#and some shiny spoils

[endlessartpumpkin]

Day 28: Light/ Sparkle / Bright ✨

Aveil, Leader of the Gerudo Pirates 🏴‍☠️

[randomnameless]

It's better to laugh than to cry, right?

Rhea BaD bcs she banned the technology to create Relics!

Or at least, makes sure no one in Fodlan knows how to craft them anymore :(

The Church LiEd!!!!

Will we ever know why the Church of Seiros hides the truth?

the FEH writers did their work, they wrote Claude being wrong while sprouting "evidences"!

Agarthium =/= Umbral Steel, because Umbral Steel is actually... something that you can find when you... defeat specific units like :

(tfw Agarthans harvested Agarthium from giant worms)

Come on Claude, we know what Rhea told you, and that shit you just sprouted wasn't what she told you at all.

She told you what "Umbral Steel" really was, surely you will finally reveal this to Marianne so she will stop uwufying poor Momo and give more fucks about the Relics, considering what, no, rather who they are, right?

...

go ahead Marianne, tell her what this "weapon" you're using actually is!

:')

This is a joke, right?

"I'll keep this tool in my hand for as long as I live, just like my ancestor Momo!"

But do you remember that Momo was turned in a beast, even if he had the matching crest, because he used Blutgang too much? This weapon is dangerous to use, even if you have all the requirements, because it's not really a weapon!

Apparently, no one gives a fuck!

:')

"but random, why are you so pissed? Rhea most likely came to the same conclusion when plot-wise, she gave the relics to the northerners in the first place, like the Laetitia Gautier!"

Rhea knows what the "relics" are, and much like she says in Nopes when fighting alongside a descendant of the Elites, if they use their powers with/for "good", then it's not a sin.

We can surmise* that Rhea knew what Sharon the Nabatean, turned into the Lance of Ruin, would want, like "help those people" so if Sharon and her powers - even if they were desacrated in the worst way - are used to do/protect something Sharon would herself do/protect, then it's an "acceptable" use.

something like "not only the will of the wielder" is important, but "the will of the person who was turned in this weapon".

But here?

There's no revelation about Sharon the Nabatean, Blutgang is just a tool, a sword that was maybe made with evil intentions, but ultimately just a mere sword, like Mareeta's blade.

In a series where some characters are berserked/weaponised against their own will (witches, feral ones, berserk people, etc etc) FEH refusing (but it follows the source material here!) to point out the "origins" of the relics is completely bullcrap.

We're on "ah yes, Ashnard has a big wyvern, doesn't he?" levels, without anyone to tell us that, no, this is no wyvern, but someone turned in a weapon against his will who had a name, a family and, in general, a history.

Imagine the Tales Series, where Lloyd never muses about the "shiny rock" he has even after he learnt that this shiny rock is basically what remains of his mother, or Genis not having his "I don't want to use this" moment when he has to use the shiny rock that used to be Marble - or a Destiny port where Stahn and his pals would only see the Swordians as, swords, and not as people they want to help.

That's basically Fodlan - you're not supposed to give a fuck about Marble, Anna, Dymlos or even Rajaion, they're just neat accessories/power ups, and that's all.

*of course it's only a hypothesis, because the devs dgaf about this issue and will never write about it

[sugar-and-spite]

pokemon community help me out. i need a name for a male shiny espathra. (my previous female non-shiny was named cleopatra, so names of a similar theme are appreciated, but i'll consider anything.) shiny form img under the cut.

[kakushusband]

Oh speaking of Allister I'm reworking the guy I made specifically to be his big brother figure, Venox. I think I do want them to be Actually related and I'm aging down Venox quite a bit, so he's in his mid/late twenties at best. He's usually away doing god knows what in Paldea almost year round ^_^

Every time he comes back home he's like hey little man I got something for you (reaches into his beaten up luggage) tell me if you want this thing (throws Allister a pokeball with this in it)

[ruleofleft]

Fuse knows how to skin, section and process a kill, BloodHound knew they could, but seeing Walter expertly do so makes Hound feel a certain way… Especially after offering Artur not just scarps, but choice pieces of good meat.

[haloeffect]

trying to explain to my friends that it actually is hurtful when they boast about the things they do without me, that they know i would’ve liked to and could’ve been a part of, but they neglected to ask. teaching adults the importance of basic empathy 101 😭😭😭

[camping-with-monsters]

I don’t have anything really interesting to post right now since I’m working on a “personal project” so for now y’all get this absolutely normal shiny clip

[seattlesellie]

ೀ spoiled. ( part one )

📞🕯️🎀 ₊˚⊹♡ “ baby , can you call me back ? i miss you … it’s so lonely in my mansion … “ 🧸🪽🍬

pairing: ellie williams x rich fem!reader

synopsis: the mansion you live in is getting too cold , the silence is way too silent , and not even reruns of sex & the city can help … long story short , you’re feeling lonely . wonder if you can think of someone in your contacts that can help and warm you up , a certain classmate perhaps ?

warnings: girly reader , kind of desperate loser ellie , bratty spoiled rich reader so don't read if that annoys you , allusion to smut , actual smut will be in the second chapter , this is dirty so mdni as usual !

an: i wrote this such a long time ago and it wasn't supposed to be two parts but well now it is !! i will start writing the second part if u guys want to so don't be shy in my inbox. not proofread unfortunately ♡

A perfectly manicured hand rests on the fluffy white and silky smooth duvet. the Egyptian cotton, to be exact, is nothing but lavish, a sanctuary of indulgence in the realm of your own private luxury. Then, you tap your nails atop it, and the fabric crinkles. You gently sigh, but it's more so a grumble, and reach over for the ‘Dunkin’ cup standing on your wooden bedside table. It perfectly matches every single one of the furniture in your extravaganza of a walk in closet, and the bed-frame as well. You take a slow, indulgent sip out of the icy cold drink, take an ice cube out with a straw, and gently suckle on it. You place the drink back on the table, shifting your gaze back over to the flat screen television.

Carrie forgave Mr. Big again, and now she’s seen frantically pacing around the streets of New York City in her shiny Manolo Blahniks. You arch your brows, humming in high pitched amusement. you have the exact same pair!

Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda always seem to bring you a sense of comfort. Usually, your bed brings you a sense of comfort as well, and so does an icy drink with specifically eight cubes of ice. Your room smells like French vanilla, a tinge of cinnamon, and the sweetest pie you’ve never learned how to bake. Most of the time, you’d bask in the scent and feel nice, and cosy, and your nose would scrunch and your nostrils would flare out, then you’d open your favorite food delivery app and order a nice ol’ package of nine chocolate chip cookies. Then, you’d pop open a bottle of champagne and indulge yourself in the sweets deliciousness.

But your appetite is less existent than snow in the middle of August.

You’re also freezing cold, fuzzy socks and all — goosebumps rising on your skin and feeling sharp like Japanese knives.

Your best friend of a white home cat, Toodle, elegantly extends his supple frame, his lithe form gracefully ascending to nestle within the cradle of your neck. His bell gently dingles, he yawns and mellifluously meows. Right now, it sounds more like an old mans groan.

