#Ink and Roll Fingerprinting

[dabisbratz]

𝒫𝒪𝑅𝒞𝐸𝐿𝒜𝐼𝒩 ; eren jeager x male reader

w.c: 2.3k

𝒞𝒪𝒩𝒯𝒜𝐼𝒩𝒮: miscommunications, eren’s short temper, dumbification, asphyxiation two (2) uses of the f-slur (nonsexual), dirty-talk, exhibitionism + vouyerism, public masterbation, orgasm denial, spittin, one (1) use of the word ‘boypussy’, mean rennie

sonny says . . . rare short sonny post in da wild!?!? was missin nerd rennie n his jock boyfie ૮꒰ ྀི๑⃙⃘´༥`๑⃙⃘ ྀི ꒱ა thinkin about how long it takes for you t’realize y’like -like him . . .

Eren is. . . Weird.

That’s not an unknown fact, nor is it an uncommon conclusion. If anything, it’s a given. He smells strange, but not unpleasant, his voice goes nasally when he’s not making an effort to smoothen it out, his glasses are always smudged with fingerprints and a thin, barely noticeable layer of grease. He snorts when he laughs, too, in some sort of stereotypical way, and it’s almost endearing, but. . . That’s not why he’s weird.

It’s not his physical traits, no. Not the two moles decorating his neck, or the constant pink flush to his cheeks. Not his warm, brown hair that frames his soft cheeks. It’s not the acne at his forehead— you can tell he’s spent countless nights scrubbing away at it, picking apart his appearance— or the pudge to his body. Found on his cheeks, his arms, his stomach, his thighs— no, it absolutely isn’t anything physical.

Even as you look at him, your eyes trained on the movement of his pen as he writes something down— you’re not even sure what subject you’re supposed to be working on, anymore— you can’t place it. Ink travels along the sheet of paper, bleeding into it as his letters loop and his vowels curl. His lips are chapped, dusted a pretty shade of pink as his tongue swipes over the surface of his pillowy lips, they part as if to speak, and—

“What?” He asks, his voice only ever sounding soft now, for the first time since you’ve met him. He peers at you over the rim of his large, round glasses, his hazel eyes brightening beneath the fluorescent study-hall lights. Eren squints, like the opacity pains him, but his gaze never falters in kindliness. He’s. . . pretty.

Its certainly not the first time you’ve had that thought— he’s fucked you sideways, backwards, and maybe even upside down, so the thought crossed your mind amongst countless other opportunities, but this is different. It’s mundane. It’s. . . casual. Natural, like something fundamentally correct.

In a way that makes your heart want to wring itself dry.

Eren breathes through parted lips, a habit he’s working on, thick eyebrows furrowed as his gaze trickles toward your empty notebook. “What?” He repeats, this time much more nasally. The growing irritability in his voice proves palpable— but it’s not Eren if he’s not easily riled up. Still, his voice is like molasses, you want to cuddle up beneath it and taste it on your tongue. The sweetness, the bitterness. To feel it spread across your tastebuds, thick and syrupy. He’s just so.. handsome.

“What?” You clear your throat, it’s suddenly scratchy, all the words you want to say stuck in your esophagus as you cough into your elbow. They’re not thoughts you’re used to having— you’ve only ever had girlfriends.. You’re used to floral patterns and sweet scents. . . the stereotypical bubblegum pink and hair ties. The hands you’ve held have almost always been smaller than your own, softer, dantier…

“You’re.. You know, staring at me?” Polar opposite of the former, Eren’s hand swats the air as if gesturing to the general area. You instinctively want to roll your eyes, bratty in nature, just to earn the soft click of Eren’s tongue. Fuck.

“How did you know you were… you know.” Rushed, slipping over your own tongue, your teeth feel like jelly, softening in your own mouth. You suddenly feel small, backed up against a corner and trembling like a deer. Bambi’s got nothing on you, incomparable, you think, a cold tremor cascading past your ribs and down your spine. You’re not supposed to be the one feeling this way.

“You know?” He echoes. Pink, plush lips parting and curling around every letter, your heart flutters with warmth as they curl into scowl. You hate to admit it, but it’s your favorite expression from Eren. He’s always looked a bit boyish— like he carries some sort of sheepishness in him, even with his beginnings of facial hair, but there’s something more established about him when his eyes steel over and his lips press together. “What, gay?”

Lilliputian is the minute that goes by, and yet, it lasts forever. “Yeah,” A long beat of silence as your shoulders tense up to your ears, each flutter of your eyelash against your cheek, each intake of air through your nose.. “That.” Excruciatingly slow, almost.

He notes the way you say it. You know it, you can see the cogs of recognition twisting and turning in his head, you loathe it. You want to hold onto the softness of his face, rub patterns into his cheek and pull him forward, whimpering a soft, saccharine ‘Rennie’ in his ear and watch him crumble. Your fingers twitch, fumbling over themselves at the thought, and before you can lift your hand (just to snatch it away), Eren’s lips part once more.

“You mean a faggot,” He sneers, his pen completely discarded, rolling past the flat surface of the wooden table. Radiating from his skin is the warmth of new tension, he vibrates in his seat as if ready to lash out. . . Not at you, never at you. “That’s what you want to say, right?”

“Eren,” Mumbling, barely making it past your lips, you murmur through your teeth. You distract yourself with your hands, two fingers holding onto one as they twiddle and turn around themselves. Eren’s gaze trails downward, a long, prominent scowl on his lips as he leans back into his seat, thighs spread wide over the stretch of the desk chair. His head tilts back, chocolate brown hair brushing against his jaw as he stares at you through the bridge of his nose. His frame isn’t big, and yet, he looks so.. powerful.

“I didn’t— don’t mean it like that.”

“What the fuck else could you mean, then?” He growls, a mean lilt in his voice that nearly has you shrinking back. A warning, not a threat, as the chair creaks beneath his weight, his hands clasping together as he shifts to lean forward instead. Looking you dead on, even as you avert your gaze. A click of his tongue, you listen to his skin brush against his palms as he raises a hand to snap his fingers. Once, twice, thrice.. And suddenly your attention is back on him. “Only fags take it up the ass like you do, anyway.”

“Eren,” You breathe, a soft melody of a voice, eyebrows pinched as you silently plead. Not even entirely sure what you’re pleading for, it’s just that his tone of voice makes you want to repent. Warmth prickles in your skin, and some sick, divine intervention tunes in to remind you that you’ve never felt more empty without Eren inside you. “Come on, man. I didn’t mean it like that, I just..”

His pretty face twists as though he’d eaten something sour. ‘Man’ — you call him, not something more savory. Baby, sweetheart, sugar, sir, Rennie. . . The options are there, and he’s watching you wade through them. You know Eren likes you. He knows you do, in some unexplainable way— he just needs to hear it.

“Is that what I am to you, too?” He grunts, stubborn. He knows the answer, eyes softening as he watches a frown tug at the corners of your kissable lips.

“Rennie,” You coo, as if you’ve read his mind, and he’s never seen your face so… conflicted. “M’sorry.” It cracks his hardened exterior, anger and tension dissipating into the air as he lets out a groan of a breath.

You’ve never seen Eren angry. Maybe in a different context, toward something else, with the exception of the time he’d discovered football meant you were flexible and he hadn’t put it to use yet. But. . . only sexually charged. You’d imagine it starts slow, a slight simmer building in his veins, gathering in his fingers as he clenches his hands into fists. Then fast, and sudden, crystalline rolling down his cheeks in a thick flow of rivers before your very eyes. He probably cries when he’s genuinely angry, you conclude, watching his chest heave and tense as he steadies his raging breaths.

A new sense of shame raises the hairs on your neck— should you comfort him, or give him privacy? It's all so much, you’re left stunned as he stands, his chair scraping against the hardwood floor as he all but stomps over to grab your chin. Your hand instinctively reaches to cup his own, instead, being met with a firm, but painless, tap to your cheek that makes you straighten up, hands falling back to your lap.

“You’re so. . .” Voice rough and thick, Eren’s gaze follows the shape of your lips as he trails off. Past your cupid's bow, is the curve, following where they meet in a shaky line. You’re pulled into a kiss, his pink lips chapped and bitten, you taste a thin layer of blood and iron on his tongue. His hand moves from your chin to your throat, fingers tracing the skin until his palm presses below your adam’s apple, leaving you gasping as he steals every breath from your parted lips. “. . Dumb boys like you never know what they’re fuckin’ talking about half the time anyway.”

The dig doesn’t hurt, your brain barely catches it, with the lack of oxygen and the pout on your lips, all you can chase after is the urge to kiss him again. Again, again, again. You hear him suck his teeth, but it’s hazy when he speaks once more. “Oh, you liked that?”

“Rennie, I wan’ it—“ Leaves your lips, high and whiney, forlorn to even your own ears, a dull throb between your thighs. It’s so good, you didn’t get hard as quick before meeting Eren, but with his hand wrapped around your throat, you can already feel the ache in your balls, the twitch of your shaft, the milky, sticky precum spilling into your boxers. The brunette scoffs, and that only makes it worse.

“Yeah?” He murmurs, mostly to himself, an almost incredulous lilt to his voice as he straightens up, palming at the clear bulge imprinted in his stained sweatpants. “Since you want it so bad, touch it.”

With a breathy moan, your hands reach to grasp at the thick outline of Eren’s cock straining against his pants, pressing your palm against the warmth of his shaft. You feel it twitch and throb beneath your fingers, jumping in your hand as Eren sucks in a sharp breath. You missed this. He huffs above you, face flushed and glasses askew, but his gaze doesn’t leave your face once— glued to the way your lips part, how you mouth against the cotton of his sweats and leave behind a sloppy stain of drool. How you kiss the head, burying your face deeper and deeper into the fabric, breathing in the musk of his cock.

“M’sorry,” You breathe, handsome face squished against his thigh, and Eren can’t seem to stop himself from grabbing a fistful of your hair, pulling you off his cock with a resigned grunt.

“I knew I was gay,” Eren rasps, his other hand pulling at the elastic band of his sweatpants, diving past his boxers (with suspicious stains, might you add), and straight to gripping his cock, dribbling salty, sticky precum along his knuckles. “When I’d come home from school,” He sighs, eyes fluttering shut with a shaky gasp. “And watch porn, but—” You barely miss it, stuck in his hold as he keeps you still, the weight of his cock slapping against your cheek— and god, that’s all you’ve ever wanted. “I only focused on the men. Especially when they sounded like girls, whining and crying…”

It’s hard to listen to him ramble, when what you want is right in front of you. Your hips rock, pressing your needy cock just barely against the denim of your jeans— it’s not enough, you need more, you want to feel it, you want to take it— “Kinda like you,” He grunts out, nearly crumbling above you, your pretty lips ghosting over his cock as his fist grips the dip of his balls. Blinking up at him, your eyes remain glued to the veins littering his hand as he fucks his fist, nearly losing your composure. “How they gasp after bottoming out,” Lifting your hips up, brushing your clenched fists against your thighs, your eyes flutter shut as he moans, maneuvering your face into different angles— however he pleases. “When they accidentally shoot a load on their own face. Ha, kinda like you.”

You hiccup on your own desperate, breathy sobs, choking on your gasps— in and out, in and out, Eren’s cock squelches as he fucks his fist, gathering pre and smearing it against your cheek.

“And they always take it so good. Pretty, slutty little holes made for taking dick,” He strokes loud plaps of wetness out of the head, finally, finally, pressing it against the plush of your lips. Glazed over and sticky, a thin, sheen layer of pre paints your lips like the prettiest gloss, and your lips part, carrying a thin trail of saliva between them. “They look so stupid, too. Best part was—” Mumbling under his breath, the brunette gathers spit on his tongue. He's salty and bitter, spreading along your mouth, and you can't help but drool. His thighs tense, muscles flexing and rippling as his twitching hand finds the back of your head, and— oh. “I’d make sure they looked like you.”

He’s spitting in your mouth. “You should’ve known when I had your ankles above your head and fucked a load into that boypussy of yours.”

You’re close, you can feel it, a tingling warmth in your spine and your balls, your abdomen tightening and hands reaching down to rub it out, but— Eren swats your hand away, a scowl on his lips.

Repent, repent, repent.

[cutiecusp]

One Night In Vegas

Waking up in Vegas during a girls weekend away was the perfect way to get over your ex, after finding his dating profile online. However, you expected to wake up alone... Not next to a giant of a man with a familiar tattoo and with his ring on your finger.

TW. Mentions of previous relationship, drunken shenanigans, smut, kissing, consummation of a marriage, talk of tattoos and blood.

Captain John Price x reader.

You roll over, pulling the sheet over your naked body as you stir, the effects of last night making your brain foggy. You knew you should have stopped at a few of those fruity drinks, but with your friends encouragement, you probably had more than you could count.

A low rumble breaks the silence of the hotel room, and a warm arm snakes over the bed and rests on your hip. You feel a warm body press into you from behind, and fear gets stuck in your throat.

You push the hand away and spring out of bed, clutching the sheet to your frame.

"Who are you?" You exclaim, your voice shaky with fear. As far as you could remember, you went to bed alone, not with this huge bear of a man.

You hear him chuckle, and he holds a hand up, a silver band glistening in the morning sun.

"I'm John, but i guess you could call me yours." he smiles.

You look down at your hand, a matching silver band on your finger, and look back at him in shock, unable to speak.

"Why so shy, love? You couldn't wait to make things official last night." he says gruffly, a little pink in the cheeks.

He reaches for you, and you finally take it in that there is a very naked man in your bed, and you are holding the sheet. Your face beet red as you find yourself staring. Your eyes scan over his body, before they settle on a tattoo.. a familiar tattoo..

"Where did you get that tattoo?" you blurt out.

He raises an eyebrow at your question, but you point at his ink.

"141, my brother has the same number, and insignia."

"Now, love. Get dressed and i'll explain everything."

💚

You raise an eyebrow. "Be a gentleman and turn around." you say as you dive into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, you catch your glossy eyes and as your gaze follows down your body. Various teeth marks and pink marks adorn your neck and chest. You let out a gasp as you take it all in, cheeks flushed as you remembered how you gave yourself to him, again and again.

Your memories come flooding back as you notice fingerprints on your hips, it all ringing in your ears as you remember every detail, every touch, every kiss, every inch of skin explored.

You close your eyes and trail your fingertips over the bruised flesh. Flashes of John over your body, caressing your soft skin, trailing hot, feverish kisses along your neck, fingers intertwined with yours as he rocked his hips against yours, taking pleasure in your bodies.

"From the gasp, i gather you remember," Comes the gruff voice from the doorway. John appears, dressed in jeans and a khaki green t shirt

You scramble to get dressed, and after sliding on your band tee and zipping up your jeans, you throw him a look. Stood tall, your husband takes over the bathroom, his broad shoulders eclipsing you as he turns to face you in the mirror.

Not breaking eye contact, he softly pulls your hair away from your face, and plants a tender kiss on your shoulder.

"I guess i should start with the obvious, love." He huffs, a smile tugging on his upper lip.

"My full name is Captain John Price. i'm in the same unit as your brother, who knew i was in the area and to keep an eye on you."

"Johnny asked- i don't need a BABYSITTER." You roll your eyes. John turns you so you are facing him, your defiant gaze staring up at him.

"Yet here we are, love." His voice rumbles around the tiny room.

He takes your left hand in his, your band heavy on your mind.

"I'll be blunt. If you want an annulment, it'll take 6 days, but as for my part. I'm in. I'm older than the rest of the guys in the unit. I want someone I can settle with."

You scoff, pulling your hand away.

"You want to settle down with me? But we don't know each other?"

John looks in your eyes.

"Do you ever think Johnny didn't talk about you? I know your favourite snack, your favourite colour, movie, what allergies you have, your taste in music, the last time you went to the theatre. And after last night, I know the face you make when you come. I know the taste of you on my fingers, on my tongue. I know you come undone when I kiss your jawline. I know how you like to be made love to."

He pauses.

"A lot more relationships have less. Give me six days. If you still want an annulment. I'll give it to you."

You stand there with your jaw open. Your face flushed, your thoughts scrambled.

"W-why me?" You stutter. Still in shock. The gall of him to be so personal with you.

"Why not you. Clearly you liked something enough to drag me to the Chapel last night. Might I add, you make such a pretty bride." His gaze flickers over your body, a desperate hunger in his eyes.

