#but he actually just does weird shit with it

[thatguywiththetumb1er]

Look I don't know nothing about politics but this is also just a really bad dunk. Like while I agree with OP that "um actuallying" this does nothing because it's just a rallying call, I would argue that there is a place for dunking in politics. Problem is that it has to come from that similarly emotional place and this just DOESN'T do that.

In the lead up to the election we have two dunks that I think point out the good that dunks can do. "Republicans are weird," and "JD Vance fucked a couch."

Both of these dunks undermine power by appealing to emotion, like everyone else I'm frustrated by the pullback on "weird" as a cultural moment but I think that the general erasure of Vance from the popular conversation does come in part rom the way that he was written off. Does this mean that he still has power? Absolutely. But Donald Trump is the president because for as many people that find him utterly repellant, there are also a large number of people who find him LIKEABLE.

All this to say, "Donald Trump declares everyone in America female." Useless, toothless, does nothing.

"Donald Trump, by his own executive admission, legally becomes the first female president of the USA," NOW you've got something. "Donald Trump, America's first female president according to himself, raises taxes on groceries," "By serving two different terms as two different sexes, is Donald Trump America's first trans president?", that's the sort of shit you need to do. Is it a lie? YES. Is it even biologically sound? NO. But is it going to piss them off if we all keep repeating it. YES. It's like "President Musk," you gotta fight dirty. "Um actually checkmates" are clean. Fight DIRTY.

everyone trying to own trump about the "he doesn't know sex isn't determined at conception" thing really fundamentally does not understand what the point of that was, and learned basically nothing from his first term. he is not invested in science, biology, or any rational discussion where his provably false beliefs would be subject to scrutiny. he is signaling to everyone in the country that it does not matter what you say, he will never care and he will take every action to enforce these views and embolden his followers with the same rhetoric. you cannot logically talk to a person like this when they are reasoning with emotion, not logic. you cannot dunk the transphobia away. someone post the vonnegut quote.

[bigification]

A Large Pair of Swim Shorts

The weather is beautiful today. It's a hot summer day, only slightly overcast, but that won't stop you and your boys from having a beach day.

"It's so nice to finally get out." John said with a sigh of relief.

"Yeah, boss has been workin us to the bone this week to get that house built. I can't wait to lay down and do jack shit all day." Pete chimed in.

You finally reach the sandy beach and walk over to a nearby picnic table. You slam the beer filled cooler onto the table and start opening up your beach chair for a well deserved rest.

"Hey boys! Look at this shit." John laughs while pointing at something obscured by the table.

You bend over to see around the table, but you don't see anything interesting. Just a blue beach towel someone must have left behind.

"What?" You scoff at him.

John runs over to the towel and holds it up for you like a dog would with a big stick.

"It's a pair of swim shorts you dumbasses!" John exclaims as he turns the shorts to reveal the drawstring.

"How much of a fat ass do you have to be for that thing to fit you?" You laugh at the comically large pair of shorts.

"Does that mean there's some whale swimmin out there naked." Pete erupts into laughter.

"Wait wait, watch this!" You say as an idea pops into your head.

You run over to John and snatch the shorts out of his hands. They look even larger up close, it's hard to imagine anyone actually fitting into this. You slip one leg into each hole of the shorts and pull them up to pretend you're wearing them.

"I bet we could easily fit all three of us in here." You struggle to say through your laughter.

"That's gross man! Who knows what kinda slob wore those before." John joked.

But the happy expression on your face quickly fades when a weird sensation shoots through your body. Your suspicions are confirmed as you look down and realize that your feet are rapidly growing. Within moments your average sized feet grow to size 20, then size 30, growing far past the size of any shoes in existence. They finally settle at about four times their size, making you look like a clown.

"What the fuck is happening to you man!?" John yells out.

"I-I don't know.." you respond.

But before you can get another word out, it continues. First your calves grow, forcing you to spread your legs and nearly doubling your height. Now standing at 11 feet tall, you have to look down at your friends to see them. Next your thighs expand, growing thick muscle and fat as they instantly shred through your old swim shorts and perfectly fill out the new ones. You once again have to spread your legs so they don't rub together. Also it takes a moment for you to catch your balance because the wind is much stronger up at 16 feet.

As if your massive shorts weren't tight enough around your thighs, your flat ass swells into two juicy cheeks that bounce every time you take a step. By this point, the shorts 'that would only fit a fatass' are skin tight, making it all the more obvious when your dick starts to grow. An obvious bulge forms over your crotch, snaking its way up toward your waist. Each surge of growth adds inches in both length and girth, as well as sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your dick finally stops growing at over 2 feet long and 6 inches thick, basically impossible to hide in any normal clothing but it's not like you'll ever fit into normal clothing anyway.

"Holy shit dude! Your dick is massive." Pete comments.

"I know right? It feels... so.... goooood." You moan as a large stain forms in your shorts.

And as if to trigger it, your upper body starts to grow. You can hear your spine reshape as it grows exponentially, leaving you at a staggering 22 feet tall. Your slightly chubby belly is completely replaced by a six pack with a sharp V line on your waist. Your chest and shoulders broaden to over 8 feet wide as your flabby chest is replaced by two perfectly muscular pecs with nipples larger than CDs.

The bones in your arms reshape as they grow nearly 12 feet long. Your biceps swell larger than a tree trunk and your forearms aren't much smaller. Your hands grow and thicken until they're larger than your camping chair. Large enough to pick up one of your friends in one hand. Each finger is larger than a water bottle.

That's not the end, however. Right now you're left with a comically small head compared to your hulking body. That all changes when you start to feel the bones in your head growing and reshaping. Your jaw becomes sharp and square, your nose becomes thicker, and your brow bone creates a shelf over your eyes. Finally leaving you over 24 feet tall and over 8 feet wide.

Once the transformation finally slows down, your new perspective lets you see something interesting buried in the sand. You bend down and lift the picnic table up as if it weighed nothing. You pull out some suspiciously large jewellery from the sand. A chain, a watch, and a pair of sunglasses that all seem to fit you perfectly.

"What the hell just happened. Pete did you spike my drink?" John asks.

"Nope, that just happened for real." Pete stutters.

"God this feels amazing." Your voice booms.

"You look so jacked, too." John points out.

"I know man! Watch this." You say excitedly as you pounce your pecs.

That's when you notice something interesting. Where you found the jewellery, there are what looks like two beach towels buried in the sand. Pulling them out, you realize they're two more giant swim trunks. Though they look significantly larger than yours.

A devious smile takes over your face as you reach to grab both of your friends. You toss them each into one of the massive swim shorts and watch in delight as they grow. A few cracking bones, swelling muscles, and moans later, you are left with two horny giants just like you. Although it seems unlike you, their transformations accentuated their more mature and rounded features.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Jan behind the cut; “YJ packs up and gets pupped”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“You are presenting, and you have chosen to do it in the base,” Red Tornado says. “Presumably you chose to do that because Project Cadmus lacked something you require for the process.” 

“I . . .” Kon hesitates again, biting the inside of his lip. “I just–I just didn’t wanna do it there, okay? That’s–s’all.” 

Red Tornado looks at him. Kon really wishes the guy had a scent that he could read. Or like–at least a fucking expression or something. Like just–literally anything, right now. 

“You appear to be nesting,” Red Tornado observes. “Are you an omega, then?” 

“. . . I guess,” Kon mumbles, swallowing roughly. And it feels–it feels weird, saying it to someone. Even after saying it to himself and the Super-Cycle already. 

Red Tornado can tell him what he thinks about him saying that to him, is the thing. And whatever he thinks, it’s not going to be what Kon thinks himself.

Like–obviously it’s not, yeah. 

“You are in possession of sufficient nesting material, then?” Red Tornado asks, and Kon tries not to bristle. It’s–it’s just a question, maybe. Probably. Not one he knows why Red Tornado’s asking, but–just a question. 

Unless it’s a trap, anyway. 

“I just–borrowed some stuff,” he says without saying anything about–about just what he’s really “borrowing”, and he maybe sounds a little bit too defensive about it, but . . . but that’s all he did, dammit. He didn’t do anything–bad or anything. “S’all. I���ll scent-scrub all the pheromones and shit off when I’m done, alright? I’m not messin’ anything up or anything, it’s fine.” 

They wouldn’t care, he tries to say, but he doesn’t know–he doesn’t actually know that. Doesn’t actually know if . . . if they’d care. If they’d–mind.

Would they be mad, if they found out he came to the base to present and then tracked down and took all their scents? Like–without asking, or . . . 

They’re not a pack. And the others all have packs. And in all their heads he’s just, like, the stupid bruiser teammate who’s only barely a friend that none of them trust to be in charge of the team even though he’s literally the only one who actually has been in charge of a team before and who they probably all think’s an alpha anyway and–and– 

“Yes,” Red Tornado says. “But is ‘some stuff’ sufficient for your nest?” 

“I . . .” Kon–falters, kinda, and maybe sinks in on himself a little again. Does–does it look that bad? He knows he didn’t get much stuff for it, but–but if it looks that bad . . . 

“Kathy prefers to layer her nests with multiple fabrics and cushioning,” Red Tornado says. “And Traya and her friends line theirs with plush toys when engaging in playing ‘house’ together. I am otherwise unfamiliar with the necessary components of their construction.” 

“. . . oh,” Kon realizes, and feels a little less–a little less embarrassed, at least. At least if Red Tornado doesn’t really know how it’s supposed to go either . . . well, he can’t think it looks that bad, if he doesn’t really know. Right? “Uh–I don’t . . . I dunno. I never . . . did it, before.” 

Red Tornado tilts his head. Kon represses a cringe, trying not to bristle. Well–he wasn’t presented before, so . . . so why would he have? 

“I was under the impression that most omega pups experience a compulsion to nest even before their presentation,” Red Tornado says. 

“Well, I didn’t,” Kon snaps at him, digging his fingers into Cassie’s folded-up shirt and–and not-really-on-purposely pinning it against his chest. 

Hugging it against his . . . against his . . . 

He’d just–he’d just . . . thought about it, a couple times. But he . . . he hadn’t felt any stupid compulsions or . . . 

Kon thinks about how many times he’d thought about nesting, and how many times he’d thrown all his blankets in the corner and made himself sleep on a half-stripped bed and nothing else, and how many times he’d thrown every blanket he could find on his bed and slept under them all at once, and how he’d always . . . always folded his jacket into a pillow, when he was . . . when he was . . . sleeping somewhere else, like on the road or on shoots or in the field or . . . 

He thinks about how many times he’d wanted to . . . wanted to watch one of those nesting videos, but–hadn’t. 

Then he thinks about crying, maybe. 