“I know, Toots… m’bored too. And cold, Jesus…” you mutter towards Toodles, who, in his usual aloof manner, closes his eyes and surrenders to the soothing hum of his purring. You puff some air out of your mouth, brain wheels turning as to find out what’s the cause of this blue mood. The air conditioning is completely turned off, you’re sure of it, and the fireplace crackles with warmth. Your entire moisturized body is covered up by a ridiculously expensive thick blanket, and it’s not the short VS nightie that makes you feel freezing, you’re convinced of that. For some reason, the frosty sensation persists. You smack your lip-glossed lips before bumping your head against your mountain of pillows, emitting a low grunt of exasperation.

You don’t know the reason for your boredom, or for this bum mood, because albeit you’ve seen this episode about a gazillion times, it never fails to entertain the shit out of your brain.

Maybe it’s due to the fact that you’re entirely alone (except for Toddles, of course, can't forget him) in a 10,000 square feet mansion. or perhaps it’s because the only lit room inside the mansion is your own.

But then you roll your eyes, because your parents are always away (at St. Tropez this time), so feeling alone isn’t a new and strange concept.

Alas, being alone isn’t the same as being lonely.

Your face twists at the depressing thought, ew. You’re not lonely, just… bored, and unamused, and the icy drink isn’t sweet enough and Carrie’s getting on your last nerve, and the 1,000 dollar blanket is starting to itch the hell out of your hyper-sensitive skin.

Which is why you get up from the bed in a moment of eureka, landing your feet against the fuzzy carpet and slide them into your Ugg’s. “Uh huh!” you chirp, you finally got it.

You’re experiencing an old friend of a feeling called (drumroll…) — anxiety, over your unfinished chem project! It must have masked itself in the form of frigidness and discomfort and loneliness.

But the project isn’t even due till next week, and you rarely get stressed over college stuff unless they’re due the next day and you’re sitting, staring down at your laptop screen, trying to communicate with it through telepathy or something of that sort.

Somaybeit’snotanxiety and maybeyou’rejustloney.

You shake away that uneasy and irritating thought, and sit your pretty butt down on the rolling chair. You click your shiny glittery pen (that always sheds some glitter onto your hand) and open up the thick as brick textbook.

You read the first question out loud.

The correct formula for aluminum nitrate is…

Valentino’s Lòco Toile Iconographe shoulder bag in hot pink?

Nope.

You shake your head, you have got to focus. You place your chin atop your palm and click the pen once more.

Al(NO2)3? or maybe it’s Al(NO3)3…

or maybe you’re so far off you need to close the book shut and throw it out of the window. You’ve always sucked at chemistry.

Which is why you were assigned to be tutored by that auburn haired, green eyed, slightly sullen, tatted up girl who went by "Ellie" — or "El", but you didn't know her like that.

Ellie, is the one who stuttered out your name as she realized you weren’t paying attention to her tutoring, as you had your gaze fixated on the black ink etched on her forearm, a half-covered flannel and a canvas of delicate veins. A bug, adorned with intricate botanical details, unfurled its wings across her skin.

“S’uh… A moth, with ferns around it n’stuff. It’s kind of faded now though”

Her voice was raspy and husky, and she stuttered out your name. Usually, you’d hate it when people got nervous around you. It made you feel odd, ostracized, and you always insisted — you were so damn sweet, there’s nothing to be nervous about. You wore sweet perfume, sweet as goddamn cherries and cupcakes, and your voice was soft and you always smiled brightly, and so what if your purse cost more than a college tuition?

But her nerves didn’t annoy you. In fact, you found them charming, and you found her sweet. You found that all of her “Uhhh” ‘s, and her “Mhhm” ‘s, all of her stammering and her lack of ability to keep eye contact with you to be… infatuating.

Then there was that rich voice, and those eyes, that smile, those hands, those damn toned arms, those biceps and the haircut, the way two short strands of hair always framed her face perfectly and her scent — that you could tell was just a cheap cologne, but mixed with her unique fragrance, proved nothing short of intoxicating.

It was also the fact that she seemed to damn know everything — and that she was always ahead of you, and that her face always bore that coy little smirk when you got a question wrong (which you seemed to get more often than not), and that she would grab your Swarovski pen out of your hand and scribble down the answer for you, just to explain it in detail later.

The way she licked over her bottom lip and bit as wrote down.

With her long fingers and all.

When she spoke, her breath smelled of mint and the faintest tinge of weed, which made you think of how lovely it must be to be able to transform into a damn joint just so she could place you in her mouth and suck —

now you’re sticky, and god now you really are distracted, and not by a cute purse or the sound of rain pouring down on your window. Toodles stretches his tiny limbs and you hear his bell faintly dingle again. He climbs down from your princess bed and jumps up to sit at your lap. You caress down his white fur and he purrs.

You wonder if Ellie likes cats.

You know she likes pussy.

You have got to get a grip.

You massage your temples, attempting to focus on the written down questions again, but the words and the numbers seem to mix into a cacophony of odd symbols and letters, and you’re still so goddamn cold.

Albeit your eyelids droop down slowly, eyes spazzing out of focus, the assignment must be done today.

“Just, finish the damn work and go to sleep. Yup.” You mumble to yourself, a habit you picked up as a result of being alone for most of your childhood, and having to opt for the help of imaginary friends to keep you comfort. Alas, you’re older now and only have yourself to talk to.

You try and follow your command.

The problem is, you don’t know jack shit.

You wish Ellie was here, with her hair sticking to her forehead and your pen in her hand and her old chuck’s glued to her feet, as she sits down on the spare chair aside you with her jaw resting on her knees.

You wish you could hear her faint chuckle as you get another question wrong.

As a tutor, of course.

Not even as a friend, because she’s not.

Definitely not as a lover, obviously, because that would truly be so far fetched from reality — although… right now, you can’t help but think of the way her eyes fall down to your chest as a crimson blush creeps up her cheeks.

And you keep thinking about the time you purposely let your bra strap cascade down your shoulder, just because you wondered how she’d react — Which was with averting her gaze to the side and clearing her throat. Now you think of the time you wore an extra short mini skirt, not that different from the rest of them although a bit tinier, and how you kept rubbing your thighs together just to see whether she’d notice or not, which she did…

You groan and slap your palm against your forehead.

Then, you stare at another question and then at your phone. Toodles chimes in with a high-pitched meow.

“Oh my gosh Toots, so true! I should text her the questions, duh”

You’re not delusional at all, by the way.

So you send her your address.

In the meantime, you make sure your studying environment and your room are as tidy as possible. You grab your sparkly pink pen and place it near the textbook, and you grab a matte black pen for Ellie as well, a thoughtful gesture.

You also apply some strawberry scented moisturizer on your body, and spray your sickly sweet perfume on your pule points.

You slip your feet out of your slippers, and you wear your favorite heels. However, you keep your little nightie on. You’re supposed to feel comfortable, this is your house after all, and the heels — are just a courtesy, you are expecting company, and opening the front door with house slippers is entirely rude, and the silky robe… It’s long enough and proper. Ish.

You stare at your reflection down the mirror, and for some reason, you feel utterly nervous. You’re all dolled up for a person who isn’t a stranger, but who also isn’t a friend. When you coat your lips with some minty gloss, Toodles stretches his tail upwards and meows.

