#but god sometimes you just gotta feel it

[starleska]

Rolando x Reader headcanons? You know you want to 😤

oh my god YESSSSSSS i would be delighted!!! 🙈🙈💖💖💖 warning, this one is a teensy bit NSFW, of the 'Rolando would quite like to devour you, mind and body' variety 😉 tws for canon-compliant fearmongering, fearplay, invasive behaviour, mild body horror and and general monsterfucking 👀 (i mean, y'all saw the episode, you know what you're in for-)

Rolando x Human!Reader headcanons 🐟💖

🐟 the people who darken the door of the One Star Wonder are always at the end of their tether, and Rolando wouldn't have it any other way. each one is more pathetic than the last: delicious morsels dripping with depression, anxiety and jealousy, and their bubble-headed selves all caught up in their oh-so-human concerns. Rolando greets each one with the same greasy charm, yet he makes sure to flavour his guests with just one too many inhuman gaffes. an incorrect turn of phrase here, a flash of too many teeth there, and before long, he has successfully unsettled his meat. so the night You step over the threshold and greet him with a warm, unknowing smile, he grinned right back, sure of a particularly tasty meal.

🐟 "Well, aren't you a precious little thing!" Rolando cooed, working in a lascivious gaze in the hopes of making You squirm. You stammered out a flustered thanks, and asked him if he had a room for the night. Rolando was dizzy; he could smell the indecision on You like pheromones, those little top notes of apprehension and fear, and it was all he could do to not clamber into your brain right then and there. "I've got just the room for you, dear, right at the back. And don't let anyone here give you shit under my watch. How abouts I escort you there myself? I'd hate for some filthy pervert to gobble you up along the way." before You could protest Rolando slipped around the desk, pressed a spindly claw into the small of your back and ushered You down a damp, ill-lit hallway.

🐟 as he guided You under the broken lights, Rolando's piscine gaze drank in the contours of your form. he'd played carnal games with humans before—desperate creatures that they were, their strangled whines as pleasure bled into pain never failed to amuse him. yet he'd never been so struck by the beauty of your kind. "So, what brings you to my malign establishment?" Rolando asked, as he carded his fingers through your hair. You shivered, but didn't pull away...a response which confused Rolando, but gave his Infestor heart a quiet thrill. You told him that you'd been kicked out of your home, and electricity shot down his back. he couldn't wait any longer. "Poor love...how could anyone be so cruel? Don't you worry your pretty little head. Tonight...you're all mine." 🐟 the few remaining lights in the hallway burst, and Rolando slipped into the blackness. You cried out in confusion as something cold and wet seized around your ankle and yanked You to the floor. chilling laughter echoed around the hallway, where it reverberated off impossible dimensions, like the hotel had yawned open to swallow You. "Oh, aren't you a hoot?" Rolando cackled. "Such fear...such excitement...what a delectable combination." Rolando's yellow-green eyes flashed in the dark, and the deathly edges of his teeth glimmered with saliva. You tried to run, but he dissolved into the dark and snatched at your shadow, tripping you with ease. Rolando's inky, gelatinous form drooled up your side and pinned You to the floor by the wrists, neck, and ankles.

🐟 "Running ain't the smartest move, sweetheart..." Rolando hissed, "...but boy, is it fun!" his monstrous tongue curled around your earlobe and invaded the delicate flesh of your ear itself, lapping in a way far too wet and obscene. You curled in on yourself, trying to make yourself small enough to escape, but Rolando's invertebrate form slipped between your joints and stretched out your limbs until it hurt. one dirty yellow light flickered into life above You and illuminated Rolando's sickly smirk. "Golly," said Rolando, putting his head on one side. "By now, normally I've got 'em screaming and wailing...but save a few sweet little sounds, you're quiet as a mouse." he wrapped himself around your face and breathed a blasphemy against your lips: "If I didn't know better...I'd say you're rather enjoying this." 🐟 a litany of protests tumbled from your mouth, but all they did was make Rolando laugh harder. "Don't deny it, sugar! I see everything tucked up inside that nasty little brain of yours...and fear ain't winning this race, honey." a nail as sharp as a blade tucked itself under your chin, and curled, tilting your face up to his. in the dark, Rolando's smile gleamed with bad intentions. "Tell you what...how about we play a game? You try to keep those lovely lips of yours shut..." a slight sting, and Rolando draws back his claw to admire a rivulet of blood. "...and I see how long it takes to make you scream."

[shivroy]

chloeee

[saintaviator]

scattered ruminations.

[napping-sapphic]

Honestly so good that I’m too shy to talk to people because I’m like 80% sure my impulsive ass would just ask strangers if they wanted to try to fall in love just to see if we could

[daemon-in-my-head]

FYI cuz there's a bunch of new guys all of a sudden (hi hope u enjoy my madness, I've been gone for a hot sec but slowly making my way back to the shambles I left);

My Durgetash is based on betrayal + systematic manipulation on all sides. When I'm not talking about Gortash exclusively, that is to say more durgetash and or Durge, I don't even try hard to hide my bias.

I like em toxic in the hurt/no comfort tragedy 'never breaking the cycle' way. And old. We're doing a bit of a bi catastrophe approach over here and I absolutely do not respect canon whatsoever (genuinely my durgetash has reached levels of insane fucking around and finding out).

Lately the idea of a brand has also been invading my mind (piss off marazhai we're not doing that crossover babe).

I'm clearly not sane about them. My takes are biased as fuck. Sometimes I delete my musings about them using bdsm as a sorry therapy replacement, sometimes I don't. Like now. I have a track record of writing shit where either of them dies. I killed them more times than I care to remember. Please consider yourself warned.