“I thought I was gonna be an alpha,” he croaks, trying to figure out if–if this makes him a bad omega after all, or–or something. If he didn’t . . . didn’t nest before, or . . . “I thought I . . . thought I . . .”

I thought I HAD to be an alpha, Kon doesn’t say, but it’s all he can think.

[charmac]

Danny did a little interview for AARP Magazine in December. I haven't seen it copied anywhere past the paywall and I enjoyed reading it, so wanted to repost here

(Article is pasted as text below the cut)

Noisemaker I was born in Asbury Park, New Jersey. I was the baby, my sister Theresa was 10 years older, my sister Angie was 16 years older, my mom had two sisters, and none of them shut up, ever. It’s an Italian family, so the decibel level is out there. A little smart aleck I went to Our Lady of Mount Carmel School, because if your mother and father didn’t know what to do with you, they gave you to the nuns. … and still a smart aleck I remember when Peter, my nephew, was born. I was 7 years old, and I went over and looked into the bassinet, and the first thing he did was pee on me. It was great! I don’t think there’s a conversation I’ve had with the guy over all these years where I don’t bring up the fact that he peed on me. Also an old softie Do anything you can to keep on an even keel with your family and friends, no matter what happens in your life. That’s all we have. Don’t hide things. You’ve got to get up every day thinking about how you’re going to make it easier for the people that you’re working with or that you love or that you eat breakfast with. Because it’s infectious; everybody starts feeling good. Falling into the business Growing up, I’d spend the weekends at the movies, but I actually wasn’t even thinking about doing it. I got introduced to the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in a roundabout way, took a couple classes, and I got the bug. And I thought, I’m not like Cary Grant, but I got a feel for this thing. So I studied, and then I went and started looking for jobs in New York, like every other actor does. I didn’t care what the description was—“male, 6 foot 4, 250 pounds”—I’d go out for the audition. Once I got in the room, I’m going to do what I’m going to do. Becoming Louie I wanted that part, Louie DePalma [in Taxi]. I walked into the room to audition in front of the four guys who created it, and I said, “One thing I want to know before we start. Who wrote this shit?” And I threw the script on the table. And I had a nanosecond of, did I screw everything up? Then they fell on the floor. Louie walked into their lives. Sudden fame I went to the market the day after the first episode aired, and people are stopping me on the street: “Hey, Louie!” They weren’t calling me Danny. After a couple of days of this, I called my publicist, and said, “This is really crazy. People are chasing me down the street.” He says, “Danny, you don’t have to worry until that stops happening.” Now it’s all, “Frank, Frank, Frank!” because of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, which is good. The fans are all you have. Still evolving I think I’m bolder than I’ve ever been—I don’t monitor myself as much. I do say things that are, like, pretty far out, that are really weird, and sometimes I’m inappropriate. But I am always respectful, and that’s because of my two sisters, I swear to God. You have to respect other people’s space.

My happy place Since my two grandbabies have been born, I am just in- corrigible. You gotta tamp me down in the joy department, you know what I’m saying? I’m just so lucky. Blessings have been showered down on me. I wish that for everybody.And the thing is to be aware of it. Don’t let it go. Rhea [Perlman, DeVito’s wife, from whom he is separated but with whom he still spends a lot of time] and I were always able to see those little, incremental changes when our kids were growing up. And I tell my kids that, with their babies: Don’t miss a thing, don’t look away. A sudden case of holidays I’m in the movie A Sudden Case of Christmas with my daughter Lucy, who plays my daughter. It’s just a real warm, wonderful movie, and I loved doing it. As far as the actual holidays go, we have family dinners. Basically we’re Italian, so you know, anybody who’s around, we grab. We get to celebrate all the holidays, because Rhea’s parents were Jewish, so we did all the Jewish holidays, and we do all the Catholic holidays or Italian holidays. My mantra It’s always a good thing to be positive about life, and always get out of bed thinking today’s the day you’re really going to kick its ass. That’s the way to do it

[scribblesandink]

She laughed quietly, shaking her head

"God, I'm a mess"

"Yes, you are. But so are the rest of us. We all went a little off the rails during our first century or 2, you know. You're not alone in that"

"I never expected.... That this would be how my life would turn out"

"I know. I don't blame you. Back in the day, we had humans throwing their entire lives at our feet just for small blessings. The idea of immortality.... It was something they didn't even dare consider"

"Does it ever get boring? "

"Yeah. It's kind of weird watching time pass while you're exactly the same"

"How do you deal with it? "

"Find something you like and stick to it. I put a lot of time and energy into building roads and learning languages. Apollo did the same with medical research and was a field medical in.... Well all the major wars. Dio actually used to help people struggling with addiction before he lost control of his"

"Wait, seriously? "

"Yeah. His whole thing was to be yourself and have fun without being restrained. Whether by social norms or anything else. Addiction is a prison that is really hard to get out of"

"Yeah.... I just assumed he had always been like this"

"No. He would always preach freeing yourself from anything that held you down. It sucks that he was eventually taken down by the thing he had helped so many people get over. His main thing was pretty much 'Life is too short to hurt yourself over stupid shit. Live for yourself. You're gonna die eventually, may as well enjoy the ride'"

"Yeah, that sounds like him"

.

Apollo's fever continued to fluctuate, waking him up a few times before knocking him back out. He eventually had to join the interview and Dionysus helped him get ready

"You don't have to do this, you know"

"I do. I don't like disappointing people"

"You're sick"

"Ill sleep after. It's only an hour"

"What about the show tomorrow? "

"I.... Ill figure something out"

"We should cancel"

"My voice still works"

"Yeah but everything else doesn't"

Do you think covid existed in the Season? Do you think that for 2020-2021 Zeus couldn't host two Seasons. He had to wait until 2022 when restrictions finally lifted?

I'm gonna assume that covid didn't exist for my own sanity

[astr-venus]

｡⁠☆TTYL XOXO｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+⁠ 

｡⁠☆Tim Drake headcanons + SMAU

｡⁠☆Cw: no pronouns, no use of y/n, mention of stalking, civilian reader

˗ˏ★First of all, he's a shit typer. He's typing while barely looking at the screen most of the time, but muscle memory allows his typing to still be mostly coherent

˗ˏ★What he chooses to abbreviate or to actually spell out is in God's hands, he definitely isn't thinking about word choice

˗ˏ★Also a lot more blunt over text. Most of the time he's in the middle of something and lowk rushing to reply (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

˗ˏ★Sends memes and tiktoks all the time. It's his love language 🩷🩷

˗ˏ★Such a "this is us" "is this us" "this reminds me of us" type of guy lol. It can be two balls of trash rolling down the street and he'll be like "me n u on a walk<33"

˗ˏ★He loves when you send stuff like that back. It makes him feel all warm inside

˗ˏ★Only says I love you over text. He's working on it, but the only person he knows that casually says ily is Dink

˗ˏ★A huge workaholic, whether we're talking about WE or vigilante activities. His work/life balance is almost as bad as Bruce's

˗ˏ★Denies his weird and obsessive habits for plausible deniability lmao

˗ˏ★Sneaks into your house with dubious consent, but he (almost) always tells you when he's done it

˗ˏ★Always up late bc of his vigilante activities so finding lovey dovey texts sent to you between like 3-6am is pretty regular

˗ˏ★Will NOT acknowledge them in person tho. That's way too vulnerable for him, and the reason you only ever get those texts when his inhibitions are lowered

˗ˏ★Accidentally cropped the last one wrong but you get the gist so it's fine (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

˗ˏ★I'm a Tim doesn't like coffee truther soooo....

˗ˏ★Constantly texting you during boring WE meetings. He doesn't even hide it either. The other rich guys there will be like "Mr.Drake-Wayne sir?? 😟☝🏾 Is everything okay you've been on your phone this whole time😕!" And he'll be like "yeah everything's fine thanks😐" without even looking up

˗ˏ★You don't know he does this fyi, you just assume he has a lot of free time since he's CEO

I did nawt think this was gonna be the first Batfam thing I posted, I have a bunch more in my drafts, but here we are lol. Come hop into my askbox, I don't bite /⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\

｡⁠☆Requests open

[icarusredwings]

Watching X men evolutions (shut up Its good media for my 7 year old COUGH) and kurt is such a cutie and is a flirt.

"Hey kitty. Yeah ive been working out." *is messing with his visualizer to make him buff*

"Ppft-"

"What? Aw man.." *whole ass does the blanket and stick walk out of kittys room after his visualizer makes him look thin again with total shame*

*insert him taking tabitha to the fair despite charles specifically telling them they arn't allowed to go but has sooo much fun and genuinely worries about her saftey*

"Oh kurt! You're early :)"

"Okay ill leave 😔" buddy noooo come back. Shes happy to see you idiot

Who forgot to tell this little fuzz ball of rizz that when he grows up, he has to be celibate?

"Girls dig the fozzy man" he says, to scott before immediately getting turned down 😭

Ladies. From a guy, when people tell you to go for the shy awkward ones, we mean people like kurt, not the creeps who say weird shit about you that makes you uncomfortable and blame it on social awkwardness. There is shy ones who will genuienly care about youre saftey and well being. They might be blue but that's a sacrafice you gotta take in this economy.

Something something Slim pickings by sabrina carpenter.

That episode when Scott kitty and kurt got introuble and when they got to the school both daddy logan and mama munroe were standing next to grandpa charles like they were disappointed parents. I cant with these two. They are litterally parenting this entire team.

And kittys like "what if we just blame it all on kurt?" Then kurts like "hey! Not cool 😩 i thought we were team mates."

Even scott and jean, who honestly are kind of annoying with their whole love triangle situationship thing going on with another student. Like just date already damn.

Whats most frustrating is jean dosnt want scott beefing with her other boyfriend but then immediately gets pissed if any girls try to hang out with scott. Like no honey, thats not how that works.

In other news when they were fighting with a feral Hank, i was cleaning but I heard a loud thick snarl, turned around like "Sabretooth? What are you doing in this episode?" NOPE. Just Logan. Finally being allowed to be himself in this series.

Honorable mention to how when Rouge got that friend and logan walks in to get an apple with his claws, sees the friend and instantly does a 180 and walks away as if the friend totally didnt just see his claws out 😂 daddy logan said "nope. Not today." He does not want the drama he just wants to mind his buisness.

Theyre such... kids.. and I get its the point and all but I actually adore every one of them. Even if they are annoying sometimes... god this is how logan feels huh? That need to parent all the kids because man theyre so dumb and gonna get themseves killed if not? But you love them so much.

[henry7931]

Head Swap Shorts

Borrowing My Son’s Body

Dan:

After I broke my leg, I wasn’t sure how I was going to make dinner for the family this year for big get together. Luckily, my son Sam had a great idea! Just borrow his body to get the job done.

So now I have Sam’s young body while he’s laying in my bed with mine on. The only thing that keeps throwing me off is how much I like having his body.

