#and sometimes just doesn't bother to want to use them

[moodymisty]

Could we get some more of Theo the Lamenter and his serf girlfriend, please? Maybe something NSFW?

They're just so sweet together!

Author's note: slight continuation to this post where Theo returns to his mea- love 🖤 did the ladder half while I'm in the hospital and am posting it right as I get ready for surgery, hope it still reads ok!

Relationships: Theo (Lamenter oc)/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Period kink, Oral (female receiving) Blood,

When Theo enters the restrictive confines of his quarters, the heady smell of iron and blood instantly fills his nose, heavy in his throat. He can taste it on the back of his tongue, and his mouth begins to fill with drool.

He closes the door behind him and it hisses shut, leaving him in the tight confines at last. He never imagined he would miss it; Barely wider than his outstretched arms with his cot and a few other small things. Now that you live in here with him, the underside of the cot filled with your things- he was much more amenable to the concept of this being a place he wanted to return to.

A home, one might say.

You're asleep curled in the blankets spread across his cot, many of them from your own quarters. The ship runs cold, and you lack his body mass to create enough heat on your own. When he's with you it's easy for you to steal his body heat, curling into the nook of his armpit and side, but when he's gone you're forced to use the copious amounts of blankets. They don't bother him, as long as your much more fragile body is well.

Theo knows you'll want him to wake you up so you can see him, as he doesn't know how long he will have with you this time. Stepping closer he leans down and jostles your shoulder, your head turning away from how it was smushed into the pillow.

He takes a breath, trying to withhold his hunger.

"Love, I have returned."

The way you go to face him and light up warms him, how despite the tiredness your eyes widen and glow with unfettered love.

"Theo!"

Your hands- so much more delicate than his- tug at his robes more so to pull you up towards him, than to pull him down to you. Your lips meet his, and he delights in the feeling of your hands wrapping in his hair once he puts an arm on your back to keep you up. His other hand presses into the cot, supporting himself as your mouth moves along with his, the soft sounds filling the room.

"I missed you," You whisper, and his brow furrows a bit. You shirk a bit, but a smile still remains on your face. You know what you did.

"I was informed." His face still remains stoic. "I told you that vox was for emergencies. When you voxxed I was concerned something had happened." You wilt a bit, the mischievousness fading to some level of shame. Theo feels a bit guilty for it, and lays off. He knows his tone can be too harsh for you- he's used to commanding seasoned astartes, talking to a woman like you is still, unfamiliar.

"Don't do that again. I worry for you on this ship alone."

It repeats in his head; He'll never tell you about the dreamed up vox from a fellow Lamenter he had that woke him up in a cold sweat.

Theo can't help but find potential dangers and enemies in everyone, even if he knows his brothers would never harm you, the other serfs you rarely speak with. He still feels as if something could go wrong and he would be miles away, fighting a wave of tyranids or orks and he would be none the wiser.

If one of his brothers fell to the Red Thirst and you were close...

"I promise I won't. I just, wasn't thinking straight."

Theo uses that hand supporting you to gently rub along your back. He notices some of your coyness return.

"But, I am still bleeding," Your lips are parted slightly in the preparation to speak, and Theo always finds himself a bit distracted by how sometimes, he can see the soft glistening of the wet of your lip. "If you're hungry."

By the Throne he is, but he doesn't want to just take it. No matter how many times you've said he just can, that he doesn't need to wait for so long and then ask, but the guilt still overtakes him.

Perhaps one day he'll just take without asking, but the guilt of the idea still eats at him.

"If you will let me." He sees you nod, but the thick smell of your arousal is more than enough for him.

Removing his hand from your back he lets you fall back onto the cot, shifting to push you upward and make room on the bottom half of it for him. He is forced to untangle your body from blanket after blanket you'd wrapped around yourself, the smell getting thicker with each one removed. When he finally reaches your skin, he watches the way your body flexes as his hands brush along your thighs and reach for your underwear.

It's one fell motion to pull them off of you, his hands returning to your inner thighs now and slowly pushing them apart. They fall apart with his hands, revealing to him your soft cunt slick with blood. His head falls cheek resting on the innermost apex of your thigh, breathing in.

Before he met you, the way his hunger grew so quickly and threatened to overtake him would fill him with shame, and when he'd first begun to fall for you, the first of your cycles in his presence had nearly made him lose control.

Now he can give in to it so easily, hearing you beg for something that to the Lamenters, is a curse of their genes. Your kindness is a gift he can never return in full, but he's selfish enough to just continue taking it.

"Please, please I want it,"

Theo would normally feel guilty, but you beg him so sweetly, and he knows doing this actually helps you feel better.

Makes the stomach pain hurt less, you say. He didn't entirely believe you at first, his lack of understanding of the female form and his worry you were trying to be strong for him. But, he made a comment to another Lamenter he knows has a female personal serf, and he said she told him the same.

Theo finds it interesting, how the term personal serf has become so ubiquitous with lover. As astartes they are discouraged from such pursuits, but that doesn't mean they haven't found ways.

His hot breath fans over your core, the very apex of that heady, bloody smell. He feels his hunger rise in him- he must control it- lips pressing against your outer lips as his tongue slips between.

He tells himself he must control it, but the moment your mix of blood and honey hits his tongue he is gone; His mouth pressing harder against your cunt pulled closer by a tightened grip on your hips.