[batfossil-fr]

I’ve been really thinking of reopening my art shop soon… I’ve been taking some practice doodles (hence all the posting lately) while I shake off my rust and I’m finding things I enjoy working on again. I miss trying my hand at more dragons/OCs and colors. my shop’s so broken rn lmao but that’s a problem for a later date it’s just nice getting back into art

[spotaus]

Thinking about Orchid and her connection to my take on Gender (because this was meant to be about her and the Crew but it just devolved into a character analysis kinda??? More trauma-dumping maybe???) This is very much an oc/personal rant so feel free to ignore it 🫡

So, Orchid started off as a character I didn't really think much of (hear me out this is going to be relevant) because I wanted to add a 'girl' character but didn't know what to *do* with her, y'know? She was always going to be the strongest one there, she had the odds stacked in her favor with her parents. She was always going to be the gloomy side-character to match Reset's energy. But I think she's gone through every stage of Generic Woman I could possibly find.

At first she was angry and abrasive (think Fell!Sans) where every other word was a curse and she was likely to throw the first punch then laugh as she kicks her enemy while they're down. This was when Reset was a cartoonishly self-centered villain whose goal was simply to prove others wrong. Then Orchid became a sort of sisterly figure. This was short-lived, but she was the one comforting people who Reset would torment, but would ultimately follow his orders, because at this point he was actually a danger and sadistic. And then there was the phase where the story mellowed out and she became the token Goth Girl who, yes she was strong, but was heavy on the 'whatever' energy. Then there was her Era of deep self-loathing and anxiety about her worth that held her back and made her a much more timid and meek character who would only lash out on occasion.

Now, Orchid is the best of those iterations I've written yet. She's calm, level-headed, and a natural leader. Her father raised those traits into her. But she's very reactive, and can be silly, and when she's comfortable it's likely that air of importance transforms into something more comfortable and familiar. She laughs loudly and grins wide, she likes loud video-games but loves to read in the quiet. She's extremely disciplined, and normally no one can get through her tough exterior besides her best friend, Reset. She does what she does for her own enjoyment, sure, but she's thought of every angle and makes her choice to help Reset and control the others with her whole chest. She still worries she won't live up to her invisible expectations, and that and her loyalty are her two driving forces.

I know that Orchid is important to me because she's the longest-running female oc I've had. I have a rough relationship with womanhood/girlhood and I know looking back that Orchid recieved every ounce of my distaste for being a woman that I could shovel into her. That never made her less of a character, she was actually always one of my favorites, and rarely was she a 'punching bag oc'. I just... projected onto her a lot. And she's a good sign of how I've learned who I am. I've decided that my own femininity is something I could live without. I'd rather not associate myself with it, and I'd like to leave it in my past, focusing on a future where I'm not tied down with any gender roles or expectations. That won't happen, but I've come to terms with it myself. Orchid though? I figured out through her that I don't have to hate women characters. My own distaste for my circumstances doesn't mean I have to push it onto my characters (on God I've never expressed anything rude to actual people, that'd be rude as hell and uncalled for, but I have a bad habit of disliking fictional women in media). So, Orchid is a well-roubded character finally. She has motivations abd goals and a *lot* more depth than I ever expected her to. She's happy with being a woman, she's content. She's not treated differently for it in unfair ways by those she cares about, so she doesn't mind it. She likes to wear pretty outfits and lets Reset add bows to her ribbons. She doesn't let being a woman hold her back in the slightest.

So, yeah. Orchid is one of my babies. If I ever leave this Fandom behind for good, she's one that's coming with (Ichor, Orchid, and Pretender all have human designs I can use elsewhere lol-) but in the meantime I'll just rotate her around in my brain for a while longer.

If I'm right, she's been with me for nearly 5-6 years and I went through a *lot* with her as an outlet. So, she's kinda just like an old stuffed animal. A lil ripped, matted fur, maybe a stain or two, but there's a story there and that makes it important beyond belief.

[fagdykevash]

oh sorry, did i not lick your boots enough when i wrote that image description for you? my bad

people's accessibility discord, for your ID needs

[theshadowrealmitself]

Current thoughts: A Human (rightfully) punching a Vulcan in the face for something and the Vulcan actually immediately realizing they fucked up and agreeing with the Human that punching them was the most logical course of action and becoming their number one defender of the Human not facing consequences

More specifically, I’m imagining them passionately (for a Vulcan) petitioning for this Human not to get in trouble, citing all the logical reasons they should be let go, and after a long while of this, barely dropping the bombshell that they were the person who got punched by the Human

[imminent-danger-came]

Lowkey. Do really hate sp*cynoodles

[xanderscollection]

Tag talking on here is so fucking funny especially as op on a post getting to watch it all happen

[gideonisms]

See I think if I'd been born a guy I wouldn't be this pathologically avoidant trying to plan my career because there are plenty of situations you can find as a cis man where you just Do Tasks in awkward silence and you can get to those as a woman but you have to go through the rings of hell socializing first and then besides, a lot of those jobs already have so many men that you stand out when the whole point was you Don't want to do that

[unproduciblesmackdown]

omgg lol [guy who won't stop going "more like scapeGOATED" voice] now hold! on!! lmao [same guy just saw encanto voice] Hold on!!!

[vvelegrin]

they should invent a this that i don't have to do all alone*. they should invent a way out that isn't through.

[waterfallofspace]

Smoke In The Breeze, You In My Lungs.