I feel weird to even think it but my son’s fit and it seems to get turned by the littlest of things. I really forgot what it’s like having a body this age I’ve had a boner all day long and I don’t really know what to do about it.

And now that I’m done cooking and the family shouldn’t be here for a couple more hours… I guess I can take care of it real quick?

So I went inside and went upstairs to check on Sam first. I carefully cracked the door to peak inside just in case he’s asleep— and to my surprise I see Sam literally jerking off and playing with my dick!!!

I almost said something but hey! I might as well do the same with his body.

So I headed to his room and stripped off all of his clothes. I looked down at my son’s perky junk and without any hesitation I started playing with it.

I start stroking his junk faster and faster. But in a matter of minutes, cum squirts out!

I clean off his body and walk to my room. This time I just walked right in.

Sam must of just finished up because he still had my dick out and was covered in my cum.

“Shit! Dad!!”

“Hey bud! Having fun in here?,” I say winking at him.

“Umm… yeah, sorry! This is isn’t what it looks like!”

“Listen son, it’s okay! I just finished up doing the same thing. Although, yours didn’t last that long. I wanted to see if we can stay like this until tomorrow.”

“Wow! Are you sure?”

“Yeah! I’m enjoying your body and it seems like you’re enjoying mine.”

I look down at my older dick and grinned at it.

Sam began to laugh and said, “yeah I like your body a lot. We can stay like this as long as you want dad.”

“Thanks son!”

Teddy

Christian:

Oh shit! I don’t know what to do. Here stands my uncle Cameron’s body withy freaking childhood teddy bear attached it. I was playing around with a couple of spells when he walked in and then this happened …

The weird part is his head isn’t communicating at all and yet it seems like the teddy bear is in control of his body.

I watched as the teddy bear feels up and down his new hairy arms down his new chest all the way to his legs thighs… he gets to my uncle’s junk and generally pats at it.

I watch as he tries to navigate his shorts he had on and gently peels them back. He put one of my uncle’s hands into his pants and begins peeing around.

“ hey can you hear me?” I asked the bear.

He stops for a second almost like he was looking up at me.

“So you can hear me,” I say to him.

He walks towards me and I feel a little nervous. I wasn’t sure what he was gonna do, but then he embraces me into a giant hug.

Not gonna lie it feels kinda good having my uncle’s big strong lawn wrapped around me. My uncle and I are very different. He’s a very stereotypical straight man, but one thing I would never actually admit is my attraction to his body.

I feel the teddy bear began to explore my body like he just did my uncles.

He gets to my bulge and begins to fondle out a bit. I taken my surroundings and realize it is just us in the room.

So I begin to fondle his junk as well.

We both eventually pull off our shorts. Standing close together, slowly, jerking each other off.

I begin to play with his nipples. I even put one in my mouth which is causes him to squirm a bit. I pull his body in for a tight hug. A rock hard dicks are rubbing up against each others. I squeeze his hairy ass.

He even does the same to me and then he does something that surprises me. I feel him insert one of my uncle’s fingers into my hole.

He does it so carefully, and if I didn’t know any better I think he’s done this before.

I say to him, “ let’s go to the room.”

I lead him to my uncle‘s bedroom and we both hop into bed.

I climb on top of him and make my way down to his dick. It’s a beautiful dick, thick and long complemented by a big hairy bush and big hairy balls.

I run my tongue from the head of it down to his ball sack. I get his dick, nice and wet before I get directly on top of it.

He helps me ease it into my hole. It’s just so tight getting in. But once we get going, he begins to start thrusting back-and-forth on me.

Moaning loudly and he’s using his hands to gently play with my cock.

I’m nearly screaming and our bodies are sweaty, and we can’t stop touching each other all over.

I turned my head around and I look at my uncle’s big hairy, stinky feet. I wanna suck on his toes so bad but I don’t wanna stop this moment.

 I watch his toes wiggle from excitement and it sends me over the edge. He’s thrusting in me faster and faster. He’s even going harder. I can’t take anymore, but somehow in the same time I cum and I feel his dick pour loads into my hole.

I looked down at my uncle‘s cum cover chest and I pull his dick out of me. His dick is still leaking and I even get a taste of it.

I turn around and lay back to my face or directly next to his feet. They take a big with his feet smell like a dirty gym. He just got back from a run earlier when he first walked in, and I realized he wasn’t even wearing socks.

I run my tongue up and down his soul. I realize it’s tickling the teddy bear a little bit.

A kiss each of his toes before I crawl my way back up. I feel him wrap his arm around me and I lean into my uncles chest.

I look up at the teddy bear and I say, “ do you want to stay this way forever?”

He gives me a thumbs up.

“Okay but we will have to work on your head. It’s cute but it will freak people out,” I say to him.

He pulls me in tighter and I can feel his fingers running up and down my back. Soon I fell asleep in his arms.

Two weeks later, Ted, which is what I like to call him now and I have gotten really close. He’s very smart and all they can’t speak. He does write to me.

I wanna show him so much, but I need to figure out how to change his head. I may be getting close in my spell book, but I want to be 100% sure.

So for now, me and Ted will just stay in the house. Honestly, it’s fine by me because the sex is amazing.

Coconut Head

Kent:

On vacation and something very strange happened to my older cousin. He was walking out back from the beach when all of a sudden a coconut fell off of a tree. It was so powerful that it knocked off his head and landed right on its shoulders.

I tried to help him pull it off, but it won’t move. We even took him to the hospital and they said just be patient. The coconut is on his neck so tight, but it will eventually loosen up. They said it could take weeks or even over a month.

So now I’m having to spend a lot of time taking care of my cousin’s body and his head.

Although it’s nice is if he does get a little sassy or bossy with me can always just leave his head in another room.

But what’s been really fun is while his head is away I get to explore his sexy body. My cousin is super hot and super ripped. I don’t even mind the coconut me and them because it lets me do whatever I want.

I’ll leave his head in another bedroom at night, which just leaves me in his body alone together. I’ll stay up all night, smelling and licking his pit and feet. Sucking off his cock licking his hole. I’ve even taught his body how to jerk me off and how to give a good foot job.

I’m not gonna lie I kind of hope the coconut gets stuck forever. He’s really talented with my cousin’s toes and he’s a great cuddler at night.

[bigscotman]

Fic Series Idea: Jason and Dick both get de-aged permanently in public at Damian's 13th birthday gala.

They both get de-aged to their 13th birthdays and have their memories from then. Both Zatana and Constantine confirm it's permanent but they also say there's something weird with the spell, it's not a simple de-aging spell but they can't figure out what the difference does.

Exactly a month after they get de-aged they find out. All the memories of the month after their 13th birthdays floods into their mind and the scars and muscle memory appears on/in their bodies.

The 2 Robins think it's cool but are secretly kinda scared because by the time they get to their original ages they'll be completely different people from both who they are now and who they became because sure they'll have their memories and bodies and muscle memory but they'll also have the memories of growing up again.

The rest of the batfam is horrified because this means Jason is going to have to re-experience dying and the pit and everything else and Dick going to have to re-experience all the shit that's happened to him. Being the "completely emotionally competent" people they are they sorta just decide to ignore that and resolve themselves to be better this time round (for Bruce and Alfred) and be good big-little siblings (for the rest).

Damian is also 13 and while it's a little hard to get past the fact that his Akhi and Richard are now the same age as him they become a terrifying trio especially since they can now teach each other a lot easier since they're the same age. Dick teaches them acrobatics and gymnastics and Jason and Damian are having a much easier time picking them up than when older Dick taught them. Jason teaches them how to interact with the people of the alley, victims, etc. and the dirty tricks he'd pull when in a bind as well as general street smarts like places to sleep and how to spot safe and dangerous people etc. which allows Dick and Damian to become a lot closer to the people of Gotham than they were before. Damian teaches them a bunch of stuff from the LoA so Jason and Dick become more effective fighters sooner.

At the beginning of every month Dick and Jason sit down with Alfred for tea and talk about the memories and scars they got the previous night while Alfred reminisces about that time. Sometimes the others join but not often, the most likely to join are Damian or Duke with Steph second most likely.

Obviously they can't go out as Robin so they pick new identities. Jason starts as Flamebird and then changes to Phoenix when he remembers he died. Damian gives Robin back to Dick and changes his name to Shadow.

They also get some new teachers since all of B's training will eventually come back to them. Cass teaches the 3 stealth at Damian's request. Tim and Cass somehow rope in both Lady Shiva and Richard Dragon. Jason finds out about the All-Blades because he accidentally summons them when looking for a knife to cut some bread and his memories of the All-Caste come flooding back and then he begs Bruce to get them magic teachers and Damian and Dick join him, Bruce eventually caves and the 3 become the apprentices of the whole of Justice League Dark.

Also the All-Caste isn't destroyed in this timeline and Jason brings Dick and Damian to it. Essence may or may not literally pass out because of how adorable the 3 are and they get some training there too.

By the time they're all 18 they're 3 of the strongest people on the planet. Dick is their moral compass and has basically become Nightwing but better this time. Jason is both completely different and the same, he's by far the most brutal of the 3 and isn't afraid to kill but if Dick tells him not to kill someone then he won't because Dick is the best out of the 3 of them at telling who could actually change and get help (pedos and rapists are still fair game tho). Damian is as good at stealth as Cass and has an affinity for shadow magic, Jason's penchant for theatrics also rubbed off on him, he also isn't afraid to kill but only does so in the most dire of circumstances. If the 3 show up together you know it's some really big threat but everyone also relaxes majorly.

Damian is the tallest of the 3 at 6ft 5 and has a similar build to Dick but slightly bulkier. Jason comes next at 6ft 4 (yes Damian makes fun of him for it but they both make fun of B for only being 6ft without the bat suit) and has a more similar build to Bruce but slightly stockier with larger muscles. Dick is the shortest at only 5ft 10 and has a slim yet highly muscular build.

Damian is the one that thinks and acts the most like Batman or an assassin in the field mainly using gadgets and stealth. Dick acts much more circus acrobat like by using his magic to create trapezes and whips and ropes and stuff. Jason makes heavy use of magic and is basically what if Red Hood had actual magic rather than just the All-Blades.

[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, and told him (very angrily) to spit it out.

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. He does get sick from it occasionally, but he can hold it down.

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 😍

[sdv-confessions]

i feel like demetrius gets too much shit from this fandom. bros harmless and people reference that line about sebastian getting his snow goon destroyed but we never get anything from demetrius's side of the story like what exactly did the snow goon look like?? maybe it was actually horrendous and demetrius had a right in telling him to take it down. and people say "well he never talks about sebastian" robin doesn't really talk about maru? she's fretting over her oldest kid most of the time and no one gives her any crap over it.

like, i don't think the man's perfect but he's not scum and the way people are quick to demonize him is just idk. weird. and if sebastian wasn't such a fan favorite, i don't think demetrius would be receiving as much scrutiny as he does.

