work harder. 

"Didn't think I deserved you." He admits, pink lips mesmerizing and wet with your slick and his spit. Rafe takes your clit into his mouth and sucks obscenely, the slurping sound sending a flash of heat through you. "Doesn't matter now. I'm good at making up for lost time..."

Your thighs clamp around Rafe's head as he fucks you with his tongue. It's only now, as gasps and high-pitched sounds fall wantonly from your lips that you come to the reality that you're letting Rafe eat you out in the courtyard, and anybody from the party could come here and find you. Still, you moan less controlled than you would have hoped when he suckles at your clit again, drinking at your sopping pussy.

"Hey, have some common decency, huh? There's some very nice people in there trying to enjoy a party." 

Rafe smirks when you pull at his hair even harder, mostly at the thought that you think it could be reprimanding when he likes it so much. His teasing does more to turn you on than you'd care to admit and he can tell with the way you gush around him.

"One of em's your date." He adds, laughing slightly as he curls his tongue inside you. Entranced at the way it makes you whimper and writhe like putty under him. He starts rubbing your clit with his thumb at the same time, chasing the crest of your orgasm. "C'mon, baby. Give it to me. Come all over my tongue." 

Your release makes your back rise off of the slab of cement you're seated on, thighs slotted over Rafe's shoulders as he licks you through your climax.

The pleasure is insurmountable, your mouth falling open and your eyes screwing shut as that familiar feeling completely overwhelms your senses, the burn of your elbows against the cement keeping you anchored to the ground. 

Rafe smiles when you pull him by the belt of his dress pants to capture his mouth in a long and sweet kiss. It helps clean up the residual wetness. 

By the time Kelce makes it your father's charity event, he sighs tiredly into the crown of Shelley's head, pressing a wet kiss there in greeting. On his way in, he got trapped in a conversation with your father and some guy he'd never seen before named Daniel who was more inclined to kiss your dad's ass than he was to breathe.

Finally taking his seat next to a very drunk Topper, he squints his eyes at the sight before him. You and Rafe, unable to keep your hands off each other, giggling at nothing in particular. And when not giggling, kissing.

"Are you seeing this shit?" Kelce asks Topper, gesturing towards his two closest friends shoving their tongues down each other's throats. Shamelessly, at that.

"Dude." Topper groans, sighing like this was no surprise to him. "Where the fuck have you been?"

a/n: thank you for reading! comments/reblogs appreciated!!

[bluecollarmcandtf]

"Dude, I'm in your brother-in-law!"

Panic twists your gut as the bizarre scene sinks in! Those unnaturally clouded eyes are the trademark of Jimmy, your long-dead friend, and they're sitting in the skull of Carlos, your sister's fiance! The ghost is up to his usual antics, possessing yet another guy in your life without any regard to you.

"Did you imagine a tight gym rat like this would wear undies like these?" Jimmy chuckles, referring to Carlos' patterned boxers, "I mean how could you be so intimidated by a guy who's got hearts on his crotch?"

The underwear is the least of your worries: the man is supposed to be walking down the aisle in an hour! It may have been a dick move for your sister to get engaged to your high school bully, but that didn't mean you wanted her future husband to be late to the altar!

"Don't even bother asking me to get out of this body, dude!" the deep baritone of Carlos sings with Jimmy's cadence, "The only thing I plan on getting out of is this tux! Training like this needs to be appreciated, and who better to appreciate it than you? I'm sure you'd love to know what your sister is getting tonight..."

"I mean just look at these abs. It's like a rock hard washboard if you want a feel..." Jimmy winks one of his starkly blank eyes at you, "...speaking of being rock hard, it looks like you're enjoying this bonding time with your new brother-in-law. After all, Carlos does need to apologize for all the bullying he did in high school."

With a racing heart, you shush him and beg for Johnny to leave. He needs to return Carlos to normal before anyone notices! The wedding would be over if someone found the groom naked and flirting with the brother of the bride!

"If you're gonna be my new little bro..." Jimmy says with an unsettlingly accurate impression of Carlos' demeanor, "...then I think you should get to know me. Come on and grab my fat, meaty pecs; pinch my nipples; let me know who the real man is around here..."