You moan, loudly, and he would be concerned of someone overhearing had the walls not been inches thick metal, and his mind long since having faded the outside world to nothing but a bygone void.

Blood smears across his mouth, what little hasn't been eaten, and the cry of you cumming on his face only spurs him on more. He tastes you as you cum, mixed with flesh blood.

Your hands tangle in his hair and try to pull him closer, as if he isn't already pressed against your cunt hard enough to feel the bones of your pelvis resist him, nose rubbing on your clit and making you squeal. His hands push on your thighs, pushing them back and out- it causes your hips to raise just slightly and makes it easier for him to eat you deeper. With his strength you have no need to try and support yourself, completely limp on his cot as he laps at your entrance before pushing his tongue in.

Your hips thrash as the sloppy sounds of his mouth against your cunt fills the small quarters, only beaten by the creaking of the cot. He briefly moves away from your entrance to lap at your clit, and the way it has you squealing makes him groan against your cunt and unconsciously grind against the bed.

"Theo, Theo please,"

You mewl so wonderfully for him, wanting more, willingly feeding him. He laps at you with fervor, feeling his hunger slowly fade away. At least his hunger for blood, his hunger for you however only increases, as he smells your wanton body. You need to be filled, your body is telling you, and Theo will more than satiate it when his hunger has disappated.

Your hips shift underneath his hands in a desperate attempt to do anything at all, only to be met with the unmovable strength of an astartes. The afterglow is blinding- Theo can hear your heartbeat in his ears along with your deep breathing. You can barely speak, but he talks anyways.

"Do you want more, love?"

He whispers against your thighs, knowing the answer. He'd be tempted to do just it, he knows you'll say yes, but something about you drabbing him closer by his hair invigorates him; he dives in for another feast and relishes in the way you scream.

[obscureother]

ok one of the two horsemen of the f/o-pocalypse.

What do your f/o's hugs feel like? tight toO TIGHT- but i love them. Very protective hugs. Theyre spooky ghost hugs -v- he doesnt want anyone else to have the hugs but him either. he is stingy for love.

What are your favorite dates to have with them? riding horsies through the forest :D or halloween dates!! i love those <33 keeps him from beheading people or getting too bothered by other demons who mock him sometimes.

What are their favorite dates to have with you? i think he also likes to just go wandering through the forest. he prefers the quiet time together. . doesnt necessarily have to be on horseback, he likes going for walks together on foot. he just prefers, wherever they go, for it to be nighttime, quiet, and no one around for some far ways away that he and his partner can be themselves.

Do you have any songs that remind you of them? Do they have any songs that make them think of you? well, the headless horseman song, obvi 👀 all the variants i have and hold for the headless horseman song are all for him. but outside of that. . Elvis "Pocketful of Rainbows" has a lore behind it for him. I would like to find more songs for him tho. . Bing crosby ones maybe, cos thats the guy who narrates the whole thing.

What's the height difference between you and your f/o? with or without the head? /j (sorry i like to goof on him too. dfsd0-)if he had his head tho, i would think he's right below 6-foot, so maybe 5'11" or so. That would make him 8 inches different. His stump is right above eye level for me and s/i 1.

On a 1-10 scale, with 1 being the least and 10 being the most, how much do they like PDA with you? Aethelwolf is very private about affection. . I would say like. . 4/10, cos he'll hold me or s/i 1 so others know not to come close but he won't really be very "affectionate" other than polite gestures like helping off the horse or opening doors before going in after us. Arm around my waist, standing close to me. . sometimes i can get him to hold hand, but ill save that for the later question.

What's your favorite feature about your f/o? i like his laauugghh <33 i set his laugh as my alarm, my ringtone, my notification sound, brr. . i love his laugh so much.

What do you think they smell like? forest -v- like pine trees. . and dust. and dead leaves that are wet. :)) probably horse sometimes.

What is your f/os biggest love languages? They don't have to be one of the "five", it can be anything specific they use to show you love. he is very quiet overall, but he can be very tender in how he holds you. him being gentle in any way is his love language, and giving little things like flowers in your hair or silent good hugs that you know are him trying to tell you "i love you" but he cant get the words out so he squeezes you instead. He also would trust you with his horse. . cos his horse is his beloved. Her name is Rose, she's very sweet <: somewhere in there, there is sort of. . knightly behavior. he will scoop you up and whisk you away into the forest of spooks to take care of you.

Do you guys sleep in the same bed? If so, what's it like sleeping with them? Aethelwolf doesn't sleep normally lol. He stands guard. Once in a while he will lay down and rest his exhausted ghost energy from riding horses. Where he used to slump by his horse, he now leans on the door frame of the room to keep me or s/i 1 safe, but he does come over to s/i 1 on the bed if she wants to cuddle with him or hold him for a while. he'll hold her until she falls asleep, and then goes back to his self-made "post."

What's your favorite headcanon about your f/o? that he carves pumpkins for himself or leaves them for the one he loves or cares about. -v- he's really good at them. he can either slap something together scary, or he'll make very intricate carvings that are like freaking sculptures man. . its so cool. that and he also has a secretly very nice singing voice. . one you could, say, compare to old crooners. . but he doesnt use it hardly ever other than with s/i 1 or through very blue moon occasional humming to them. ok one more- his cape acts as expression for him. it will perk up, deflate, stiffen, etc. . ghost magic lol.