(and before anyone gets on me i do enjoy sebastian as a character.)

[ineffectualdemon]

I've been making picrews for my gerblinsona

These are the three that correctly capture his vibe

He's often high as fuck, and constantly drops the weirdest most "not even people into conspiracy theories have heard of this" conspiracy theories but he doesn't explain it

He just says the most random ass shit on occasion and leaves. And you're never sure if he really believes that the moon is a giant eyeball or that snakes shit confetti or if he's just fucking with you

He's very ecologically conscious. Or at least that's what he says when he explains why he stole all your left socks

But he's very kind and he does help people. Just don't ask where he gets the things you need. It's probably not illegally obtained but you don't want to actually ask

He claims to have a house but that he forgot where it is and he sleeps under your bed and somehow that's not weird

Also while he's living with you your luck improves a lot and he's very chill and listens to your problems before offering you an edible

[elyxir1zz]

★ — Between the lines - part 6

CW : meanie sevika, artist reader, hockey player vi and sevika, modern au, highschool shenanigans, cheating, sex, dark themes, love triangle

A/N : sigh...

You sat at a small table in the bistro, the warm lighting and soft chatter of other patrons providing an oddly comforting atmosphere despite your growing impatience. You tapped your fingers against the edge of the table, glancing at the door for what felt like the hundredth time. Jinx was late—again. She was the one who insisted you drive across town, and yet, as usual, she was running on her own schedule.

Finally, the door swung open, and there she was, striding in with her signature energy. She spotted you immediately and stomped over to your table, plopping down into the seat across from you.

“Vander is dating someone,” Jinx announced dramatically, folding her arms across her chest.

You blinked at her, taken aback by the abrupt declaration. “...That’s—wait, that’s the reason you made me drive here at 7 p.m.?” you asked, tilting your head with a smirk. You weren’t actually mad—this was classic Jinx.

“I don’t know, man,” she shrugged, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You’re the only chick I know who comes from a broken home. Figured you’d have some wisdom or whatever.”

Before you could respond, the waitress approached the table with a warm smile, holding her notepad. “What can I get you two fine ladies this evening?”

“Can we get a basket of fries, and I’ll take a Sprite,” Jinx said, shooting the waitress her trademark smirk.

“Lemonade for me, please,” you added, returning the waitress’s smile. She nodded and walked off, leaving you alone with Jinx again.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “Yeah, I remember when my mom brought a guy home for the first time. It’s...weird,” you said, your gaze drifting off to the side as you recalled the memory.

Jinx leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “It’s a guy,” she said bluntly.

Your eyes widened, and you snapped your attention back to her. “I—wait, what?” you stammered, searching for the right words but coming up short.

Jinx watched you struggle for a moment before nodding in agreement with your bewilderment. “Yup, and that’s not even the worst part. His name is Silco,” she said, her voice laced with disdain.

You barely had time to process this revelation before the waitress returned with your drinks and the basket of fries. You gave her a polite smile as she set everything down, but as soon as she walked off, you turned back to Jinx with a look of disbelief.

“The fuck kind of name is Silco?” you asked, grabbing a fry and popping it into your mouth.

“Right?!” Jinx said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Sounds like a comic book villain or some shit. Like, ‘Oh no! Silco’s at it again, stealing candy from kids!’”

You snorted, nearly choking on your fry. “I mean, what does Vander even see in this guy?”

Jinx sighed dramatically, grabbing a handful of fries. “No idea. He wears this weird coat all the time, and his face looks like he hasn’t slept in decades. But apparently, Vander really likes him. They’ve gone on, like, three dates.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Three dates and he’s already introducing him to you? Bold move.”

“Tell me about it,” Jinx grumbled, sipping her Sprite. “I’m just saying, if this Silco guy starts hanging around more, I’m not gonna play nice.”

You smirked. “You? Playing nice? Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Jinx rolled her eyes, though a small grin tugged at her lips despite her frustration. “It’s not the fact that he’s gay. It’s the fact that this dude just screams bad news,” she sighed, picking up another fry and twirling it between her fingers before popping it into her mouth.

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table. “Why am I hearing this from you and not Vi?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Jinx shrugged, chewing thoughtfully before responding. “Vi doesn’t care. Well... she cares, but not like me.” She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and looking at you with furrowed brows. “This is a stranger just intruding on my life, y’know? What if he wants to, like, play dad or something?” She let out an exasperated sigh, pushing the fries toward you.

You grabbed one, munching on it as you nodded slowly. “Okay, but... is that really so bad? Vander deserves to be happy, Jinx.”

She glared at you, narrowing her eyes. “Yeah, well, what about my happiness? Why does nobody ever think about that?” Her voice was sharper than she intended, and she quickly looked away, muttering under her breath. “This guy just feels... off. Like, what does he even want with Vander anyway?”

You tilted your head, studying her expression. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”

Jinx froze for a moment, her fingers hovering over the rim of her drink. “Scared? Of what? Some guy with a creepy name?” she scoffed, but her tone lacked conviction.

“No, scared that things are changing,” you said gently, setting your lemonade down. “You’re used to it just being you, Vi, and Vander. And now someone else is stepping in, and it feels like they’re taking your spot.”

Her jaw tightened, and she didn’t say anything for a long moment. Finally, she sighed, slouching in her chair. “Maybe... yeah, maybe a little. But it’s more than that. This Silco guy—there’s just something about him that rubs me the wrong way. He’s too smooth, y’know? Like he’s hiding something.”

“Have you even talked to him?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Jinx admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked at you sheepishly before adding, “But I don’t need to. I’ve got instincts, okay? And they’re telling me he’s bad news.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Jinx, your instincts also told you that a squirrel in the park was plotting against you.”

“Hey!” she pointed a fry at you, narrowing her eyes. “That squirrel was suspicious, and you know it.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you reached for another fry. “Look, all I’m saying is, maybe give the guy a chance. He might surprise you.”

Jinx didn’t respond right away, her gaze fixed on the basket of fries. Finally, she sighed again, grabbing a handful. “Fine. But if he does turn out to be some evil mastermind or whatever, I’m saying ‘I told you so.’”

“Deal,” you said with a grin, raising your lemonade again.

She clinked her Sprite against your glass for the second time that evening, muttering under her breath, “This better not blow up in my face.”

You leaned back in your chair, biting at your nail, your leg bouncing uncontrollably under the desk. Your mind wasn’t in the room—it was busy replaying a whirlwind of thoughts, insecurities, and worries. Next to you, Vi glanced over, noticing your fidgeting. Her hand quietly slid over yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. For a moment, you looked at her and smiled softly, the small gesture grounding you, even if only briefly.

But the moment shattered when the teacher called your name sharply, yanking you out of your spiraling thoughts. You straightened up, looking at the front of the room, startled. “Your writing in the essay was good,” the teacher said with a pointed edge to their tone, “but not perfect.”

The words weren’t inherently cruel, but the way they lingered in the air, accompanied by the muffled snickers of your classmates, made your stomach churn. The laughter grew louder, each chuckle piercing through your chest like daggers. Your brows furrowed in frustration and shame as you instinctively looked toward Vi, expecting her to say something—anything—to stand up for you.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she averted her eyes, avoiding your gaze altogether. Her hand slipped back to her side, and you were left sitting there alone, the heat of humiliation burning at the edges of your vision.

Your heart sank. You pushed your chair back abruptly, the scraping sound cutting through the laughter, and stood up. Without a word, you walked out of the classroom, the weight of everyone’s stares trailing behind you.

You didn’t stop walking until you were deep into the empty hallway, the sound of your own footsteps echoing faintly against the lockers. You leaned against one, your breath coming out in uneven gasps. The tightness in your chest was unbearable, and your fingers shook as you pressed them against your temple.

“Breathe,” you whispered to yourself, closing your eyes and trying to calm the storm inside you. But it didn’t work. Your breath only grew heavier, more strained, and your knees started to buckle. You slid down, crouching by the lockers, holding your chest as panic overtook you.

“Hey,” a familiar voice called softly, breaking through the noise in your head.

You looked up, startled, to see Sevika standing a few feet away. Her brow was furrowed, concern etched across her face. She didn’t move closer immediately, giving you space as her sharp eyes assessed you.

“I—” you stammered, trying to brush her off, trying to make it seem like you weren’t falling apart. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

But your breath hitched, and your hands gripped your chest tighter, betraying your words. You crouched lower, closing your eyes as you tried to regain control.

Sevika frowned, stepping closer despite your weak protests. “You don’t look fine,” she said firmly but softly, crouching down beside you. Her tone was calm, steady, like an anchor. “What happened?”

You shook your head, unable to find the words. “It’s nothing,” you managed weakly, your voice cracking.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” Sevika countered, her gaze unwavering. She glanced at your trembling hands and the way your breaths came in short, uneven gasps. “You’re having a panic attack.”

You nodded slightly, tears threatening to spill. “I—I just—” You choked on the words, pressing your forehead to your knees.

Sevika exhaled slowly, her expression softening. “Okay. Listen to me,” she said, her voice dropping to a gentle tone. “Focus on my voice, alright? In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

You peeked up at her, tears welling in your eyes, and hesitated before trying to follow her lead. You mimicked her slow, steady breathing, though yours were shaky at first.

“Good. Keep going,” she encouraged, her voice low and soothing. She reached out but paused, waiting for a sign of permission. When you didn’t pull away, she placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

Slowly, your breathing started to even out, the tightness in your chest loosening just a little. You wiped at your eyes, avoiding Sevika’s gaze as embarrassment washed over you.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t,” Sevika said simply, shaking her head. “You don’t need to apologize for feeling like this.”

Her words caught you off guard, and you looked up at her. For someone who often seemed so guarded and tough, her expression held a surprising amount of understanding.

“Who did this to you?” she asked after a moment, her tone hardening slightly, though the softness in her gaze remained.

You hesitated, unsure of how much to tell her, but the warmth of her presence made it hard to keep everything bottled up. “It’s… complicated,” you admitted finally, your voice shaky.

“Yeah, well,” Sevika said, leaning back slightly but still keeping her eyes on you. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to deal with it alone.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity. For the first time in what felt like hours, you let out a shaky exhale, the faintest hint of relief breaking through the storm inside you.

You wiped at your eyes, your breathing still uneven but steadier now. “How did you know to do that?” you asked, your voice quiet and raw. Your hair fell over your shoulder as you leaned forward slightly, a small attempt to ground yourself.