It's hard to resist. You've only ever caught stolen glances at Carlos. The jerk would always shove you into a locker when he caught you staring in his direction, yet now he was begging for your attention.

"Come on, bro. Grab my athletic little ass and grope my crotch. It's the least I can do after targeting you for all these years."

Before you realize what you're doing, you find yourself rushing towards the shredded latino and pressing yourself against his exposed body, layered with dense musculature. Part of you still expected Carlos to kick you in the nuts and call you a slur, but his lips instead gleefully embrace your own.

"Damn, if I'd known being queer was this good, I woulda married you and not your sister!" he exclaims. You just roll your eyes, knowing Carlos isn't actually saying these things. Jimmy is just puppeteering his mouth for your amusement, "I bet having your dick in my mouth will be better than the tits of any girl! The only way a piece of crap like me can apologize is on my knees..."

You stifle a moan as all 200 lbs of the naked jock drops to his knees with a dopey grin. Carlos' soulless eyes stare at the tent in your pants like it's the most desirable thing in the world. It doesn't take long for him to unbuckle your pants and open his mouth...

...twenty minutes later, you're still catching your breath while Carlos slowly redresses.

"Now you can watch your sister marry this homophobic dirtbag and know that you've shoved your shaft down his throat," Jimmy purrs, enjoying his final moments in Carlos' form, "I'm not going to brush his teeth, so he'll have to taste you throughout the entire wedding."

You giggle at the thought of the guy wondering about the strange flavor in his mouth while reading his vows. Somehow, Carlos doesn't seem as big or intimidating as he once did.

"If it were up to me, I'd commandeer his whole life," Jimmy went on with a sparkle of enthusiasm in Carlos' clouded retinas, "I'd walk him out there in nothing but his heart-patterned undies and announce to his whole family that he's a flaming homosexual. Then I'd like to spend a couple weeks working his body as a stripper at the nearest club, and of course I'd come home to you every night..."

The idea of Carlos coming out to his orthodox family and working as a stripper is an insane one, but it did turn you on. It's too bad your sister's taken a liking towards him, otherwise, you'd tell Jimmy to go crazy with the guy.

"Imagine your old high school bully coming home to you every night, hot and sweaty from dancing all day, with a new skimpy costume for you to explore. Damn, I'd want you to find a new way to degrade me each night while I wore him. It'd be healthy, I think, after all he's put you through."

Jimmy's crazy ideas never cease to amaze you. A little time belittling Carlos sounds hot as hell!

You give Carlos one last kiss and remind your paranormal buddy that he has to leave soon. The stud frowns, looking sad that he won't be possessed by a gay spirit anymore. At least you know that if this man ever screws up, if he ever wrongs your sister, if he ever hurts her; Jimmy is just one seance away from charging back in his body and making this twisted fantasy come true. It's only a matter of time before Carlos screws up his marriage, and then he's yours.

You almost can't wait for your sister's marriage to fall apart, and it hasn't even begun...

[venti-venus]

baby driver - j. m x reader

summary: after a failed study session with dean forester, jess and y/n decide to get a little innocent payback.

𐌕Ꮤ: hating on dean forester, accurate gilmore girls banter and drama, not spellchecked, first jess fic yippie ! ¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸ ¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸

"Mariano," Y/N whined, stumbling into Luke's Diner. She dragged her feet across the floor and dramatically plopped down on one of the bar stools. " I feel like my face is about to fall off and I'm blaming it on you."

Jess rolled his eyes as he wiped down the counter, "Good morning to you too, Y/N. I get the feeling you didn't just come in here to complain."

"And you would be right!" Y/N smirked, "I'm here for the doughnuts. Chocolate, please." She jokingly batted her eyelashes before yawning. "Ugh, get me a coffee too."

"So, why are you up at eight o'clock in the morning," Jess poured her some coffee and handed it to her, along with the doughnuts. "You don't wake up until at least two. Special occasion?"

"Oh yeah, Dean Forester is real special. I'm supposed to meet up with him to go over our English assignment. I doubt he'll actually focus on the work though. I swear he's been so obsessed with Rory it's actually suffocating my last braincell."

Jess laughed at your comment, "You wish that was you or somethin'?"