“Psh. Do not judge me, Toots. This is normal, I do this all the time”

Which again is a total and complete white lie, because if it was a regular friend coming over, you wouldn’t have even bothered to fix up your makeup, and you’d barely even get up from the comfort of your own bed.

As a matter of fact, not many people come by your house at all. You have your fair share of friends, but you’d much rather hang out by the mall or at one of their mansions, yours always feels just, utterly suffocating — as giant and spacey as it might be. And sure, you’ve had hook ups before, but you always went rigid when they tried to slip past your panties, and you were always… dry, as an autumn leaf.

Ellie makes you feel anything but dry.

Physically — you shake your head and try getting rid of the thought by giving yourself some good old whiplash.

You find yourself pacing around your room, until you manage to cascade downstairs as soon as you hear the bell ring. With each step you take, your heel taps the lavish ceramic pavement.

“Stay”, you gesture towards your fluffy feline companion, who responds with a squinting of his eyes. “Don’t freak out our company”

You look at Ellie’s face from the intercom’s shiny screen. You look at it so hard you nearly forget to press on the button that’s purpose is to let your tutor-guest in. A couple of strands of her auburn bangs stick to her forehead. Ellie scratches her eyes with the back of her hands and she straightens up her spine. As she waits for the gate to open, she puffs some air from her cheeks. She attempts to fix her eyebrows with the tips of her fingers, and seems to be murmuring something underneath her breath.

You’re not the best at lip reading, but your gut tells you she just whispered a “Hi”, and added your name, then — “Hey” adding your name once more.

It’s absolutely impossible for her to not be aware of how stupidly and irritatingly cute she is.

You press on the button and clear your throat. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t practice your greeting in front of a mirror as well. Your robe cascades down your shoulder, you fixate on it and contemplate pulling up the fabric.

Toodles meows once more.

Yup. You should keep it down.

It takes Ellie a good five minutes to walk the full distance from the front gate to your huge white door.

Then she knocks three times on the wood, and you squeak like a mouse although you really were fully prepared.

Your tutor wears a blue flannel with a white undershirt tucked beneath. The first button is opened, revealing a tiny piece of her pale skin. Below, her legs are covered with tight skinny jeans with a tear on the knee (you’re not sure if she fell or if it’s done purposely so), and to your surprise — no Chuck’s, but Doc Martens.

Noted. She has more than one pair of shoes.

When you greet Ellie with a cheerful — yet ever so relieved and breathy “Hi”, you kiss her on the cheek like you do all of your friends, and you can smell that cheap cologne again.

Amber, citrus, musk, lavender.

There’s a hint of actual Ellie in the mix as well — smoke, herbs, sweat… did she run here?

When you hug Ellie you focus on her scent.

When you hug Ellie she focuses on absofuckinglutely nothing — Her body goes rigid and stiff and she doesn’t hug you back until two way too long seconds pass, and she finally manages to place her hand on your waist.

But she doesn’t hug or squeeze, she rests it there.

Then she coughs.

“Hey”

You take a step back and you can tell she’s a bit flushed, or flustered — but you take it as her just running. You lean your hand against one of the thick pillars. Her orbs travel frantically from your eyes down to your… legs, that are completely bare and smooth and shiny, then they run down to your feet, which are covered with heels…

You think she might say something about it, about you, how ridiculous you look, so you’re washed up with self consciousness and shyness which is something you rarely get to feel, unless you’re with that damn girl for some reason.

Then her eyes hyper-focus on… the ceiling?

You grant Ellie a half smile and you really yearn to break the silence — but she’s ahead of you. Again.

“It’s… you have a really high ceiling” she says, then immediately glues her eyes on to the floor.

“Uh, shiny floor…” she chuckles so freaking awkwardly, grazing the bottom of her left legs doc’s on the floor so it squeaks. Immediately, Ellie apologizes.

“Shit, sorry, my shoes fuckin’ muddy. I uh, ran here”

You gingerly smile and furrow your brows. You theory has been proven correct. “You ran?”

“Walked, like, not ran ran”

There’s the tiniest droplet of sweat on Ellie’s forehead, which she wipe’s swiftly and clumsily with the back of her hand when she notices your eyes scan it. Oh, she ran ran alright. You do feel a little bad, picturing Ellie’s shoes hitting below her ass as she runs through the streets of your city, with a packed and awfully heavy mauve backpack — smacking against her back with every step she takes. You almost pout, you’re still leaning against the pillar and you smack your lips together — gloss and all, out of habit.

“Could’a given you a ride, y’know” you light sweetly. Ellie’s scarred eyebrow arches up in response. “You have a license?”

You so want to shove her shoulder playfully, but you’re convinced it’ll make her go absolutely rigid again. Physical contact bricks her up — noted.

“Why is that such a surprise?” you flash her a teasing smile. She smiles back at you.

“S’just, thought you’d have a personal driver. Can’t really imagine you driving that monster of a Rover back there —“

You nod in complete amusement. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Ellie teases, followed by a throaty chuckle. “Plus, took you more of a passenger princess type of girl”

And that sentence shouldn’t make you stutter the way you do next. It shouldn’t, but it does. You back away slowly and Ellie follows your footsteps.

“T-that’s, awfully presumptuous” you chirp. Her boots stomp on the floor and your heels click clack. “Plus, I don’t drive that Rover. My car’s in the garage with the rest of ‘em” you say matter-of-factly.

Ellie scoffs impishly behind you. You walk up the stairs and she follows suit. She’s confident when she teases, you think, which is a tad different than her usual awkward self, but if only you knew she nearly slipped down one of the steps as she noticed the tiniest, delicious, most precious piece of your flesh that was just exposed behind you as a result of your incredibly short nightie.

“Psh, so presumptuous”

As you walk towards your room, Ellie walks behind you although she has more than enough space to walk besides you. You get the feeling that she's nervous, even after her teasing and all, and you don't have to wonder why too much. Your house is huge, intimidating, filled with strange sculptures and paintings by obscure artists regular people have never even heard of. You don't have just one living room, you have three, and in each and every one of them stands a different technology piece of some sort. Also, your heels cost more than her outfit, could be more worth than the entirety of her damn closet, and most importantly — you're walking with a pink robe and some heels on.

When you reach your room, Ellie awkwardly smiles and straightens her muscular back. Then, she holds on to the straps of her backpack.

"First of all" you sigh, and now it's your turn to feel coy. "Thank you for coming over so late. I know it's like, absolutely ridiculous, and you know, you don't get paid for this so...", you flash Ellie an endearing smile, the apples of your cheeks rising sweetly as a humble thank you. "And, second of all... jus'... brace yourself?"

Ellie's brows arch up, but before she has time to ask — oh.

You both step into your lit room. Toodles follows by closely, entering the room as well, whilst rubbing his furry back against Ellie's calves.

"Yup..."

Ellie's fingers instinctively clasp onto the straps of her backpack once more, her eyes widening ever so slightly, but she fights to seem as unsurprised as she can — she fails miserably, because she gasps a little.