The one where V/ash gives W/olfwood a gift, and W/olfwood gives V/ash a show. Feat. sneezy W/olfwood, and smitten V/ash. (Shipped, though not entirely ‘dating’, just more like ‘will be dating.’ Pre-dating. Also known as head over heels for each other, secretly). Also there’s totally a few not so secret moments about it~ 

First time attempting T/rigun S/tampede, so the characters voices are still new to me, hopefully this will be an acceptable addition to the AMAZING collection of V/ashwood fics already on here! For anyone bothering to read this, thank you~ Hope you enjoy~~

(References to smoking and swearing, incase you don’t like those) 

Characters: V/ash, W/olfwood, and a surprisingly cool desert night.  Word Count: 3.5k ~~~~~~~

The first time Vash remembered seeing Wolfwood smoke was almost immediately after meeting him. Since then, he seemed to always be either stuffing a cigarette between his teeth, crushing one on the ground, or somewhere in between. Despite this, cigarettes remain just as expensive as always, and Wolfwood remains the same short on cash grifter. Turns out addiction doesn’t pay for itself.  That’s why when Vash saw the pack of cigarettes sitting on the counter of a bar they had passed through on their last round of plant repairs, he had asked the man they were attached to where he’d found them. Turns out, there was a peddler in this town that sold rare and exotic types. Vash had gotten his money together and managed to afford a single pack. Tonight was the first time since then that the opportunity had presented itself to offer the gift without too much explanation needed as to its meanings.  “Hey, Nicho-” Vash starts, a light shove in response nearly sending him over the edge of the rock they find themselves balanced on. “Watch it Blondie, I told you, unless we’re alone, it’s Wolfwood.” Vash lets their eyes meet, before gesturing to the desert around them, barren aside from the car they’d ‘borrowed’ for this little trip. “Oh, yes, of course, I must have forgotten about the invisible forces watching us from- ouch! Okay, okay, sorry.”  The laughter in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed, a sharp smile in response forming on Wolfwood’s face. His smiles always had this edge to them, as if simply a touch from his lips would be enough to slice you open. Staring at him in the moonlight, Vash nearly thought about testing the theory. “Hey, blondie?” “Hmm?” “I assumed you had an end to that sentence you started before? Unless it was just a veiled attempt at getting yourself sent careening off a real high rock for the fun of it?” “Right, sorry. Yeah, I just… here.” Vash reached into his pocket, pulling out the pack of cigarettes and sticking them in Wolfwood’s hands, not missing the baffled look that slipped across the normally fixed features. “As payment, for that bread you spotted me the other day.” “You mean… the piece of bread that we got as payment for the job…?” Vash feels his hand graze the back of his neck before he even registers that he’s moved it. “W-well… I mean I guess… just consider it a gift then!” Wolfwood looks like he’s planning to say more, but once his eyes have finished tracing Vash’s face, he’s decided against it. Settling instead for flashing him a smirk, and pulling out the first one. Sticking it between his teeth, Wolfwood leans towards him. “Light me up, blondie.” A blush spreads like wildfire against Vash’s cheeks, and he pulls out the lighter Wolfwood had tossed him a few towns back, bringing it carefully to the cigarette. The glow of the flame lights up the mischief in Wolfwood’s eyes as he inhales, then gently blows the smoke right at Vash’s face.  “Hey-!” Coughing, Vash waves his hand in the air, giving Wolfwood a playful punch in return, laughing a bit at the grimace he receives. “Bit rough there, Blondie. Hm.. these taste a bit different than normal, are they the regular packs I get?” “You’re the one who blew smoke in my face! You’re lucky I’m wearing my sunglasses, or that would have gone right in my eyes! And um… I think they’re a different brand maybe?”  Wolfwood hums lightly, choosing to focus his attention on the first part of what Vash said. “Why are you wearing them at night? Are even the moons too bright for you?”  “Wha- no! I just got so used to the feeling of them on my face that…” Vash rubs his neck, offering a sheepish smile,  “It starts to feel weird without them. Not quite like being naked, more like walking around without a shirt on. Technically acceptable, but still quite weird. Feels vulnerable almost. Though sometimes if I- hey, you alright?” Wolfwood’s eyes have been captured by a far off look, his head slightly tilting back until- “hIH’ktsSHH’yue-! hAH’ZSHH’oo-!” “Oh, bless you!” With a rough sniff, Wolfwood brings his wrist back down from where it had assumed position under his nose. He gives Vash a sharp grin, taking another drag from the cigarette in lieu of a thank you.  “What were you on about then?” “Hm? Oh, it was nothing really. Honestly I don’t even remember where I was going with that.” “Alright.” And with that, they’re back to staring out at the desert sky. Not a cloud in sight, but somehow, it was darker than usual. ‘That wouldn’t normally be a bad thing, but… it makes it harder to see him’ Vash thinks, allowing his eyes to trace over to Wolfwood. The light of the cigarette glows faintly against the darkness of his clothes. His eyes though… they shine without any light at all. Somehow, despite being dark, Vash has always noticed the glow they seem to give off. “Hehh- hH’kttZSHH’yuee-!”  “Ble-” “Nohhht- not done Blondieehhhh-! hEH’ZZSCHH’OO-! hahh’ASHH’yuee-!”  “Triple bless you!” “Cute, needle-noggin.”  Vash smiles, the laughter dancing in Wolfwood’s eyes filling him with warmth, despite the cold air. “You alright though? Something setting you off?” Wolfwood gives a deep sniff before answering, apparently trying to see if he can smell anything unusual. Unfortunately, he’s already way too stuffed up to let anything pass, including air.  “Can’t tell. Doubt it though, likely just something irritating my allergies.” “In the middle of a desert…?” “You’d be surprised at the kind of flowering plants you can still find ‘round here. One time I walked into a town that had a full blooming cactus- flower- thing. Still don’t know exactly what it was, but damn it was potent. Was sneezing nearly the whole night, but it was too late to go find another place to stay.” Wolfwood seems to shudder a little at the memory, his hand coming up to rub at his nose as if even the thought of it was starting to irritate him.  “Pretty sure I woke everyone in that motel, got some real dirty looks the next morning.” Vash laughs, dodging a punch thrown at his good arm. Wolfwood gives him a glare, but there’s no fire in his eyes. Only warmth. The cigarette he’s been smoking has reached its last legs, and Wolfwood crushes it, before pulling out another, leaning in once again for Vash to light it. “Might as well treat myself to a few tonight, it’s a gift after all, right Blondie?” Vash obliges, lighting it up and letting his head tilt with a nod, partially to agree, mostly to hide the flush starting to fill his cheeks at the mention of the gift. Thankfully, he’s soon distracted, as Wolfwood lets out another itchy gasp, this time barely managing to turn away from Vash before the sneezes break free. “hihh’ZZSH’yuee-! heHH- hAH’ktSHHH’ooo-! hh’RRUSHH’ueee-! Fuck- hah’ASHH’ooo-! Hehh… ihhh’hEH’ZSHH’OOO-!”  “Jeez, Nico. Bless you, are you alright?” A shiver runs through Wolfwood, his cheeks slightly pink as he turns back to face Vash. “‘Scuse me. I’m alright. Just somethin’ tick-hhH’ZSHHH’OO-! Oh god, not doohhhne!”  Vash wants to turn away, give him some privacy, but something about the vulnerability of the display has him captivated. Wolfwood’s eyes are fighting to stay open, fluttering against the depth of the tickle. His mouth hangs open, breath hitching wildly as his nose practically trembles. “hHH’KSHH’yuee-! Huhhh- hEH’RSHHH-ISHHH-ZSCHHH’ooo-! Wheww~ Ohgod- iHh’NGXttt’shiew-!”  Desperate to stop the onslaught, he attempts to stifle the last one, Vash not missing the shivers it sends down his spine. Both of them know what a stupid choice that was, as Wolfwood can do nothing but gasp against the cold air, before ducking into his arm with another rapid, yet softer, fit. “hhH’ishh’iew-! tiSHH’iew-! hehh’ASHH’iew-! Hehh- hH’DTshhh’iew-!”  “Bless you. You really shouldn’t hold them in like that, you know it just makes you sneeze more afterwards.” A blush spreads across Wolfwood’s face, Vash not missing the way the dark eyes refuse to meet his own. “Yeah, yeah. Thank you Dr. Blondie, I’ll keep that in mind.” The tone is light and teasing, but there’s a deeper mood to it that Vash can’t quite put his finger on. This isn’t new to him, Wolfwood quite often uses humour or charm to mask deeper, actual emotions. Deciding to let him keep what dignity he has left after the fits, Vash just offers a sweet smile, and a tissue from his pocket. Wolfwood greedily reaches for it before pausing, and gently handing Vash the cigarette to hold before grabbing the tissue.  Offering a ‘thanks’ over his shoulder as he turns away, he roughly blows his nose, Vash wincing at the congested sounds. Turning back with his mouth still slightly hanging open, ‘likely to breathe’ Wolfwood gives Vash a tight smile, before taking the cigarette back. “Are you sure you don’t know what’s causing this? You’re not getting sick, are you? You could tell me if you were, ya know. It’s not a bad thing to admit-” “I’m not sick. Just itchy.” “And stuffed up.” There’s a pause, Wolfwood seemingly taking stock of his symptoms. Vash attempts to do the same.  “Yeah. Still, it feels like allergies. If I was getting sick I’d be feeling it in my throat by now.” “Hm… normally you’d be coughing by now too.” Wolfwood shoots him a look, and Vash blushes a bit, rushing through an explanation before he can stop himself. “We just spend a lot of time together, and I noticed that usually when you get sick you get a cough pretty quickly- not first though, first comes a sore throat- usually I can tell because you don’t talk as much- not that you talk too much! You just talk more than I do sometimes, and well, when you’re sick you don’t, and that’s how I can tell it’s starting- but yeah usually the coughing starts before the sne-” “Blondie, take a breath.” Vash chuckles nervously, aiming his gaze at the ground where the crushed cigarette lays, still slightly smouldering, so he grinds it a bit further into the rock. “hH’ZSCHH’ooo-! hehh’ktCHH’iew-! haHH’DNNGT’shhh-!”  “Didn’t we just go over th-” “hIH’ISHH’iew-! Tishh’iew-! hH’ZSHH’iew-! heH’ashh’iew-! HH’zshh’IEW-!” “-this. Bless you.” His tone is teasing, and Wolfwood shoots him an exasperated look, rolling his eyes dramatically, though Vash can’t quite tell if that was meant for him, or the sneezes that seemed to still be dancing through his sinuses. “Hehhh- hH’HDT- guhhh…”  “Still need to sneeze?” “Whaahhhht do you hehhh…. hH’IHH-uhhhhh what do you think?”  Vash blushes, the desperation in Wolfwood’s words simmering in his stomach in ways he’d rather not dwell on. Instead, he reaches over and runs a single finger down the bridge of Wolfwood’s pronounced nose, smirking at the way his eyes tear up immediately. He manages to keep enough wits about him to aim away from Vash’s hand, but doesn’t even attempt to cover as the sneezes blast out of him. “HH’ZSCHHH’OO-! hah’ASHH’ooo-! RRUSHHH’UEE-! HAHH’ZSHHH’YUEE-! Hehh… hehH’KTSHH’ooo-! hh’zzUSHH’ooo-! Jeez, ‘scuse me. Thanks for that, Blondie. They were really tormenting me there.” “Bless you. Seemed like you needed a little help, is all.” “Yeah. Damn, still itches something fierce. Really don’t know what’s got me so irritated.”  Vash glances around the desert once more. Nothing catches his eye, the vast open space still empty of anything more than sand and their car. “We seem to be the only things around. Unless you’ve suddenly developed an allergy to sand. Oh god, that would be- “hEH’KISHH’ooo-!”  “Exactly! Took the words right out of my mo- ouch! Okay, okay, jeez. No need to beat me up! I’m not the one causing this.” They pause for a minute, Wolfwood’s eyes watery and glossed over, but Vash’s suddenly wide and frantic. “Wait, you don’t think you’re allergic to me, do you?! I mean, I’m the only thing around, and you’re having an allergy attack, so it figures that you have to be allergic to something nearby, and since I’m the only thin-” “Blondie, you’re giving me a headache.” “Sorry…”  “Don’t worry so much. I’m not allergic to you. I’d be long dead by now if I was, what with how much you cling to my side.” “I’m pretty sure you’re the one who just decided to invite yourself along on everything I do.” “Regardless of the details, my point stands. I can’t possibly be allergic to you. Besides, it only started recen- hehH- hold on-” Wolfwood pauses, voice entirely air. His breath catches, then releases once more, stuck right on the edge of sneezing and hitching. Vash feels a pang of sympathy at the desperate look in his eyes as they flutter between closed and open. Wolfwood is stuck, mouth ajar, head slightly tilted. One hand is hovering in front of his face, lightly fanning, the other holding his cigarette as it burns closer and closer to his fingers. Noticing the pain that’s sure to occur soon, Vash knocks it down, crushing it beneath his boot, not missing the growl of protest Wolfwood manages to slip out between gasps. “You’re a bit too preoccupied to be smoking that right now, and I don’t think either of us want you getting burned by it.” All he gets are hitches in return, the groaning starting to air on the side of moans as Wolfwood tries frantically to get the sneezes to come out. Finally he reaches over, grabbing Vash’s hand, sending chills down his spine. He’s too far gone to speak, but he doesn’t need words. Vash knows what to do. Gently taking his finger, and running it down the bridge of his nose like he did before, Vash nearly faints at the deep and airy moan that escapes Wolfwood’s throat, before he lunges forward with a harsh fit, lightly misting Vash’s hand as he attempts to move out of the way. “hEH’ISHH’YIUU-! ASHHH’YUUE-! ZSSHHH-DTSHH-KTSHHH’OOO-! hehh- heH’kNXGT’SHOO-! heH’ISHH’iew-! hh’zzSHH’ooo-! What the fuck- RSHHH’ooo-! hh’ktSHH’ooo-! heH’RSHHHH’yuue-! Oh thank god.”  “Bless you Nicholas. Better?” He receives a desperate sniff in response, wet and heady, and Vash searches through his pockets for another tissue, handing over a pack he forgot he was carrying. “You been holdin’ out on me.” Wolfwood mutters, crushing his nose into them and letting out a harsh blow. “Forgot I had them, sorry ‘bout that, I woulda handed ‘em over sooner if I remembered.” Wolfwood comes up for air, his nose twitching in the cold night air, before pressing it back into the tissues for another blow. Finally, seeming to get enough relief to satisfy him, his watery glance meets Vash’s, an itchy sigh releasing from his chest. “All is forgiven, feels much better now. Except that you crushed my smoke before I was finished with it!” “Ah, sorry ‘bout that too, but it was for the best.” Already pulling another out, Wolfwood gives him another sharp smile, this time laced with something that makes Vash’s heart flutter before he has a chance to stop it. “At this rate I’m gonna finish the pack before morning.” As he reaches over to get it lit, Vash gently pulls it out from between his lips. Wolfwood raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say a word, and doesn’t move back either, their faces close enough to feel the other’s breath. Vash places the smoke in his mouth, lights it, and takes a drag, ‘Hm, it does taste a bit different… what is this, I wonder.’ before letting Wolfwood remove it, and place it between his own lips.  Neither moves, Wolfwood breathing in too, Vash still holding his breath, though not by choice anymore. They stay like this for a beat, before Wolfwood turns to the side, blowing out, before turning back, eyes aglow. Vash finally realizes he’s still holding the smoke in his lungs, and goes to exhale, before pausing. ‘Time for a little revenge for the earlier smoke blowing’.  He lets his breath go, smoke drifting right into Wolfwood’s face. The reaction is instantaneous, Wolfwood using every fiber of his being to aim for Vash’s shoulder instead of his face as the sneezes burst out of him, forcing the cigarette to drop onto the ground where Vash crushes it. “hhH’zzSHH’ooo-! hh’ASHHH’ooo-! heH’ihhDSHH’ieew-! hUH’RUSHHH’yuee-! B- Blond- hAH’KTSHHH’ooo-! hihh’ZZCHH’OOO-! hH’EDDshh’yue-! RSHHH’ooo-!”  “Oh god, bless you Nico!”  Vash pauses for a second, before realization sets across his face, immediately replaced by panic as he turns over the pack in his hand, reading the label. “Shit- Nicholas, oh damn it-” Through congested sniffles, Wolfwood manages to shoot him a questioning gaze, before another desperate sneezes rips through him, this time giving him enough time to aim for the ground. “hEHH’KTSHH’shiew-!” “Bless you. I’m so sorry!” “What are you sorry for, I’m the one who just… juuhhhst… hhh’ISHH’yue-! ktSHH’ooo-! Scuse me- just sneezed against your shoulder.”  “Bless yo- huh? Oh, that’s nothing, don’t worry about it. It’s my fault anyways, I really should have seen it sooner, I was just… kinda distracted… I’m so sorry!” “Seen what…? What am I missing here Blondie?” Vash blushes, this time deep enough that Wolfwood can’t help but raise an eyebrow at the colour shift.  “T- the… the pack of smokes I gave you… you said they tasted different, and I thought it was just the brand, but when I had one I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was- it tasted like more than just a different brand- I mean I should have smelled it in the smoke but I wasn’t paying attention- and you were too stuffed up to smell or taste it anymore- I’d heard of flavoured cigarettes before but I’ve never seen them around here so I didn’t even think to-” “Blondie, rambling again. Is there a point you’re gettin’ to?” “.....They’re cinnamon flavoured. Which means the smoke is cinnamon scented too.”  Wolfwood stares for a moment, before letting out a laugh that nearly startles Vash off the rock. “That’s all? Blondie, with the way you were goin’ on, I thought they were poisoned or something!” “B- but… you’re allergic to cinnamon..? That’s why you’re sneezing so much, and… and it’s all my fault…” Vash feels his face flushing again, tears starting to form in his eyes before he can fight them off. ‘Why are you crying, you’re the one who caused this, you don’t get to cry-’.  His thoughts are cut off by the feeling of soft hands against his cheeks. One hand wipes away the tears, lingering just a moment on his cheek, while the other runs up into his hair, eliciting a soft sigh that he can’t stop. “I’m not angry at you, Vash.” Vash manages to clear his head enough to recognize the hands belong to Nicholas. The voice that spoke up belongs to him too, and there’s a gentle tone in it he’s never heard before. The eyes staring back at him belong to the man as well, and the kindness seeping through them nearly starts Vash crying again. “Y… you’re not…?” A light chuckle breaks through, and Vash feels his heart drowning in longing. “It’s just some sneezing, Blondie. We both know I’ve had worse. Plus, I was still enjoying the smoke, even with the unfortunate byproduct.” Vash stares, head filling with thoughts he can’t ignore. ‘Why isn’t he angry?’ ‘He was still enjoying them?’ ‘Is he okay with this?’ and front and center, ‘His hands are still touching me, does he know that?’  One hand still cups his face, thumb running along his chin, while the other seems content to pet through his hair. Vash can’t help but gasp as Nicholas suddenly pulls back, both hands leaving his skin, prompting his own to reach out for them. “hihh’KTshhh’iew-!”  ‘Oh.’  With that, Nicholas lets Vash’s hands grab his own, returning the grasp. Neither of them pulls closer, but neither pulls away. They just sit there for a minute letting the contact send burning chills through their bodies, almost as if they were being electrocuted. And yet… it was the most soothing feeling either had ever had.  After a few minutes of this, Vash broke off first, barely catching the airy sigh that escaped between Nicholas’s teeth. Vash could see his nose was still twitching, a red sheen on it glowing in the moonlight. ‘When did it get so much brighter out here?’ “We should get you some allergy meds, or you’re gonna be sneezing the rest of the night. Neither of us will get any sleep if that happens.” “Right, Blondie. Lead the way.” Neither of them says a word about the contact, the electricity, or the burning urge to do it again that bangs against each of their chests. Somehow, an unspoken agreement has been made, one that both of them seem desperate to keep. ‘That didn’t happen, I didn’t love it, and it will never happen again.’  Of course, both of them also know it’s a lie, and are eagerly awaiting the next excuse to feel that softness again. Somewhere, in the middle of a surprisingly cool desert night, under a dark sky, one touch lights a spark, and two cold hearts start to thaw in the heat. 