What is the dynamic that you and your f/o have? he's sort of. . guardian ghoul to me or s/i 1. quiet, stoic, spurned protector. . and then there is baby. s/i 1 who just thinks he is so cool and spooky and goofy, and the only one he lets tease about his headlessness /sometimes/ because she will kiss his stump. he's the "very temperamental" who gets the "soft cuddlebug" s/o to keep him from blowing his top.

What does your f/o do for you when you're having a rough day? he's very quiet comfort. . he helps un-stimulate, if you will, lol. He'll take me outside to sit under one of the trees and hold me while i empty thoughts or go deeper into them, fiddle with sticks on the ground, sometimes he hums to me. . sometimes he'll get rose to come over to pet her or love on her, brush her mane, things like that. Rose would be the greatest emotional support horse tho.

Do you like to hold hands? If so, what's that like? ah, this. . ok. so, Aethelwolf expresses physically because that is kind of the only way he can. He cannot give kisses or nuzzle into you, so he does hold around your body. Holding hands, tho, is a little. . soft for him. He doesnt mind it, but he's a little awkward to. He gets used to it over time with only s/i 1 or me, but for a very long time and even then, he is not used to having his hand. . held. its been forever since anyone held his hand even when he was alive. Sometimes he fumbles of which way to hold, but once its settled, then so is he. You can feel his nervousness in his grip, but he can be gentle and usually is. Unless he gets mad, then you can feel it getting too tight. . but he doesnt mean to. He gets very soothed if you run your fingers over his knuckles, it kind of. . slows him down before he can get aggravated at whatever is over there.

Do they like to give you little kisses? If so, where is their favorite place to kiss? (Face, hands, etc) He would give kisses if he could sometimes, i think. What he does instead is make a little. . muppet mouth with his hand, and he'll hold it up to touch on face, my hand, or on occasion to lips. . If he "kisses" hand, he is more vulnerable to holding hands then even tho he is kind of bashful about it. He was very awkward the first time he did this as he felt rather silly. . but because s/i 1 got what he was trying to do and ended up "kissing" him back, he kept going with it. should s/i 1 have not done that, he would have never done it again and probably been embarrassed about it for the rest of his undeath hsbjksf-

Vice versa, do YOU like to give them little kisses? If so, where is YOUR favorite place to give them? i love to give him kisses on his stump, but you gotta be gentle on him there cos its very sensitive. he got his head blown off by a canonball after all. but he loves the stump kisses, they make him soft and mushy -v- I also like giving kisses to his hand, especially if he does the muppet kisses. They make him flustered sometimes when i do it first to him even tho he's used to it a little bit now. i also give him lots of chest and shoulder kisses, sort of like how one would the front of or side of the face if he had one. i do give him kisses when he has a pumpkin head. i kiss him everywhere on the pumpkin head. he gets a little exasperated by it, but in a good way even tho sometimes it knocks it off his shoulders then he has to pick it back up again. 💜

What's your favorite silly leisure activity to do with your f/o? i also like to carve pumpkins with him or we eat candy :0 i can poke the little ones down his throat. its odd, but we make it work. i also like building little twig forts with him outside :0 he gets me outside the most i think tho. . or we collect leaves and show them to each other, or things like that. fall is our time bro. .

What is your favorite compliment that your f/o gives you? What is your favorite nickname that they for you, if they have one? he does get very fixated on. . faces, and things like hair. part of it is his own longing for a head yes, but he focuses on them in general. he's oddly very sweet about it when he talks about things, caressing very tender and just. . very lovely. he's not one for words, but they somehow come to him when he is being entranced by one's features. i like the little German pet names he calls me, those are cute. . something different from what i normally hear, and he calls me them more often than Conrad does even though Conrad tends to be the "more German-sounding" of the two in his outbursts. He calls me things like "my fox" or "my vixen," though in German. He does this more often towards s/i 1 personally tho.

What's your favorite compliment to give THEM? What is your favorite nickname to call them? i like to call him pumpkin uvu he gets soft about it, sometimes even a little embarrassed, but he doesnt mind it. given i cannot focus on his face like he does me, i usually talk about how good he is with his sword or his horsey, tho sometimes. . i do mention his very black, very fitting outfit. . on occasion. . uvu

I want everyone to have the chance to ramble about their romantic f/os, so I'm gonna make a reblog game where yall can answer the plethora of questions I'm gonna toss down. Any of the questions you want to answer, as little or as much as you'd like!! I'll read them all. PR.O.SHIP DNI!!! AT ALL! GET OUT-

SO!! SELFSHIPPERS! RIDDLE ME THIS:

What do your f/o's hugs feel like?

What are your favorite dates to have with them?

What are their favorite dates to have with you?

Do you have any songs that remind you of them? Do they have any songs that make them think of you?

What's the height difference between you and your f/o?

On a 1-10 scale, with 1 being the least and 10 being the most, how much do they like PDA with you?

What's your favorite feature about your f/o?

What do you think they smell like?

What is your f/os biggest love languages? They don't have to be one of the "five", it can be anything specific they use to show you love.

Do you guys sleep in the same bed? If so, what's it like sleeping with them?

What's your favorite headcanon about your f/o?

What is the dynamic that you and your f/o have?

What does your f/o do for you when you're having a rough day?

Do you like to hold hands? If so, what's that like?