Your room is nothing but a... cotton candy dream world. A wall that's painted in pretty dusty pink, a princess bed that's nothing but a regal centerpiece. Above the bed, a canopy of gossamer silk drapes from a custom-crafted wrought iron frame, And the final sophisticated touch, a grand crystal chandelier, suspended from the ceiling. There are also clothes everywhere, empty water bottles, used sheet masks, a stack of books — some half-read, others forgotten, teetered precariously on a random corner. Ellie sticks out like a sore thumb. She stands out like a neon sign in a library, a skateboard at a black-tie gala.

You like it.

She clears her throat, stepping further into your room. "I take it black is your favorite color?" she titters sarcastically.

You giggle.

"Mhm, also I'm clearly very organized, and I hate clothes" you murmur and point out the pile of dresses haphazardly bunched in the corner of your room.

She should feel out of place. She should probably laugh, even sneak a pic — tell all her "cool" friends about how mindblowingly ridiculous the prissy rich girls room is. Instead, she thinks about how cute you must look cuddled up in a bed this big, how adorable it'd be to see your bed-head poking through the sheets at 8am, how sweet it must be to watch you skip around your room, trying on your shitload of clothes, throwing them in the air and huffing like a medieval brat of a princess. She wants to place a fucking tiara on your head. She sees your sticker collection from the corner of her eye, your vinyls, your candles, your crystals and Toodles' sofa.

And she likes it.

You take a deep breath. You shouldn't even care if she likes it or not, you shouldn't be bothered by it at all — you rarely are, but something inside of you yearns for... something.

"It suits you" she murmurs.

And that's certainly good enough, because it does.

You gesture Ellie to sit on the rolling chair next to yours, and her eyes still roam over the space of your room. “My room looks exactly the same, by the way… same uh, size too… n’stuffed animals… Shit, I like the elephant one”, she sarcastically remarks as she sits on the chair and hunches down, manspreading as she often does. Your eyes can’t help but roam down, because her damn thighs flexed under those jorts and you heard her, but you also kind of didn’t.

Ellie clears her throat and narrows her eyes. Jheez, she thinks, you must be absolutely exhausted since your eyes don’t seem to be able to focus.

“Huh?” you say, startled. You’re still standing up on those heels. Ellie sniffles and chuckles and her voice goes all quiet.

“Said pink nauseates me, that I hate those stuffed animals and that your elephant doll’s ugly as shit”

You roll your eyes and your tongue swipes over your glossy bottom lip. You bite it and you sit down on the chair. Ellie’s eyes scan over your chest and she averts her gaze like a deer caught in headlights.

“Hate you, chem tutor” you huff, resting your head on the palm of your hand. Ellie doesn’t maintain a second of eye contact but she chuckles and it’s cocky.

“You need me, and you need an A in chemistry”

You like that side of her.

You let your eyes blink lazily at her, a cheeky little smirk forming on your lips. When you open your mouth again, just to smack it on your glossy lips, you brush your leg ‘accidentally’ against hers, and rigid she goes. “Mhm, I definitely need you, Ellie…”

The apples of Ellie’s cheek shine in bright crimson and her hand flexes. She grabs her pen and clicks on it once. You didn’t mean it like that, she so obviously knows or believes, but it matters nonetheless. You like that side of her so much more.

You cross your pretty legs and let the tip of your heel graze her chair. “So, you want a drink before we start studying?”, you’re way too damn close, she nods — but she doesn’t need a ‘drink’ she needs a damn water fountain that directly flows onto her mouth and satisfies that damn drench. Is it possible for her damn knee to feel hot? Why is her knee feeling hot?

��Anything specific?”

“Jus’ waters fine” Ellie manages to murmur, lips forming a teeny tiny, shy, crescent smile.

“I was thinking more… like, wine? I have a wine cooler n’my room… if you wanted water i’d have to like, go downstairs and… It’s so lonely in there” your voice is saccharine, delicate, and it and coaxes Ellie’s mind.

“Wine’s perfect, I love wine” says Ellie.

She hates wine.

“Mhm, red or white?” — Your question comes when you lift your butt off the chair and walk slowly towards the cooler.

“Uh, r-red. S’much… richer” Ellie falters, remembering vaguely the time Joel had mentioned white wine’s for pussies. When she tried a red one, she gagged.

“Impressive” you note.

Ellie rolls the chair with the help of her heavy Doc's, and watches as you pour the red liquid into two delicate glasses. Your leg, she notices, is clad with a shiny, delicate golden piece of jewelry. Her eyes scan upwards, towards your bare thighs — the flesh is glistening, almost appearing as if it's covered with oil. Her mind drifts elsewhere, to a world in which your nightie is nothing but nonexistent, and those thighs...

Her stomach grumbles, she firmly holds onto it. Why NOW.

"Hungry?" you place the glass on the table, slightly nudging it towards Ellie.

She's starving.

you flash her a devilish smirk, cocking your head to the side.

"Oh, uhh... nope"

Famished.

[dearhargrove]

summary for all that he’s rough, you're soft.

word count 817

You're all over him the second he comes home. He's covered in blood, sweat and other substances — all from his most recent ‘hunt’.

And yet you're clinging to him, arms around his narrow waist and pretty smiling face pushed into his chest. He has soft sides to him, goofy ones, that usually only come out when he's with his brother Dimitri. But with you he finds himself uncaring, not masking any emotions whatsoever.

“You took longer than I thought.. had me worried.” It's a murmur into his skin and his large hands gently wrap around your waist in reassurance, “I am fine. Not a scratch.”

It's a lie and you both know it; he's bruised up and bloody in too many places for you to not be worried.

“Go, you need a shower.”

He obeys your command and does a quick playful bow, which makes you chuckle. As you're about to go back to your previous task of putting new sheets on the bed you feel yourself being lifted up and held to a firm chest. With a yelp you grab at the next best thing – in this case his shoulders.

“I think I deserve my girl in the shower, too.”

He grins and when he's in the bathroom he sets you down on the counter next to the sink, making it his task to carefully and slowly undress you, leaving you only in panties. When you're bare he momentarily stops in his tracks, eyes taking in your soft and unmarred skin.

“Never gonna let anything happen to you,” he suddenly promises, firmly gripping your thighs. Your pout from being manhandled turns into a soft expression and you hum knowingly, pecking his shoulder sweetly.

“I know.”

He stares thoughtfully for a moment longer, then takes his own pants off and gets into the shower to adjust the water temperature, holding out his hand to you when the water is warm.

You slide off the counter, take your panties off and grasp his hand, not fully able to wrap your fingers around his large palm and let him pull you under the stream of water.

His eyes are just as intense as always as he watches you get your hair soaked and body warmed up. Blindly reaching for your shampoo he makes a noise in the back of his throat before firm fingers begin to massage your shampoo into your scalp and hair carefully.

While the water washes away the suds you open your eyes again, adoring smile on your face. “Hi, handsome.”

He huffs in amusement and shortly taps under your chin.

The shower takes as long as it usually does when you share, him insisting to wash your hair and your body, then in turn huffing at being pampered himself. When you step out he has a steadying hand on your waist to prevent any accidents on the damp floor, already wrapping a soft towel around your body before you could even ask for one.

While he does your hair care for you, you focus on brushing your teeth and doing the little skincare you own — turning to grin at him with your face shiny with lotion and smelling of sugar and sweetness.