Y/N threw a crumb of her doughnut at him and gagged, "As if! Dean doesn't even like Bowie, there's no chance him and I are gonna be anything more than friends."

"Very true," Jess smirked, "Any hater of David Bowie should be locked up and studied. I'm glad you're staying away from the freaks of the world, Y/N. Very proud."

"Yeah well, I better get going. Dean said he would pick me up from here and drive us to the lake so we can focus or something." Y/N sighed, "Wish me luck, Mario."

"Hey, do not call me that. Put some respect on a poor kids name, will ya?" He joked, "At least you get to ride around in his car. Pretty nice one if I do say so myself."

"Pretty car, pretty annoying boy." Y/N took her coffee and doughnuts and gave Jess one last smile before she headed out to wait for Dean and his car. Surely he wouldn't be too long..

"H-Hey, Jess," Y/N's shaky voice spoke into her phone, "Can you come pick me up? I'm at the lake and it's raining and Dean left an-"

"I'll be there in 10." Y/N could hear a door slam and a car start on the other side of the line. Jess hung up and Y/n waited as he drove to come get her.

The study session had gone alright, but it was what happened after that which led to Y/N now being stranded. She hid under what little over a close by oak tree had and waited until Jess pulled up.

“Get in.” Jess handed her a towel as Y/N got into his car. His knuckles grew white as he gripped the steering wheel, not saying anything else as he drove off.

“Thank you, Jess.” Y/N sniffled, “I could’ve walked but my house is too far with the rain and all.” She looked over to see the brunette focused on the road.

She decided to stay quiet as he drove her to her house, using the towel Jess gave her to dry off as best she could.

"The hell do you mean he kissed you?" Jess yelled from the living room, arms crossed on his chest. His eyebrows were so creased, they were practically conjoined. He was sitting down on the couch while Y/N was in the kitchen, trying to dry off and get water.

"I don't know! He told me he was finally dating Rory and everything was fine and then out of the blue," Y/N threw her hands up, "And then I freaked out because, hello, he just said he was with Rory!"

Jess huffed. "And then what happened?"

"He got mad at me for some stupid reason and yelled at me." Y/N got quieter, "I swear Dean makes no sense. One minute he's normal and the other he's... I'm sure there's some reference I could make but I can't think of one, but you get what I'm saying. He totally flipped."

Y/N opened her refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of water. "Oh, and then," She scoffed, "He had the audacity to tell me that he actually liked me the whole time. He was 'too scared' to tell me though because-. (because he thought I was dating you.)" Y/N paused and quietly mumbled, "That's not important." She frantically walked over to the living room and sat down next to Jess.

"Does he even like Rory? Or is he just leading her on now?" Jess was confused about the whole situation.

"Everyone likes Rory, Jess." Y/N rolled her eyes, "But I don't think he wants to get serious with her. I just can't believe he would do something like that to me."

"That tall freak has some serious paying up to do," Jess got up. "Go get changed into something dry. I have an idea."

Jess and Y/N got into Dean's Ford F-150, muffling their laughs as best as they could.

"Wait, you know how to drive, right?" Jess teased as he buckled his seatbelt.

Y/N rolled her eyes, laughing as she pulled out of Dean's driveway. Rory had picked him up earlier after Jess pulled a few strings, so his car was free and available for a little joy ride.

"I got my license last year, Jess. I'm practically Richard Petty." She pulled out of the driveway and turned on the radio.

"Okay, baby driver." Jess laughed as the two of them began to drive, happily using Dean's car for the night.

¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸ ¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸

[devoted-horror]

giving the new survivor hatch.

a/n: this is my first time writing for dbd in general, so!! i hope i do this game justice bc i play it every day lol

includes: the huntress, the trickster, the ghostface, the artist, the cannibal.

warnings: not proofread, typical dbd stuff like blood, mentions of murder, things like that, gn reader, love at first sight but only if u tilt ur head and squint really hard, inconsistent length, im going to be so delusional over jiwoon im sorry, i can't speak russian or korean so i just used a bunch of translators sorry if i got smth wrong, inaccurate behavior of dbd crows but relatively accurate behavior of irl crows i think, scream reference in danny's part bc i had to, reader injury in jiwoon and danny's parts, written over the course of a few months so sorry if the pacing is weird.