Do they like to give you little kisses? If so, where is their favorite place to kiss? (Face, hands, etc)

Vice versa, do YOU like to give them little kisses? If so, where is YOUR favorite place to give them?

What's your favorite silly leisure activity to do with your f/o?

What is your favorite compliment that your f/o gives you? What is your favorite nickname that they for you, if they have one?

What's your favorite compliment to give THEM? What is your favorite nickname to call them?

Okay I can't wait to see some answers!! Feel free to reblog as many times with as many f/os as you want. ANYONE CAN PARTICIPATE! SEEING THIS POST IS AN INVITATION FOR YOU!!

People I'd like to see answer this off the top of my head (but don't have to!!): @moxanji-real @one-winged-dreams @lovesickvalentines @graveluvr @clawingatmy-enclosure @starshakez @jpeg-indulgence @everynya @tropgothships @selfshipping-tboy @amelielovesamaris @pixel-comfort @fl0ralsxgar

[bingbuang]

Random af Dallas Winston headcanons!!! (sad stuff included because I can't not ugh) ♡

Dallas doesn't smoke to look tuff, he's got it just as bad as ponyboy. After he told Johnny and Ponyboy to go to the abandoned church, he ends up smoking so much, pacing around his room until he has a coughing fit, and buck makes him stop.

(Movie dallas btw) He's insecure about how big his eyebrows are. He plucks at them unconsciously, until someone points it out. Along with this, he has this weird fear of getting a unibrow because his dad had one, and he constantly scratches between his eyebrows, just in case one is there. (There's not.)

He has ADHD, and can not stop moving ever. I imagine him and Johnny going to a diner, and he's just spacing out, bouncing his leg, and doesn't notice the violently shaking table until Johnny says his name.

After they found Johnny in the lot, Steve and Soda pop had to stop him from finding and (probably) killing the socs. He was so fucking angry.

Steve doesn't fuck with Dallas, and Dallas doesn't fuck with Steve. They once got into a fight and both got *real* fucked up, and now they're both kind of rivals.

Dallas is strong, we know that, but he has muscular legs. Because if he rides horses, ain't no way he's gonna have chicken legs.

He has HUGE hands. Sometimes, he just grabs Ponyboy's entire face. Why wouldn't he?

He doesn't actually like alcohol. Unlike with the smoking thing, he only does it to look tuff. Sometimes, he swaps it out with some soda. Even better, if he does it looks like he has a high tolerance = more tuff.

He really only has street smarts. He dropped out of school when he was 13 and moved to Tulsa, and his parents never bothered signing him back up. He didn't mind though. He stayed with the Curtis's during school hours, and he actually gained a little weight because Mrs. Curtis spoiled him with baked goods.

Once he grew up more, and the greaser vs soc conflict started getting more apparent in his life(and when he started getting an ass), he began losing weight by running.

Speaking of running, he can run for a VERY long time. He got used to running from cops, and he got hella stamina. I like to believe when cops see him doing some illegal shit like starting a fight, they don't bother getting out of the car, because that kid is going to sprint. (But Dallas is smarter, he waits for them to get out first.)

he can NOT grow facial hair. Even though he has light skin and dark hair, he can't grow one for shit. One time he got called 'Babyface' by a girl, and it destroyed his ego. So when he learned Johnny would occasionally shave (like once a week) he was kind of pissed.

He wants a piercing, but he's terrified of needles.

He's gotten used to sleeping on hard benches in prison cells, so he can sleep anywhere he wants, even in jeans.

He definitely prefers soc girls. He doesn't really know why, but he likes the contrast of his greaser personality and a soc in a relationship. He thinks it makes it more fun.

When he learned Sylvia was cheating on him when he was in prison, he was a lot more upset than he let on. He used to visit her every day, and now he just solemnly hung around with the Curtis's.

He chews on his necklace a lot. Darry tells him to quit, but he don't listen. One time, Darry just got pissed and grabbed Dallas by the jaw,

He can eat stupid fast. He got good at it from when he was in prison and had to eat quickly (even if he hated the food) so nobody would take it.

One of my really obscure headcanons is that Dallas is half-korean from his mom. He doesn't speak a bunch of Korean because he doesn't live with his mom anymore, but he likes fucking with new officers by pretending he can't speak English. Also, he doesn't really like bringing up his ethnicity because it reminds him of his mom too much.

As I have reblogged before, he can not swim. Pass it on.

that's all I have for now!!!! Love y'all 😍

[pigeonwhumps]

Bruises

Everything taglist: @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

Whumpuary day 21: bruises | "who are you?" | immortality

After being isolated and treated as a punching bag for far too long, Whumpee runs to the only place they hope they might be able to find safety.

1.7k

CWs: bruises, isolation, team whump, arguments, used as a punching bag, abuse, touch-starved

Whumpee knocks on the small metal door weakly, hand dropping to their side after three small knocks. They stand as upright as possible, hand on the wall to help, arm trembling under the weight, and hope it's enough.

The door opens after what feels like both a minute and an eternity, and Caretaker's there, seemingly unchanged after all this time in her ink-covered dungarees, hair braided and pulled back. She blinks at them, at their bruises and blood, at the patched drawstring bag over one shoulder and their scruffy, dirty clothes and shoes. They blink back, almost too tired to be embarrassed. Almost. How much of a mess must they look in her eyes?

"Whumpee?"

"You said once," they croak, "that if I needed someplace to crash then I could, no questions asked. Does that offer still stand?"