[tickle-bugs]

Lil idea for the 3 Peter Parkers!

Peter 1, the youngest, often gets snarky with the older two "brothers". They both eventually decide theyve had enough of his jabs about their age, and team up on him, working together to tickle him to bits and teach him to respect his elders

Attitude Adjustment

Okay so if you’re like me and literally can’t keep the numbers straight: peter one (referred to just as Peter here) is tom holland’s spidey, peter two is tobey maguire’s, and peter three is andrew garfield’s. I felt SO silly writing in the numbers but there really is no other way LOL

Also, au where they’re in sort of a Spiderverse situation and the other spideys are trying to figure out how to get back to their dimensions. Absolutely no canon, just vibes. 

“Hey Pete? How do you work this thing?” Peter Two huffs and flails his hands around through the holographic energy core in front of him. It spins listlessly, unsure how to interpret his gestures, and beeps at him. 

“Comin’.” Peter rolls off the couch, chucking his phone onto the rickety coffee table. His new place was small, achingly so, but it was starting to come together nicely. He had pictures on the walls, a rug on the worst spot of the floor, and a bedframe. All progress was good progress. 

“Show me how you’re doing it?” Peter squishes beside Two, who sort of swats at the hologram like an irritating bug. 

“Oh, okay. So, uh, the hologram maps its movements according to your fingertips. If it can’t get a good read, it’s not gonna respond. Here, like this.” Peter pulls his hands into the projected image, twitching his fingertips and twirling his wrists. The simulated core spins and zooms at his whim. Eventually, the image flashes green, and a small loading bar picks up at the bottom. 

“Neat.” Peter Two watches in awe as the computer begins to synthesize his formula. He idly spins the image around. “We didn’t have anything like this growing up. It’s crazy.”

“Glad I could help, grandpa.” Peter grins, giving Two’s shoulder a good-natured squeeze. Two rolls his eyes and shoos him away. 