THE HUNTRESS

Anna has been in the fog long enough that every face of everyone she's ever killed has started to merge together into one. She doesn't know their names, and hardly ever reacts whenever she encounters a new survivor.

Mercy is not something she shows during trials. She is a hunter, and anyone who crosses her path, be it man or animal, is her prey. Nothing in the wild is merciful.

And you were nothing more than another person for her to hunt, prey for her to kill. And trust me, she was going to kill you.

Or, at least, she was.

And then you dropped a pallet on her. Now, normally, Anna would get very angry when this happens. Her prey is fighting back, and though it gives her a thrill, it's annoying. And for a brief moment, she did feel angry the moment the pallet hit her.

But then you were apologizing, a look of genuine guilt on your expression. You even asked if she was bleeding. Your survival instincts were lacking, clearly, but Anna found that to be... oddly endearing??

She felt a surge of protectiveness spark within her, something she had never felt during her time here. It was a familiar feeling, yet one so foreign at the same time.

But how could she not feel such a way when you were staring up at her, clearly scared that she was going to hurt you yet brave enough to stand in front of her and apologize for something that, by all means, you should have done.

Anna just stares you down for a long moment, having an internal struggle with herself on what she should do with you. Ultimately, her need to protect overruled her need to hunt, because after breaking the pallet between the two of you, she made a gesture for you to follow her.

And, not wanting to die, you did.

She took you to a shack, something you've heard other survivors refer to as the killer shack. The only reason you knew this is because you were told to stay away from it unless you wanted to get put in the basement.

She just pointed to one of the corners of the building, and looked over at you, "Оставайся здесь." And you didn't immediately understand her, though you were quick to pick up on what she was telling you. It seemed as if she wanted you to stay here.

Your safest bet on surviving was doing what she said, so you just nod and awkwardly place yourself in the corner she had been pointing at. She doesn't spare you another glance as she leaves you alone.

You're not sure how long you stayed there. You could hear the other survivors screams though, and you felt sick to your stomach at the sound of them being hooked and sacrificed to the Entity. They probably won't be too happy about this the next time you see them...

It was only when you were the last one standing that Anna came back to retrieve you. She found you exactly where she had left you, and even though you couldn't see her face due to the rabbit mask, she seemed rather pleased that you had actually listened to her.

If she had it her way, Anna would keep you by her side. Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that. The Entity would probably force the trial to end if you didn't either escape or die.

She begrudgingly brought you to hatch, the black mist pouring from it, silently promising safety if you jumped into it. You stared at it, confused about what it was, and that protectiveness she was feeling only seemed to grow stronger when you looked up at her for an explanation. The only explanation she offered was a slight gesture to you, and then the hatch.

"Иди, кролик." She says, lightly pushing you to the hatch and watching as you hesitantly decide to trust her, jumping into the hatch and leaving her alone as the fog comes and places her back in the Red Forest.

If she's lucky, she'll be in a trial with you again soon.

THE TRICKSTER

He'll immediately recognize you to be new. He prides himself in recognizing every survivor he's encountered, either by their face or by the sound of their screams. Mostly their screams.

And he certainly didn't recognize the scream he heard when one of his throwing knives ricocheted and hit you while he was chasing down another one of the newer survivors; Sable. It was a small, startled scream, nothing worth his attention, but it was new. That was enough to make this trial more exciting, and he found himself keeping his eyes peeled for you.

Which... was a lot easier than he expected it to be, because you just kept running right into him. Seriously. Did you not pay attention to your surroundings? Do you think he's a survivor?? Do you not see the bloodied fucking bat he's holding???

He's not sure if he's annoyed or amused by this. Partially both, to be honest. It's amusing to see you relax for a split second after bumping into him, not recognizing him to be the killer immediately. It's annoying because he'd like to hear you scream, please and thank you.

Jiwoon doesn't necessarily target you during the trial. To be honest, he's trying to weed out the other survivors before focusing his attention on you.

He wanted to take his time with you, to see what sounds he could pull out of you before the Entity forced the trial to end. Just the sound of you gasping whenever you bump into him has his mind racing.