A million emotions flash through Caretaker's eyes at once, and Whumpee can't hope to make out what they are. Then she nods and steps aside.

"Honestly I was more thinking at home, it's more comfortable there, but sure. I have an armchair and snacks. Come on in."

Whumpee ducks their head and limps inside. They'd be happy naked on a cold metal floor so long as Whumper's not there. And she's not, would never be, because the whole reason Caretaker made the offer in the first place was because she didn't trust Whumper, didn't like her. It was why they fought.

She has every reason to say 'I told you so' and probably just as many ways to realise that, but she's not.

Caretaker's studio is nice. The old warehouse it's a part of isn't disguised entirely, old pipes and brickwork visible. Her rented space contains a sewing machine, cutting mat, screen printing press, inks and fabrics and threads of all colours and types, everything Whumpee would expect to see here, had they ever bothered to visit. They clutch the corded handle of their bag tightly. It's their most treasured possession, and this is where it's from.

Caretaker waves a hand in the direction of the armchair. "Get comfy. There's the sink if you need it, and the toilet's at the end of the hall. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Whumpee nods gratefully, waiting until Caretaker's left again before cleaning their hands and face, changing into fleecy pyjamas and curling up on the armchair, Teddy in hand. They avoid looking at themself while they do all of this, their appearance not something they want to dwell on. They must be making the furniture dirty, surely, but Caretaker told them to sit so she can't mind too much.

That makes a change. A change from being somewhere where they apparently matter less than everyone else, everything else, where they're so easy to dismiss that–

They swallow a sob, swallow it right down, keeping their emotions clenched tight inside. Caretaker doesn't need to see this, especially not when it's all their own stupid, naïve fault. Can't see what's right in front of their face sometimes, she said, and she was right. The bruises and cuts all down one side of their body from the last time they were dragged across the floor are proof of that. Fucking hell.

They close their eyes.

Next thing they know, someone's shaking their shoulder, setting their body throbbing. They snap their eyes open as Caretaker's hand withdraws.

Ow.

"Sorry. You still sleep like the dead. You also look like hell, so I've brought you a cup of tea, a pot noodle and some biscuits. Relax. You don't have to tell me what happened, I meant that, but I have some plasters and stuff if you need them?" Whumpee shakes their head. They're not going to use everything of Caretaker's when they can't even replace it, this is already way too much. "Okay. Well, drink, eat, sleep, whatever you need to do. I'll– I'll be here. This time. Okay?"

"It wasn't your fault last time," Whumpee whispers. They'd walked out on Caretaker, not the other way round.

Caretaker hums non-committally, in that way that means she disagrees but doesn't want to risk starting an argument, and Whumpee sighs, sipping at their tea with shaking hands. Chamomile, their favourite. They don't want an argument either. Everything has already hurt more than enough recently.

They eat half of the pot noodle without taking a breath. Then they force themself to put it down and look up at Caretaker, who has a concerned frown on her face as she works, sketching in her book.

"You were right. She was awful."

Caretaker looks up. "Whumper?"

Whumpee nods. All those awful things they'd yelled at Caretaker, because they were stupid and starstruck and couldn't see what was right in front of them. And they can't even excuse any of it, because she was right, entirely right, and she's just let them right back in like the last thing they saw wasn't her looking so completely crestfallen.

"I'm sorry, Caretaker. I was horrible to you and you just... you're too good." Too good for them, too good for this world.

She smiles bitterly. "I wasn't entirely innocent in that fight. You always act like I'm either one or the other. That fight was awful, on both sides, but we're here now. Water under the bridge. Okay?"

"Okay."

"For the record, I did hope I was wrong."

Whumpee nods and dives into the remainder of their pot noodle. Better eat now, while they can. Caretaker goes back to drawing at her standing desk.

After a while, they take a sip of their tea. "It was okay at first. Good, even. She was my mentor. I did what she said, I learned, I got to socialise with her and the rest of her team. I helped. It felt good. But then she... I don't know when it started but..."

They trail off. They don't know when Whumper started using her as a punching bag. It wasn't immediately, but then the tasks got harder and the punishments got harsher and Whumper got angrier and they were isolated and then there they were, a convenient punching bag and... other things. Worse things.

"I couldn't tell. Who would I tell? How would I tell? She threatened me. Threatened you. But I– I– it hurt so much, Caretaker."

"She's the one who left you like this?"

Whumpee nods. It's not the worst they've been, but they don't say that, not trying to garner unmerited sympathy from Caretaker. It's their own fault.

"I'm glad you got out of there."

"She's not the reason it hurt so much."

Caretaker cocks her head in concern. "Her team?"

Whumpee nods. Stops to take a long drink and sinks into their seat, wrapping their arms around themself. This is a lot to think about.

They don't know why they're talking, but they are, and that means thinking about it. About what happened, about everything. And that hurts. It's embarrassing, too, they should've guessed. Caretaker did.

They thought the team was just oblivious. Now they're not so sure.

"My first complaint... it didn't... I made everything worse even when I chickened out. Whumper knew I was going to, even though I didn't. And then I tried again through proper channels and it... Team Leader... he already knew. He asked me to... I showed him! And I got suspended when I wouldn't withdraw it. And Whumper... she... I was stupid, I stayed, I thought I could survive it, I thought I'd be fine but she... and now I'm just a coward. What if she hurts someone else? Or if she makes good on her threat against you? I thought she couldn't but..."