He pokes your side before brushing his own teeth, running his fingers through his curls and calling it a day.

“Sergei,” you pout, always quick to keep his skin from going dry as well as his hair. He sighs and bends down enough so you can reach, already accustomed to your little routine, as you lotion his face and put some hair oil into his curls.

“All done.” He hums and looks at you with all the adoration in the world mirrored in his blue eyes. He's still shirtless, only in his boxers – and of course wearing the necklace – while you're in your pajamas, fuzzy socks, slippers and a soft bathrobe.

He can't help but count himself the luckiest man alive; living a life as comfortable as this, no matter the side of brutality, with a girl like you waiting for him at home every day.

Acting on his desire he easily picks you up and carries you pressed to his firm chest into bed, careful as he lays you down.

“I'm being spoiled,” you giggle and he melts just a little further, letting your hands pull him down onto the mattress so you can cuddle into his side and use his chest as a pillow.

“Always need to spoil my girl,” he muses, fingers spread on your lower back.

You smile into his skin and trace invisible shapes on his firm abs, already halfway into a nap. You just barely hear it when he mumbles an ‘I love you’ and kisses the top of your head, but it makes you smile and squeeze impossibly closer to him.

[kirbmey]

⠀⠀ཐི ˚̣̣̣ ⠀⠀ husband!sylus spoils you rotten⠀ ˚̣̣̣ ཋྀ

synopsis: sylus’ just a man who’s blindly in love at the end of the day. a man who’s also ridiculously rich and happens to be married to a little angel who loves pink and shiny things ꒰՞◌• ༝ •◌꒱♡

tw: more fluff (i just need him to take care of me), usage of ‘daddy, reader is a sweatheart, money doesn’t have value for these people at all, reader is very feminine and materialistic (sylus’ fault), mentions of pregnancy and baby fever, he smokes, etc.

being laid down on top of the pink fluffy blanket covering the big four-seater leather couch while waiving your feet slowly and scrolling mindlessly through your favorite luxury brands’ websites was definitely a hobby; an expensive hobby.

but weren’t those pink miumiu ballerinas just so perfect for the spring? and what about that dior shoulder bag? the handle made out of white gold with little diamonds creating details around the fabric? to the cart it goes.

let’s not even get started with make up, knowing how much sylus liked it when you wore this crimson chanel lipstick to his prestigious meetings, you just had to buy another one, and it had to be the limited edition, too… ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

he was more than okay with you leaving him dry (he has money for infinite lifetimes) every other day, handing you his black card when you two started dating a year ago; got married two months after.

sylus just had to make you his wife, his trophy, you were so perfect to his eyes, his ideal type. everything about you, physically and mentally fit with him like a puzzle. like a barbie to her ken.

and he was so… so. god, he was like a god (he kinda was). tall, fit, deep voice, pretty face, beautiful eyes, soft hair… and a plus to that, he was rich and influential. and he wanted you and only you! ૮ ෆ ´ ˕ ` ෆ ა

so you just clicked on the ‘check out’ button and wrote down the digits you ended up learning by heart, caressing the rock on your finger while waiting for the confirmation of your order.

sure, these expensive goods took longer than usual to be shipped, blah blah blah. sylus was one of the richest men in the country, his name was written in gold on every luxury brand list. when they saw he ordered something, anything, even just a hair clip, he was prioritized.

you happily jumped out of your seat, skipped with joy towards your husbands office, knocking before hearing a clear ‘come in’ from him.

“daddy, daddy! wanna see what i got for tomorrow’s party?” you asked with that sweat tone that you only reserved for him, sitting on his expensive wooden desk and swinging your feet.

“of course i do, kitten, lemme see.” he closed his laptop immediately, pulling the tall leather chair closer to your small frame and holding your ankles between his slender fingers, massaging your manicured feet while you scrolled through your phone to show him pictures and the inspo you got out of pinterest.

you started to rant about all the things you bought with his money, gaining low hums while he stared at you with heart-shaped eyes, an erase-able smile plastered of his sculpted face.

sylus loved it when you used his money and then bragged about it, loved it when someone complimented your outfit at a fancy dinner and you kindly thanked, saying your husband bought it for you.

but his favorite part of this whole process was when you made him sit on your bed which was filled with high-end bags, so many that the sheets weren’t even visible anymore, and gave him a detailed haul of everything, with try on included (by his request).

he’d order you to twirl around while he sipped on some french wine and smoked his cuban tobacco, manspreading so you could stand between his legs and allow him to take in every detail.

ever since he started dating you he slowly noticed these expensive brands paid crazy amount of attention to every detail, and he loved tracing the intricate shapes printed on the fabric while complimenting you.

but you were no selfish! no sir, you also bought things for your beloved, fantasizing about matching outfits with him, ordering him light colored clothes; things he’d never wear if it wasn’t for you.

“mm, what else do we have here… i don’t even remember what i got this time.” you mumbled while you stood on your knees on top of the mattress, throwing the empty bags away as you looked for the ones you haven’t opened yet.

“oh. my. god. sylus, close your eyes.” you told him trying to mask your excitement, grabbing the huge bag between weak fingers and placing it in front of him. “open them now, look.”

“isn’t this too big for you, honey?” he questioned leaving the cigarette in the ashtray, holding the white leopard fur coat up, the tag said ‘dolce & gabbana’, one of his favorite brands.

“no, silly. it’s for you. i thought you’d look so good with it on.” you revealed, grabbing his hand to coax him into standing up, stripping him naked out of his shirt and getting on your tippy toes to dress him with said coat.

he really looked expensive with it on, showing off his trained abs and juicy pecs while making his broad figure appear even more prominent, the neck chain he often wore visible.

he wasn’t used to using big pieces like this, but he let you style him as a mere mannequin; he’d always get more compliments then usual on his outfits ever since you started matching them with yours.

he’d often caught you checking out baby clothes or nursery furniture when your period got close, too. and couldn’t help but imagine how good of a mother you’d be, how beautiful you’d look in your sleeping gowns with a swollen belly.

if sylus already cherished you in front of everyone, proud of showing you off as his wife, he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of showing off an entire family ૮꒰ ྀི ◜ . ◝ ྀི꒱ა

but there was time for that, you were too young still and he wasn’t going to age or die any time soon.

he just hoped you wouldn’t ask for a baby; he didn’t know how to decline you.

a/n: i’ve been an unfaithful girl writing sm about caleb and neglecting my favorite boy sy like this :(

— masterlist.

[wriokitty]

not a selfship but i am taking advantage to get more uncle sukuna content out of u lake. running into baby yuuji at a grocery store and sukuna's looking for him & finds u with him?

“Hi!”

You glance down, caught off guard by the little voice coming from beside you. As soon as you meet two bright, shiny little wonder-filled eyes, you can’t help but melt at the small excited, innocent wave the kid sends you.

“Oh, hello,” you murmur, turning to face him properly, “are you lost, little guy?”

“No,” he beams, “my Uncle Kuna is playing hide and seek with me.”

“In a grocery story?” You blink. (You have some choice words for this Unkle Kuna—what sort of caretaker plays hide and seek in a grocery store of all places? Children can be snatched up by strangers anywhere, and it’s by sheer luck alone that this child ran into you and not someone with…less than good intentions.)