"And I fear, more than anything, your brother is playing matchmaker. He knows you were single, and he knows I was looking for a partner. So, what do you say? 6 days?. That enough time for you to fall for me?" He teases.

You take in the information. 6 days with John, as your husband. Or back home to a cheating ex and an empty house.

"Deal." You say, holding out your hand.

He scoffs, before taking it into his giant hand, his large fingers enveloping yours, as he pulls you in and places his lips on yours softly.

"Sealed with a kiss, wife."

A/N this is part one. As I feel its long enough already! Part two is being written right now and will be up in a hour. Thank you to all who have supported me so far!!!

Edited to 6 days instead of weeks!

@xoxunhinged @misshugs @thevoiceinyourheadx @frudoo @rynbeerose @muneca-lemon-steppa @shadowdark00 @enjisbf 💚💚💚💚💚💚

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Mob Rules - Cockwarming with Bucky (& Steve)

Cockwarming | Bucky Barnes x Reader | Drabble 800w

After a long day you settle down on the sofa with Bucky and Steve

Warnings: Sexual content & language. D/s themes, cockwarming, oral (m receiving), dirty talk.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @saradika-graphics

Masterlist | Mob Rules | Poly Fics |Bucky | Steve

The house was quiet again, no raucous laughter or bantering, no loud banging as the rest of the Cap and Sarge's crew came and went. No phone calls or meetings. Just peaceful, blissful, silence. 

The sofa under you was plush and soft, the TV a low hum in the background of your thoughts. You'd sprawled out around an hour ago, changing out of the cute pink outfit Steve had chosen and into one of the many silk robes that lined your closet. 

“There you are, Bambi.” Cap’s voice was rough, he'd been berating the lower ranks of the crew earlier for some dispute about territory and he looked wrung out by the whole thing. “Been looking for you.” 

“Sorry-” you began to scramble back up from your prone position but he motioned for you to lie back down, picking up your feet and placing them in his lap. 

“No, baby, you lay down, it's been a lot, hasn't it, meeting everyone.” 

You nodded, looking up at him with wide eyes. He’d taken off his black suit jacket and rolled his sleeves up. His tie was undone, hanging around his undone collar, and his dirty blonde hair was ruffled, pushed back from his forehead. He looked wonderful, his large hands encompassing your feet and squeezing gently, rubbing the sore arches. 

“You've been such a good girl, let me take care of you.” Closing your eyes you let Steve rub his calloused hands over your feet and up your thighs, massaging the tight muscle and brushing dangerously close to the hem of your panties. 

“So this is where you're hiding,” Bucky chided from the open doorway. Behind in the evening light spilled through the tall windows, casting him into shadow. 

You tried to sit again, but Steve patted the top of your thigh, “stay.”

Bucky gave you an indulgent smile and kissed your forehead before sitting down as well, lifting your shoulders and laying your head on his thigh. 

“You did so well today, baby, so good for us.” He praised, resting his arm over your shoulder and stroking his thumb down your cheek. 

“Thank you, Sarge.” You felt the hard line of his cock twitch under his black suit trousers, the zipper pressing up briefly. 

“Such a sweet girl,” Steve agreed, his hands working up your thighs again, his thumbs brushing the gusset of your lacey panties. 

“Going sweet on us now aren’t you?” Bucky slid his thumb over your lips and into your waiting mouth. 

His thumb was warm and heavy, pressing down gently on your tongue as you laved at his fingerprint. Bucky’s hand was so large that he could cradle your face, covering your ear and protecting you from the slightest noise. It was so safe, under his care, that you closed your eyes and began to suck absentmindedly, humming gently and leaning into his touch. 

“There you go, Bambi - so sweet - happy?” He asked, his voice low and rumbling, you could feel each word running through your body from the plain of his chest where the back of your head rested, to the soles of your feet in Steve’s hands. “Need you to do something for me now.” 

You nuzzled deeper into his lap, his cock now straining against the zip of his trousers, and your squeezed your thighs together around Steve’s hand, contemplating his next request. “Anything, Sarge.” 

Bucky’s head fell to the back of the sofa with a soft thump and his tattooed left hand came into view. For a moment you pulled back, hoping to lick at the colours and patterned inked into his skin, the twirl of flowers, the patterns, the dates, you wanted to worship him. But he tucked his hand behind your head and tugged down his zipper instead. 

“Sit up, sweetheart.” Steve picked you up gently and you watched, rapt, as Bucky’s cock sprang free. He was already rock hard, his head a deep red and you thought of cherry ice lollies, your mouth watering. 

Between them, Bucky and Steve lowered you back into his lap, his open fly revealing his toned abdomen and his adonis belt pointing down to his delicious looking dick. Without thinking you licked a bold stripe from the base to the tip, dipping your tongue into his slit and moaning with delight when the salty tang of his precum hit your tongue. 

“Fuck, Bambi, how’d we get so lucky with you? Perfect little cockslut, that’s right -” his left hand cupped the back of your head, guiding you further onto his cock, “open that tight little throat and let me keep my cock just - ugh -here.” You settled, mouth full and nose brushing against his abdomen, and whined. The noise vibrated through him and he thrust up slightly, hitting the back of your throat. You gagged, pulling back, but he kept his hand firm guiding you back down. “Shh, settle there, good girl, just open your throat and clear your mind.” 

So you did, slowing your breathing and letting his cock sit heavy on your tongue and that safe, kept, feeling washed over you.

[sketches4mysw33theart]

Dear Chef

Title:  Dear Chef  Synopsis: Willy Wonka receives an unexpected letter and, after asking you to read it, gets extremely excited about its contents.    Word Count: 1.5k  Warnings: None

You couldn’t find Willy. And that was unusual. You could always find Willy. He made his presence known wherever he went, one way or another.

He wasn’t in the wash house, pretending to work hard while his mind eloped to faraway places. He wasn’t in his room, pacing carelessly along the creaky floorboards, absentmindedly dodging the drip-catching buckets and mumbling to himself with one of his knuckles pressed to his mouthing lips. He wasn’t in Noodle’s room, talking the poor girl’s ear off about anything and everything his wicked mind settled upon. He wasn’t pacing the streets of the city, searching for vital ingredients or sharing his chocolate with the world; this you knew as the others were all still down in the wash house, playing cards for washing chores.

At a loss, you snuck back upstairs, heading to your own room to see if you could spot him sunning himself on the neighbour’s roof through your window, which he had been known to do on occasion – not that it ever made much difference to his milky complexion. However, you were stopped in your tracks as you turned into the open door.

Willy was there, standing by the window, a rakish splay of rich purple along the canvas of open blue sky, the soft curls of his hair shining in a chestnut glow beneath the streaming sun. The light breeze lifted the netting curtain as gently as breath, which stroked at the bareness of the arms sticking out of his rolled-up sleeves, but he was too entranced to notice. He didn’t even acknowledge you when you said his name.

Louder, you called for him, broaching the enclave of the room with lithe steps. At the echo of your voice, Willy turned his head to face you, an unreadable expression spread across the soft angles of his face, from his full doe eyes to his rolled-thin lips. There were bags under his eyes, heavy, foreboding, unforgiving, and it only added to the tension on his face. Immediately you stopped. “What’s wrong?”

His expression did not crack, but he swivelled his body to face you. “I got a letter, Y/N,” he said quietly, amazement tainting each inflexion of his whimsical voice. Emphasising his point, Willy threw up his hand, revealing the creamy envelope clutched in his nimble fingers. You caught his name on the front, above that of the city, but no other details besides. This letter must have travelled a long way.

“Oh, wow! Who’s it from?” you asked, enthusiastic but relieved. He’d seemed awful worried when you’d first walked in to find him there. To your surprise, his face did not lighten at your enthusiasm; if anything, it worsened, a crestfallen expression dawning on his countenance.

“I’m not too sure. I haven’t opened it.” He sounded as disconsolate as he looked, and you drew closer to him to take his free hand in yours. He smiled at that, his cheeks rounding and eyes illuminating.

“Are you okay?” you asked. Willy nodded, and with that smile on his face, you believed him.

“Yes, but…” A rosy glow spread across his freckled face, and he looked at you with his big eyes. “Y/N, would you mind, er… could you read it for me?” You gave him a gentle smile and reached to take the letter from his hand as you said, “Of course, Willy.”

The envelope was heavy and smudged with black marks and grubby fingerprints, with the shimmering red ink just barely legible. Letting go of Willy’s hand, you shuffled to your makeshift desk to retrieve a pair of broken scissors you kept around – it was surprising how often they came in useful.

Once you’d ripped open the letter, you turned to find Willy sitting cross-legged on your bed, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees and chin balanced on his fists, looking over at you expectantly. It relieved you to see that the thundercloud had been blown from his face, replaced by its usual sunlight of ages.

Opting to sit on the floor, you leaned back against the bed, your head resting lightly against the chocolate maker’s legs, ensuring he could see the letter over your shoulder. Little did you know, he spent the time with his cheek pushed into one of his balled-up hands, watching his other run through your hair as soft and free as water.

“Dear Chef,” you began reading, leaning into his touch.

We hope this letter finds you well. We miss you onboard! It’s still tough at sea but we’re planning to make port near you once more, around March. Have you opened your magnifique chocolaterie yet? Will we see you? Hoping so! We’ll be in town in a few weeks. Look for us in King's Market – we'll be looking for you.

Sincerely,

Each person on the ship had hurriedly scribbled down their signature, sending their previous chef plenty of goodwill, and you read off each name diligently.

“This is only dated a couple of weeks ago,” you commented enthusiastically as you finished the letter, giving the scattered handwriting a quick final once over. “You’ll be able to see your shipmates again, Willy!”

You leant your head back to look up at him, where it fit perfectly on his lap. To your immense relief, he was smiling down as he stared dreamily out of the window, cupping your head in his soft hand.

“Yes,” he said, dreamily, “that’s wonderful.” Then, suddenly, he sprang up, unravelling his legs as nimbly as a gymnast but keeping his hand momentarily against your head to cushion its sudden release. “Gosh, so much to do now. I’ll have to wash this overcoat, clean my boots, make plenty more chocolate, collect some rose petals…” He continued mumbling to himself, some common domestic tasks and other ridiculously insane activities, as he raced to your desk and flung open one of the drawers, now alive with inspiration.

He came up with a pencil and grasped the smudged envelope, turning it over to scribble quickly along the back of it. You, now propped up on the edge of the bed and watching him with a fond smile, folded the letter up carefully as you spoke. “Willy, they won’t care what you look like – they'll only want to see you.”

He looked up at you with a small hum of acknowledgment, as though he’d already forgotten you were there. “Oh, this isn’t for them, Y/N!” He turned the envelope to show you a list of drawings of his to-do list – boots, coat, chocolate, rose etc. - finished off with a rough sketch of a shop, clearly labelled Wonka and surrounded by carefully drawn stripes and stars.

“If I want to get my chocolate shop before they arrive, I have to be in tip-top shape.” He tossed the envelope down and started pacing, twiddling the graphite pencil between his fingers as he spoke. “Now, we’ll have to start tomorrow, no, tonight, I’ll need to make much more chocolate, and we’ll have to be out early in the morning, plenty of city to cover. Where’s Noodle? She can help me, and I owe her a day’s worth of chocolate anyway, so I can…”

You were giggling, and that’s what finally stopped his rambling. “What?” he asked innocently, smiling, but it did little to stop your giggling fit. It worsened it, in fact, and as tears formed in your eyes, he couldn’t help but laugh with you.

“You think I’m going over the top, don’t you?” he asked when you’d both calmed into a silence of smiles and red faces, walking back over to you. Once he’d situated himself down beside you on the edge of the bed, he nudged your leg teasingly with his.

“No,” you said almost immediately because it was true. “You want them to be proud of you, and there’s no shame in that. But, we’re not going to get a shop overnight, no matter how clean you are or how many chocolates you sell.”

“Oh, stranger things happen every day,” he said confidently, but you looked at him with your eyebrows raised. “But I do think, on this occasion, you may be right,” he conceded with a smile. “Still, that doesn’t mean they’re not important. It just means that they can wait until tomorrow.”

As perfect a time as any, Willy yawned wanly, curving a finger somewhat uselessly to cover the cavern of his mouth.

“And that sounds like a good thing,” you laughed, as he smacked his lips, allowing his head to fall onto your shoulder. “Mm, I am rather tired,” he mumbled. With a contented hum, he nuzzled his nose into the soft skin of your neck, and you poked him gently in his side.

“It’s mid-afternoon, Willy, we are not sleeping.” Undeterred, he snuck his arms around your waist, snuggling in closer to the heat of your body. With a barely disguised grin, you were quick to hold him back.

“No, but we can just have a little lie-down, right? Then I’ll clean those chocolates and make those boots and collect those overcoats and… hm, what else was there?”

You laughed. "Yes, the chocolate shop will wait until tomorrow.” At that moment, the cathedral bell rang across the city, four pronounced bongs echoing along the cobbled streets.

“We have an hour until roll call.” Willy groaned as you pulled away from him, but was quickly quietened as you ushered him to lie down properly so you could join him. “We’d best make the most of it.”

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ Just like that, baby ❞

Touya Todoroki x ftm!reader | AU, Dabi works as a body piercer, probably inaccurate description of getting pierced | nsfw, smut, p**n with some plot | sub. bttm. reader | wc: 4k

warnings: daddy kink, spit fixation (?), fingering, dacryphilia, dirty talk, praise, degradation, squirting, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick though)

masterlist: pt1; pt2; pt3

[ artwork is by @COooGA_ & here's the link to the piece. Please be aware that their content is very dark, do not send them any hate - viewer discretion is advised ]

"Are you shitting me?" Tomura's lips split into a Cheshire smile - his dry lips looking painful enough that it almost made Dabi feel pity. Almost. "You know I never play when it comes to making your life miserable, baby," the pale-haired man sang, cackling as Dabi reached over to swipe the iPad out of his hands. "You're a fuckin' asshole, I got plans tonight!" Dabi's seething made Tomura roll his eyes, turning the screen towards himself as he leans his hip on the counter. "You think I don't know that you're just gonna get your dick wet? The Boy Toy Club again? Really?" those deep magenta-coloured eyes nearly turn into nothing but a speck of red on white as Tomura continues his cackling. Sighing, he runs his hands down his face while he settles on the couch of their parlour's waiting room. Dabi picks at his ripped jeans, inked hands adorned with silver rings curl into fists as his jaw clenches, but Dabi groans as he tosses his head back. "How?" his curt tone makes Tomura damn near giggle. "Toga, she said you dropped the club's condom while taking out your phone." Of course that little fart-face told on him. Dabi couldn't even find himself to be pissed as he runs his hair through his hair, worsening its dishevelled state. "At least I'm not some loser who games his weekends away playing some virgin ass video game and has e-sex -" "Hello?" Both of their heads turn to the door where Dabi's customer stood. You shifted your weight around as they blinked owlishly at the sight of you. "Hey," Dabi gruffs out which earns a cocked brow from yourself. "The fu - I thought I told Spinner to replace the batteries to the sensor" Tomura mutters though he abandons the thought as he comes out of the U-shaped glass counters and motions for Dabi to get off his ass with a glare. You were beginning to doubt your friend's recommendation of this place. They'd been raving and praising the place, as if the Greek Gods had come down themselves to tattoo and pierce mere mortals. The sight before you was anything but...the two men before you were openly sneering at each other as the dark-haired one snatches the iPad from his coworker's hands. "I made an appointment at 9 PM and your Instagram says you're opened until 10 PM...?" The door closes behind you and the cool AC makes you shrug your jacket over your shoulders. The interior of the store was simplistic and with the smell of paint still lingering you figured they must've just upgraded it. The floors were glossy concrete covered with distressed Persian rugs. Like the glass counter, the coffee tables were also glass (the overhead lights exposing every little fingerprint) and framed with steel. It was all cold-looking. Although, the splashes of tattoo designs on the walls along with the Majesty Palm in the corners of the red-bricked walls warm up the space just enough for it to feel inviting. The neon sign above the low couch - where Dabi just lifted himself off - read "Villains Hideout" which bathed the waiting area in the ever-shifting colours of white, blues, purples and pinks. It bathes the moody man in those colours as well. If it weren't for the scowl on his face or the way his jaw clenches you could have admired his tatted-up skin, the way his ruffled-up inky black hair softened his edginess up along with how nice his silver piercings shone and decorated him.