Caretaker stares for a moment and then grins cockily. "Come on Whumpee, you know what I used to do for a living, I'll be fine."

"Don't. Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Stop acting like it's all fine. It's not, and you don't know that it'll be okay! This isn't an assassination and even if it was you remember how we met! Stop trying to– to– stop lying to me!"

Whumpee takes a deep breath, trying to calm themself. They're not being fair, they know that. She's trying to help. They just– how can she pretend it's all okay when it's so very not?

"Sorry."

Caretaker shakes her head. "I'm sorry. Maybe I'm being a bit flippant. But I will be okay. I'll make sure of it, I promise."

"You'd better."

Whumpee shifts, wincing. Curling up so tight hurts, tugging and pushing at the bruises and burns and cuts, but it's safer. No way to kick your chest in if they can't get to it.

"Are you sure you don't at least want painkillers?"

They shake their head. No drugs. No forced weakness and compliance. No weird hallucinations. No... god knows what. Not today.

"Okay. Try to sleep. If I'm not here when you wake don't panic, I just need to sort some things."

Despite the matter-of-fact soothing layered on top, Whumpee knows that tone of voice, all impending action. And they know what she's planning to do. They look Caretaker directly in the eyes.

"Don't do something you'll regret, Caretaker."

She looks taken aback for a moment at their sudden fierceness but then gives a toothy grin, like a predator that's scented blood.

"Oh, who says I'd regret it?"

"I mean just don't– don't get yourself hurt. She's dangerous."

"I know that. So am I." She must see something in Whumpee's bruised and battered face because she softens, tucking her pencil behind her ear and crossing the room to crouch in front of them. Broadcasting her every move, she presses a soft kiss to their forehead. "It was my job for thirty years. It's just a relief to find someone that I'm happy to use my skills on."

Caretaker rests her hands on their upper arms and they lean into the touch, despite the pain at the pressure. Tears prick at their eyes. This warm closeness without malicious intent... it's been too long.

"If you get yourself captured or killed I will bring you back from the depths of Hell and skin you alive for doing that to me. So don't. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." Whumpee glares half-heartedly. "I promise."

[gangstalkerbarbie]

one thing about this is that if you are a religious woman in any religion (i have the most personal experience with hasidism due to having hatched in the loving embrace of an antarctic penguin colony, but most any of them will do), then even though the community may softly encourage you to wear whatever they think is tasteful and godhonouring makeup (chill about blasphemy yall this is "whichever god" in the generic sense) for some nebulous and usually man-related reason... if you choose not to, everyone generally respects your choice because of its framing as a type of self-abnegation.

like, when i was a religious little girl, people even sometimes worried that it meant that i was sliding towards extremism.

this actually remains true when you're confident about it on the outside as well. by only wearing crisp, aggressively slavic, old-fashioned makeup when i need to look extra intimidating and bitchy in a professional context (e.g. if i were going to interview at a law firm), i communicate to everyone around me that i either don't give a shit as long as my face is washed (the case), or i must have some form of high religious morals which make me in some sense high-value in their reductive conservative worldview.

(tbh this is also the case, but usually not how they think, for example i couldn't give any less of a shit what gender people tell me they are [it has nothing to do with my sense of civics] and my opinion of casual sex with strangers boils down to i don't care, its your funeral, personally i just don't want the surprise clap from someone who doesn't even care about me like that. yall bitches dirty. yall hoes stinky i seen your houses.)

this actually increases my net respectability because if you're confident enough, normal right wingers think "ah, my idea of a normal respectable professional woman such as my own dear mother" (not going to dissect how being able to do this is useful regardless of your own politics, we're all adults here), and normal left wingers think "we love a girlboss who makes her own choices in life". between those two options, i think this might be the career speedrun tactic.

this way regardless of who's interviewing you for that job that will change your life, you don't have to change anything about yourself in order to hustle your way into the job, and the lack of stress and ability not to lose it on your boss at work elevates you above every other neurotic candidate. its very sad that they make women compete like this to earn any amount of money but putting your best least bothered self forward is actually not an attack against klara in the next cubicle. if you like klara you can help her neurohack your employer too, call that praxis. barbie's words of wisdom.

do u wear makeup because u like it or because men and society have convinced u that u like it?

[guhamun]

[It's easy to assume that one can pull the whool over Nagayoshi's eyes due to deeming him lacking in the intellect department, but one must not be fooled by his antics. He is very intelligent and very sharp-eyed. Small details are not going to escape his notice, but he will act like they have right until you think you've gotten away with something. He knows Nobunaga very well so is well-aware of when they are up to something even if they think that no one is aware. However, he also doesn't really care 99% of the time unless given a reason to. So unless someone is Nobunaga or Moriarty levels of cunning, he tends to catch onto things rather quickly if there's a slip. The fact that he acts like such a brute makes others underestimate him.]

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

I think of so many stupid shenanigans between Wriothesley and his daughters in the Addison Lee verse. They tell Wriothesley crazy shit all the time, their daddy-daughter secrets, and it drives Neuvillette nuts that Wriothesley won't snitch.

Sigewinne, whispering into his ear: Today at school I punched a boy because he was being mean. I waited until it was recess, and made sure that no one was watching, and I punched him. Everyone knows he is a liar, so noooo one believed him when he cried about it. And Sigewinne is aaaalways a superstar so Mr Vautrin didn't suspect a thing !