Sevika’s gaze softened as she leaned back against the lockers, crossing her arms. “My mom used to get them,” she said after a moment, her voice low but steady. “Before she passed away.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, and you blinked, startled by the sudden vulnerability. “Oh…” you whispered, unsure of what to say. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at her lips. “It’s fine,” she said, though the weight of the memory lingered in her tone. “My dad… he used to sit with her when it happened. He’d talk her through it, get her to focus on breathing. I guess it just sorta stuck.”

There was a faraway look in her eyes as she spoke, like she wasn’t entirely in the present anymore, lost instead in fragments of a life she didn’t often share. The toughness that usually defined her seemed to peel away for just a moment, leaving something quieter, softer, beneath.

You tucked your knees up to your chest, watching her. “That’s… really kind of him,” you said gently, hoping she’d take the compliment without brushing it off.

She nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah. He wasn’t perfect, but he had his moments.” She glanced at you, a spark of something unreadable flashing across her face. “Guess I got a few things right from him after all.”

For a moment, the silence between you wasn’t heavy or awkward—it was almost comforting. You both sat there, leaning against the lockers, and for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel entirely alone.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sevika looked at you, her brow quirking slightly. “For what?”

“For… not walking away.” you said, gesturing vaguely to the space between you.

She shrugged, though her expression softened again. “What happened?” she asked a final time

“My teacher made fun of my writing in front of everyone… and Vi didn’t say anything,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you wrapped your arms around your knees, leaning your forehead against them.

Sevika’s eyebrows furrowed deeply, her usual stoic expression giving way to something more tender. She crouched down in front of you, resting her forearms on her knees as she tried to catch your gaze. “...I’m sorry,” she said after a moment, her voice soft but firm. “He shouldn’t have done that, and she should’ve said something.”

You lifted your head slightly, meeting her steady eyes. There was no trace of judgment or pity in her expression, only quiet understanding. That somehow made the tears you’d been holding back spill over, streaming silently down your face. “I just… I thought she’d have my back,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “But she didn’t even look at me.”

Sevika sighed, running a hand through her hair as she leaned back against the lockers. “That’s not okay,” she said simply, her voice low and even. “She’s supposed to have your back. That’s kind of the bare minimum.”

You swallowed hard, wiping at your cheeks with the sleeves of your hoodie. “Maybe I’m overreacting,” you muttered, trying to brush it off, though your voice betrayed how much it hurt.

“No, you’re not,” Sevika said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. She tilted her head slightly, watching you with that sharp, observant gaze of hers. “Don’t make excuses for people who let you down. You’re allowed to feel hurt when someone doesn’t show up for you, especially someone who’s supposed to care about you.”

Her words struck something deep inside you, and you found yourself nodding, though you still felt conflicted. “It just… it sucks,” you mumbled. “I feel like I can’t rely on her sometimes. Like I’m just supposed to handle everything on my own.”

Sevika’s jaw tightened slightly, and for a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then she shifted, sitting fully on the floor beside you. “You don’t have to handle everything alone,” she said quietly. “You’ve got people, even if it’s not who you expected. Even if it’s just me sitting here with you.”

The simplicity of her statement caught you off guard. It wasn’t some grand declaration, but it felt genuine—solid in a way that you hadn’t felt from anyone else in a while. You looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, you felt like maybe it was okay to let someone in, even just a little.

“Thanks,” you whispered, the word feeling too small for what you wanted to say but the best you could manage.

Sevika gave a small nod, a ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips. “Anytime,” she said, leaning back against the lockers with you. “Now, do you want me to deal with that teacher? I can be very persuasive.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a quiet sound that broke through the weight in your chest. “I think you’d scare him into early retirement,” you said, the corner of your mouth twitching upward.

“That’s the idea,” she said with a wink, and for the first time all day, the knot in your stomach loosened just a little.

taglist:

@vyvvycg @drinkdawudda @jiungmcvv @half-of-a-gay @savedforlaterr

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel 11

Chapter 11: fevered Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. Huge HUGe Voyeurism bit, arthur being a perv 🤨👀 huge weirdo energy LMAO small mention of wanting death, WC: 7780 Hello snow angels : ) here is chapter 11!!! this chapter will be from arthurs perspective so very exciting 😳 i had a ton of fun just getting nasty with him and writing his fucked up little thoughts 😈 arthur inner monologue was a bit weird at first but im sure ill get better at it by actually attempting to do it LMAO i hope you guys enjoy and pls let me know what you think!!! i wanna thank everyone who has left replies and asks about this series, all of you have been so supportive and amazing, couldnt do it without you guys 🥹🥹💖💖💖 also this ended up way too long so sorry Tags: lots of angst todayyy, no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being rude as always just… low honor arthur as a warning lol - What does it matter if the man who saved your life is a little strange?

It must be dusk falling too soon. Slow deprivation of heat and light; does things to his head, as if that wasn’t half screwed off already. Arthur’s fingers clutch the dusty curtain in front of one of two main windows at the front of his cabin; his eyes swear they can see…something out in the treeline. At first he thought of Pinkertons; to collect that bounty they were on about. Why they would follow him to the ends of the earth for that would be beyond him but Arthur had been known to do stupid things for a big payout. And of course, he hadn’t lived this long without a healthy amount of paranoia. Or what he called caution. Or perhaps Charles should have left his ass at the nearest asylum.

But he can sense that he’s wrong when nothing comes of it. No gunshots, no desperate shoot out for his life. Just the quiet again. In a minute, he’ll look out the window and watch the figure disappear. And he’ll shake his head, rub his calloused fingers over his tired eyes. He drops the curtain, pouring another cup of coffee at the silver percolator in the kitchen. He is not losing his grip; he isn’t. He’d leave that to Dutch. 

It’s gotten worse with the winter; those strange things he sees from time to time. They make him feel more out of place than he already does. As if there’s something wrong with him, wrong with this moment. The frost grows over the windows like mold.

The summer sun kept the darkness from slipping in and leaking into his vision. But that’s long gone, been gone for a month. Shit weather up here, long dragging winters. Summers that were too short for his liking and an autumn that was beautiful but also short lived. The winter is too heavy now to do much of anything but loop out to the stable and back. Not much sightseeing to do, the same shock white landscape to see everyday. 

In spite of how beautiful the mountain is; with its sprawling forest, creeks like liquid glass, the fresh winter air… Arthur finds it arduous to see it. Closing himself inside his cabin is easier. He could go and hunt something, draw the scenery. But was that any better than the fireplace? The comfort and simultaneous unease of staying inside the confines of his new home drag him in opposite directions. And even if his paranoid visions are just residue from another time in his life; he knows there are people who could be still searching, who might remember his face. Bad things had a way of following Arthur wherever he went. 

Even more loathsome is the lack of sunlight. The sun disappears around 4 or 5 and it feels like it was midnight by 6. The windows of his wooden cabin blacken like soot, leaving him tired and groggy. 

Arthur tries to keep himself going with bitterness like always. Coffee, cigarettes, and alcohol. He thinks the lack of light plays with his head. It’s easy to mistake shadows for ghosts, trusting himself was hard as it was. 

Damn snow, cuts to the bone.

The stunning silence surprises him still at these odd moments in the day. Arthur thought that maybe the peace would do him some good. But there was a need that scratched incessantly at the front of his skull. Over and over and over. 

He spent a long time being needed by other people. Dutch made him feel needed at the very least. Like he was part of something that symbolized how free a man could be. And he had devoted every shred of himself to the vision that Dutch had for the world. It was all that mattered to Arthur. His fealty was really all he had to give and so he gave it. 

God, had he felt the fool on the last day he saw him, when Dutch walked away, as if everything Arthur had ever done was nothing to him. Twenty goddamn years of his life. If he was being honest, he knew that his loyalty was wasted before that day but he had waited to see if the man he knew would emerge. If he could kill that gutless rat and show Dutch the truth but he refused, leaving Arthur with nothing to show for it. Helping John, Abigail and Jack to safety was barely a comfort when he thought of all that he wasted. All he did was hand another man a chance at the life that he wanted. 

But it was too late. As always with Arthur. (Everything was always too little; too late) Providing for others was embedded deeply in his being. It was something he had done for years, especially when he decided to get his shit together. He might have dallied, thoroughly enjoying his youth. But he learned (through several extremely painful lessons) why it was important that he pick up the slack. Loyalty isn’t represented by inaction. He hadn’t been all too kind to people but he had kept his comfort that in some part, his work was what kept that camp running. And when that fell apart; he really did try to help the less fortunate.

Really, he was making up for his failures to the people he cared about most. Arthur questioned if he had cared enough. If he did, maybe things would have ended differently between him and the people he harmed by being selfish.

Maybe Dutch put some modicum of power in his hands and Arthur had wielded it badly, went around acting like the cesspool he felt like most of the time. But at the end of the day, the camp ate because of him, they had medicine because of him, hell, they even drank because it was him that brought back more money than anyone else. 

There is no one who needs him now. Arthur scrubs his hand over his face then down to rub over his shoulders. Leans his head back. At first it was nice. The independence. No more debt collecting for Strauss, no more worrying if there’s enough food for Pearson, no more looking out for O’Driscolls. He thought he would like only having one person to worry about; he had been lying to himself. Although he still had other things missing from him. They’re like phantom limbs. He can feel where they were supposed to be but when he looks down they’re gone. Hosea’s guidance was missing from him. Even if he was terrible at following it. The sound of the girl’s giggling and gossiping. Even Uncle and Swanson ambling around, drunker than he thought was possible. Dutch looming, watching through his haze of maduro sweetened smoke. He keeps looking down but they’re gone.  

The fire crackles and the wind howls; picks up the silence. Sometimes the wind from the flue sounds like the breeze over Flat Iron Lake. The fire doesn’t sound any different than it did when it crackled warmly around a circle of a mismatched band of criminals singing songs together, alongside the chatter and the drunken crooning. When it was the background noise to thick Irish blabbering. The poor kid. He was going places, as most of the younger ones were, he and Lenny would have run that gang when they got past their growing pains. He could have told them that when they were living, that sentiment would have meant something then. 

It’s been a year or two, the days sort of connect like train cars and chug along, not because he wants them to but because that’s how life goes. It’s an endless drag, an endless struggle. He can’t see how this is much better than being dead. Arthur Morgan is one of the few people who knows how precious life can be, he spent a lifetime taking it away from people as he pleased. 

He tries to savor this peace (as if he knows how to). Tries to remember what it was like, not having any time to himself, always at Dutch’s beck and call. Barely any time to take a piss, let alone really rest, really give himself room to be anything but what others wanted. How he loathes those memories. The years he spent dedicating himself to another man's dreams. Watched all those years slip away, ashes in a smoke stack, rising forever upwards until they’re forgotten. 