“What a nice young man, helping the elderly,” Peter Three hums from the ceiling, typing away at his laptop as if his life depends on it. He looks a bit like a goblin, or maybe a vampire, hunched over all of them. 

“I do my part.” Peter salutes, flips back over the couch, and pulls his phone back into his hand with a web. He’d lost his place in the Fantastic Four interview he was reading. He sighs. 

“You both are hilarious,” Peter Two grumbles, watching a holographic array of complex mathematics spin in front of him. 

Peter sinks down into the couch, into the quiet buzz of technology and Peter Three’s terrifying typing. It’s not silence, not quite, but it still gnaws into his bones in a way he doesn’t like. He’s been avoiding being Peter as much as he can lately, instead staying out on patrol as late as his body can handle. Collapsing on a rooftop as Spider-Man is easier than coming back to Peter Parker’s shithole apartment. 

Spending time with people like him, people who get it, it’s…nice. Steadying. He knows it’s going to crush him when they leave, but having them now is more than he could ever ask for. He has no one, but he has them. 

“Hey.” Peter leans over the back of the couch and waves at Three. “Need help?”

“Hm? No, I’m good. Still compiling that list of compatible metals. Hoping to keep this matter projector the size of a rubix cube. Or, worst case scenario, like a suitcase.” Peter Three gnaws at his lip, then squints at his screen. He flings out a web and snags his glasses, catching them out of midair. He puts them on with care, pinning the laptop to his upside-down lap with his free hand. After fiddling with the lenses, he gets them to balance properly. 

“You’re still squinting.” Peter chuckles. 

“It’s part of the creative process.” Three waves an idle hand, then squints more aggressively. “I, uh--I’ve got shit eyesight. It’s fine.”

“The spider bite didn’t fix your vision?” Peter furrows his brow. 

“It did, but I wrecked it again. Too much blue light, too many flashbangs to the face--it all takes a toll, y’know? You should be grateful your eyes still work. Take care of them while you have them.” Peter Three nods sagely. He grabs his mug of long-cold coffee with a web and brings it carefully to his hands. He sips, gags, then comes back for more. 

“Okay, dad.” Peter huffs with no venom. He tries not to be jealous that Three can drink upside down. He’s tried. Repeatedly. 

“You have a remarkable amount of attitude for someone so tiny.” Three stares at him over the rim of his glasses, which shouldn’t be as funny as it is. Peter snorts. 

“Right? It’s his tone,” Peter Two hums. The computer chirps at him that his equation is only sixty percent viable, would you like to try again? He thunks his head into the desk. Three’s mug slowly lowers itself down beside him. Two takes a sip, gags, and deposits the mug in the sink. Three balls up a piece of paper and throws it at his head. 

“Alright, I’m starting to go a little stir crazy. How about we take a break?” Peter Two stretches, popping something in his back. He does the ‘keys, wallet, phone’ patdown on himself, turning in circles to make sure he’s set. 

“Like a patrol break?” Peter perks up. 

“No, a dinner break. I’m starving, and God knows when you two last ate. Or slept.” Two hazards a glance towards Three. 

“Oh, I’m good. Go without me.” Peter Three keeps typing. Two’s glare chills the room a few degrees. He pointedly clears his throat. 

“Y’know what, actually? A break sounds great. Super on board with the, uh, the break time.” Peter Three closes his laptop and flips down off the ceiling. He stumbles as he lands, hissing in pain. The laptop goes flying, but Peter just manages to snag it with a web. He cradles it to his chest. 

“Thanks.” Three nods. Peter nods back. The room collectively sighs in relief. 

“Is it your, uh--” Two maneuvers to support Three as best he can. They limp over to the corner of the kitchen together. 

“My back, yeah. Shitshitshit.” Peter Three inhales tightly and leans up against the counter. He tips his head back against the cabinets and focuses on breathing. 

“It just, uh--well, it locks up sometimes. No clue why.” Three shrugs, then winces. 

“I think I have some painkillers. If it’ll help.” Peter sets the laptop down. Three smiles thinly at him. 

“I’ll take you up on that. I’m usually fine after a few minutes. Just gotta wait it out.” Three winces again, gripping the countertop hard. The cheap vinyl cracks with the force of it. Peter tries not to wonder if he’ll have to pay for that--instead, he fishes out the pitifully empty bottle from his coffin-sized bathroom. 

“Gimme your hands.” Peter Two crowds in front of Three and starts helping him stretch, slow and steady. After a heart-wrenching cry of pain, Three hums appreciatively. He twists side to side, working out as many sore spots as he can. Peter shakes the bottle at him and tosses it. He catches it and dry swallows the pills. 

“Hm.” Peter leans against the wall. 

“What?” Two huffs.

“Nothing.” Peter shakes his head with a smile. Fondness blooms warm in his chest. May used to tell him that he’s the only person who knows how to take care of himself best, what he needs. He wonders if she ever thought it would manifest this way. 

“Alright, c’mon. What old man joke are you sitting on right now?” Two crosses his arms. His amusement is contagious. 

“I wasn’t going to make fun of you!” Peter laughs.

“One day you’re gonna be a twenty-something with a bad back. You’re gonna be like ‘oh wise and mysterious Peter, please help me with my ailing spine’. Then you’ll get it.” Three grunts. He loudly cracks something in his back and all of them wince. 

“What am I gonna do? Do a backbend over your walker?” Peter snickers. Three gasps and splutters, sending both of them into actual laughter. They’re terrible influences on each other. 

“You are such a brat.” Two chuckles, mostly in disbelief. Peter sticks his tongue out at him. 

“Were you like this?” Two jerks a thumb toward Peter. Three quirks a smile and regards Peter for a bit--the defiant jut of his chin and the fire in his eyes are heartwarming. 