Wriothesley, mildly concerned: Uh huh.

Sigewinne: Papa would say Sigewinne has to be nice to everyone, but, Sigewinne thinks bullies need to get punched sometimes, b'cos, b'cos otherwise, they think everyone is just gonna let them be mean

Wriothesley: Y'know what. That's fair

[watery-melon-baller]

im never quite good at dealing with people venting to me because my automatic response is to offer them a solution, and i get frustrated if they continue to vent without taking the solution, especially if it's a simple solution. i am aware that everyone has issues and that things are difficult but sometimes i see my friends and i just get so. envious and annoyed because they can just sit there and whine without even doing anything. which is a cruel thing to think because they do have legitimate issues but every time they're talking im just always thinking in the back of my head just do the fucking thing. Just do it. It doesn't Matter if X and Y are affecting you just fucking do it you have to do it you can't just sit on your ass and not do it. and i don't want to say that to my friends because it is mean and not nice and they have real legitimate issues and i completely understand where they're coming from and why they're struggling but my internal dialogue is a constant manta of "didnt ask didn't care stop being a little bitch and get over yourself and do it" because that's what i have to tell myself to get anything done

[battywitch]

.

[worstloki]

Thor, rambling while Loki reads: --and yes, we are brothers, but I would kiss you if you asked!

Loki, suddenly much less interested in his book: What?

Thor: What?

Amora: *'sneakily' watching with her head peeking over the librarian's desk* HE SAID HE WOULD KISS YOU IF YOU ASKED.

[ebitenpura]

This isn't the best picture, but it kinda looks like Lana designed this armor for him and unintentionally (or intentionally) made them match, lol.

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

it is ok to ask for help. people are not going to hate me for asking for help

[the-seelie-court-official]

my aunt used to be a beauty pageant kid. had long, beautiful red hair with a curl pattern that made hairdressers jealous. her mother would pay people lots of money to spend hours styling my aunt's hair

predictably, as a young adult, my aunt cut all of her hair off. buzzed down to the scalp. she still keeps it pretty short- long enough for curls to develop, but only on the top of her head. she says she can't stand the feeling of her hair touching her ears or neck.

recently she's started collecting and styling wigs. she'll even wear them, occasionally, to a fancy event or if she just doesn't want to be bothered by distant family when she goes shopping. and she spends hours styling these wigs, even though she doesn't use them all that often.

i asked her about it. she said that sometimes, growth looks a lot like regression with a twist. that she's reclaiming something she enjoyed as a kid, and could have enjoyed more. she said she's practicing having agency, and that it's a skill that doesn't come very naturally for her. having agency, i mean. she's really good at styling wigs.

[simonbrain]

i know it's been done many times before, but i just love gross weird creepy awkward simon and his cute harmless bird.

like she's so intrigued by him, so infatuated with this odd man. she giggles at his dark humour and crude jokes, a genuine smile on her face as her shoulders shake from laughing so hard while he's huffing out a sound of amusement of his own. meanwhile, everyone else has an uncomfortable look on their faces, giving them both judgemental stares.

he's the type to tug her close to him and kiss her nasty, uncaring if they're in a public setting. he sucks on her tongue and spits in her mouth, a big hand reaching down to squeeze her ass before disappearing up her skirt. he doesn't really care if others watch or not, and he grips her tight when she tries to escape, swallowing all her squeaky little noises with a satisfied hum.

there's no shame when it comes to him. he lets her know when he's going for a piss and asks if she wants to come, not bothering to close the door (he demands that she leaves it open when she goes too; it's only fair). he uses her hand to jerk himself off when she's busy or not in the mood, heavy groans rumbling from his chest because it feels so much better than rutting into his rough hand—not as lovely as her soft, pretty cunt though. he lets his tongue dip low to lap at her asshole and ignores her whiny protests, promising he'll make her feel good in a second, groaning to himself as she grinds against his face.

ughhh he's just so unusual. sometimes he stares at her too long for it to be considered cute, dark eyes burning into her very soul for so long that she has to remind him to blink. he corners her just to get a whiff of her perfume, heavy breathing down her neck like he's getting worked up just from smelling her.

when he comes home from deployment and tells her about the things that happened while he was away (lost one of my good knives in tha' prick), she's sitting pretty on his lap and chirping out her responses, urging him to tell her more. she says it's good for him to get it off his chest, but really she likes hearing his gruesome stories. it makes her heart flutter that he's so skilled and competent.

others have come up to her asking if she's okay and if she's aware of the weirdo following her, and she's like "yeah that's my man :)" she tries her best to drive them away before he starts sulking over yet another person interrupting their parallel play.

she just really loves how strange and off-putting he is.