Hah, who were you kidding? The way he clicks his tongue makes heat travel to your groin. Your friends had always shaken their heads at your taste in men. You always liked the ones that looked like they hated everyone in the world though you'd sigh a wistful "except me" that just makes all your friends give concerned glances to each other. So, you drink up his exposed arms and the teasing glimpses of his torso from the opening of the sleeveless, oversized, tee he was wearing. There was some rock band's logo at the front and you tried to see what it was - that was your defence when Dabi had suddenly called out your name...for the third time. "Huh?" Tomura wasn't in the room and your ears warmed as Dabi stared at you expectantly.

"(Y/N) (M/N) (L/N), that's your name, right?" You nod frantically. He briefly eyes you but gestures to the curtain door with his chin. "The last room down the hall, Tomura's setting it up. He's the ass - the guy with the blue hair" he scrolls down the screen and then huffs in amusement. Your eyes meet. Wow, you thought, his eyes are super blue. "A tongue piercing?" his smirk makes you wonder if he's just as mean in bed as his demeanour is. The lopsided grin on your face makes him take in how you were just his type. "Why? That's too hard for you?" an upside-down grin crawls on his face as he exhales through his nose. "Go, I'll be there in a minute", it seemed as though there was something else he'd like to add at the end of that sentence. A purr of a nickname maybe. But Tomura was still in the store and Dabi, although a crude and usually impatient man, felt himself squirming in anticipation as you walked past him. Since your jacket was now snuggly around your shoulders, the cropped length gave Dabi a peek at the expanse of your back. The condoms in his back pocket seemingly warmed up as Dabi chuckled from where he stood, just as eager as he was. Guess he was getting his dick wet after all.

Tomura greets you as he's wiping down the leather seats of the black chair. You return it with a smile, leaning your shoulder against the wall as you take a quick look inside the room. "Small room" your remark makes Tomura snort, shaking his head. "It's Dabi's unofficial spot" "Dabi? That's the guy's name?" Tomura nods, electing to not tell a complete stranger - and customer - that it was his chosen name. Or tell him that Dabi was related to a VERY rich man that he estranged from for reasons unknown (despite their years-long friendship). "He's a little rough around the edges" It almost sounds like a warning to your brain. It must be considering the glance Tomura gives - as if checking your expressions closely. "But he's good at what he does and we're sorta short staffed at night" Toga and Spinner were still apprentices. He couldn't make 'em stay all night here. (Tomura could but he'd rather die than admit he has a soft spot for those weirdos). You wave away his concerns, reassuring him you don't mind. Tomura focuses on wiping the seat down but his eyes linger on the flesh of your hips that were exposed from the backless body suit you were wearing. Paired with a pair of black pants and cropped faux fur lined jacket with a pair of boots - you looked like you weren't heading home after this. He prods. "Tongue piercing's are pretty straightforward, healing is a bit of an ass though" you laugh softly, nodding. "I heard, can't eat much for a week or so, right?" "Yeah, when I got mine I also couldn't stop fuckin' drooling" You laugh with your eyes squinted in amusement. He wants to ask about your plans after, to tell you that despite alcohol being a disinfectant it wasn't a wise choice to be downing shots at a club with a fresh tongue piercing. But he hears your breath hitch and the smell of smoky cologne enters the room. Dabi stands behind you, grinning as he places one hand on the top of the doorway making you feel smaller than him. "Jesus, Tomura, how long does it take ya' to sanitize the room" The man gives him the finger and you glance at Dabi's long legs as he walks in. "I'm only doing this because of you, you ungrateful donkey" The insult catches you off-guard. You hide your chuckles by pretending to cough, clearing your throat after. Eventually, Tomura leaves. He tells Dabi something about closing the store up properly and after a few more insults between them his footsteps fade away to the staff room, then out the hallway and finally out the entrance. By the time that happens, you're already seated and your jacket draped over an empty chair. Dabi's putting on gloves, the expanse of his shoulder and back makes your hungry eyes drink him in. The mirror in front of him makes it easier for you to see his brows slightly furrowed in concentration. But it makes it harder for you to avert your eyes when his electrifyingly blue ones meet you in the reflection. "You look good" You rub at your elbows, smiling coyly as you murmur thanks. He turns, instruments laid out on some sort of cart that he simply pushes with a gentle push of his boots. Then he settles on the round chair and inches closer. Even while seated he seems to tower over you. "Headin' out?" "Nah, just met up with a friend" Dabi's eyes zero in on your collarbones. Your top was one with a halter neck showing off that beautiful saccharine canvas of (S/C) that was littered in red, pink, and purple. "Just a friend?" His tone is playful and your fingers ache from not being able to caress up those toned arms sitting mere inches from you. "...With a few benefits"

Dabi feels himself getting excited. He hands you a paper cup full of mouthwash. "Rinse for 10 seconds then just spit it back in the cup" You do as you're asked and as you begin sloshing around the bright blue liquid your thoughts wonder if those gloves would feel good as they grip your thighs. He's faced away again as he's prepping to mark your tongue. He's pretty sure he should feel ashamed for finding the way your spit connects from the rim of the cup to your lips hot but Dabi has long abandoned shame. "Sloppy little boy, aren't ya?" He watches your face to see any signs of discomfort, ready to back off if you so much as gave him a confused expression. He feels his semi-hard boner twitching as you wet your lips and give him a boyish grin, handing the cup back. "Nobody's ever complained before, they like it sloppy". "Stick your tongue out," You open your mouth, wet muscle glistening under the lights as it covers your lower lip. He dries it with a tissue, smirking as your tongue twitches at the light pressure. "Just like that, baby"

Oh fuck, your thighs are pressing together and you've no control over it. He's got your tongue in his hold, leaning over you as he attempts to find the right placement. You see him furrow his brows again, sharp planes of his face making you gulp. Closer, a feverish voice pleads in your head, get him closer. Dabi eyes your hand as it places itself on his knee. "Nervous?" You shake your head and he quirks a brow as you tug at the hole in his jeans. You motion to your lap, patting it like he was some sort of call girl. He's beginning to like you more and more. The seat creaks with your combined weight but Dabi's on your lap and he's humming as your fingers slide up the back of his thighs and his hips. His crotch is bumping against yours and your eyes goddamn flutter at the very obvious tent. You feel cool metal and Dabi won't admit it but it is easier to do his job from this angle. He adjusts himself on your lap and you reach up his shirt, he pays it no mind and the taste of bland ink blooms on your tongue making you whine in a displeased manner. "Oh can it, you brat" Dabi chuckles, "I know you want something else but bear with it". He lifts your tongue with the clamp, nodding to himself as he ensures he isn't going to pierce through any nerves. He tells you to breathe through it, not to hold your breath and you can see him moving around a bit to grab the needle. The point of the needle makes a tremor go through your hands and Dabi moves his hips making you grip him tighter. He sure knows how to distract someone - "Big breath in" There's pressure, slight but there, "Big breath out". The needle goes through with nothing but a twinge in your brows and a near-bruising grip on his hips. As you peek your eyes up at Dabi through your lashes, he stares right back with a grin full of teeth and eyes glowing in pride. "Good boy, lift your chin up" You can feel drool slip past your lips and down the cork under your tongue. Dabi brings the piercing into view and you flutter your eyes close but he's suddenly tapping your cheek with the back of his hands. "Eyes on me, pretty thing".

He would've wrapped up the process anyways (duh, you're a paying customer) but you were so obedient just following his commands like some sort of lost puppy he felt his hands getting clammy. God, he was going to enjoy wrecking you. He slides the barbell through and fixes it into place. "S'fuckin' pretty" he lets your tongue hang out as he suddenly pulls away from your lap. He walks to the mini-fridge in the corner of the room, tossing his gloves away as he pulls out a can of Asahi beer. You're perplexed but the growing wetness on your underwear makes you content in watching him. He takes a mouthful, places the can down, wears new gloves and settles on your lap again. He's tilting your head, moving you like you're some sort of doll. He leans in and though you're convinced you're the horniest you've ever been in your whole life you hope he isn't going to make out with you. He doesn't, much to your confused-disappointment. Instead, he leans in close enough for your lips to touch only to pour the beer right on your tongue and down your throat. It's a steady flow, it stings like hell but the grip on your chin makes you immobile. So you gulp it down, breathy pants escaping your mouth as you attempt to swallow everything he's giving to you. He's watching every minute detail. The glow of determination in your eyes, the flush cheeks, the sheen of sweat on your temple, the way beer and spit dribble down your chin. He finishes and Dabi leans into your ear. He envies whoever had pierced the beautifully shaped lobes and cartilages, a part of him wanting to mark you with more of his works instead. His teeth on your lobe earn him a squeeze on his ass, and his large hand slithers down to wrap around your throat. "Can't kiss ya' on the lips but I'm sure there's somewhere else you'd rather I kiss, hm?" You nod much to his chagrin. Dabi does a quick once-over on your tongue as he guides it back between your lips but when he makes a move to get his gloves off you whine. Can't really speak much now, your tongue's still tingly and you know it's going to swell soon enough. But as Ursula mentioned, don't underestimate the power of body language (and a few whiny moans). "You want these on?" You nod. "You got a fetish for PVC?" He sounds like he's mocking you so you glare as you wipe the wetness from your chin. He's off you again, laughing at your pout that disappears when your ankles are grabbed and you're sliding down until your legs are hanging off the seat and he's over you. He unbuckles his belt one-fucking-handed. Your cunts practically weeping a waterfall for him. "Show me what I wanna see, baby" he watches your fingers deftly unzip your pants, the adorable shimmy of your hips as you squeeze out of them (he assists but only after snickering like an asshole), then you unzip your bodysuit very appropriate crotch access and finally he sees his prize. "Fuck" your hips cant away as he palms your crotch "You're fucking dripping". The casual way he pushes your underwear to the side makes your heart double in speed, he's staring at your cunt like a starved man. He dips past your folds, sliding up until he reaches your little dick. "Your ‘friend’ must've done a shit job" he said "Your dick's still ready to go" he strokes it, pushing the hood down with those slicked-up gloves and it has you gasping as you arch into his touch. "Your friend should've known better than let a slut like you leave without being thoroughly satisfied or else ya' gonna end up like this, being used like a common whore"

He slips you out of your pants and removes his top. God, he is tatted up. You let your eyes take in as much detail as you can. His hands were inked with all sorts of designs - you figured he started there from how old a few designs looked. But the ones on his neck are deliciously crisp and it was an intricate piece that went all the way down his chest. You wonder what his back looks like. There were swirls of Japanese clouds motif on his shoulder - a sneak peek of the intricate traditional tattoo on his back of red, black and white dragons breathing out blue flames. He snaps you back into reality as he spreads your legs open. "Don't even need to lube you up" he slips two of his slender fingers in and you turn your head to the side, cheek squishing against the leather. His thumb's pressing circles on your dick as he curls and scissors them inside you.

"Holy shit" he guffaws "You got wetter!" He catches your leg before it lands on his chest, brushing it to the side as he curls his fingers again and your choked moan is all he needs to know he's hit that sweet spot. Dabi slips another finger, your used hole takes it with ease as it eagerly clenches around him. "You're practically sucking me in" his cock is straining against his boxers so he grabs at it, squeezing it through the material to relieve it a bit. While there, he reaches back to grab a condom and places it between his teeth. Your eyes are squeezed shut, thighs twitching as he continues the relentless abuse of that spongy bundle of nerves but in a flash, his fingers are gone and you're whimpering at the loss. Your hole clenches around nothing and you're about to throw a goddamn tantrum if Dabi dares deny you of pleasure but find yourself frozen from where you're sat. "Like what you see, pretty boy?"

What you’re seeing is his cock, hard and twitching as the head nearly reaches his goddamn belly button. The tip is a shade of red, precum making it glisten but what’s more, is the ladder of piercings that begin from just above his balls to below his head. There were six piercings all lined up and perfect and you can’t tell if it was your tongue swelling up that was making you drool or your want to have him in his mouth so you can feel them on your tongue.

And what a nice surprise - Dabi’s real hair colour is white unless of course, he bleaches his neat patch of pubic hair which you doubt.

He rolls a condom over it, hissing softly and you can’t help but reach down to spread your lips apart for him. Dabi laughs, a warm hand holding your thigh as the other holds his dick to line it up.

“Thank you, baby. Ya’ know, I would usually take my time with pretty things like you but” your eyes flutter close as his head breaches you.

“If we stay here too long, a blue-haired asshole is gonna check the cameras. Can’t have him seein’ my bitch, he’s all mine and I don’t feel like sharin’” he has a rougher accent that slips when he’s filling you up.

“Ah, mpfh! Fuh...fuckkk...” The heels of your palm dig into your eyes as you feel him practically split you open. A burning sensation makes your toes curl, the stretch of his cock is making your chest heave. The feeling of his piercings has you seeing white faster than you register.

“Shit - did you just come?” he’s not even bottomed out yet but the evidence was the way your walls are spasming around him. He pushes your leg up, shushing as you pant out nonsensically about waiting and how it’s too soon.

“Shut up, you can take it, I know you can”

Tears slip past your eyes and it makes his grin sharp.

“Fuck, you’re even pretty when you cry - makes me wanna be the reason you’re sobbin’” he adjusts his hips and it makes you let out the most pathetic cry he feels his resolve break.

He pulls out nearly all the way and for a second you think he’s giving you mercy but he slams all the way in and the yell you let out has him laughing. A hearty laugh that makes him sound like a goddamn supervillain as he looks down at your teary face.

“Told ya’ you could take it” You clench around him, sniffling as you reach down to feel where you two connect. Your dick twitches.

He fills you up just right. His cock constantly pressed against that spot. You inhale wetly, looking up at him with your eyes all sparkly with tears.

You jerk, your eyes said, you fucking asshole.

“I know but I know you coulda’ and you did” his gloved hand swats yours away and he teases your dick making your mouth fall open, drool following.

“Dumb boy’s like you can take anythin’ you’re given” his words were like a siren's call. Whispering, lulling you into an underwater grave.

“Fuck” the way you tightened around him made him hiss. “Slobbering all over yourself from some dick” you whine again, wiping away the drool but he just snaps his hips in and out of you and you’re crying out again.

You’re laid on the leather, a sheen of sweat coating your skin which makes everything sticky and somewhat uncomfortable but with Dabi’s dick inside you, everything else around you barely exists.

You’re twisting on the seat, head thrown to the side as you moan wantonly - like a goddamn porn star according to Dabi. One of your legs is folded to your chest, the other pinned to the side as Dabi fucks into you. Your hands are braced on his chest, nails scratching and leaving red welts but Dabi takes them with pride.

He wishes he could kiss you, he knows he can’t but you’d have to do a follow-up to replace the piercing. He wants you to come again, just to see him, he’ll hurt you and heal you just like he’s doing right now.

You’re sobbing, you came around him again and he loves the feeling of it. The chair beneath you is downright shaking from how hard he’s pounding into you.

“Duh-Dabi!” you squeal, tongue already numb. The way you mispronounce the pleas for him to go harder makes him so riled up you swore you saw wisps of heat on his skin.

“Your cunt feels so fuckin’ good - Fuck! A perfect cock sleeve made just for this” You’re squirming again and Dabi pulls out making you thrash which he reprimands with a slap to your cunt.

“Please -"

He ignores you, ignores his dick that wants nothing more than to fuck you into oblivion again and instead curls his fingers inside you.

You’re done for - the pressure that his fingers bring makes your hips jerk up and down, twitching and moving uncontrollably. Dabi groans as you squirt all over his wrists, hips jerking as weak spurts follow the big splash.

“Fuckin’ love this hole” he places a kiss on your dick and you’ve half a mind to push him away. Especially when he licks it. But Dabi’s not done yet, your fucked out whispers fall on deaf ears.

“One more time, baby, let me feel you around my cock”

“S’too muh...muhhh”

“Shhh, just stay like that. So fuckin’ pretty for me, so good” his cock is inside you again and you’re crying out, reaching to wrap your arms around his neck.

Dabi grabs your ass and you lose the sticky leather. Now you’re in the air as he fucks up into you, the friction of your bodies rubbing on your swollen cock has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Your tongue slips out, going a bit cross-eyed. Not that Dabi could see, your face was tucked right between his shoulder and neck.

The camera’s red light was blinking but you couldn’t give a damn.

Dabi’s bringing you up and down his dick. His piercings stimulate your gummy walls, making your breath hitch every time it slips in and out of you, catching on the rim of your cunt. You babble, right into his ear.