“I mean…yeah. Kinda. Just tall.” Three smirks.

“I’m not short.” Peter scoffs. Two and Three exchange a glance. Three leans on Peter’s head. Peter swats his arm away. 

“You’re barely taller than me!” Peter huffs, throwing his hands in the air. 

“First step is acceptance, buddy.” Two pats his shoulder. “Let’s get our shawarma on.”

Peter Three stifles his laughter into his fist, squinting in mirth through crooked glasses. Peter groans, smacking his face into his palm. He’s hiding a smile, though, and it makes Two smile in turn. 

“What?”

“Let’s get our shawarma on?” Peter snickers, his shoulders shaking. 

“Yeah, I can’t defend you. That was corny.” Three leans into Peter and soon they’re both giggling, set off by each other’s goofiness. 

“You sound like a dad!” Peter giggles. 

“Scratch that. We’re not going anywhere until we cure you of this attitude.” Two raises an eyebrow. Peter giggles at him which, while adorable, Two cannot stand for. 

“You gonna send me to my room? Ground me? Oooh, I’m so scared--” Peter snorts, then he’s upside down. Peter Two’s got him around the waist like a sack of potatoes. He lets out an affronted squeak and tries to reach for the floor. 

“Whatareyoudoing--” All the breath leaves Peter in a hefty woosh as Two worms his fingers into his sides. He squeals, his legs flailing wildly. He tries to pry Two’s hands away but gravity isn’t his friend at the moment. 

“Spider deterrent,” Two says, deathly serious, but Peter can hear him smiling. Bastard. 

“Nononohoho! Tickling is cheating!” Peter cackles, all hope of playing tough long gone with his breath. No matter which way he tilts, Two’s fingers are waiting to torment him--and he seems to have quickly figured out just how deathly ticklish his stomach is. Almost like he knew already. 

“I didn’t know there were rules--” Peter Two ducks out of the way of an accidental kick-- “Hey! Violence is not the answer!”

“Gonna v-violence your stuhupid fahahace! Lemme go!” Peter growls, prying at Two’s wrists again. Two tuts at him and vibrates his fingers into Peter’s stomach. He shrieks and kicks his legs, all pent-up energy with nowhere to go. 

“Aren’t you gonna help?” Peter gasps at Three, his voice way higher pitched than he’d like. His face is redder than his suit, little giggles still slipping free. He’s (mostly) deathly serious about murdering Two if he can just get out of this. 

“Yeah, come help!” Two grins, beckoning Three over with a tilt of the head. Peter Three disappears out of Peter’s line of sight and he allows himself an evil grin. 

“We’re gonna kick your--” Peter loses the last half of his threat to a yelp, then frenetic giggling as Three claws at his ribs. Peter screeches in betrayal and tries to swat at him, but he’s far from coordinated and it tickles, oh my god--

“Sorry. More afraid of him than I am of you.” Peter Three grins sheepishly, but his eyes shine with mischief. He walks his fingers up under Peter’s arms and he screeches loud enough to make a dog down the hall start barking. He lets out a snort and desperate syllables tumble out to follow. He manages to elbow Two in the gut and nearly gets dropped on his head for the trouble.

“S-Sorry! Tickles!” Peter hiccups and clamps his arms to his sides. 

“You are so squirmy!” Two tosses him over the back of the shitty couch. Peter squeals at the sudden change in gravity, but then he’s squealing because they both follow him over the couch. 

“I-I’m gonna get a noise complaint! Guys!” Peter throws his head back against the armrest and cackles, shoving at the two of them. He’s not sure where the ceiling is anymore, everything’s sort of spinning, but the slight burn in his chest is grounding. 

“Alright, alright.” Two lays off and Three follows suit. Peter flings his arm over his face and tries to remember the sweet embrace of oxygen.

“Oho man. You guys suck.” Peter peeks at them with a goofy smile. 

“Spider deterrent. Works like a charm.” Two puts his hands on his hips. Three leans up behind him and goes to poke his side, but Two catches his hand. 

“Don’t. Do not.” Two points at Three threateningly. Three holds his hands up in surrender, but his grin is anything but innocent. He and Peter lock eyes.

“Spider deterrent, huh?” Peter leans up on his elbows with a cocky grin. “Every experiment needs multiple trials, right?”

“You’re both menaces.” Two grapples with Three, occasionally twitching but still putting up a fight. Peter manages to poke him a few times and get his arm caught, but Two can’t fight both of them.

A hush befalls the room as Peter Two visibly weighs his options, trying not to crack from Three’s pinching at his ribs. 

Two throws himself over the couch, followed by Three, and Peter eggs them on from the safety of the couch. It’s like watching cats wrestle, really--there’s an indistinguishable tangle of limbs and shouting before Peter Three’s shocked cackle emerges from the pile. 

“P-Peter! Help!” Three wheezes, holding his hand out for rescue.

“Oh, you want my help? Yeah, sure, I’ll help.” Peter cackles evilly, kicking off the couch and launching himself at Three.

“Wait, hold on--”

…

“98 percent viable. We did it,” Peter Two breathes, holding the hologram in his hands. The simulated core spins lazily. After hours of calibration and recalibration, the algorithm finally holds steady. Three squeezes his shoulder and laughs quietly, happily. They’re going home. 

“Should we tell him?” Three casts a glance over to the couch. Peter’s out cold, curled up under a threadbare blanket that refuses to let go of its musty smell. Despite the bags under his eyes, he looks peaceful. 

“Tomorrow. You both still owe me shawarma.” Two smiles, knocking their shoulders together.