Arthur refuses to recall how many things he gave up for that life; down to the simple pleasures. Love, privacy, a family. He convinced himself that anything else wasn’t living, that he couldn’t ever be tied down. That old life was just… what he had. There was nowhere else to go and when he was old enough to go his own way, there were kids like him with nothing left; nothing to return to, no one to look after them. He might not have been anyone to look up to. Maybe he was a shining example of what not to be. It was Arthur who was there to keep people in line, to show them how to be killers for Dutch’s aspirations. He’s sure he ruined lives more than he taught them anything useful.

Nothing about that life was rooted in anything real, substantial to the world. Pipe dreams. Vague imaginings of living free in the west or some such tropical paradise. What a waste. Just the thought of a secluded island with palm trees on it summons a bitter laugh. 

He sits and watches the fire. Tries to ignore the shadow in the corner. It's thin and wavering. Today, it looks a bit too much like Hosea for his taste. Especially when the log on the hearth cracks, it sounds like that ominous cough that followed the graying conniver everywhere he went. 

Arthur lights another cigarette. He’s been making (quite frankly, just awful) attempts at rationing and this is his allotted second cigarette of the day. He’s two for five. He curses himself every time he forgets to take the drags and it crumbles to ash too quickly, landing on the rug beneath his boots. He hisses, a singe on his fingers snaps him back to the present moment. It burns his fingers when he forgets that he’s holding one entirely, too busy drilling holes in the walls with his eyes. He can’t stand it but he doesn’t have another choice. The silence has the mysterious property of making Arthur lose track of himself. He should have listened but he never learns. 

This deep into winter, not too far from the base of Mt. Pàtu, he can’t just head out on the road and get more cigarettes. The nearest town is a six or seven hour ride and that isn’t happening, not in this weather. He might take Currant out for a light trot so he can get some exercise but he can tell something big is coming soon. The bellows of air from the west have him readying for storm weather. Best to get a move on now if he were to be going out. 

It’s dinner now. He’s not sure where the time went but he doesn’t mind too much. He’s got coffee and he’s got hot food. Salt pork with potatoes, boiled in the salt water from soaking the corns of salt off the meat. He’s gotten better at cooking at least. Arthur scoffs at the thought of the slop he used to be eating. He takes a glass out and sets it on the counter, along with his fifth bottle of Kentucky bourbon. He’s allowed 6 bottles a month. By anyone else’s standards it might be a lot but where he spent most of his time; around other drunkards and degenerates, it’s not enough. 

The storm hits full force now, there’s gonna be snow all the way up to the porch by tomorrow morning. But the air inside of his cabin is still and smoky. From the window, he checks the stable to see if the doors stay closed. It’s well insulated so Currant should be fine. The storm will have scared most of the game into hiding away, he contemplates when he’ll head back out for hunting. He takes a seat at his plain dining table, spends a while on the same glass of bourbon. The smell of cedar and salt is nice.  So is the warmth of his cabin but it’s all lost to him. His sense for how fortunate he is to be here and not dead in a ditch is dull. Only he could be the man to crave chaos and blood and the sound of gunshots while sitting on his ass all day, sipping bourbon. 

He thinks he’ll read a boring book or pretend to keep busy by stoking the fire. Arthur listens to the silence, waiting to hear something but the crackling and the draft from a small crack in the wall. But there’s nothing. He should have listened to Charles. But he insisted that he would be fine. He can’t go back on that now, he’s always been fine by himself. He’ll just wear the groove into his leather chair even further like the sorry bastard he is, trying to ignore how small and stiflingly warm the room feels.  

The blizzard gets louder and louder. Dozing off on the sofa or in his chair sounds like as good a time as any. But he isn’t exhausted, just annoyingly groggy. Bouncing his knee does not count as activity. Neither does all the fidgeting he does, twitching his fingers, putting his legs up and bringing them back down. He tries to pace a little but wearing treads on the floorboards isn’t doing any good either. He puts his hands on his hips. 

 He grabs his journal but he doesn’t have much to write. What would he write about? Surely, the exciting things he experiences everyday. Waking up feeling like hot shit on a platter after having too much whiskey was not the kind of thing worth memorializing in his journal anymore. He’s a little past the shame now too, the embarrassment. He lets his fingers feel the blank page, the tooth of the paper. 

He lets his hand form images of spring, the point of his pencil worn into a dull tip, recollected as best as possible. It’s nothing but a pale comparison. 

There’s a pat on the door. It’s soft and weak. And just as softly, there’s a voice pleading for help, asking if anyone is inside. A light shining in through the cracks of his world. 

He pushes himself up. He knows he hasn’t had that much to drink tonight. The worst possible outcomes play in his head. A ruse from bounty hunters, a local gang taking advantage (not a whole lot better than he would have done only 3 years ago), or another ghost from his past (the ones that play at the corner of his eye). His chest gets a little tight but he’s been good at keeping unease from holding him back. Arthur shakes his hand out, placing the book on the mantle of the fireplace.

“Who’s out there?” It’s an oddity. To hear another voice. One that isn’t his own. It’s a beautiful noise, a pleasing beckon. But he’s no fool. He doesn’t even particularly want to be here, why would anyone be here if they didn’t have to be? He grabs his revolver from the small table next to the entrance, one of the only loaded guns in the house. “Please, sir, I promise it’s just me,” and the earnestness in that voice, he has to believe that promise is true. He has to open the door. With a deep sigh, he stuffs the gun away after a second thought. 

The figure is much too bundled up to gather any immediate details. She’s not very much, standing there out in the cold icy fluff. It isn’t until he nods his head to direct her does she realize she should probably come in. He peeks out at the tracks, just one long line of horse tracks in the process of getting blown over by the harsh wind and the lashing ice. Her struggle up to the porch marked in snow. Arthur scans the tree line for any of those dark silhouettes but they’ve blown away in the wind, they’re pushed from his mind when he turns back and closes the door shut behind the both of them. 

He turns to her, he doesn’t mind the way she shrinks away from his body, skittish and slight. Such a small girl, alone in a snowstorm. He can’t think of a single good reason why she would be going it alone and what she could possibly need more than a night in. She should be warming her hands next to a fire. He could do it for her, could gather them and breathe on them. He tosses that behind him like an empty tin can. He has other things to focus on, mostly trying to get a better look at her and prying an answer out of her as to why she’s out here like this. 

He’s more rude than he intended to be but a little rudeness is nothing new to him. “What the hell were you doin’ out there?” He has been described as coarse. Intentionally and unintentionally. He’s a little bit like a puffed up rooster when he catches her looking him over, marveling at the size of him. But he lets that fall away, surely she needed no old man assuming things on her part. He knows he ain’t much to look at. At his gruff tone, she has no response. The poor thing is so cold, her teeth chatter, whatever she mustered up to yell at him over the storm has run out. Arthur feels a little of his hard veneer chip away. 

He thinks to take her coat, covered in frost and not nearly as insulated as he had hoped, it’s damp with melting ice now that she’s inside. But he feels like he’s dreaming again, peeling her coat off and hanging it on the rack, a faux gentleman. He doesn't know why he’s trying to impress but there’s a chance that she’d like a man like that. So he plays, pretends. He’s surely done that before.

When her coat is shed, all of those visions he’s been having must have caught up to him. 

Jesus, Morgan. You’ve really lost it now. 

This disease of loneliness he’s been given has surely destroyed the vestiges of his sanity. He must be imagining some young soft handed girl with warm bright eyes and vibrant, shiny hair. Face of an angel, looking hopeful; grateful. Her eyes on him burn like hellfire. He feels strange, watching much too close at how her tongue wets her lips; chapped from the cold. Beautiful; she must be someone’s girl, he hopes for a widow who had lost her husband to the winter frost. He’d gladly pick up where the fucker left off. Pry her from his cold hands. Could just be the loneliness talking. He can’t bring himself to care all that much about it. 

Arthur can feel shame eating away at him, like ants at the corners of a scrap fallen off the table. He could have found himself sick to his stomach not too short a time ago. A girl as young as her and he, an old dog with even older tricks have no business together. He knows it too. But he was done with that crushing feeling of dread that ate away at his very soul some days. He had enough of his life to feel awful about. Blood on the floorboards, forgotten promises, disregarded words of affection. Just these moments, where he can hoard the vision that is this girl to himself after so long of giving pieces of himself away. 

What has that shame ever done but made you worse? 

If there isn’t the will to keep his eyes off the girl then there’s the give in him. Like a levy, it cracks a little, breaks into a million pieces of splintered wood for her. It’s been too long since he’s seen something so pretty. All flesh and blood. No graphite on paper; recollections of the women from his past, no Gem of Beauty cigarette card. She carries the smell of soap and perfumed cotton. He thinks it's geranium scented or another delicate flower crushed to pieces to make her smell like she came from heaven too. It’s a weakness he hadn’t culled. 

This girl of his; she must be something quite real. His wishful daydream would have diverted to more intimate topics by now, and he’d probably imagine a woman he’s at least met before. Deciding if he’d prefer her to be real or a misty figment of his imagination; he can’t make heads nor tails of it. Arthur knows he’d probably end up disappointing a real person more than he could offend a figure cooked up in his mind. He sighs. He turns to the iron stove beside the dining table. There’s still coffee and he can distract himself from his ridiculous train of thought by clumsily pouring it out for her. 

Hopeful bastard.

“You mute, girl? Asked you a question.” He knows she isn't but he wants to hear her talk some more. And maybe if she hears what a brute he makes himself out to be most of the time, she’ll turn her nose up at him the way she’s supposed to. Lots of women have, she wouldn’t be the first warned away by his attitude like a bad smell. He could almost let that temptation win. To change who he is at this moment. If only for the selfish purpose of luring her further into his home. However, he’s too impulsive and his tongue is too practiced at offending. He has words that are about as gentle as a fist to the nose. 

He sets her cup down on the table. Arthur doesn’t wait for her to figure herself out, grabbing another cigarette, swiping them off of the coffee table in front of the fireplace. To hell with the rations. It was a special day after all, a goddamned holiday. He strikes the match on the table, lighting it as she tentatively steps forward. Nearly singes his finger on the match he forgot to put out, wincing and waving it out to put out the flame. 

She’s a pearl, surrounded by the ugly oyster that is the less than stellar home he keeps. Carefully, she steps into his space. Suddenly, he’s hyper aware of every thing she could find awful or garish; his hunting trophies or the weapons or the wall. Or the mess of papers on the desk in the corner. It has him gripping his cigarette a bit too tight. Her face hardly moves in any particular reaction, as if used to him already. A simple neutrality is what takes her as she looks at some of the things over the mantle, then her eyes track over the small hallway, leading to the bedroom and some storage. She’s quick to bring her attention back to him, a soft smile that stuns him graces her face, kicking up some long buried hope of his.