“Daddy! Fuh! Fuck!”

Dabi plants his feet firmly to the ground, his back wet with sweat.

“S’too buh-big! Can’t! Ngh!”

“Yeah, you can. Take what Daddy gives you” he grunts and you’re sure your ass is gonna have the imprint of his hands so you leave scratches on his back.

He gives one last thrust and cums, the condom fills up inside you and you shudder. He hears you trying to catch your breath, sniffling in between every pitiful intake of air that have you hiccuping.

The sharp sensation of the metal can Dabi presses against your neck makes you flinch. You murmur that he's an ass and he just laughs. The both of you are in the waiting room, Dabi laying you there for a comfier seat and letting the AC dry you off while he was cleaning up the room. Now that he was done, he was sipping beer with you. The atmosphere was casual, laughably so considering how he just fucked your brains out 10 minutes ago. You pull out your wallet after you're halfway through but Dabi walks away from you. He gets behind the counter and pulls out his card making your eyes widen. "Don't sweat it, think of it as a thank you" the card machine beeps and you honestly couldn't even stand up without your thighs and back going all weird so you weren't gonna win this anyways. Still, you pout. "That's the first time someone's pissed I pay" his blue eyes dart to his phone that's hidden from your view, ignoring the middle fingers you throw his way and the stuck-out tongue. [ Shiggy: His hole's that good? ] Dabi glances at the camera behind the counter, licking the back of his teeth as he saw the red light. [ Shiggy: Think he can take two of us at the same time? ] [ Dabi: Fuck off, he's my bitch ] Tomura sends a screenshot of your fucked-out face nuzzled into his neck. Dabi's dick twitches to life. [ Shiggy: Just wanna test out his head game, think I can teach him a few tricks using that new piercing ] Tomura grins when Dabi tells him they'd have to wait for it to heal, moaning as he squeezes his cock. He goes back to the replay of the feed, of you getting your first orgasm and throws his head back as he cums into his fists just as you came all over Dabi's cock.

[mirohtron]

The supervillain dug their talons deep into the hyperventilating villain's neck. This was unbelievable—the villain was nothing, nothing, how did they sneak in?

"I should kill you," they said coldly.

The villain made a noise wholly born of fright. "Please, please, don't, I want to make a deal—hah!" They choked down a sob, bit down on their lip to do it, when one of the supervillain's sharp talons scraped down their skin. "They wouldn't let me in, you have to believe me. You can't possibly think I was trying to sneak in to, like, steal—"

The supervillain yanked them up, so they were sitting on their desk. A bottle of ink had spilled and matted part of their brown hair black. The villain didn't dare move, tensing up every muscle in their body.

The supervillain clenched their jaw and squeezed the villain's neck, making them whimper in fright. "Tell me how you broke in," they said lowly and through their teeth, "from where you broke in, and why you thought sneaking up behind me was worth a deal I could reject."

"Let me tell you about the deal first!" the villain said, and then screamed when the supervillain raked sharp talons down their skin. "Flowers! Flowers. I brought sleepy poppies to the back guards and acted smitten and said I wanted to give it to you. They sniffed it and were out like a light in minutes. And then—I used their fingerprints and keycards and stuff to get in."

"Sleepy poppies?"

The villain sniffled. "I grew them experimentally. They're mine."

The supervillain rolled their tongue, beyond furious that a stupid thing like them could trick their guards. Somebody was going to die tonight.

"There's people constantly on watch," they said. "Constantly at work. You will tell me exactly how you got inside my office."

The villain pointed up, to the open vent. They dug in their pocket and took out a pen. "Heated the grates off. I didn't wanna make noise."

The supervillain yanked the pen out of their grip. They took the cap off and found a piece of metal that was in a similar shape as the cigarette lighters in cars inside.

The villain sobbed in panic when they glared. "Why are you mad? I was—I wasn't going to do anything bad—" they shut up when the vampire sneered.

"You're not even in gear."

The villain's voice came out in a loud, panicked shout. "Because I wasn't going to fight you!"

"Shut up!" The supervillain yanked them close. The villain's eyes were wide, their chest rising up and down unsteadily, their knuckles white as their hands turned to fists. "You come into my lair, my office, with nothing but a piece of metal that can get hot and flowers, and you think I should appreciate your brain because you got past a couple useless guards?"

Blood was already dripping from the shallow wounds the supervillain had given them on their neck, scented sweet. It would be so, so easy to just squeeze and stop their whining. The villain's face twisted. "I didn't come here to make a useless deal!"

"Then why, pray tell, did you come here? To join me?"

"I came here because superhero's gonna kill you!"

The supervillain froze. For a moment all the anger and arrogance left them as they stood there to process. The villain was red-cheeked and panting, and the part of their hair matted with ink was drying into a solid clump.

Slowly, the supervillain turned their talons back to their cold fingers. "Nobody can kill me."

The villain half-scoffed half-laughed, and it came out halfway broken. "You're a vampire."

The su—the vampire froze, once more. The villain was clutching the edge of their expensive desk now. The ink bottle had a dark pool around its mouth, staining the mahogany.

"I'm no vampire."

"Silver hurts you! And—" the villain took a breath too big and coughed. "And your hands are cold," they said miserably, as though temperature was their biggest worry right now.

"Silver doesn't hurt me, I wear silver jewellery. What are you—"

The villain slipped their hand under the vampire's sleeve and held their wrist, and immediately the vampire's skin burned. And it wasn't like their skin heated up, no. It was like blue fire had touched their skin, like their nerve endings were sizzling.

The vampire screamed. The villain went pale and started to snatch their hand back, but the vampire took it and slammed them back down on the table.

In rage the vampire caught their face in their fingers, digging their human nails into the hollows of their cheek. The villain took their turn to scream in fear. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, my ring is silver and—I'd been careful not to—"

"Fine," the vampire gritted out. "Fine. I'm a god damn vampire. How did you find out?"

The villain took a remarkably steady breath, visibly swallowing down all of their sobs and hiccups and the rest of their pathetic crying. "You don't appear on camera. Your body is cold. I came here before, way back before I became a villain, as some else's arm candy. I noticed you didn't have a single thing that was real silver. Gold, brass, steel, bronze, diamond—you had everything except silver. I..." The villain's breath hitched.

"Go on."

The villain took a breath halfway through their nose before they realised it came as an annoying sniffle, and took in the rest through their mouth. "I kept notes. I theorised that your weakness was silver. You kept it hidden well but..."

"And the superhero now knows?" The vampire squeezed the villain's jaw. "She knows because you told her, didn't you? And she's going to kill both of us now because you couldn't keep your fucking mouth shut?"

The villain frantically shook their head. The spilled bottle of ink was right by their head. "They broke into my place and went through my stuff." They lifted the arm of theirs that wasn't pinned down to the table and shook it to shimmy down the sleeve. The vampire turned their head and saw the beginning of what looked like a deep cut that just missed their vein. "I've got these all over me. They found out my theories on you and kept me alive just because they thought I had something that could kill you. I lied and said I did."

"How did you escape?"

The villain's face twisted in anxious frustration. "Why does it matter? Why does it matter at all—I ran when they weren't looking!" They curled away from the villain's sharp talons. "Please, please, I promise I only came here to warn you."

"And?"

The villain looked at them tearily. "And for protection from heroes."

The vampire gritted their teeth. They'd kept the silver thing hidden well, and for so long. If the villain had figured it out just because they happened to connect a few dots...

Well, it seemed like they were slacking off. And as cowardly and weak as the villain was, they'd clearly been silently observing a lot of people, and they were also resourceful and intelligent.

The vampire brought them up again. "I don't care about you, let's make that clear."

"Well, I don't care about you either." The villain frowned childishly, sniffling. The vampire laughed in amusement.

"Good, so this relationship is purely professional. You must know what the superhero's weakness are."

"Some," the villain said. "She's good at hiding it if something hurts her, but she's always shocked first." The vampire caught them flexing their ringed hand. "As strong people always are."

The vampire looked back at the villain. The villain quickly realised that the vampire had clocked that movement and paled, and then quickly flushed and opened their mouth to no doubt apologise, but the vampire ignored them.

"Work with my men," they said. They let go of the villain's neck, which was now red and bleeding, and placed a finger over their chest. "Co-operate. They will send me periodic reports on you."

The villain's features lifted in shock, and then they took in a relieved breath. "So you'll offer me protection?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, oh my God, thank you. I was so scared you wouldn't, I'm so grateful and I...I..." They trailed off as the vampire began to make their way to their office doors.

"Be gone from my office by the time I come back," the vampire said, hand on the door handle. "I need to sort things out and fire a couple guards."

The vampire left.

The villain wiped off all traces of their act from their face, and twisted their silver ring around their finger.

They took that stupid bottle of ink and threw it to the ground, and then put their head in their hands and groaned.

God, if they were busted, they'd so dead.

[beyondthesefourwalls]

PARTY TIIIIME! 🎉

Rooster. Smut. Flight Suit. “I’d like to see you try.” 😉🤤

First entry of the party and it can barely be considered a blurb because of how long it is, just for you Mak! 💜

-----

Warnings: language, smut, kind of dom!Bradley and a brat reader.

Locker Room Delights You were smirking from your seat across from him, twirling that stupid purple ink pen you always used. You were the cause for the laughter ringing out throughout the classroom, and it was at his expense. You just couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut. 

Even after Cyclone managed to reign everyone in and continue with the lesson, Bradley couldn’t focus on what the older man was saying. He could feel the anger coursing through him, simmering hot under his skin. When they were all finally dismissed, he was the first one out of his seat, intent on getting the fuck away from you, only to be stopped when the admiral called his name out. You snickered as you walked by him and out of the room, checking your shoulder into his arm, and he heard his jaw click from how tightly he was gritting his teeth. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, turning back to face his superior officer for the lecture he knew he was about to receive. 

It was almost thirty minutes later that he was finally making his way to the locker room. They would be cleared out by now, so at least he’d have some peace and quiet while he showered and washed away the absolute bullshit that was the end of his day. But those hopes and dreams were crushed when you walked out of the women’s locker room right before he opened the door to his own. Your eyes landed on him immediately and his scowl deepened. 

“Well look who we have here,” you mocked, sauntering toward him. You were fresh faced and your hair was still wet from your shower. You looked so much softer like this, and for some reason, it made him even angrier at you, because he knew better than anyone what a damn brat you were.

“For the love of God, shut your mouth,” he said, groaning when you stepped in his path. 

“Or what?” you challenged. 

“Or I’ll shut it for you,” he snapped. A slow smirk crept its way onto your face and one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised. 

“Oh, sweetheart, I’d like to see you try.” 

It was like something snapped inside of him. He gripped your arm tightly, hauling you into the empty men’s locker room. You were barely able to get out a surprised gasp before he was slamming you back into the metal, his lips crushed to yours. Your fingers fumbled with the closure on his flight suit, tugging the zipper down clumsily. He didn’t waste time with taking it all the way off. The rough material sat at his hips as he tugged your loose athletic shorts and cotton panties to the side and slid into you. 

Your gasp turned into a moan and, just like he figured it would, the fight left your body as he claimed yours with his own. He gripped your ass in his hands even after you wrapped your legs around him. He hoped there would be fingerprints leftover that you would feel for days. 

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he hissed. You clenched around him tightly and he knew the top of his flight suit snug at his hips would be damp before this was all over; he could feel some of your wetness against his pelvic bone as he held you against the lockers and slammed into you. You were soaking wet and he knew it was because you got off on riling him up like you had today.

“Nothing to say now?” he challenged. You opened your mouth right as he shifted his hips slightly and thrusted hard, hitting that spot inside of you that always had you seeing stars. Nothing more than a loud moan escaped your mouth as your eyes rolled back, and now Bradley was the one smirking. “I didn’t think so.”

Even as he taunted you, though, he couldn’t deny that you weren’t the only one affected by your actions today. He could feel his orgasm building and knew he was close to losing it. But he would never live it down if he came before you. 

Pressing you harder into the old gray metal supporting your back, Bradley slid one hand between your bodies. He rubbed the patch of skin right above where you were the most sensitive and you whined. He swallowed the sound eagerly with a kiss, and victory tasted so, so sweet. You moaned against his mouth, trying to shift so his hand would slide lower. 

He pulled away and t’sked you mockingly, shaking his head. You whined louder and his smirk grew. You knew what he wanted. 

If you wanted to run your mouth all day, he’d make you do it now.

Between breathy gasps you finally managed a pitiful, “please.”  

“That’a girl,” he praised. He pressed firmly against your bundle of nerves and that was all it took for you to crash over the edge. Your pussy clenched so tightly around his cock that he was following behind you in two more quick, hard thrusts. His name reached his ears in a broken moan as he filled you. 

It took a few minutes to recover, both of you breathing harshly. He pulled out of you gently and watched some of his cum slip out of you and pool in the creases of the bunched suit around his hips. He knew the stain would be a bitch to get out later, but he couldn’t bring himself to care all that much. The tension he had felt under his skin all day had reduced to a pleasant hum as you loosened the grip your legs had around him and he set you gently back to your feet. 

Before you could move to clean yourself up, he pulled your underwear and baggy shorts back into place. Your eyes fluttered shut briefly and a smirk pulled at his lips again; you’d be sitting with his cum seeping out of you the whole drive home. 

“See you at the house?” he asked softly. He tucked a piece of your still wet hair behind your ear and placed a kiss on your damp forehead.  

You hummed in response, toying with the gold wedding band he always kept on the chain around his neck when the two of you were at work. “See you at home.” 

word count: 1057

-------

Wanna participate in the party? See details here.

[bedlamsbard]

snapped and wrote 2.5K of Horizon sequel/Yonder prequel

At this hour the big room was mostly deserted except for the usual assortment of dogs and cats, but Loki and Steve were sitting at the long table at the back of the room, Steve working in his sketchbook and Loki going through his mail.  Natasha still wasn’t sure how the mail was arriving in New Asgard and was afraid to ask. They both looked up as she came in.  Natasha paused just inside the door to scuff the snow off her boots, then went to join them.  She touched a brief kiss to Steve’s lips as she sat down next to him, relieved when he put his arm around her; that meant he was having one of his good days. Loki was frowning at what seemed to be an enormous scale the size of two cupped hands.  When Natasha leaned over to peer at, she saw that one side of it was covered in dense runic writing in gold-colored ink.  It was glowing faintly.  After a moment he tossed the scale down with a clatter and picked up an ordinary envelope, slitting it open with a dagger.  He read the contents, rolled his eyes, and stuck envelope and letter together into the nearest candle flame. “More hate mail?” Natasha asked.  There was already a dusting of ash on the table. “More hate mail,” Loki agreed.  He let the letter burn down to his fingers, then dropped it into a bowl and picked up a roll of parchment, leaving sooty fingerprints behind as he pried the wax seal off with the tip of his dagger and flipped it aside.

[blueiscoool]

Ancient Herculaneum Scrolls Blackened by Vesuvius are now Readable  

X-ray scans can just tease out letters on the warped documents from a library at Herculaneum.

The lavish villa sat overlooking the Bay of Naples, offering bright ocean views to the well-heeled Romans who came from across the empire to study. The estate's library was stocked with texts by prominent thinkers of the day, in particular a wealth of volumes by the philosopher Philodemus, an instructor of the poet Virgil.

But the seaside library also sat in the shadow of a volcano that was about to make terrible history.

The 79 A.D. eruption of Mount Vesuvius is most famous for burying Pompeii, spectacularly preserving many artifacts—and residents—in that once bustling town south of Naples. The tumbling clouds of ash also entombed the nearby resort of Herculaneum, which is filled with its own wonders. During excavations there in 1752, diggers found a villa containing bundles of rolled scrolls, carbonized by the intense heat of the pyroclastic flows and preserved under layers of cement-like rock. Further digs showed that the scrolls were part of an extensive library, earning the structure the name Villa of the Papyri.

Blackened and warped by the volcanic event, the roughly 1,800 scrolls found so far have been a challenge to read. Some could be mechanically unrolled, but hundreds remain too fragile to make the attempt, looking like nothing more than clubs of charcoal. Now, more than 200 years later, archaeologists examining two of the scrolls have found a way to peer inside them with x-rays and read text that has been lost since antiquity.

"Anybody who focuses on the ancient world is always going to be excited to get even one paragraph, one chapter, more," says Roger Macfarlane, a classicist at Brigham Young University in Utah. "The prospect of getting hundreds of books more is staggering."