Just as you frown at the idea, a sharp voice interrupts your thoughts. “Yuuji, get back here! I’m not playing these games with you.”

The child, who you assume is Yuuji, giggles, hiding behind your leg as a tiny fist grabs onto your pants.

“Shh,” he whispers (rather loudly) up at you, “don’t tell Uncle Kuna I’m here!”

Suddenly, a man rounds the corner of an aisle, pushing a cart and walking up to you quickly with a scowl on his face as he purses his lips when he sees the evidence of a tiny hand clasping around your leg. He looks a lot like Yuuji, in fact—same pale pink hair and same brown eyes. Except he has tattoos along his cheeks, and much sharper looking cheekbones that make his face a touch harsher.

Handsome, you think. Good genes must run in the family—he’s as handsome as Yuuji is adorable.

“Have you seen a runt about this tall who’s not getting fed dinner tonight and will be locked away in my dungeon?” He asks, giving a crooked smile when a soft, horrified little gasp comes from behind your leg.

“No!” Wails Yuuji, looking up at you with hopeful eyes. “Don’t let him take me!”

“Don’t listen to him,” the man grunts, “he’s gettin’ spoiled. Any more and he’ll be completely rotten.”

With that, he grabs Yuuji and hoists him up to sit on his hip, scowling at him before he gently takes the sleeve of his shirt and wipes Yuuji’s lips of the smeared remnants of ice cream.

You melt a little on the inside once more, the harsh scolding ready on your lips already forgotten.

“Thanks for finding him,” he mutters, giving you a brief glance. “Turned around to grab one thing, and he ran off before I could catch ‘im.”

“It’s…it’s no problem,” you breathe.

Handsome, you think again. What a painfully, stupidly handsome man.

Carina no one loves me like u my fave vehicle

[chaotic-birds]

1-800-red-hoods-gas-station-attendant-service

Your boyfriend's not fond of you pumping your own gas at night, so he insists you don't do it alone.

🩹 G/AUs: fluff, est. relt. 🩹 TW: reader (f) is called beautiful, pretty, princess, baby, doll (i love nicknames okay leave me alone 😭), mentions of blood and fighting 🩹 WC: 1.5k 🩹 A/N: Inspired by this reel (sfw). Just a little fun and easy read 💗 enjoy!

this blog is 18+. minors do not interact. plz & ty! (ageless/minors/blanks blogs will be blocked)

masterlist

Ever since Jason caught a group of people trying to rob someone at the gas station a week ago, he’s insisted you not get gas alone—especially at night.

Your arguments fall on deaf ears. He’s put his foot down and covered it in cement. There’s nothing you can say to make Jason change his mind.

“Hey, beau”—grunts—”tiful. Need somethin’?” Jason asks after the fourth ring.

You can faintly hear the sound of fists hitting skin in the background.

“You busy, handsome?” you wonder, eyes glancing at the low fuel light glaring at you. You already know his answer and the real answer before he speaks.

“Nope,” he answers followed by more grunting. “You home from your ladies' night?”

Upon seeing a gas station in the distance, you signal to take the highway's exit ramp.

“Not yet. I called because I’m low on gas and need to get some to make it home. I figured calling you while I pumped—”

“Where are you?” he asks instead, voice slightly strained.

“Near upper west side.”

“Come to the diamond district, and I’ll meet you there.”

You pull into an empty pump station.

“I’m already at a gas station, Jay. Just—”

“It’s not safe.”

“You’re tracking my location and you can hear—”

“It’s not safe to use your phone while getting gas too,” he continues to interrupt.

You heave a sigh and lean back into your seat, unable to stop your eyes from checking your locks. Although you’ve always been weary of pumping gas at night, you try not to be too paranoid. You hate being on edge all the time.

“Please, doll?” he pleads, breathing heavier.

There are curses in the background that don’t sound like Jason. His attackers must not like him much.

“Alright, but hurry. My light’s on,” you say. You sit straighter and shift gears to leave.

“I’m on my way now. Hey, Red Ro—”

The line cuts off, but you figure Jason’s recruiting Tim to take care of his loose ends. You feel bad for taking Jason away from his work, but you don’t want him to be upset with you for getting gas by yourself. He’s not fun when he’s grumpy.

Jason’s sitting comfortably on his motorcycle when you turn into the station.

When he sees your car, he stands and waves. You know there’s a grin behind his helmet.

The gas station is empty except for the convenience store worker. He looks at the vigilante suspiciously from inside.

You park at the station he’s at, turn off the car, and pull the lever that opens the gas tank. You climb out and smile at him, holding your card in one hand.

“Hi there, cutie. You come here often?” you tease.

He chuckles and swiftly pays for the gas before you can. You give him a disapproving look that he ignores.

“Only for you, princess,” he replies.

You put your card away as he takes the pump and untwists the tank’s cap.

“You don’t have to do that,” you say, feeling guilty again. You figured he’d come and watch the area, not actually pump your gas for you.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “You can sit back down and jus’ look pretty for me, baby.”

“That makes me sound like a spoiled brat,” you huff but do as you’re told, keeping the door open so you can converse.

Jason leans against your car as he fills your tank.

“Well, you’re only half right. You are spoiled, but that’s the way I like it.”

You shake your head at his reply, but there’s a smile on your face. Truthfully, it’s a little nice to not have to worry about anything—to just let Jason care for you.

Your eyes scan his tall form, taking in his armored-covered body and shiny helmet. You notice a few dark spots on his gloves and clothes that you figure are blood.

“It’s a little funny seeing the Red Hood pump my gas,” you quip as you grin at him.

“What can I say? I’m here to help the citizens of Gotham in any way,” he jokes.

“You have a busy night?” you ask, recalling the phone call from earlier.

“Nothin’ too extreme,” he replies.

When your tank is full, he returns the pump and twists the cap back on.

He moves in front of you, resting one hand on the car’s top while he leans down.

“If it weren’t for that goober watching us like a hawk, I’d give you a kiss,” he says.

“Only a kiss? I’d pull you in the back seat and have some fun,” you say with a flirty smile.

He laughs and lowers his head more. You’re so tempted to kiss him.

“We’ll have fun at home,” he says.

“You’re coming back with me?” you ask, eyes opening wider with hope.

He shakes his head. “Sorry, princess. I still need to go help Tim. I’ll be back soon though.”

“Define soon,” you reply with a slight pout.

Jason drops in a squat so he can take your hands; the act is hidden by your door.

“An hour or two?” he says. “But don’t wait up. It could be longer.”

You nod solemnly.

Jason squeezes your hands, thumbs rubbing your skin tenderly.

“Text me when you get home, ‘kay?” he asks.

“Okay,” you say.

Jason releases your hands to rub your thighs.

“Thank you for calling me,” he adds.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want my boyfriend upset with me,” you huff halfheartedly.

Jason squeezes your legs.

“Just want ya safe, doll.”

“I know,” you sigh and place your hands over his.

“I better get going,” he says and reluctantly begins to pull away.

You grab his hands to hold him close.