 If there was a woman who should be a lady, it’s her. She sets herself down on the sofa, neatly keeping her hands to herself, reaching for the cup he set out for her. But first checking to see if it wasn’t for him with a nervous flick of her eyes up to his own. He can hardly ignore how it pulls at him. She holds the blue speckled cup on her thigh. 

“No, I…was getting something for my granny…” She explains she couldn’t make it to the doctor in the almost fatal weather outside. He has a humorless laugh. How could anyone send her out for the sake of some old hag; already knocking on death's door? Selfless girl but stupid. Defenseless. Her own mother, too. He supposes he can relate. The man he regarded as his father had been the one to let him down the most.

 It’s always the ones you trust. 

He makes his opinion known to her, maybe he can talk some sense into her. 

“I can imagine. What kinda mother sends a pretty thing like you on a fool's errand? You really thought you was gonna bring your ol’ granny a doctor in this?” He reprimands her, she might need it. 

Little girl gone out by herself. Needs you, don’t she?

What she probably needs is someone to keep her from doing things that risk her life for nothing at all. Doesn’t have to be him but he won’t turn the thought away. Breaking her open on her marriage bed. Such a pretty thing, a distracted smile into her cup of coffee. Lost in a snow drift because no one cared enough to keep her inside. 

And she does nip back. Trying to give a rebuttal but he won’t have it. He knows he’s right, giving his idea of a light hearted joke, his particular brand of poking humor. Heavy handed as always. 

“Your granny probably already kicked the bucket while you were out here, damn near gettin’ yourself killed.” 

 Perhaps insinuating her grandmother was already dead wasn’t the best attempt at familiarizing her with himself, her face tinges with an expression he’s used to seeing. Dutch said he had a sharper tongue than people thought. Hosea said it was too blunt. 

“And if it weren’t for me, well…” she’d be dead. Forgotten somewhere in the snow with a dead horse for company. Such an image should hopefully be sobering for her. It’s a harsh reality but one he would prevent from happening.  His hand comes up to scratch at his brambly jaw. She probably thought his slightly overgrown beard was ugly and unkempt. His fingers raise the delicate rolled cigarette to his lips. A nice calming drag helps his nerves calm down, they quit jumping under his skin every time her eyes pull over him, over his scarred face and his crooked nose and his gnarled hands. She looks like she holds something back. Her tongue, he thinks. He wished she would have just come out and said it. 

But she’s a polite little thing, stifling herself with another drink of the coffee. The satisfaction on her face and the small droop in her shoulders now that she’s warm makes him smile. 

She speaks up with a tremor stuck to her words. “I’m sorry mister,” her nose scrunches a little, doesn’t even know how darling he finds it. “but I don’t think you gave me your name…” 

In a well practiced motion, he leans and ashes his cigarette. It took him a while to remember that he can’t just ash them on the ground anymore. He had floors and a permanent roof now. He tends to get the hang of things at some point. He kicks his legs up on the table, gently so as to not frighten the girl on his sofa, warming herself by his fire, and drinking his coffee. The thoughts tickle that provider’s instinct so deeply embedded in his being. His name, he almost forgets all about that, looking into her pretty eyes, blinking curiously. Right. 

“Arthur. You married?” He never liked small talk too much. Never one for the surface level bullshit people put on. He watches each of her features form into something like a smile but not. Too nerve-y, falls into something else when she presses her lips together, her brows twitch as they pull together and her fingers scrunch in her gloves. 

As if she’d marry you, ain’t exactly the pick of the litter, are ya?

His fingers twitch, squeeze his short nails into the give of his palm. Then why does she call him? So enticing, then, looking at him with soft eyes, her legs pressed together and slanted. A real proper girl. Cute thing. Naive enough not to recognize someone like him at first glance. He’s something to be avoided. He wishes he could see a ring glittering on her finger, to ward away the seething heat in his head and his gut. Like a prayer muttered in the presence of evil but he doubted it’d be strong enough. 

“No, I’m afraid not,” her voice is like velvet, the rub of a rose petal between his fingers. Her eyes flick away and her teeth press gently into her bottom lip, sweet looking. No man to look after her besides her worthless father, left her out here to freeze. Alone, really. Or she might as well be. The world has been known to be cruel to women. To his mother, to a woman whose life he had ruined, to Mary even, to Susan and Molly. Well, most every woman he knew. It wasn’t fair but many things in their lives were disparagingly slanted away from them, scales always uneven. 

“Young lady like you, unwed and caring for your Ma, Pa, all by yourself?” Arthur scoffs, even as he points out her tragedy. “Now that’s just sad, is what it is,” His fingers push his cigarette into the ash tray a bit too hard, twisting it. And he looks at her blouse, drawing the outline of her with his eyes. He’d put it to paper later. She has a small nod for him. A shining opportunity. But he has to introduce his own dingy reality. The one where he was probably old enough to have been able to hold her when she had just been born. 

“You are… a sight, for an old ugly bastard like me is all,” Honest words slip from him, too loose for him to keep them behind his teeth. The bashful look crosses over her face makes his lip curl up just a little. She deserved to have someone tell her how pretty she is, who wouldn’t ever let her forget for a second how lovely she looked. Where all of these sappy things come from is beyond him. They ooze into his mind anyway.

Delicately, she sets the cup down on the table littered with other cups he had forgotten to put away and empty packages of cigarettes. He rolls his eyes at himself, of course he doesn’t clean up the day he has company.

“I left my horse in the stable out front, I hope you don’t mind,” her hands pet at her thighs, he can see where the fabric is damp. Immediately, his mind clicks into place, thinking on how he can fix it. That’s what the fairer sex truly craved, wasn’t it? Not some puffed up egomaniac. A fixer. A solution. His hands itch to move. To pick up the pieces of her problems and push them back into the shape of something whole. “Ain’t no trouble,” the relieved sag in her shoulders tells him that she actually worried about it. 

So Arthur does, he’s nothing if not a man of action. “Why don’t I get you somethin’ dry to wear? Should be turnin’ in soon. Gettin’ late.” He’s up before he can hear a protest. But she doesn’t give much of one. In his bedroom, his hands swipe his hair backwards. The small mirror he usually keeps around strictly for shaving catches the light of the small oil lamp. 

God, his best years are way behind him. So say the lines at the corners of his eyes, the gouges of his age on his forehead and the delicate webbing of wrinkles under his eyes. All of the evidence of his lifestyle glares back at him. There’s a ruddiness over the higher planes of his cheekbones from burning them under the sun. Some of the fist and knife fights from his youth have left permanent evidence of his misgivings on his face. Mostly in the form of scars and his odd nose. 

You disgust her, don’t go kidding yourself. 

If he ever told her the truth of himself, he’s sure a girl like her would go running, suddenly not minding the cold. He never was good at keeping beautiful things by his side. They rotted or wilted, or blew away with the wind. His rough fingers rub at the back of his neck. He stares deep into his own eyes. Trying to force some normalcy, some sense into himself but it’s all in vain. He grunts, paying mind to other things. 

He opens his cabinet, all of the simple clothes he keeps. Something new and not so weathered, or dirty, something clean. Like her. Some nice cotton knit union suit, something he bought when he was preparing for winter. He grips them tight and hesitates at the door. 

Just go n’ give it to her, and try not to be an idiot; for god’s sake. 

And the sweet smile he sees knocks whatever sense he had gathered out of him, he can hardly form a word. He just holds the fabric out to her like an oaf. And she rises, as to keep things comfortable, good at reading his brutish signaling, taking them gently and skirting around him. And then she’s in his bedroom. With a mental cuss, he realizes that he forgot to clean the room before he left. 

Ah, she’ll find out how pathetic you are at some point. Just a matter a’ when… 

All those empty bottles and habits he’s formed from living alone. Dirty clothes piled somewhere and sheets that probably smelled a bit too much like sweat. Christ. He sighs, pinching his nose. He’s not sure why he’s putting so much thought into this. He doesn’t care. Not a care at all. Right…sure.

At first, he distracts himself with preparing food, his leftovers, hopefully enough for her. Doing this is an action which is perhaps a bit selfish. He wants to make it clear that he can give her things she needs. He could figure out wants later.. Typically, he hadn’t thought too much of what women wanted but with her he makes lists, takes out the fine brandy. Sometimes he took after Dutch more than he would like to admit, the man was all too good at forgetting about a woman’s wants and needs.

The food hasn’t gone too cold. His hands look for things to do, stirring unnecessarily. Fumbling the dish he places it on. However, the little comfort he gains from activity fades. He can only grip the counter like a vice while staring out the window above his sink for so long. The shades of brown and orange that make up his cabin blur into nothing, the wood grain isn’t as grounding as he wants it to be. 

But then his legs drift in the opposite direction, He can hear a soft sigh and the rustle of clothing behind the door. He wets his dry throat. Arthur shouldn’t salivate. He does anyway.

You’re a creep. Something in his head laughs at him. 

Been too long since you had a woman this close to your bed and she ain’t even in it with ya…c’mon. C’mon, just open the damn door. 

His heart is about to pound his ribs into dust. He’s among the worst of the worst but this… pushes boundaries. Lines drawn in the sand. Peeping on women wasn’t something he was raised to do. And if he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see, it was an accident. 

You ain’t that bad.

He’s used to letting the tide wash those out so he can draw new ones. And here is a new one. When his fingers push at the door and he can see the sliver where she bares her own flesh. Rubs her hands up her thighs, stepping out of her clothes. His throat goes dry, his teeth bite bluntly at the tip of his tongue as his jaw gets tense. 

His eyes follow the natural plush curve of her body, pale yellow lamp light glancing off of her. He’d kill a man to touch her and he’d kill a man for touching her. Devouring every inch, his eyes soak it all up, dedicating her to memory. 

 And then she’s stepping into the creamy cotton of his clothes. Doing up the buttons at her front. Unbidden by him, his cock fills out, half hard, pressing uncomfortably at just the sight of her. The perfection of her hips, her hair brushing over her back. 

The guilt is chewing a hole in his conscience. It’s like there are termites gnawing away at the foundation of whatever restraint he had. He’s felt less disgusting after killing a man, making him choke on his own blood as it fills his lungs. But the reward had never been so delightful. A sweet girl, so trusting, putting her hand to her chest and smiling as she realizes he’s there. It doesn’t feel good at all, the realization that he’s drooling over her like a mutt. All she has given him is reluctance, nervous glances. She doesn’t touch him or leave her hand to linger. A sweet-as-cream smile is all he has, enough to tide him over. He wants her anyway, needs her to stay. Letting her walk out after this will be next to impossible. 