Most of the scrolls that have been unwrapped so far are Epicurean philosophical texts written by Philodemus—prose and poetry that had been lost to modern scholars until the library was found. Epicurus was a Greek philosopher who developed a school of thought in the third century B.C. that promoted pleasure as the main goal of life, but in the form of living modestly, foregoing fear of the afterlife and learning about the natural world. Born in the first century B.C. in what is now Jordan, Philodemus studied at the Epicurean school in Athens and became a prominent teacher and interpreter of the philosopher's ideas.

Modern scholars debate whether the scrolls were part of Philodemus' personal collection dating to his time period, or whether they were mostly copies made in the first century A.D. Figuring out their exact origins will be no small feat—in addition to the volcano, mechanical or chemical techniques for opening the scrolls did their share of damage, sometimes breaking the delicate objects into fragments or destroying them outright. And once a page was unveiled, readability suffered.

"Ironically, when someone opened up a scroll, they would write on a separate sheet what they could read, like a facsimile, and the original ink, once exposed to air, would start to fade," says Brent Seales, a computer scientist at the University of Kentucky who specializes in digital imaging. What's more, the brute-force techniques usually left some pages stuck together, trapping hidden layers and their precious contents.

From 2007 to 2012, Seales collaborated with Daniel Delattre at the French National Center for Scientific Research in Paris on a project to scan scrolls in the collections of the Institut de France—former treasures of Napoleon Bonaparte, who received them as a gift from the King of Naples in 1802. Micro-CT scans of two rolled scrolls revealed their interior structure—a mass of delicate whorls akin to a fingerprint. From that data the team estimated that the scrolls would be between 36 and 49 feet long if they could be fully unwound. But those scans weren't sensitive enough to detect any lettering.

The trouble is that papyri at the time were written using a carbon-based ink, making it especially hard to digitally tease out the words on the carbonized scrolls. Traditional methods like CT scans blast a target with x-rays and look for patterns created as different materials absorb the radiation—this works very well when scanning for dense bone inside soft tissue (or for peering inside a famous violin), but the method fails at discerning carbon ink on blackened scrolls.

Now a team led by Vito Mocella of the Italian National Research Council has shown for the first time that it is possible to see letters in rolled scrolls using a twist on CT scanning called x-ray phase-contrast tomography, or XPCT. Mocella, Delattre and their colleagues obtained permission to take a fragment from an opened scroll and a whole rolled scroll from the Paris institute to the European Synchrotron in Grenoble. The particle collider was able to produce the high-energy beam of x-rays needed for the scans.

Rather than looking for absorption patterns, XPCT captures changes in the phase of the x-rays. The waves of x-rays move at different speeds as they pass through materials of various density. In medical imaging, rays moving through an air-filled organ like a lung travel faster then those penetrating thick muscle, creating contrast in the resulting images. Crucially, the carbon-based ink on the scrolls didn't soak into the papyrus—it sits on top of the fibers. The microscopic relief of a letter on the page proved to be just enough to create a noticeable phase contrast.

Reporting today in the journal Nature Communications, Mocella and his team show that they were able to make out two previously unreadable sequences of capital letters from a hidden layer of the unrolled scroll fragment. The team interprets them as Greek words: ΠΙΠΤΟΙΕ, meaning "would fall", and ΕΙΠΟΙ, meaning "would say". Even more exciting for scholars, the team was able to pick out writing on the still-rolled scroll, eventually finding all 24 letters of the Greek alphabet at various points on the tightly bundled document.

Even though the current scans are mostly a proof of concept, the work suggests that there will soon be a way to read the full works on the rolled scrolls, the team says. "We plan to improve the technique," says Mocella. "Next spring we have an allowance to spend more time at the Grenoble synchrotron, where we can test a number of approaches and try to discern the exact chemical composition of the ink. That will help us improve the energy setting of the beam for our scan."

"With the text now accessible by virtue of specialized images, we have the prospect of going inside the rolled scrolls, and that's really exciting," says Macfarlane. Seales agrees: "Their work is absolutely crucial, and I am delighted to see a way forward using phase contrast."

Seales is currently working on ways to help make sense of future scans. With support from the National Science Foundation and Google, Seales is developing software that can sort through the jumbled letters and figure out where they belong on the scroll. The program should be able to lump letters into words and fit words into passages. "It turns out there are grains of sand sprinkled all the way through the scrolls," says Seales. "You can see them twinkling in the scans, and that constellation is fixed." Using the sand grains like guide stars, the finished software should be able to orient the letters on the whorled pages and line up multiple scans to verify the imagery.

The projects offer hope for further excavations of the Herculaneum library. "They stopped excavating at some point for various reasons, and one was, Why should we keep pulling things out if they are so hard to read?" says Seales. But many believe there is a lower "wing" of the villa's collection still buried, and it may contain more 1st-century Latin texts, perhaps even early Christian writings that would offer new clues to Biblical times.

"Statistically speaking, if you open up a new scroll of papyrus from Herculaneum, it's most likely going to be a text from Philodemus," says MacFarlane. "But I'm more interested in the Latin ones, so I would not be unhappy at all to get more Latin texts that are not all banged up."

For Mocella, being able to read even one more scroll is crucial for understanding the library and the workings of a classical school of philosophy. "Regardless of the individual text, the library is a unique cultural treasure, as it is the only ancient library to survive almost entire together with its books," he says. "It is the library as whole that confers the status of exceptionality." The scanning method could also be useful for texts beyond the Roman world, says Seales. Medieval books often cannibalized older texts to use as binding, and scans could help uncover interesting tidbits without ruining the preserved works. Also, letters and documents from the ill-fated Franklin expedition to the Northwest Passage in the 19th century have been recovered but are proving difficult to open without doing damage. "All that material could benefit from non-invasive treatment," says Seales.

By Victoria Jaggard.

[hairstevington]

flowers and ink (part 4)

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Summary: Eddie and Steve are officially gonna go out. But where?? Thankfully, their friends are invested and ready to help.

(part 1, part 2, part 3, link to Ao3)

Word Count: 2K (bit of a short update, but next one will be longer!)

Warnings: Tattoo artist/Florist pairing, modern day au, Eddie is a SIMP, oh hi Gareth!, codependent Stobin, hot messery, just a bunch of cute shit throughout tbh

A/N: I'm back! Shout out to @gregre369 for 1) being a top fan and 2) suggesting this date idea. You are an MVP, dear reader <3

“Okay,” Eddie said with a firm nod. “So, now we just have to decide where to go, right?”

They heard a heavy sigh from the phone on the table, followed by the noise that iPhones make when a call is disconnected. 

“Damn,” Steve chuckled as he put his phone back in his pocket. “I was hoping we could use her as a lifeline or something.”

“That’s probably why she hung up,” Eddie retorted. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone sigh that loudly before in such a genuine way. Like, she’s really done with us.”

“Yeah, I hear her sigh like that about once a week,” Steve responded. “You get used to it.”

Eddie hoped that he’d be around these two long enough to get used to it, but maybe he was ahead of himself. They still had to plan a date. 

“Probably my fault,” Eddie said, shrugging. “For assuming you two were together.”

“Oh, that?” Steve asked, unfazed. “No, that happens all the time. It’s my fault for constantly forgetting that we look like a couple.”

“You really do,” Eddie replied with a smirk. “But it’s all cleared up now, right?”

“Right,” Steve agreed. He brought his hand back up to run through his hair. “And now we’re alone, so we just have to -”

“Hey, wait!” Eddie interrupted. He ran to the counter and grabbed Steve’s wrist, then pulled it down and turned it so the palm was facing up. There were splatters of ink smudged all over his hand. “Don’t want you to get this in your hair.”

“Oh, shit,” Steve said once he saw it. “Must have been from my little project this morning.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie asked, coyly. “What were you working on?” Steve took his free hand and reached over the counter to grab the rose from Eddie, but Eddie pulled his hand away. “No way, you’re not getting this thing back.”

“You like it that much, huh?” Steve teased. He leaned back to standing again, then flipped his hair with a quick jerk of his neck, revealing more ink behind his ear. 

“Dude, you -” Eddie almost laughed, but wasn’t sure if they’d reached that point in their relationship yet. “You got some more right here.”

Eddie took his index finger and traced it where the spots were, then presented the blackened pad of his finger in front of Steve’s face. 

“Aw, shit,” Steve groaned, half annoyed and half amused. “Now you’re inked, too.”

“I think I’ll survive,” Eddie responded. He rolled his sleeves up to reveal his arms almost entirely covered in tattoos. “Not the first time, won’t be the last.” Steve followed the designs up Eddie’s skin, entranced, then nodded. 

“Okay,” Steve said, holding his hand up and away from everything around him to avoid spreading the black ink any more than he already had. “I’m gonna go to the sink in the back and take care of this, but I’ll text you in a bit and we can set something up, okay?”

“Sounds good,” Eddie agreed. He had to get going anyway, because he had an appointment coming up. Although, he was pretty sure it was some kind of prank call because the name was clearly fake. Dick Johnson. Yeah, okay. 

He walked back to Ink About It, still clutching the rose, but doing so delicately so as not to ruin it and/or get more ink on himself. 

Eddie was bluffing before. Sure, he was used to being around ink and getting tattooed, but he always wore gloves. It was a hassle to get the stuff off his skin generally, he just couldn’t help but tease Steve about it. Now, he looked like he just came from the police station and ran away before they could finish fingerprinting him. 

He could make that comparison because he may or may not have had experience being fingerprinted. 

He opened the door and saw Dick Johnson in the flesh - waiting eagerly with a grin.

“Munson!” he said, jumping up.

“Gareth!” Eddie greeted back, surprised. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” Gareth replied, walking over to Eddie to give him the kind of half-assed bro-hug that guys do. Eddie instinctively hid the rose behind his back as they embraced, then realized how stupid that was. 

“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m trying to hide this,” Eddie said, holding the rose up. 

“Yeah, why were you?” Gareth teased. 

“I dunno. It’s new.”

“Oh shiiiiiiit,” Gareth said, smiling. “Is Heart-Eyes Munson back?”

That was a joke from high school. Heart-Eyes Munson. Eddie didn’t tend to fall for people, but when he did, he fell hard.

“He works at the flower shop across the street,” he explained. 

“Well, that’s fucking cute,” Gareth noted. 

“Tell me about it,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes. He couldn’t believe how much he liked Steve already. “Well, Dick Johnson, I’m going to put this with the others and then we can get started.”

“Others?” Gareth asked, extremely amused. “This man has sent you others?”

“Shut up,” Eddie replied, biting his lip to keep from smirking. 

-

Steve underestimated how hard it was to get ink off of his skin. Seriously, he scrubbed his hand and neck raw and he could still see the dark splotches. 

Still worth it though, because he’d turned Eddie into a flower guy. Not only that, but their crushes on each other were officially out in the open, and a date was in their near future. 

Steve loved the dating part. Once he knew someone was interested, the rest was easy. He just had to figure out where he’d take Eddie first. He usually went for coffee, but he felt like they were past coffee. Maybe a drink at his favorite bar. Or, they could go to the park. Was that too gay?

Maybe. But also, they were gay. So it was on brand. 

Steve dried off his hands and neck (which were now bright red and therefore no less ridiculous-looking) and headed back out to the front counter to resume working on the pruning he’d been doing before Eddie came in. 

There was ink on the shears. God dammit. Back to the sink.

This time, he brought his phone and dialed Robin so he could talk to her, because this job was a whole lot better with her around, even just on the phone.

“You’re both idiots,” she answered.

“We know,” Steve replied. “It gets worse.”

“How? What did you do this time?”

“I got ink everywhere,” Steve admitted. 

“Jesus Christ,” Robin groaned. “Do I have to come in on my day off and fix it?”

“No, I can fix it. But you should come in on your day off to keep me company.” Robin chuckled in response. 

“You know what the worst part is?” she asked. “I already picked up my keys.”

-

“So, what are you in town for?” Eddie asked as he set up for Gareth’s tattoo.

“We’re playing at this bar downtown tonight. I was actually gonna ask if you were free to come see us?”

“Hell yeah!” Eddie replied with enthusiasm. “Even if I wasn’t free, I’d make time. I’m glad to hear you guys are still playing.”

“Yeah, we stumbled a bit after losing our star guitarist,” Gareth teased pointedly, “- but we got back on our feet eventually.”

“Sorry about that,” Eddie muttered. He’d left the band after graduation so he could skip town and get a fresh start. Abandoning Gareth and the others was the only thing that gave him any hesitation. He missed it, obviously, but he liked his new life. It was stable.

“Water under the bridge, my guy,” Gareth responded casually. Eddie knew there were no hard feelings, but he did regret losing touch with his old buddies from high school. “Anyway, you should bring Flower Boy tonight.”

“His name is Steve.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna call him Flower Boy,” Gareth smirked. Eddie put the needle to the skin, and felt Gareth twitch just a little. “I’d love to meet the man who turned my dear old friend into a total sap.”

“I’m not a sap, okay?” Eddie insisted. His focus remained on the sword he was outlining on Gareth’s forearm. “Fuck you, I’m tough as shit.” Gareth chuckled. 

“Right, my bad. Anyway, are you gonna bring him?”

“I dunno, I’d have to see if he’s free,” Eddie said with a shrug. “We also haven’t technically gone out yet.”

“Dude, seriously?” Gareth asked playfully. “Shit, now I really want to meet this guy.”

“Yeah, seriously,” Eddie chuckled. He knew how ridiculous this whole thing was. “I think he’s gonna plan something and then text me, I dunno.”

“Or,” Gareth suggested. “You could beat him to the punch and invite him to a kickass show at a bar.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, actually. They could drink, listen to music, and if the whole thing turned out to be a bad match then Eddie still got to see his old friends. 

“Okay, fine. I’ll text him as soon as I’m done with this,” Eddie said. 

“Cool,” Gareth replied. “Hey, you really wanna impress this guy?”

“Yeah.” 

“Hmm,” he said with a mischievous smile. “Then I think I have an idea.”

-

“Ummmmm you coulddddd….” Robin said as she sat on the counter. “Take him to that one-woman show that’s playing downtown.”

They’d been shooting date ideas back and forth for like an hour. They ran out of normal ideas after ten minutes, and since then it had gotten unhinged. 

“God Robin, if you want to know about that show so bad just go to it yourself,” Steve replied. 

“No, because what if I hate it?” she asked. “Who puts all that work into a show and then refuses to advertise what it’s about?”

“I think she’s banking on people going just to find out,” Steve answered. 

“Well, yeah,” Robin agreed. “But I’m not about to spend money to watch something cringy or boring or - god - what could one person have to talk about for that long?”

“You once talked to me for three hours about why the movie Pitch Perfect should have been gayer,” Steve reminded her. 

“Yeah, because Beca and Chloe were obviously in love,” Robin responded plainly. “And, for the record, two of those hours we were watching the movie.”

“Fair enough,” Steve replied with a smile. He remembered that night fondly, actually. He’d seen the movie before so it’s not like he was missing anything. Plus, wine was involved. 

“So, it’s a no on the one-woman show?” Robin teased. 

“No chance in hell,” Steve confirmed. His phone buzzed in his pocket, so he took it out and was happy to see a text from Eddie. He read it, intrigued. “Or, we could go see a band play at a bar downtown.”

“Did he text you just now?” Robin asked, jumping off the counter. “Oh my god!”

“Calm down or I’ll start freaking out, too!” Steve said as he opened the message and started responding. He and Robin had this thing where their emotions tended to mirror each other. When one got excited about something, so did the other. Some might call it codependency, but they’d had no issue with it so far. 

“Okay, so getting a drink with the guy sounds decent enough. Casual, fun, low-stress,” Robin reasoned. “You gonna go for it?”

“Yeah, I guess so. It’s tonight,” Steve said, typing a response. 

“Aw, well I’ll miss our movie night, but it’s not like we won’t see each other,” she joked. “Besides, this is important.”

“I already asked if you could come and he said yes,” Steve explained. 

“Oh, thank GOD,” Robin cheered. “Because you know I gotta see this.” She peered over to look at the text exchange between Steve and Eddie and then burst out laughing. 

“What?” Steve asked. She waited until her laughter died down to respond.

“He asks you out, and the first thing you do is make sure you can bring my gay ass,” she explained. “You are such a doofus, but god I love you so much.”