This was honestly enough to keep him motivated throughout the entire trial, a certain bloodlust sparking in him. He relished the sound of everyone else's screams, but they weren't appealing to him right now.

He needed the other survivors out of the way. He needed you alone. And when he finally got rid of the last pesky survivor, the fun began.

And when he corners you in killer shack, he really didn't plan on being merciful. He wanted to hear you scream, and then he wanted to kill you, really. That was his plan.

The only way you'd get out of this alive is if you beg, honestly. And I mean beg. On your knees, crying, pleading, offering something in return for your survival. That sort of begging.

You were new and shiny in comparison to all of the other survivors, and maybe it's because he's a sadistic bastard, but he really does adore the sight of you on your knees, crying as he absently nicks your skin with one of his throwing knives.

This is where Jiwoon feels a bit torn, truth be told. He's never been a patient man, so he wants to get as many screams out of you as he can before the Entity forced the trial to end. But at the same time, he knew he'd see you again in a future trial, sooner or later.

It wouldn't hurt to prolong his time with you, would it?

The entire time he's pondering this, he's dragging the blade across your skin, relishing in the sweet sounds of your gasps and whimpers, and you stutter out a desperate 'please'.

Ultimately, Jiwoon decides to be nice, just this once. He'll mutter a quiet, "짜증나..." before hoisting you over his shoulder and carrying you off.

You struggled, obviously, assuming he was ending your misery and taking you to a hook. He didn't really mind much, having an iron grasp on you that kept you from wiggling free.

He dropped you right next to the hatch once he found it, finding your small pained sound to be adorable as you look at your salvation with a confused expression. But before you can crawl into it and escape, he's grabbing you by the back of your shirt and pulling you back a bit.

For a moment, you think he's going to kill you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, expecting pain. But nothing comes. You feel him tuck something in your shirt, and he lightly pats your cheek, cooing a bit at your terror before he lets you go and leaves you alone.

And when you're back at the campfire, you find a photo of Jiwoon neatly folded and tucked into your shirt, signed with his autograph.

He'll have an encore the next time he sees you, and you can only hope you don't find yourself in a trial with him again any time soon.

THE GHOSTFACE

Would actually never give you hatch under normal circumstances. He's here to kill, so kill he shall. He treated you the same as any other survivor when he first saw you, though it wasn't until he was in chase with you that he realized how interesting you were.

For one, you were... surprisingly good at looping him?? For a newbie, he was rather impressed. That's not enough to get him to let you live, but it's definitely a start.

No, his interest is only truly piqued when you start quoting horror movies during chase.

Honestly, if he didn't know any better, he'd think you to be flirting with him. A person after his heart, truly.

It was only when he had you cornered that you really caught his attention. You weren't scared, and it intrigued him as much as it annoyed him.

He was just itching to dig his knife into you and take a photo of your lifeless corpse once he was finished. But even with your life at risk, you showed no fear.

Hell, you even mocked him.

"No, please don't kill me, Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel."

Sure, you weren't the first survivor to mock him, and you certainly won't be the last, but he found you interesting.

Oh, he needed to kill you. He needed your photo in his collection, it would be his favorite.

But he thought it would be more fun to humor you. Danny was a patient man. This isn't the first time he's drawn out a kill.

You were honestly surprised that he had left you alone. You didn't think that would actually work, and you were... a bit concerned, actually. None of the other killers you had ended up in a trial with during your short time here has entertained you the way Danny has, and you're not sure if you should be scared or not.

And, much to your very hesitant relief, you didn't see him for the rest of the trial. You knew he was watching you though. Every once in a while, you just felt... you're not quite sure how to describe it, but it almost felt as if you were being hunted.

You'd see him from the corner of your eye though. Never for long, just quick flashes of his screaming mask. Honestly, you felt less scared when he was actively trying to murder you.

That's how the rest of the trial went for you, at least. Until eventually, you were the only one left standing. You may be new, but the other survivors had given you the rundown of what to do if you were the last one standing before the trial had started.

You had to find hatch. Which was... easier said than done, truthfully. Especially since you weren't sure where the fuck Danny was. There's no way he was letting you go, right? He's probably saving you for last, right?

Whenever you so much as caught a glimpse of something moving, you were scurrying in the other direction.