“Ya know, you might as well just kiss me. I think the worker knows you’re not just here to pump a random Gothamite’s gas.”

Jason chuckles and takes a peek at the window. The worker still looks on, but now with a confused face. When he notices Jason staring, he averts his gaze. Though, Jason knows it won’t last long.

“Fine,” he relents and leans down.

You grin, reaching out to cup his helmet as you kiss the cool material. Of course, it’s not the same as feeling his lips on yours, but the sentiment is felt.

“Love you,” you murmur as you pull away and drop your hands.

Jason sighs longingly. “Love you too, beautiful. See you at home.”

“See you,” you reply.

Jason ends up following you for a while for extra precaution before heading back to his patrol shift. He doesn’t come home for another three hours.

When he does, you’re on the brink of sleep. Still, you turn in his arms so you can snuggle your face against his chest.

“Missed you,” you mumble.

His chest vibrates as he laughs. “You saw me a few hours ago.”

“And what ‘bout it, Todd?” you huff.

He pulls you even closer and rests his head against yours. His body feels so nice. You wish you could stay in his arms for days.

“Nothin’, doll. I missed ya too,” he says in a deep, tired voice.

“Hmph! Thought so,” you reply and carefully lift your head to give him a triumphant smile.

Jason releases an amused puff of air.

“Get some sleep, silly,” he says.

“Kiss first,” you demand, puckering your lips dramatically.

Jason grins and angles his face to give you a tender smooch.

Your lips spread in a grin upon feeling him directly.

When he goes to pull away, you whine in protest and chase after him. You capture his mouth again before he can get too far.

Jason laughs into the kiss, pulling you on top of him. His hands trail up your sides to cup your face. His warmth spreads from your cheeks to your heart.

There’s a dopey, sleepy smile on your face when you pull away.

“God, I love you,” Jason says with the utmost sincerity that squeezes your heart.

“Not as much as I love you,” you sing-song, leaning down to peck his lips.

“Yeah, right,” he chuckles and moves his hands back to your sides. He slides them under your shirt to feel you directly.

Instead of arguing, you lean down to kiss him once more.

“You’re comfy,” you mumble.

He can’t stop the happiness that shows on his face at your words. He gently eases you down by pressing lightly on your upper back and says, “Good. I like you like this.” 

He adjusts his head against his pillow and closes his eyes, arms holding your body to his like a teddy bear.

“I like being here,” you reply and lay your head on his chest. You love hearing the rhythm of his heart.

You feel him give your head a kiss before he gets settled. It’s not long before his breathing gets steadier, and his arms lax slightly around your body. As you join him in dreamland, you realize you’ll never feel safer than in his arms. 

A/N: I have this for my other blog, so I wanted to share it here too: For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

©️chaotic-birds // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

[moonlightcycle571]

Rock of Eternity Getting Offerings because they deserve it

I like to think that whenever there’s a magical artifact that needs containment, Billy just… takes it. Here is how it started.

Billy, after defeating an evil wizard: so… what do I do with the Staff???

Solomon: it cannot be kept in the world of man, it’s far to dangerous. You must destr-

Achilles: NEW LAMP

Hemrmes: YESSSSSSSS

Hercules: WAR TROPHY

Solomon: that is highly irresponsible, we cannot keep highly volatile objects for ‘the aesthetic’

Zeus: the burning violon

Solomon:

Solomon: well some decor never hurt anyone.

*and*

JL, after a long battle: Finally the foe has been vanquished! Now to find a secure place to stor-

Marvel, yoinks it and yeets it in a portal: done

Everyone present: w h a t

*or*

Amanda Waller: -thus the proof we need to detain you for breaking into secure government location and theft of a classified artifact

Marvel: *points to the screen* that’s not me

Waller: that’s litterally you in a French beret and a fake mustach

Marvel: I don’t know who that is, but they do look dashingly handsome. And look like a Gustavo. Probably a French mime who failed mime class and left on a journey of self discovery.

Waller: you can’t be serious

Captain Atom, fuck the government rn: I don’t know, Cap doesn’t have a mustach

Batman: the mime theory seems like a pretty sold theory to me

Several people (heroes, civilians, villains and all in between) telling Cap was with them as the time at the crime, each of them being vastly different.

Waller: this mf secretly a mass manipulator???

*or*

Cap, fighting in a museum:

Hermès: Ooh I know this pendant. Super magical, super cool.

Cap, on instinct, puts in pocket dimension to put it on the Rock:

Flash: … did I witness a theft????

Wether the pendant was actually magic or just a shiny jewel Hermes wanted is up for interpretation.

Anyways that’s how whenever he finds magical artefacts or books or whatnot, he just puts them in the Rock of Eternity. It’s a logical solution, as it serves as a place to safeguard and examine, and maybe purify some objects to use later.

The Wizard is so done. It started off as ‘dangerous artefacts to be relocated when a suitable place is found’ but then it became the go to storage and all the stuff just stays.

Thé Rock in the other hand, loves it. Getting more and more offerings by their new champion really shows how loved they are. It’s has been way too long since they got any offerings and new additions, so the newest champion giving them plenty of nourishment / stimulation is as if they are being spoiled.

Billy, brings an ancient cursed crown:

Wizard: another one???

Rock, already pushing Wizard aside: FOR ME!!!! TYTYTYYTY OH MY ME YOU ARE GOING TO LOOK SO CUTE WOTH THIS HOLD ONE LET ME JUST REPLACE THE MAGOC WOTH MINE

Five hours later Billy is chilling in one of the thrones with his new crown and one of his magic cape to match.

In conclusion, Billy is like a cat bringing a mouse in the house, except the mouse is actually a rubix cube that sometimes turns into sushi.

Yes Billy did bring a magic rubix cube that makes sushi when completed. Now I kinda want sushi ngl

[ozzgin]

Yandere!Zombie x Grave Robber!Reader

content: gender neutral reader, scumbag reader, monster romance

"The right one will eventually come to you," mother used to say.

Except "the one" never did come. He sighs and turns around in his cramped resting place, glaring ahead. Pathetic, miserable tomb with no one else but him in it.

"Thanks for nothing, mom," he declares bitterly. He can't remember where they buried her, but she must be nearby.

What else is there to do except to rot away? If only it happened faster, then he wouldn't have to deal with his loneliness; he'd be a pile of shiny bones, unconcerned with such philosophical desires.

Suddenly, the unexpected happens: his coffin creaks heavily, door rumbling from repeated, monotonous blows. The hatch gives in, and he squints his eyes, cowering before the flood of pale moonlight.

"Damn it! Nothing valuable." You click your tongue and stuff your shovel in the rustled soil. "I guess this one's been dead for a while. They must've taken everything already."

You stretch your neck over the grave, glancing in one final time. Maybe you can sell the bones for some scraps, after all. Your eyes rest upon the pale man, who almost seems to be alive, staring at you with a gaping mouth.

He blinks.

With a shriek, you throw yourself back, scrambling to get away from the monstrous ghoul. It's not your lucky night, that's for certain.

He swings himself up, his spine nearly collapsing in the process. He hasn't moved in centuries, but this is the chance of a lifetime. Fate's call, one could even argue.

"Wait!" he shouts, lunging at your ankles. "Please, take me with you."