He finished out his shift and then they went home to get ready together for Steve’s first date with Eddie. 

Maybe in most situations it would have been weird, but at this point Eddie was well aware that he was getting into a package deal. 

Here goes nothing.

(part 5)

-----------------------------------

Check out my Masterlist!

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[dnangelic]

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE SMELL LIKE? mainly paints, ink and old parchment, alongside roses or other natural floral or fruit related (ie strawberry, cherry, apple,) scents. sometimes dark might apply a faint cologne or perfume depending on setting and circumstance, but that's something of a rare occasion.

WHAT DO YOUR MUSE’S HANDS FEEL LIKE? daisuke's are simply.... boyish. despite the intensity of his training at times, daisuke's hands aren't exceptionally calloused; he's not a warrior or a farmer, but his hands aren't exactly baby soft either. transforming into dark completely evaporates his fingerprints and nearly vanishes his palm-lines, giving dark's hands an unnaturally smooth, live-marble-statue feel. daisuke's blood running hot being the catalyst for his transformation also leaves his body temperature extremely, unnaturally cold. that being said, dark is perpetually frigid; daisuke's touch warms back up to standard human temperatures in between his transformations. both of them have a firm and sure but infinitely gentle grip. good hands to hold and be held by!

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY EAT IN A DAY? daisuke's mother usually cooks his regular meals for him and packs him a full lunch. otherwise, if he's off on his own someplace, he'll try to keep himself eating well, and his standards for a meal are actually somewhat high most of the time --- his mother's cooking has somewhat spoiled him. that being said, he still sometimes has to settle for survival foods, or things he simply steals if he has no money to purchase things with. fairly often there's usually some kind of sweet, fruit, or dessert thrown into his full courses. a little snack here and there never killed anyone hehe. dark hates eating so he usually leaves all of this to daisuke, but in the case that daisuke's out of commission for whatever reason, then he'll eat.... well, whatever he can force himself to get through. probably junk honestly

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE A GOOD SINGING VOICE? they sure dooooo

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE ANY BAD HABITS OR NERVOUS TICKS? whenever daisuke starts to feel nervous or wants to try to figure something out, his hands start tumbling invisible locks, which can be a clue to his "occupation." dark has no real habits or nervous ticks exclusive to him, unless constantly butting into other people's space and always putting his long ass legs up where he shouldn't count.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY LOOK LIKE / WEAR?  you've got two completely opposite ends of the t-shirt+jeans to phantom of the vkei cuntress looks here. that being said it's always a dice-roll. dark's clothes canonically don't fit daisuke in sizing, nor do daisuke's fit dark, so things can be either too big or too small, extremely plain (as is to daisuke's tastes) or extremely flashy (as is to dark's.) to really answer this question though, most of the time it's just daisuke walking around in a plain ole' fit. at night and during a heist is when dark glams it up and he/daisuke start flapping around in the huge black coat.

IS YOUR MUSE AFFECTIONATE? HOW SO?  extremely, but they're cursed and trying to keep it a secret most of the time (if not flat out avoidant of their own transformations,) so that often gets in the way. with people they know and trust, dark and daisuke are both immensely physically affectionate; they give very deep hugs to those they appreciate or will sometimes speckle people with kisses. they can turn clingy if you let them and will always want to be touching, holding or connected to you in some way, but if you aren't into physical touch or find them overbearing, then they'll find other ways to spoil you be it verbally or through gifts and action. they're the epitome of 'gentle as a lamb and you can do whatever you want with them.'

WHAT POSITION DOES YOUR MUSE SLEEP IN?  either on their front or back (in a bed) or sitting upwards (not in a bed.) in verses where dark and daisuke have to travel often, you'll find them sleeping in weird places, anywhere from inside trees to abandoned buildings, so knowing how to sleep at a lean is essential for them.

COULD YOU HEAR YOUR MUSE IN THE HALLWAY FROM ANOTHER ROOM? is daisuke being clumsy right now? is he freaking out in some way or another? is he straight up just arguing with dark out loud? then yeah, you could hear him across his own mansion. otherwise, if he's in actual hardcore kaitou mode, you couldn't even hear him if he was behind you. the same goes for dark who is sometimes the loudest squawking teenaged bird on earth and sometimes as freakishly silent as a cat or a ghost.

[grandma-susan]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒:

Light Blue, Shimmering Blue, Red, Pink, Purple, Black, White, Orange, and Silver.

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒:

Rosemary, Thyme, Anise, Pepper, Ginger, Honey, Carnations, Chrysanthemum, violet, Sweet Fern, Sassafras, Oak, Pine, Moss, Campfire, Hickory, Rubbing Alcohol, Almonds

𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍:

Red rimmed glasses, flyaway silver hair, fox pelt, bustle purple pink dress, fascinator hat with several hat pins, feathers, blue drop earrings, and brooch, crooked iron wood cane with metal handle, cigarette holder, apron // white lace blouse, black walking skirt, black boots with dark orange soles, chatelaine belt, fox brooch, blue drop earrings

𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒:

Feathers, Cane, Glasses, Chatelaine Belt, Thick Nook Ledger, Fox Pelt/Brooch, Apron with many things, Cigarettes, Hat Pins, Shot Gun, Tactical Shovel, Ash, Flower Pots, Rapier, Bowie Knife, Needle and Thread, Bandages, Medical and Science Books, Flowers, Ribbon,

𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄:

Shuffling, brisk walking, crossed arms, smoking, squinting, rolling her eyes, sighing, hands folded over her cane, pursed lips, grasping her cane, throwing items, touching her lips, rummaging through her purse or pockets, snarling, shouting, baring her teeth, drinking tea.

𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒:

Preserved organs, insects and animals in jars, Cigarettes, old books, scientific and medical books, fire, embers, fox, forest, flowers, smoke, ash, sugared flowers, cakes, tea, needles, bandages, fingerprints, wax seals, pen, ink, promises.

nabbed from: @danger-tits-lute

tagging: @keenie-bopper @helluvaoutlaw @angie-long-legs @mothvalentino @ladyfranklin @second-wife-playbook

and anyone else who wants to do it!

[losingdogsbetonme]

i roll the word around on my lips and i taste it in the marrow of my bones,

i tear and crush it apart with my teeth, and then i swallow it down my throat,

i feel it heavy in my chest, the weigh of a hundred weathered stones,

i feel the ink bleed through the ninety four and a quarter letters that i never wrote.

the fingerprints stain my spirit, my bones, and my blood,

i would speak to you if i could speak at all through this veritable flood.

-is it easy to reach out and just touch, or is it the end of everything.

[total-drama-takes-takes-2]

ttwt episode 6

“Last time, on Total Takes World Tour: our remaining players stopped by the charming Polish city of Krakow, but the only charms they got were pain, pain, and no game! Bonnie went a little AWOL when they decided to switch to a nocturnal lifestyle, but that still didn’t stop their team from using them as a personal love coach- again. Albert got some bad news, but it was Kelly who really took the cake for most pathetic episode ev-ah after their non-monogamous ex decided to return to monogamy.... for someone else. Ouch! What does this mean for Kelly? What will become of Team Mojo with their mojo gone? Find out now, on Total Takes World Tour!”

“And here we are fleeing from the Bulgarian police. Pricks,” Patrick says, shuffling his handful of photographs while his team peers over his shoulder. 

“Aww,” they coo as Patrick flips to another Polaroid of Kitty being tasered. “And here we are getting caught by the Bulgarian police.”

“You guys are so cute,” Sha-Mod says. “How long have you been together?”

Patrick stacks the images and puts them in his blazer pocket. “We’re not. We’re more like… business partners,” 

Albert and Michela make fleeting eye contact and then shrug. Across economy, Bonnie yawns and stretches, rubbing their eyes. Max turns to them. “How much did you get?’

“Enough,” Bonnie says, then sighs after Max continues staring. “Two hours.”

“How are we supposed to win with you on autopilot?” he snaps, then lowers his voice to a whisper. “You expect me to carry the team with THESE people?”

He gestures behind him to Kelly, Staci, and Phillip, the latter of which is staring intently at a cockroach on the wall and holding his temples. 

Bonnie sighs. “Fine, I’ll get a coffee,”

---

“This has got to be the best season yet,” Ass sighs as a manicurist paints their nails. “If beating the other teams will be this easy, we might as well move in here permanently.”

“You’d think they have the numeral advantage, but we’re actually doing quite well. I’m impressed!” Courtney adds on. They stretch in their plush, first-class seat and sigh happily as the smell of breakfast wafts in the room. 

Julia watches the interaction and rolls her eyes before sitting back and pulling a sleeping mask back on to catch a few more minutes of sleep She kicks back and Mal slinks into the seat next to her, pulling out an ink pad and stamping her thumb print to an index card. 

“Mal!” Courtney shouts, pulling out a spray bottle and chasing her to the other side of the cabin. 

“It’s for my charity auction!” she yells. “It’s for charity! Well- my charity! These fingerprints go for a lot of money in the Balkans!”

Courtney backs them into a corner and then sighs. Ass rolls their eyes. “Next time we lose, she’s out,”

“I can get behind that,” they take an exhausted seat next to them. “I found her collecting hair from the shower drain the other day.”

Ass shivers. 

Chris’ voice squeals over the intercom, making everyone jump. “Good morning, passengers! If you’ll look out the right side of the plane, you’ll see our next destination- Australia!”

Courtney and Ass peer out their window over a vast expanse of green. “Are you sure we didn’t take a wrong turn again? End up in Austria?” Ass shouts. 

“Nope. Welcome to the rainforest, mates! Now buckle in and gear up, our landing track is a little… um, crowded!”

Courtney looks back out the window to see an overgrown, crumbling landing pad. They sigh. “He’s so doing this on purpose,”

---

Economy class buckles in just in time- seconds after Bonnie figures out the seatbelts in their disoriented state, the entire cabin begins tossing around luggage, garbage, and miscellaneous rats like a salad. 

The teens yelp and duck as clothes, books, and the occasional snack stash fly at their heads. A rat wearing a crucifix necklace latches onto Patrick’s shoulder. 

Finally, after several minutes of bumping and bruising, the plane comes to a stop. Economy groans and stands shakily as Chris laughs like a maniac over the intercom. 

Albert rubs a bump on his head and turns to his right. “Um, Patrick, don’t freak out, but-”

“Oh, please. I’m not a wussy fruitcake like the rest of you,” he says. “A little turbulence is nothing to a sigma like me. Man up.”

“Yeah, okay. You have a rat on your shoulder,”

Patrick turns to his shoulder. He goes pale and shrieks, standing up and shaking in circles, screaming “GET IT OFF ME! GET IT OFF ME!” while everyone else watches. Michela rolls her eyes. 

---

Patrick sits in the confessional in the fetal position, sobbing.

---

“Calm down! You’ll hurt him,” Albert says, scooping the rat off his shoulder. “He won’t bite.”

“What makes you so sure?” Max asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Albert holds him away and glares a little. “He won’t have to defend himself if he has nothing to fear,” 

---

ALBERT: "Max is... afraid of me. Interesting. Very, very interesting,"

---

Max rolls his eyes and drifts back over to Bonnie, helping them up to leave the plane. The rest of their team follows behind, then the Mojos. 

Outside of the great metal bird, the teens immediately swallow in the muggy, humid air. Birds chirp, mysterious creatures squawk and the rat on Albert’s shoulder squeaks nervously and scampers back into the plane. 

“Where are we?” Ass finally asks, hands on their hips and eyes lowered. 

Chris, busy picking his teeth with his pinky finger, looks up. “Hm?”

“I said where are we?”

“Oh, yeah. Forgot we were doing that,” he chuckles. “Welcome to the Dandenong Mountains!”

“The what now?” Sha-Mod asks, squinting. 

“Mountain range- well, more like hills and rainforest,”

Mal squeals. “OMG, in the original World Tour, the Amazons went to the Amazon forest, so does that mean that we’re going to the-”

“NO! There’s no Yaoi forest!” Chris snaps. He composes himself and smiles. “Today’s challenge is simple- you’ll be going on an itsy-bitsy safari for some of Australia’s finest- and deadliest!”

The teens shift uncomfortably and look between each other. 

“But don't worry, due to local laws we can’t have you capture any of the wildlife. You’ll be getting these!” he says as Chef passes around slips of laminated paper. “Your cards for species bingo. The first time to reach the finish line with a bingo wins first class- and avoids elimination!”

A bird squawks off in the distance. Team Yaoi looks between each other nervously, as every Mojo turns to Albert expectedly. 

“Ready? Go!”

The teens awkwardly amble off and begin moving through the brush. Team Friendship takes a leftwards path, Max in the lead while Bonnie stumbles behind him. 

---

MAX: “Maybe voting off Scruffy was a mistake. At least they knew how to lead a team of morons,”

---

“Keep your eyes peeled. A lot of these are big, so it shouldn’t be too hard to spot things,” he instructs, handing the team card to Staci. “Don’t lose this.”

She salutes and tucks the sheet under her sweater. Kelly gives her a thumbs up. 

“Y’know, I should be leading,” Phillip says, walking past Max. “I was in the boy scouts, but I had to drop out cause it wasn’t tough enough for a guy like me.”

He trips over a root and lands face-first in the dirt. Max steps over his limp body without a second thought and he sobs into the mulch. 

---

“This place is so cool- like we’re in Jurassic Park!” Sha-Mod says, petting a fern leaf. 

Albert passes by him, holding the bingo sheet. “Let’s hope not. And try not to touch anything you don’t recognize, the flora here isn’t known to be friendly,”

Sha-Mod quickly stands and hurries to catch up with the group. Patrick rolls his eyes. “Please. Afraid of a little plant?” he stops and stands over a shrub. “Oooh, I’m so scared.” 

A spider crawls out of the brush and sits atop the plant. He immediately screams and stumbles backwards into Michela, barreling her over. 

“Ow,” she grumbles, rubbing her shoulder while Patrick rocks back and forth on the ground. 

Albert backtracks and holds out a hand, which she accepts with a smile. He smiles back. 

---

ALBERT: “Okay, so, I lost my job. No big deal! I still have plenty to live for and now that I’ve been f-...f-f… fired- I can finally pursue them. I mean, I would've used the winnings to donate to the coalition, but when’s the last time I’ve taken a day off?” He smiles and his eye twitches. 

---

Albert stops the group in a small clearing to show them the bingo card. “Most of these are pretty easy to find. The spider that scared Patrick looked like a funnel web,”

He huffs and crosses his arms. “You’re welcome,”

“A lot of these are birds, so just keep your heads up. If we had time and gear, we could set up a really nice bird-watching party, but… a hike is just as good a way to see wildlife as any,” he shrugs. 

“You’ve done a lot of hiking, huh?” Michela asks, standing and brushing off her skirt. 

Albert hums and looks down at the sheet. “My dad and I used to do a lot of camping and hiking,” he stands and begins leading the group again. 

“Used to?” she asks, walking alongside him. He smiles sadly and shrugs. “Oh… sorry,”

After a brief moment of silence, Michela takes his hand and gives it a squeeze. Patrick rolls his eyes from behind them. “What a couple of fruitcakes, huh, buddy?” he chuckles. No response. “Um…”

Patrick stops and turns, prompting Michela and Albert to do the same. 

“Sha-Mod?”

---

Sha-Mod walks through the thick jungle with swagger, taking wide strides and whistling to himself. He makes it some steps before suddenly colliding face-first into a tree- sending him tumbling backwards down a hill, into a creek, and then downstream. 

---

“That’s not good,” Michela says. 

Patrick smirks. “Relax, sweetheart. Chris never said we had to make it past the finish line with the whole team,”

Michela grits her teeth and steps on his foot. Patrick screams in pain and whimpers, scampering away. 

---

“OMG you guys, there’s Yaoi on this list!” Mal squeals, holding the sheet to the sky. 

“Give me that,” Ass snatches it back and reads it. “This says YOWIE, you dolt. There’s even a picture!”

“I thought that was just a bear. Someone isn’t well versed on their gay terminology!” she crosses her arms. “Besides, Yowies aren’t real.”

Julia rolls her eyes from behind the two. “But yaoi is?” 

“Duh! We have gay rights for a reason!”

“Can you guys settle down?” Courtney asks, massaging their temples. “I have a really bad headache.” They turn around for a second and a massive spider crawls off their back. Julia and Ass go pale and make fleeting eye contact, then shake their heads. “Let’s just keep going,”

---

“Cockatoo,” Albert says, marking off another item on the bingo sheet. “We’ve got echidna, spider, and cockatoo, but… no Sha-Mod.”