This is pretty much Danny's way of giving you hatch. There's no way he'd give it to you directly, not yet.

You had honestly thought you had found it all by yourself until you were fucking stabbed, the flash of a camera in your face blinding you.

Truth be told, Danny did plan on killing you. He had wanted to give you a false sense of hope. But your stupid little smile when you saw hatch got to him, okay? So he'll settle for this for now.

"You owe me."

And he doesn't even spare you a glance as he pushes you into the hatch's mist, his gaze intently focused on the photo of you he had just taken.

Unfortunately for you, you've caught his attention.

THE ARTIST

Carmina is one of the more merciful killers you may come across, so she'd be fairly likely to give a new survivor hatch depending on how the trial has gone and whether or not she's consumed by anger.

She only realizes that you're new to the fog when her crows surround you and you don't try shooing them away. When she finds you, you're actually... rather content having a murder of crows surrounding you.

Very very confused. She'll probably just stare at you for a hot second as you go about the trial without a single care for the crows swarming around you. Even the crows are confused.

You distract her long enough with your antics that a good chunk of the gens pop, and she had to force herself to leave you be in order to focus on hunting the other survivors.

She'll ignore you for the entire trial after she leaves you be. Her crows can keep watch for her.

So for the rest of the trial she's only vaguely aware of your location, occasionally stopping once in a while to determine whether or not her crows were still with you. They were.

Even the other survivors seemed confused by your behavior.

On the rare occasion that she bumped into you during the trial, it was always when another survivor was nearby trying to tell you how to get rid of the crows.

You never even tried to shoo away the crows throughout the entire trial, and at some point, they stopped swarming around you. They didn't go away, no. You, somehow, managed to tame Carmina's crows with little trinkets that you found littered across the place.

Honestly, the crows seemed to like you enough that even if Carmina told them to hurt you, they probably wouldn't listen to her. It's hard to believe that you were a new survivor with how calm you were about everything happening.

It's probably that calm nature, coupled with your ability to calm her crows, that solidified in her mind that you were the only one who would make it out alive.

And with a newfound determination, Carmina sacrificed the other three survivors with no issues, and she could hear hatch opening not too far away from her.

With the help of her crows, Carmina was able to easily bring you to hatch, and she could only tilt her head to the side and make a small, croaking sound as you smiled and thanked both her and her crows before jumping into the hatch.

This is one of the many moments Carmina laments no longer being able to create art. She'd love to immortalize the image of you smiling at her, surrounded by her crows.

THE CANNIBAL

Bubba is honestly torn when he spots you, because you look so afraid, cowering in fear at every little sound and struggling to repair a generator like the others had told you to. He understands your fear because it's something he's very familiar with.

And while he has a job to do, not wanting to disappoint the Entity, he can't help but find it hard to hurt you. No matter how hard it was, Bubba had no choice.

But when he approached you, you didn't run. Sure, you let out a startled shout, the generator blowing up in your face as you stared up at him like a scared animal, quietly begging him not to hurt you.

But you didn't run.

How could he hurt you when you weren't running from him? Everyone always ran. But not you. You weren't running from him, and he didn't know what to do about that.

Bubba's trouble was so very evident. He's always been an expressive person, so it wasn't hard to tell that this was stressing him out. His free hand kept clenching and unclenching his apron, and he kept making small noises in the back of his throat.

He doesn't want to disappoint the Entity, he doesn't. But he's not sure if he can hurt someone who's not running from him. You aren't running! He really likes that! The only people who never ran when he was around were his family!

The nail in the coffin is when you, even despite your fear, took a chance and set down the toolbox you were holding. You... you gave him a gift. Not one that he could use, but a gift nonetheless.

There was literally no way he could hurt you now the guilt would eat him alive. So, he just opts to leave you be to instead focus on the other survivors. He wouldn't feel guilty hurting them.

The entire trial, Bubba focuses all of his attention on getting rid of the other survivors. If he sees you, he gets all nervous and can't even look at you for long without babbling incoherently before scurrying away.

Some of the other survivors may pick up on Bubba's strange avoidment of you, and may even use that to their advantage by running by you in chase because Bubba just... he can't hurt you, I'm sorry.