You turn around and notice his lower half must've detached somewhere along the way. You've been dragging him along.

"Ugh, what would I do with a spoiled cadaver? You can't even pull yourself up, man."

You glare at him with mild disgust, but allow him to at least release his hold on you and retrieve his legs. He coughs awkwardly, putting himself back together.

"You try moving after hundreds of years," he retorts.

The zombie scans your face and grins.

"What's so funny?" you bark, shoving your hands in your pockets.

Maybe the right one does eventually show up. It took him a lifetime of waiting, but you’re finally here. His.

He rummages his pockets, frantically searching for something. Finally, he extends his bony fingers and hands you a ring.

“Hmm, I guess I could pawn this off,” you say, inspecting the precious stone.

“No! It’s your engagement ring!” he huffs, closing your hand around it.

Oh, for Christ’s sake.

“Fine!” you groan. “Pick up that shovel. If you’re going to stick around, you might as well help me.”

“Naturally. Come, I know where most of these fellas hid their expensive belongings.

He guides you around with a giddy smile. Does this count as your first date?

[Navigation] | [Ozztober Masterlist]

[wantonlywindswept]

another trope inversion of GAR/Guard interactions:

the GAR is entirely aware that Coruscant is a shit posting.

they're not blind; they can see all the anti-clone sentiment when they're on leave. even when they're deployed, it's not like they're cut off from all news - they know how many times bills for clone rights have gone to the Senate floor and been ruthlessly voted down. they can see how even their Jedi are restrained by the Senate dragging its feet and making bad choices and handling the war like it's a game of dejarik since it will never affect them personally.

very few politicians have the respect of the clones.

but the Guard still have to work with the spoiled, self-centered bastards, and the GAR knows that they're not being treated well. but what can they do? they have no rights, the Jedi are as trapped under the Senate's thumb as they are, and it's not like they can get regular citizens to do anything.

so they offer their support as much as they can. any Guard, any Corrie who needs help, all they have to do is find one of their brothers and it will be offered without any questions.

you'd think that crime rate would go up when battle-traumatized soldiers are given leave on a city-planet like Coruscant, but it actually goes down.

way down.

the thing criminals come to realize is that if you are being chased by one of the Guard, if ANY other clone catches sight of you, it is ON SIGHT. clones in casual clothes carrying food and drinks have dropped everything to immediately join a Guard's hunt, throwing themselves into the pursuit with glee and an energy that the usually-exhausted Guards often lack. (some of them howl. those, the criminal underground agrees, are the worst.) 

and with hundreds or thousands of clones wandering around during battalions' leave, it's possible to run into one of them anywhere. and they usually travel in packs.

best just to lay low for a while.

when it leaks that the Guard regularly run low on supplies, all sorts of things start to go missing on the venators. just a box or a crate here or there, ration packs or bacta patches or cold-weather gear. there are millions of clones and thousands of ships; it's not like every little thing can be tracked by the quartermasters. 

(rex realizes that, for whatever reason, his battalion is always prioritized for resupply, and rarely any questions are asked about their requisitions. rex takes immediate and shameless advantage of this. rex manages, somehow, to lose two entire bacta tanks, along with the bacta to fill them.)

and ofc the idea that started this whole ramble - when a shiny Corrie stumbles somewhere where some of the 501st are shooting the shit, causing everything to immediately come to a halt. the kid is clutching his helmet and one of his pauldrons to his chest; his hair is mussed up and there are tears on his cheeks and bruises on his face and unadulterated panic in his eyes. 

there's an angry call in the corridor.

the shiny flinches.

fives grabs him, hears him squeak, snaps out orders. echo yanks off his bucket and his upper armor; jesse lunges for a blanket. they hustle the kid into a chair, drape the blanket over his lower body, hastily swap his upper armor and helmet for echo's. fives shoves the armor somewhere, doesn't matter, it's out of sight with the telltale red, and they all barely have enough time to drop themselves back into the chairs arranged around the table and pick up their cards before some natborn stomps into the room.

anything we can do for you, sir? sorry, no, the Guard didn't stop in here. we saw him head back down toward the rotunda, though. yes, sir. have a nice day, sir.

they close and lock the door. fives goes back to the shiny. fives was instantly prepared to help a fellow clone in need.

fives was not prepared for tears.

the kid gets snot all over the inside of echo's helmet. they take him back to Guard HQ. fox is painfully, desperately relieved to see him. fox looks too-thin and too-tired but there is a fresh GAR-issued bacta patch covering a slash across the side of his cheek. he thanks them for saving the shiny, like that's something that ever needs gratitude, but is swept away before any of them can say that. 

fives doesn't think that misplaced bacta and pilfered rations are enough support for the Guard anymore.

thankfully, rex and the rest of the GAR agree.

[starkeyisthelastname]

(Here you are my gorgeous babes! 😘💕) Because Dealer!Rafe has enough money and then some more.💰😻💖

You knew Rafe sold drugs, the first interaction of you two was because you needed weed and your friend knew of him. You just didn’t know the depth of it and nor did Rafe want you too. He would always tell you that you were too damn pretty to worry about it, never needing to really reveal how dangerous of a man he was.

Banks runs were a fun day, riding in the passenger seat of his blacked out Range Rover like the princess you were. Fresh mani-pedi, lash extensions thick, pretty Louis bag sitting next to your hip. He would have one ringed hand on the steering wheel, other hand holding his phone as he talked to Barry about something you didn’t understand or would even question. You already had tried that before, and was reassured Rafe could defend himself.

“Stay here, pretty girl.” He would tell you, phone still pressed to his ear as he began to open the drivers side door. You turned your head as you applied the Dior lipgloss in the mirror, looking at him with a glossy pout.

“Can I go in this time?” You asked, long lashes fluttering at him.

Rafe shook his head, gripping your jaw firmly to make you look up at him. “Quit fuckin pouting, you’re too goddamn gorgeous for that shit.” He said, voice low. “Let daddy handle his business and maybe you’ll get something.”

You nodded, eyes looking up at him like the perfect little doll you were. He loved every second of spoiling you with the massive amounts of trap money he made. He pulled you in for a sloppy kiss before pulling back with a smirk on his lips. He never had committed to any girl or ever wanted to, but something about you was different and he would give you whatever the fuck your precious heart desired.

You waited as patiently as you could, eyes glancing up at the door ever so often until you saw your tall boyfriend walking out of the bank, a couple blue bags in hand. He was so effortlessly sexy wearing his white tee, a gold chain resting against his collarbone, and fresh buzzcut bringing how his handsome face. He got into the drivers seat, setting two out of the three blue bags in the center console next to a shiny gun. He closed it, before handing you the one bag he left out.

Unzipping it, you looked into the bag to see bundle of cash wrapped in rubber bands and colorful tabs. He chuckled as you looked up at him, eyes a little wide at the amount.

“Go fucking crazy mama, daddy’s got plenty more to go around.” Rafe laughed, looking over his shoulder as he backed out of the parking space. He was a fucking boss and his money and girl were the only two priorities he was worried about. “You are a pretty princess aren’t ya? Pretty princesses deserve expensive shit.” He said, hand coming over to possessively grab your thigh.