“I hope he’s okay,” Michela says, somewhat nervously. “He wouldn’t leave us alone with… that thing, would he?”

Albert scoffs a little, slightly offended. “The cockatoo hasn’t done anything to you,”

“No. I meant the other thing,” she points to Patrick, who’s busy taunting the plants to hurt him. They both shiver, and then laugh.

---

ALBERT: "Michela is a good person. She doesn't care about what other people think about her, or losing her job and her very reason for existing! I could learn a thing or two. If only it was just us on the team,"

---

“Anything yet?” Bonnie yawns, stumbling over another overgrown root. 

Max shakes his head and moves a branch out of the way for them as they walk ahead blindly. “We might be doing better if we were QUIET!” he shouts, turning to Kelly and Staci behind them, who quickly stop gossiping. 

Max massages his temples. Phillip walks alongside him, covered in bug bites and dirt. “I had a dream that I could control animals with my mind once. I wrote a poem about it, do you want to hear?”

“NO!”

Bonnie yawns again and scratches their head. “Where are we, again?”

He groans. 

---

MAX: “SOMETHING has to be done about this team. Bonnie’s been avoiding everyone because of their- whatever you’d call their thing with Caesar- Staci is too busy gabbing about girls and gossip to be of actual use, Kelly is only here for moral support, and Phillip is basically a pet,”

---

“Look, there!” Kelly says, pointing. Max stops dead in his tracks and looks in the direction they’re pointing. “A fruit fly!”

He slowly sits down on the forest floor, puts his head in his hands and rocks back and forth. 

Bonnie walks over to Kelly and Staci, who are staring nervously. “You broke him,” they say before slumping over and falling asleep on Staci’s shoulder. 

---

“Sha-Mod!” Michela shouts. “Sha-Mod!”

“Is it really such a wise idea to shout?” Patrick asks. “I mean- not for me. But you know, you might attract something dangerous for you.”

“There are no large terrestrial predators in Australia,” Albert says nonchalantly. “Anything in these rainforests that could kill you isn’t predatory towards people, and would only act in self-defense. So let’s try not to antagonize anything else, okay?”

Patrick rolls his eyes. 

---

It’s dark. 

The sound of bugs flying, mammals chittering, and birds crying out fills the empty air. 

Slowly, Sha-Mod awakes. He groans and sits up, scratching his head with his back to the camera. “Owie,” he says. 

Then, it’s bright. Too bright. 

“Wait,” he grabs at his face. The feeling of warm flesh fills the void where smooth paper should be. Sha-Mod ducks to the ground and sees the mulchy, emulsified remains of Lighting crumbled in the dirt. “Oh, no. Oh no. This isn’t good.”

---

Julia presses ahead, swatting at the jungle growth with her arm while Ass, Mal, and Courtney follow behind them. It’s beginning to get dark, the sun setting off in the distance. 

“Guys, I really don’t feel good,” Courtney mumbles. “My head is pounding, I think I have food poisoning or something.”

“Did you eat any of Chef’s scrambled eggs, cause those were definitely expired,” a voice from the brush says. 

Team Mojo walks out of the undergrowth, converging with Team Yaoi. Michela walks over to Courtney and scans them over. “Cramping at all?"

They shake their head. “No cramping, I just feel sick,”

She turns back to Albert, who sighs and begrudgingly steps forward to inspect them. “What are your symptoms? You could’ve been bitten by something,”

Ass and Julia look between each other with wide eyes. 

“Headache, and… I feel nauseous,” they say as Albert holds a hand to their head. 

“Well, you’re not dead yet, so it can’t be that bad,” Patrick says. Courtney rolls their eyes. 

“Do you remember handling any wildlife? Maybe you fell into a bush and startled something?”

“We went through some overgrowth earlier, but I’m sure it’s nothing,” Julia says. “We should really get going, thank you.” She grabs Courtney’s arm and pulls them away. 

The cracking sound of thunder stops Team Yaoi in their steps and Julia grits her teeth as a sharp downpour begins to cover the forest. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to make a fire, would you?” 

---

“You know, we really shouldn’t be doing this. It’s winter in the southern hemisphere, and-”

“SHH!” Ass hisses at Albert. “We are on a survival show. We. Are. Surviving!”

He grumbles to himself and sits next to Michela after she finishes lighting the fire. “I hope Sha-Mod is doing okay,”

“Hey, maybe Team Friendship found him,” she says, tossing the fire-starting sticks into the hearth. “Max would take care of him for us.”

Albert raises an eyebrow. “Would he?”

Julia studies the interaction cautiously as Ass hisses at Mal for getting too close. 

Michela’s expression shifts at the speed of light, and she takes on a new, more annoyed look. “What does that mean?” 

“I mean, I don’t know him, of course,” Albert says, raising his hands defensively. “But he seems kind of… mean.”

“You can say that again,” Julia mumbles, kicking a rock into the fire. Albert nods. “See?”

“Well, Julia deserves it,” Michela says. “But he’s not a mean person. Right?”

Patrick whistles passive-aggressively. Julia rolls her eyes and Courtney avoids eye contact entirely. 

“He seems fine to me,” Ass says. “But that’s probably not a compliment coming from myself.”

“I like his yaoi ships!” Mal offers. 

Michela stands. “Fine, if you’re all so sure, you can stay here on your high horses. I’m going to go find Sha-Mod,”

And then she storms off into the rain. 

---

Staci finishes hammering together a makeshift wooden shelter with a hand-held rock and ducks under it, where Max is crouching in the dirt. Kelly is shivering, and Phillip is scribbling in his notebook. Bonnie is fast asleep on the ground. 

“Well, this is delightful,” Max sighs. “Anyone else enjoying themselves? This is basically a cruise!”

“You don’t have to be so negative all the time,” Staci says, sitting down next to Phillip. 

Max rolls his eyes and pulls his knees to his chest. “How long has Bonnie been out?”

“A few hours,” Kelly says, matter-of-factly. “On the bright side, we’ve got two animals on our bingo card now!” 

He groans and puts his head in his hands. Staci sighs. 

---

STACI: “Okay, admittedly, I haven’t been carrying this team like I know I could. My plan was more to fly under the radar like in Island, and then cruise to the final five. But… if we lose, Kelly might get voted out. They’re not exactly a class favorite right now,”

---

Bonnie suddenly yawns loudly and sits up, rubbing their eyes. “Mhmm… what time is it? Did we win?” they awake and turn from side to side. “Where are we?”

“The rainforest, sleeping beauty,” Max comments dully, flicking a lint ball off his blazer. 

“What? But I have a match in like, fifteen minutes! If I miss a league tournament they’ll kick me off the team!”

Max glowers. “I don’t think that’s the team you should worry about being kicked off of now,”

Bonnie looks away. 

---

BONNIE: “I don’t exactly have a good catalog of coping mechanisms. Avoidance is numero uno,”

---

Michela walks through the thick jungle, staring up ahead at the high canopy. The rain has begun to clear up, but it’s not any easier to navigate through the dark. 

“Sha-Mod? Sha-Mod!” she shouts. “Come on, man!”

No response. She sighs, but trudges on. As she pushes through another overgrown fern, a rustling behind her makes her whirl around. 

“Hey, it’s just me,” Albert says. “I couldn’t sleep knowing you were out here alone.”

She opens her mouth to retort and he quickly holds up a finger. 

“Not that I think you’re incapable of taking care of yourself, this is just a rainforest at night. Not the safest place to be off-trail,” he says quickly. “I have full confidence in your skills. But I also wanted to apologize, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sure Max is… a nice person…”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Michela snaps, walking ahead again. Albert trails after her. “Sha-Mod!”

“He just comes off as kind of rude! And you’re so open, and helpful to everyone…”

“Sha-Mod!”

“I guess I just don’t see it,” 

“Sha-Mod, come on, man! Help me out here!”

“But…” Albert says, catching up to Michela and standing in front of her. She lowers her eyebrows at him. “I could believe that he’s nice to you, at least. You’re easy to be nice to.”

Michela looks away. “Thanks. I guess,”

“I won’t bring it up again, promise,” 

The two make brief eye contact and then hug for a little bit too long. From the brush behind them, Julia squints. 

---

JULIA: “Maybe Max isn’t a totally delusional control freak, after all. There is something going on between those two. But the question is, how can I get this to turn in my favor?”

---

Julia returns to the campfire and takes a seat. Courtney looks up. “Did you find any?”

“What?”

“Water?”

“Oh, yeah. Um, no,” Julia says, leaning back. “Guess you’ll just have to rough it.”

“Great work. Really top-notch survival skills,” Patrick says, trying and failing to carve a stick into a spear. 

“As if you could do any better,”

“Oh, please. I bet you’re really regretting being dumped by me now, huh?” he chuckles, pointing his barely-formed spear at her. “I could do this in my sleep.”

“I broke up with YOU!” 

He smirks and rolls his eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, honey,”

Julia grits her teeth and sits between Ass and Mal, seething. Courtney chuckles lightly, looking pale and sickly. “Says the guy who got dumped here by his whole team,”

“Yeah, and not to mention your losing streak,” Ass rolls their eyes. “Really great ‘survival skills’, Bear Grylls.”

“And, for the record, it was Julia who broke up with you. It’s literally on my Patulia archive blog,” Mal nods. “Honestly, you should be so lucky you got to go out with her in the first place.”

“Yeah, what did you ever bring to the table?” Courtney asks. “Julia is smart, experienced, and a good leader.”

“We would never leave Julia behind with another team. And we hate her!” Ass says, jabbing a finger in his direction. 

Patrick grumbles to himself and half-heartedly tosses his spear into the fire. Julia blinks. 

---

Sha-Mod stumbles through the forest blindly. A large leaf has been tied around his face with a shoelace and, without proper eyeholes, he’s as blind as a bat. 

After walking into the third tree along the trail, he sighs. 

---

SHA-MOD: “Is this the universe punishing me for saying I needed time apart from Takes Three? I didn’t mean to get Joner voted out! I didn’t know I could do that with my mind!”

---

The rain picks up again and he sighs. 

A few minutes behind him, Michela and Albert are walking alongside each other, shoulder-to-shoulder. “I hope he isn’t hurt,” the latter says, scanning the treeline as if Sha-Mod might be up there. “Hey- possum. That’s another one for the bingo.”

Albert pulls the sheet out of his windbreaker and checks off another box. Michela raises an eyebrow and he stares back. “Bad timing?”

“No, no. It’s okay. But I wouldn’t hate it if we lost, I mean… Patrick has gotta go,” she says. “He’s been dragging his heels this entire competition.”

“Agreed. He’s been giving you a hard time,” Albert says, clicking his pen. “Poor Sha-Mod, though…”

The faint sound of a ringing bell catches both of their attention and they turn to each other. "Now?" Michela sighs before clearing her throat. “We should’ve just kept our heads, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“I thought so too, but then we lost Sha-Mod in the rain-for-est!” Albert continues. 

“Now if he goes missing-”

“-We definitely won’t be ‘winnin!”

“Oh, what would we do the-en?”

Sha-Mod stumbles through the foliage just yards ahead, coughing weakly. The faint, familiar dinging of the song bell sounds and he groans. He sighs:

“Lost here, woods are gonna make me boke,

Leaf in my face, get me outta this place!

Going solo was not what I anticipated, probably means I’m eliminated. Yeah, I’m out! Out, oooh, oooh, yeah, yeah, yeah!”

“Sha-Mod?” a voice comes from behind him.

Sha-Mod whirls around and runs through the forest towards the voice, stumbling over roots and logs before tumbling into a warm wash of light. 

When he looks up from the dirt, he sees Team Friendship watching him. Phillip finally squeaks out a quiet: “What happened to you?”

“I-I made it! I’m back! I’m safe, all by myself!” he says, pumping his fist. “I survived alone! I can do anything!”

“Okay, that’s great. Where’s Team Mojo?” Max asks sharply. 

Sha-Mod shrugs. “We got separated. I haven’t seen them since this morning,”

After a long, drawn out sigh, Max finally speaks. “Okay. We’ll find them in the morning,”

---

Team Yaoi (and Patrick) crowd around their dying fire, trying to shield it from the rain. A rustling from the bushes behind them turns everyone’s attention to the foliage. 

“Did you guys hear that?” Courtney asks nervously, looking from side to side with wide eyes. 

“It was probably just the wind,” Patrick says. “There are no large terrestrial predators in Australia. That’s something I knew all by myself. No one told me that.”

Julia rolls her eyes. 

“Maybe it’s Yaoi!” Mal squeals, kicking her legs back and forth. 

“A yowie,”

“I told you, yowies aren’t real, but yaoi is!”

The bushes rustle louder and everyone turns again. A large, ape-like creature jumps from the brush and roars. Everyone screams (especially Patrick) and takes off running into the forest. 

The “yowie” giggles and takes off its mask, revealing a short teenager. Kitty unzips the suit and then runs back off into the forest. 

---

Michela and Albert return to the campfire, wet and exhausted, and raise both their eyebrows at the sight of the abandoned embers and empty yowie suit. 

“I don’t even wanna know,” Michela grumbles. 

---

The sun rises over the mountains in the east, washing a new light over the damp earth. Bonnie yawns and stretches, looking much less pale and sickly than they had for the past few days. 

Max follows after, then Staci and Kelly rise. “Hey- where’s Phillip?”

As if summoning him from Hell, he arrives with his shirt full of berries. “Look what I found! Valuable asset to the team, right?” Max rolls his eyes. 

Through the fog behind him, Michela and Albert walk into the clearing. “And that’s a bingo,” the latter says, marking off kookaburra on their sheet. “Oh!”

Sha-Mod jumps up from where he’d been lying on the ground and throws himself into Michela’s arms. “IgotlostIwassoscaredneverleavemealoneeveragain!” he sobs rapidly. 

“We found him in the woods like a puppy in a wet box on the side of the road,” Max sighs. “Then he ate all our food supplies and scared off our last chances of finding a bingo.”

Sha-Mod sobs loudly in Michela’s arms. “Geez, alright,” she says, then turns to Albert. “See? Told you.”

He smiles and shrugs, then turns away from her to roll his eyes. 

Team Yaoi (and Patrick) come stumbling out of the fog next, all panting and exhausted. Once they’ve caught their breath, Ass whacks Mal upside the head. 

“Sure, let’s make it a party,” Bonnie yawns, then turns to team Friendship. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

---

The three teams- now reunited- cross the finish line at the exit of the forest, where Chris and the plane are waiting. “Wow, what happened to you guys? You look terrible!” he chuckles. 

The teens collectively glare at him. 

“Well, anyway. Let’s see those bingo cards…” he walks between the groups. “Two for Team Friendship, a full five for Team Mojo, and…. Surprise! Nothing for Team Yaoi.”

The team groans and he grins. “Lucky for you, this is a non-elimination round!”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Bonnie grumbles. Team Yaoi weakly cheers. Ass holds out their hand for a high five from Courtney, who swings and misses, then falls over. 

“Team Mojo, you’ll be enjoying first class,” he says, walking back in front of the groups. “The rest of you will enjoy gruel and grime in economy. See you there!”

Team Friendship groans. “Don’t look so glum, guys. At least I have these!” Phillip says, popping a small black berry in his mouth. 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t eat those if I were you,” Albert says. “Those look like nightshades.”

“So?”

“They’re poisonous,”

Phillip goes pale and spits out the berry, scraping off his tongue and whimpering. 

"Some boy scout," Max mutters.

---

The plane jostles a little, shaking economy. Courtney snores through the turbulence, hanging limply in their seatbelt. Ass mumbles a brief “ew” as Mal drools on her phone, and they scooch closer to Julia, who’s staring ahead intently. 

Bonnie is fast asleep, back to a normal human sleep schedule after their soiree in the jungle broke their bad habit. Kelly and Staci are leaning on each other, snoring, and Phillip is mumbling to himself. 

Max, balancing his head in his palms, blinks slowly, staring ahead out the window into the dark. After a few moments of silence, Julia unbuckles herself and crosses the great expanse from one side of the cabin to the other while the plane shakes. 

She takes a seat next to Max and he sighs dramatically. “What is it now?”

“Calm down, I just wanted to talk,”

“I’m not falling for that again,”

“I’ll make it short,” she smiles. “You weren’t with Team Mojo last night, after all. If I were you… I’d keep a close eye on Albert.”