[nexus-nebulae]

shoutout to the really cool maintenance guy at our apartment who teaches me how to fix things sometimes

[mad-hunts]

as far as jack could tell, jervis was really out of it; and it made him wonder it was due to something that had happened while he was out with his father, or when they'd gotten here. perhaps both. jack gnawed on his bottom lip, his eyes darting to jervis's hands, which were flexing like he was struggling with something. an eyebrow rose as jack contemplated asking whether he needed some pain medication.

since he didn't receive an answer to his question yet, jack figured he might as well introduce himself. ❝ uhh, well, you don't have to talk to me if you aren't feeling up to it. my sister told me that you fainted in front of her out there — so, i understand if you're still feeling sick. my name is jack, ❞ he scratched at the back of his neck as he continued to observe jervis. whenever the man tried to get up, jack approached him and was about to caution jervis that maybe he shouldn't by lightly touching his shoulder.

but he remembered matilda telling him something about the other really not liking to be touched, so he merely was going to verbally tell him. up until jervis laid back down himself, anyhow. jack couldn't hold himself back from frowning at his poor present state before venturing out of the room with a 'i'll be right back.' and indeed he had been, with two different vials, alongside a few syringes to inject into that IV bag: should jervis want to be medicated. jack figured it'd be easier to just do that rather than forcing him to swallow anything.

he placed those also on the table before tilting his head at the quote jervis had said until it clicked a few seconds later, ❝ that's a quote from through the looking glass, isn't it? and one that the red queen said in the story if i remember correctly. she was basically teaching alice that staying in the same place is falling behind, right? ❞ jack squinted his eyes at that before a thought came to mind. a soft snort left him, but one that was done of an innocent sort of amusement rather than malice. ❝ that is a kind of roundabout way of talking about survival of the fittest. but hey, lewis carroll was all about the whimsy of things, i guess. and its no big deal. ❞

jack pretended not to see the tears that the other shed for jervis's own sake. the blood on his lips was something he couldn't ignore, no matter how hard he tried, though. jack grabbed a washcloth from his pack and held it out towards's jervis's hand. once it was out of his hand was when jack set down that teacup, the slightly too long stripped pants he wore swaying across the ground. ❝ mm, you and dad were both asleep for nearly four hours. sure — i don't think that's silly at all. i keep something on me all the time from when my brother, julien, was still around. ❞ the bracelet he showed the other on his right wrist then seemed to be made up entirely of tiny conch shells.

julien was a big fan of the sea, which jack thought made his death all the more crushing. after seeing the state that the stuffed animal was in, he figured that that bunny must've been really loved; though it didn't really matter by whom it was. the end result was the same, as love changes you. jack knew this well as he'd never wanted anything more than to be embraced by the warmth of it.

he quickly shook that thought off, only to grab the two vials he got from the fridge once more. ❝ eh... the four hours actually went by rather fast. ❞ jack cleared his throat then, ❝ you know, i couldn't help but notice that you aren't looking so hot still, and so i grabbed some meds for you. but i won't force you to take them. i have a pain reliever as well as something that relieves vertigo. are either, or both of these, something you want? ❞

Eigengrau.

A faint hum buzzed in his ears; his mouth was so dry it felt like he’d swallowed a wad of wool.

The thin sheet beneath him brushed his fingertips as Jervis flexed his hands, cracking his eyes open a sliver. The room tilted, everything blurring at the edges. Ah… so he had fainted. Just as he’d suspected. No glasses, then.

"Hey. Ahh, you're awake… That's awesome. How are you feeling?"

The new voice was barely a whisper, young and uncertain—belonging to a boy, maybe sixteen or eighteen by the timber. Was this another of Barton's assistants, a friend of Matilda’s, or perhaps her brother? Jervis couldn’t quite remember; hadn't Barton mentioned something about having more than one child?

He winced, his body feeling heavy, leaden; aching everywhere. Slowly, he exhaled and tried to push himself upright—tried being the keyword. The effort brought only a wave of vertigo, dizzying and blue-hot, making his vision swim.

… ohh, god…

He swallowed thickly, curling into himself. Something wasn’t right. His glasses and gloves weren’t the only thing missing. He was in his socks, jeans, and a now damp charcoal t-shirt, his body slick with cold sweat. His graying auburn curls clung to his neck in tangled ropes. His boots were beside the cot, his messenger bag on a desk across the room. His overcoat and maroon button-down were draped over a chair.

A flicker of discomfort in his right arm. Burning. Tugging.

Jervis glanced down at the source: a plastic tube. A peripheral IV catheter.

"Ah, you know... 'It takes all the running you can do, to stay in the same place,'" he muttered, his voice clipped and hollow; Bermudian accent casual, almost detached. He turned his eyes to the boy; offered him a faint, strained smile. "Keeps things interesting, I suppose... but I appreciate your concern, lad."

He lifted his fingers to his cheek, feeling the moisture trickle down—salt on his lips. Tears, sharp and stinging. Jervis flinched and quickly scrubbed them away with the heels of his hands.

Cold metal pressed into his spine, tight around his neck—the chain with his and Sylvie’s wedding rings twisted against his skin. He must’ve been thrashing in his sleep. There was blood on his lips.

"Forgive me…" His vision swam as he watched the boy set a teacup on the small table beside the cot, just within view. "But I'm afraid I've rather lost my sense of time. How long has it been since I…?" He paused, his voice barely steady. "... if... if you don’t mind, could you please reach into my coat pocket? You'll find a small cuddly toy. A rabbit..." He rubbed his mouth, lowered his eyes. "It sounds foolish, I know... but it... it was my daughter's, you see..."

The boy nodded, moving quickly to retrieve the toy from Jervis’ coat pocket, and placed it on the table beside the teacup. The bunny was missing one of its button eyes, its white fur faded and matted. A pink satin ribbon around its neck was frayed and tattered.

“Thank you,” Jervis said hoarsely. “I must have been out of it for quite a while.”