He's swinging his chainsaw, and then suddenly Kate is running by you and he's coming to a full stop out of fear of accidentally hurting you.

It really stresses him out, and even though you're still scared of him, and even though he's supposed to be killing you, you can't help but feel bad. So whenever the other survivors got a little too close when Bubba was chasing them, you always made sure to stay out of his way.

It's okay to be a bad teammate because it's Bubba.

Jokes aside, Bubba takes his job as a killer very seriously. He may avoid hurting you, but he makes quick work of the other survivors.

And when hatch opened right next to Bubba after killing the third survivor, he took it as a sign from the Entity that he was meant to give it to you. Why else would it open next to him?

Bubba was ever the gentleman when he brought you to hatch, guiding you to it carefully and making sure you didn't trip on any debris littered across the area.

He even scared off a few judgmental crows! He knew how off-putting it was to have them watching you all the time, especially when you're new in the fog.

And when you quietly thank him, smiling at him as if he weren't a killer, Bubba was just over the moon.

It's been so long since he's had someone to protect. The fog is a scary place to be but he'll do his best to make it a happy place whenever you two are in a trial together.

Оставайся здесь. - Stay here. Иди, кролик. - Go, rabbit. 짜증나. - How annoying.

[dr-spectre]

So... it's come to my attention recently... that um...

THE RELATIONSHIP CHART HAS BEEN TRANSLATED!!!!

The translation was done by @ silverghost5_ on twitter. Now it could not be TOTALLLYYYY accurate but, this is still incredible to see and i will leave a link to the tweet once I'm done gushing about the chart.

I'm gonna go over some stuff i found interesting.

So we're just gonna go with this huh Nintendo? Alright, i mean it's funny but, compared to the previous relationship chart, this is kinda lame. I was expecting story deets, not more comedy.

CALLIE DRAMA SHOW MENTION!!!!!!!!!!

"gramps don't die pls. thx. xoxo."

"Busy as always eh" yeah, they are fucking idols and agents what did you expect? YOU TRAINED THEM YOU MORON!!!! YOU MADE THEM MORE BUSY THAN THEY NEED TO BE!!!!!!

Aww....

CUTTLEFISH YOU CANT JUST GO HATING ON ANOTHER GROUP OF PEOPLE OH MY GOD-

Callie is all like "Deep Cut, we gotta collab again~ 🫦🫦👅👅💦💦💦💦💦" While Marie is like "Y'all fuck off."

ALSO FRYE CALLING CALLIE AND MARIE SIS OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Nintendo dropped the biggest fucking ball in the world for ROTM by not developing the relationship between the Squid Sisters and Deep Cut.

Oh, i actually didn't expect this. That's really cool how Octavio understands Mr. Grizz. Also, hard worker? Does Octavio do salmon run shifts.....?

Idk what "Ur in the middle" means in this context. Maybe "Ur in the middle of it" idk. I love how Neo 3 thinks the Squid Sisters look bored in Alterna.

LIL JUDD CAN YOU STOP?!?! DO YOUR VILLAIN ARC ALREADY! STOP BEING A BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!!

This woman is too horny for her own good. She needs to go outside, have a cup of water, get a job, GET A HOBBY! OR GET SOME FRIENDS! CAUSE I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMO-(SpongeBob reference sorry.)

Okay that's all i wanted to talk about, this relationship chart was kinda.... eh? not bad, not great either. Was expecting more interesting story details other than "le shrimp on head lmao" you know? Oh well!

Also wanna say something too.

NINTENDO ARE FUCKING COWARDS FOR NOT PUTTING CALLIE AND OCTAVIO NEAR EACH OTHER!!!!!!!

COWARDS!!!!!!!!!!!! DON'T DENY ME! A TRUE WARRIOR DOES NOT HIDE NINTENDO!! IS THIS HOW YOU FACE ME?! COWARD!! COME DOWN HERE NOW AND GIVE US UPDATED THOUGHTS ON CALLIE AND OCTAVIO AFTER SPLATOON 2 NINTENDO!!!!!!!!!

Splatoon base doesn't count, that shit is outdated and shouldn't be trusted source of information.... inkipedia....

Also no Agent 8, 4 and Smollusk is so fucking disrespectful and LAME!!!!

Here's the tweet btw.