Max blinks and looks pale. And with that, she walks back to the other side of the cabin. 

---

JULIA: “No, Michela and I aren’t enemies- but we aren’t allies, either. That makes her fair game. I want Patrick gone, and if that means I have to pick off the only player that’s keeping that team together- so be it,”

---

[nothing0fnothing]

When I was nine my step dad drove me and another little girl to youth group. By the time he had parked the car and got out I was still unbuckling my seat belt, chatting happily to my friend in the back seat. Annoyed I hadn't moved quickly enough, he put his hand through the rolled down window and jabbed me four times on my left arm. I inhaled sharply and held in a yelp because he had done it hard. Hard enough my eyes immediately stung with tears, and I wondered if he'd used all his strength. I didn't even have to be told, this was my punishment for not getting out of the car quickly enough.

I held back a cry and steadied my breath and got out of the car quickly and quietly, like nothing violent had just happened to me. My friend was a witness, she'd seen it all from less than a foot away. To her though, it looked like he'd just playfully poked me to get my attention, and I wasn't going to kick up a whole fuss about it.

We were here to have a good time and I wasn't about to cry or draw attention to it and spoil her fun. Especially because when my step dad was in a mood like this he was on a hair trigger. In this moment I knew that if I played my cards right, I could spend the next two hours running around with other kids, pretending it didn't happen. Play them wrong, and I'll end up on the concrete ground being dragged by my hair back to the car so I could get beaten at home while everyone else had fun without me. It had happened before over hot dogs, and I didn't want it to happen now.

I let my friend talk the whole walk up the driveway and into the building while I blinked back tears and discreetly rubbed my arm. When he left I went into the bathroom to cry quietly, and when all the tears were gone I went back out there like everything was normal. We played and my friend had fun, and by the time youth group was over my arm was tender and the pain hadn't ebbed away. I'd got a glance eariler and it looked like bruises, so I quickly covered up. When I got home I finally had a chance to look and I saw four bottle cap sized purple splotches, obvious fingerprint bruises.

This wasn't the most violent incident I'd ever experienced. It wasn't even in the top ten most violent things he'd done to me in recent months. It really hit me emotionally though. How quiet, yet brutal it was. How he'd done it so plainly that the person sitting a few centimetres away hadn't even noticed what he'd done to me. How I had kept it a secret without even being asked to. It dawned on me while I inspected the ugly bruises in the mirror that somehow, at some point between the first time he hurt me and now, this had become normal.

I never told anyone. Not even my mum. I knew she'd believe me, but I also knew she'd do nothing about it. I couldn't talk about it without crying anyway, and my mother hates nothing more than a crying child.

Weeks after he put the bruises on me, those nasty purple ink blots had faded into a kind of greeny-yellow smudge. The edges so faded they basically blurred into the rest of my skin. My mum let me wear t shirts again, which I appreciated in the summer heat in silent recognition. We never talked about why I was in unseasonably long tops all this time, and we didn't have to talk about why I was being put back into short ones. We just both got it in silent recognition, a conversation was unnecessary.

My friends mum spotted them from across the room. She was worried for me, telling my parents to not be so flippant as they tried to brush her concerns off. They'd faded enough by now I could pass them off as being caused by another child, yesterday's playground incident, she would have beleived it too, as long as it came from me. She was so nice, and she cared so much, and she was the only one this entire time who acknowledged the brusies. I didn't want to lie to her. Especially not for him. So I just looked to him expectantly. The least he could do was tell his own bullshit lie to cover up his own behaviour.

He said nothing. He just sat in the corner watching me, daring me to tell. I don't think I had to though, because as soon as the girl and her mother left she never accepted an invitation to my house again. It was always playdates at her house from then on. I didn't have a problem with it, my house sucked anyway.

[trealamh]

The Glasgow Scale

For day three of ScotEng week!

Tragedy // loss, strangers, cigarettes // “We always see it too late.”

[Two strangers meet in the waiting room of the A&E. cw assumed/referenced suicide and medical settings.

Here is some more information about the Glasgow Coma Scale]

-------

The back of Arthur’s neck feels clammy.

He is not sure how his hands feel other than numb. Most of him is, all but for the way his skin feels stretched out and tight over the canvas of his bones. Someone had told him once that shock felt like falling feet first into freezing water; a seizing of the body and a sensation like asphyxia. Arthur can breathe though, so he does. In and out, he is, if anything, overly aware of the rise and fall of his chest. His lungs are the only real part of him left.

The waiting area hums with the quiet chatter, a steady flow of patients and staff coming and going in the background. Phones ring at intervals, voices over the intercom drone in codes, and the linoleum floors betray the material of people’s shoes. Every so often a voice is raised or a siren wails but in the end it is all drowned out into white noise. Arthur makes no effort to move or listen, caught listless and alone and beyond any help.

Time dilates; he isn’t sure how long it has been when a man sits next to him. Arthur barely notices him there until their arms brush and the stranger speaks.

“Do you have a filter?”

Arthur does, and slowly, blinking away the sore dryness in his eyes, he comes back to himself. Wordlessly he reaches into the inner lining of his coat and pulls out a beaten pack of filter tips. The man takes it and the first thing Arthur really notices about him are his hands. The second are his shoes.

A lone woman sits across from them, empty seats at either side of her, one of them a small table-width apart. It does not occur to Arthur that the stranger could have sat there instead of cramming himself into the narrow joint seat to Arthur’s left. He is broad all over and deceptively thick around the knuckles for how carefully he handles the rolling paper and tobacco between his fingers. There is a faint residue of ink in the whorls of his fingerprints, like he’s been booked although you would not think so by the look of him, not at first glance. The brogues on his feet are worn-in but freshly polished and the wool of his kilt is pressed into perfect pleats. His shirt is the only thing that looks worse for wear with the sleeves shoved up his forearms instead of folded and stained with something that soaked in and dried out in blotchy patterns. Whiskey, maybe, or rum; even vaguely concussed still Arthur can smell it on him. Stale alcohol and sweat.

His thoughts blur again and he feels vaguely nauseous. The thought that he might throw up is a muted concern but his face feels hot. He shuts his eyes against the sudden inertia he feels becoming aware of how stiffly he is holding his body. He should find a bathroom and wash his face. He should gulp down a bottle of water even if he cannot keep it down. 

Something knocks gently against his arm and even if the nausea does not abate the feeling like freefall does for long enough that he can turn his head without feeling dizzy. His eyes fall on a hand-rolled cigarette and a beaten carton of filters, held towards him between two fingers. 

“For the filter,” the stranger explains. 

Arthur takes it without thanking him and the next thing he knows they are standing in the cold, the light of a streetlight pooling under their feet. The hospital from a distance is only concrete and glass. The harsh fluorescent lights are blurred by a drizzle so light that it sits on the exposed skin of his wrists and on his cheekbones like mist. The stranger who chose to sit beside Arthur only looks at him from the corner of his eye and the rim of his eyelashes by turns, taciturn and unobtrusive. 

“Alasdair.” He offers his name without a lead and promptly focused on the fag between his lips, cupping the flame of his lighter and breathing in the first drag like it’s water and he’s parched.

Arthur takes the lighter when it’s offered and fiddles with the flint for long enough that Alasdair reaches out to light his cigarette for him. He breathes in the smoke and lets it sit in his mouth long enough for Alasdair to step back before exhaling.

“Arthur.”

He sounds rough. On his next drag he tries to swallow the smoke and exhales in a coughing fit.

Alasdair waits it out, taking slow drags and letting the smoke slip from his lips and nose with practiced ease.

“You're not a smoker.” His voice is low and rolls deep with the tilt of his accent.

Arthur’s eyes water.

“No,” he agrees with one last hitch before his breathing settles.  

He brings the filter back to his lips.

The cherry’s gone out. Alasdair relights the ashen tip and levels a quiet instruction. Slow and deep. When Arthur exhales it is good and steady despite the itch in his throat. 

They smoke in silence until the minutes are ash on the ground and they toss the butt ends into a metal-grid bin. 

“I’m trying to quit.”

It is an empty confession. It bears no weight on his opinion on the man or Arthur’s choices. Looking at him, though, Arthur can believe it. 

He should say something. Thank you, at the least, but his mouth is wet and tastes like newspaper curling in the fireplace. His face and hands feel foreign and some part of him asks what the man standing with him sees; if he can tell that Arthur is only half-present, some part of him gone and lost in the halls of the hospital looming at their backs. Even now he cannot tell whether he is losing time and awareness of space again or if they have really been standing outside for as long as he feels they have. At least here he feels cold and he shivers with it the way only a living thing can. 

Alasdair feels comfortable enough in his shirtsleeves and he is close again, only a pace away from Arthur. He reaches up to touch his own stubbled jaw with a knuckle.

“You have blood, here.” His eyes are very intent. Arthur can’t tell their colour in the half-light. 

He reaches up to mirror Alasdair’s reach and feels for the spot in the dark. His hand comes away wet and lightly stained. There is not a lot of it. It must have dried in the hours he has spent sitting in the waiting room with no one to point it out to him. The rain and his fingers smear it away. The collar of his shirt must be stained.

“Who are you waiting for?”

It is not the kind of question you ask of a stranger.

“No one,” Arthur answers with the kind of honesty you spare a stranger. “He is dead.”

“Family?”

“My brother.”

Alasdair hums. 

“You should go home.”

“I live in Kent.” Arthur blinks hard and tries to refocus his eyes when his vision mists over. He is not crying, it is only that his eyes are so very sore.

“That’s six hours by train,” Arthur explains like it means anything.

“Visiting, then?”

“Yeah.”

“He wasn’t expecting you.”

“No.” Arthur tries to remember what Rhys had said to him over the phone the last time they spoke. Whether he sounded angry or sad. He can’t recall, suddenly, and he thinks that will haunt him for the rest of his life. “No he wasn’t expecting me.” 

“Do you need to make arrangements?”

Arthur shakes his head. 

Dai left instructions.

Alasdair shifts his jaw like he is carefully considering his next words but in the end all he does is nod. “Ok.” 

He looks like he wants another cigarette. Dai used to rub his thumb against his pointer finger whenever he got a craving, the same way Alasdair is doing now. Arthur wonders if this is the kind of thing the people who love you notice and see mirrored in strangers once you are gone. He thinks he will be seeing Dai again but only in these small gestures, done by strangers, and his chest feels hollow.

“I’m…” Alasdair glances away. “I need to get home. If you need somewhere to spend the night…” He leaves the thought unfinished and shakes his head absent-mindedly. He does not strike Arthur as someone used to uncertainty. ”You shouldn’t stay here.”

Arthur would have to be completely out of his mind to accept his offer and he is, so he does. “Ok.”

Arthur packed some clothes and a book into a rucksack before riding north. He had also dallied by the closet before leaving for the station, second-guessing whether he should bring his winter coat or a parka with him, knowing Scotland would be all rain and high winds. Now his clothes and his coat lie on the floor of Dai’s hallway, dropped carelessly after he let himself in with the spare set of keys his brother had left with him the last time he’d come to see him in Kent. All he has are his wallet and his brother’s denim jacket, snatched from the coat rack at the last possible second as he rushed as he rushed to catch up with the emergency team trying to stabilise his brother on the landing. It is fleece-lined and worn in, and it smells like coffee. Dai had been working as a barista. Arthur will have to call his workplace in the morning and let them know that he is not coming in to work.

Alasdair tells him to wait by the door and comes back some indeterminate amount of time later with a sheath of paper and a coat Arthur had not noticed on him. He nods towards the parking lot and Arthur follows after him, calm and dazed and feeling more awake now. It is not until they are sitting in Alasdair’s car, a mud-splattered Mazda, that he asks. “Who were you there for?”

Alasdair’s mirrors are set for someone else’s height. He has to twist his waist, elbow against the backrest of his seat, to back up from the narrow parking spot.

“My brother,” he says, and offers nothing more. Arthur looks at the blurring light through the passenger window and does not pry. 

The drive through the city is quiet and winds down as they cross from well-lit streets into the stillness of Leith. Alasdair’s flat is a sandstone tenement with weathered walls. He parks a street away and lets Arthur climb up the stairs ahead of him, silent and steady. There is one bedroom and a bathtub built into the wall of the bathroom. The lightbulb in the living room is missing and there is a pile of folded laundry on the living room couch, some more hung to dry by the cold radiator. It does not smell like Alasdair smokes indoors and the kitchen is clean aside from the dishes stacked in the sink. Alasdair pours them both tea, dark and hot, despite the lateness of the hour and offers Arthur a pair of sweatpants from the laundry pile and the first shower. When Arthur comes out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, damp and red-eyed, he finds Alasdair sitting listless on the couch, staring at the ceiling like there is an answer in the empty socket and the light he hasn’t gotten around to replacing. 

The couch is not wide enough to host a sleeping adult for the night and they are both too tired for pretense. Arthur takes the left side of Alasdair’s bed and falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow, lulled by the breathing of the stranger beside him and the unassuming warmth of his body. 

They sleep in past midday and wake up comfortable in each other’s space, aware that the other is awake but unwilling to leave the bed and its comforts. Alasdair sighs tiredly into his pillow; Arthur cannot see his face but they are so close that he can feel the way his body seizes, like he is bracing himself for the day or balancing on a knife’s edge. Men like Alasdair, Arthur has learnt, are deceptively strong. It makes them seem prone to anger and incapable of sorrow. 

Pressing himself to Alasdair’s back is no more inappropriate than inviting a stranger into your bed in a daze of grief. They are past the discomfort of overt over-familiarity. The tip of Arthur’s nose is cold and fits neatly into the crook of his shoulder. Alasdair’s sobs are silent and bitten-back. He breathes through his nose like he is not used to crying and only seems to catch his breath when Arthur’s hand finds the soft curve of his stomach over the cotton of his shirt. Arthur holds him without judgment and takes comfort in his heartbeat as it slows and steadies to match his. He keeps holding him long after that.

There is no awkward pause when Alasdair finally slips free from his hold to sit up in bed. Arthur just shifts to join him and then sits across from him in the kitchen to share burnt toast and tea like they have known each other for longer than a night. The ink has washed off of Alasdair’s hands and Arthur’s feel warm wrapped around the ceramic of a kitschy mug. They drive to the hospital and Arthur listens from the corner of the room as the story of Alasdair’s family unfolds in raised voices and accusations. Curious eyes in now familiar shades of hazel fall on him but his presence goes unexplained. Alasdair stands at arm’s reach from him when the shouting is done and offers no apologies or justifications. Arthur does not expect them and simply keeps him company, waiting in the hallway while Alasdair makes his peace with a man who shares his nose and the set of his brow and might never wake again. They find coffee and food in the late afternoon, and idle by a park until Arthur rallies the wherewithal to walk up the street to his brother’s flat to face the aftermath of his loss. He does not trade in his brother’s jacket for his own despite the early morning chill when they are finally ready to leave, Arthur’s rucksack in tow; he’s warm enough with Alasdair’s jumper tucked under the denim.

On his third morning imposing Arthur offers to leave which Alasdair dismisses with a grunt and a half-cooked argument under his breath. After that, Arthur does not bring it up again and for the rest of the week, while he settles Dai’s affairs, he shares his bed and does his share of the work around the house despite Alasdair's coarse insistence that he doesn’t have to. Arthur does not try to argue and just carries the laundry into the bedroom rather than leaving it to pile up in the living room. He cooks them at least two square meals when he has a mind to and lets himself sink into Alasdair’s bed in the early afternoon when the grief bears on him so heavy that he feels like he’ll never be able to breathe normally again. Alasdair comes home early once and finds him like that. Wordlessly, he sits on the edge of the bed and only after Arthur shifts does he reach down to bury his fingers in his hair. Some evenings they watch movies, others they spend apart. Alasdair rolls cigarettes out of habit, to scratch the itch, and leaves them by the windowsill to grow stale.

Life carries on. Slowly, unremarkably. Arthur hides his smiles and is slow to laugh until something settles in him and he can think of Dai without feeling the ground sway beneath his feet. Alasdair’s brother wakes up in gradual starts and in a year’s time relearns the words he needs to credit himself for his brother’s ease. Arthur graduates and chases jobs and slots his favourite books into Alasdair’s shelves. Alasdair makes space for them and space for his clothes in the closet and keeps him close at night in the bed they share.

Life carries on.