“You scared me, Mister…” Mister. So polite, an angel delivered unto him. He can feel how his body is tense, tight like a spring. How she doesn’t notice the evidence of his wrongdoing, pressing at the front of his pants is luck or her naivety. His expression must be dazed, a foolish look because all he can do is stare, unable to stop himself. Observing the way his clothes drape over her, exaggerating how much smaller she is in comparison. How stunning she’d look, sprawled over his bed sheets. Precious girl; struggling not to cry when she gets all stretched out on something wholly too big for her. In his mind's eye, she mouths his name, looks at him like all she wants is him inside of her. Right. His name again. 

He dips back into his own ease in which he controls all of himself with. He is self assured and well handled. And he certainly doesn’t curl in on himself. Lets her see how big he is, slips back into old habits with the ease that comes with capability. “Morgan, Arthur Morgan,” his real name, no Kilgore’s or Calahan’s. She should know it anyhow, if he has any real intention in giving it to her.

It’s dangerous and it’s like she can feel it, somewhere in her body is that base instinct. One she was born with to protect herself from people with bad intentions. But she has another instinct, bares her neck to him. Arthur has always been good at suppressing his hunger, desire for soft pretty things. Settling like sediment on them was the control he had, buried them and buried them and buried them. She's a rainstorm, flooding his mind, washing out his carefully maintained resistance. Leaves his want raw and exposed and actionable. He wants her too much, wants her more than he has any right to. 

He feels what little control he has over his urges begin to slip with that thought.  Usually, he let them take over. Let whatever pain and anguish in him manifest into pure rage, cold and unadulterated. At first, it revolted him, his actions. And the reputation he built to go along with them. But they began to grow over him like a second skin until they encased whatever hope he had for a better life completely. His self induced hatred hid whatever pieces of him weren't supposed to be his to have and to share. The things he had to hide from himself even to feel like a whole person at any given moment. And he let himself be that awful thing people thought he was. Arthur Morgan. A force of nature. 

But he deserved it, didn't he? Everyone should keep their distance anyway. He has a habit of making things worse than when he found them. But all he wanted was for her to be close. Sure, he could play the vulnerable man who could pine after his sweetheart, go out riding after her, guide her home where she would forget all about him. Just a kind man out to help the world.

That's not what he wanted. He wanted her to stay here. Can’t bear the thought of being a good man, sending her away when the storm blows over. In sickness and in health, til’ death do us part. That’s what he sees when he closes his eyes. She’s standing in the kitchen, turning the spoils of his hunts into dinner. With that easy smile. His too empty house just wouldn’t feel like a home without her in it. He’s sick, he knows; but he’s sure she can cure him. 

Arthur Morgan has always wanted more than he could have. He chews on the thought like tobacco. Bitter but eventually he begins to need the taste, to crave it. 

“Put somethin’ on the stove for ya, man can’t leave no woman hungry…” God, his tongue feels too thick in his mouth and his jaw aches from gritting his teeth too hard. And of course, he lays all his cards on the table. Man can’t leave his woman hungry.

Every little gesture she makes, wrapping her arms shyly around herself, the gentle tilt of her head and the small affirmative gesture she makes is in no way unordinary. But they’re all dripping with her appeal. How can she smile at him like he doesn't look the way he does? Like he hasn't made the world worse just by existing in it?

 He soils her just by laying greedy eyes on her neck, on her nipples which he can make out through the fabric of his union suit. And when she opens her mouth, he knows he’ll end up calling her what she is. Sweet and syrupy, soothing on his throat. 

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan. I really appreciate your kindness,” Arthur is convinced he heard her wrong. But her honesty is in those radiant eyes, in her easy posture. It must be meant to be, it’s not every day a woman talked to him like that. Or talked to him at all. He was perhaps too busy making sure they knew what they would be getting into; dealing with him. 

It may just be the respectful manners instilled in her. He supposed her parents had given her that; mannerisms that made her quite the catch. Utter perfection. But really, even that was a disservice. They damned her to him. Makes him see glimpses of a life he could have. Hundreds of conversations, every iteration of the precious babe they'd have together with his hair and her eyes, a son or a daughter. Two of each perhaps. Hours and hours of her gentle, refined voice taking up the empty room. He bows his head as if he can keep his disbelief and joy under the brim of his hat, currently hanging by his front door. 

She comes nearer. He can smell her cotton scent, can see the way the light casts around her hair, feathering over her, turning it into gold. His body moves to make the smallest space for her. Hoping she’ll nudge against him. He doesn’t even realize the way he’s formed himself to keep her here for just a moment. So close, Arthur nearly loses track of what he was supposed to be doing.  

“Been a long time since somebody called me a kind man, usually it was the opposite,” apprehension floods her body, her features. Her eyes focus on him, waiting for something terrible to happen. Arthur sees how she bristles. He only meant to be honest but she’s already read between his lines. Smart girl. 

He shows her just what he means. Even when he knows better, even if he’s never been this far. It’s like he has to touch though. No where uncomfortable, just to be sure she isn’t a sign that he’s truly gone from this world. 

“Please, I-” 

Her plea goes down his spine. It rakes its teeth over the parts of him that are wrong. That weren’t formed with gentleness, aren’t intricate. Just instinct that he’s indulged. 

He may not be a good man. But he can behave well enough to keep her. Now that he has the room for her. He doesn’t live in a drafty tent. He’s not a dog chained to the hand that fed him too many years ago. He would never treat her like an object to display or a mistake made in a drunken night of pleasure. He wouldn’t throw this away, this one chance at having something real. Wouldn’t lay waste to this opportunity to fill a hole in him that yawned empty for what felt like eternity. She’d be his wife and he; her man. A husband. Mister and Missus Arthur Morgan. A crock of shit, he would have said a month ago.

That ain’t the hand you been dealt and you know it. You’ve made a mess of things enough.

 But now… it's a dreamy reality. It hasn’t quite taken shape but he can get it there. Determination starts to crystallize over the idea. She’s something good; doesn’t need him. He could try to make something better too, could make the best of a situation, try to show her the best in him. But he knows it’d never be enough for her. He always throws these good things away, always ruins it somehow. But he grips and shakes like a mutt at this idea, gnaws it until it's raw. He can just take what he wants. Done that before, hasn’t he?

Just leave’er alone. God, you never learn, goddamned fool…

His fingers graze over the skin on her neck, uncovered by the collar of the union suit he lent her. Here in the dark of the small hallway, he can swear there’s something in the way she breathes, shudders. “I think you need a man to take care of you, honey, need a man to keep you inside- wouldn’t let you go out alone like this if you was my woman… Lemme show you how a man looks after a girl like you,” He’s aware that he sounds like a right bastard but he’s only telling the truth. His hand settles at her back, like it’s supposed to be there. They’re meant to be, all he has to do is show her. 

ok yall how we feeling LMAO i think his perspective was interesting and fun for me to write but idk if its any good, but i hope with practice ill get more confident 🥹🥹 bro is a freak sooo yeah it was fun to write him as a freak he is very conflicted about everything and he is super weird but also sexy sooo😳 i hope you guys enjoyed this lil backstory on why arthur is a weirdo 😊😊😭😭 lmk what you guys think !!

[flieslikeamoron]

For the ask meme, if you're still doing it! I wish you would write a fic where either Eddie or Steve can read the other's mind, or feel their emotions, or are otherwise psychically linked in some way. :)

Hiiiii! At one point I was thinking about writing a soul bond type of thing where the bat bites create a hive mind that Steve and Eddie share. Your ask reminded me of the idea so I wrote a little bit of what that could have been like. Some dicks and stuff behind the cut.

-*-

It’s not that weird.

Sure, it’s a little strange Steve always seems to know when Eddie pulls into the parking lot at Family Video. Even if he’s in the back room, couldn’t possibly have heard the rattle of the van’s rusted muffler. 

And yes, he can tell when Eddie’s hungry. Thirsty. Tired. Can tell without asking if he’s craving a burger or spaghetti. Can tell where Eddie is in a room without looking. Can feel it like a magnet pulling. But he knows when Robin’s hungry just by looking too. Or when she has a crush on someone. He knows when Nancy’s fed up or trying not to laugh. He knows when Dustin’s about to go off on some nerd rant before he starts talking. 

It’s just because they’re friends now. That has to be why he feels so much better when Eddie’s around. Like something he didn’t know was missing clicking into place. That’s friendship, isn’t it? 

It’s not that weird. 

Not compared to all the shit they’ve been through. It’s nice, actually, the way Eddie smiling at him sinks deep into him like sunshine on his skin. The way Eddie’s pacing footsteps or the drumming of his fingers on the counter thumps in a rhythm against Steve’s chest. Even when Eddie’s pissed, it rattles like rain on a tin roof in a way Steve kind of likes. 

It’s just because Steve likes him. It’s not a big deal that he hasn’t felt exactly like this about any of the other people he’s friends with. Any of the people he loves. Different isn’t bad. There’s no reason to mention it. What would he even say? Do you know when I’m thirsty too? Do you feel like a lock turning when you touch me? That does make it sound weird. And what if Eddie says no. What if Eddie has no idea what he’s even talking about. 

No, Steve will just give him a Coke when he knows Eddie wants a Coke. And bask in the smile that gets him. There’s no reason to bring it up. To make it weird.

Until.

It comes out of nowhere, heat building low in his gut when Steve’s in the middle of putting his laundry away. He’s got the phone trapped between his ear and his shoulder, Robin on the other end giving him a play-by-play of her latest not-date with Vicki. He puts the rest of his jeans away, trying to ignore how turned on he is for no apparent reason. But there’s something fucked up about having Robin’s voice in his ear while he’s popping a boner. 

“I gotta go,” he interrupts. “Sorry, I forgot I have to-” He tries to think of something he could be doing that’s not jerking off.

“Am I boring you?”

“No I just-” He stops again. This time because he has the oddest feeling. Almost the feeling of a hand on him. Of fingers pinching into his nipple. It’s never really done much for him, having his nipples played with. But a pulse of heat goes right through his balls. He curls a hand thoughtlessly against his boner, feeling the needy weight of it. “I’ll call you in a sec.” He can hear Robin protesting as he hangs up and tosses the phone aside. 

She calls right back, but he lets it ring. Too busy tugging his pants down. He can’t explain anyway. That he just really needs to get off right now. It’s rude as hell. He doesn’t know why he’s- But he’s so turned on. He’ll make it up to her after he gets this out of his system. 

He tugs his underwear down enough to get his dick out, starting to stroke himself with one hand, the other braced on his dresser. He likes to start slow normally, get himself worked up, but he feels strung tight as if he’s already been at it for a while. He spits in his hand, spreads precome down the shaft. Watching his hand move, the head of his dick red and slick in the circle of his fingers. 

There’s something wrong with his vision, something sort of blurry like a double exposure in a photograph. He blinks. It’s like the almost there of another hand, that’s not his hand. Of a dick that’s not his dick. He can almost feel it ghost against his skin when that hand moves, off rhythm with his. It’s making his dick throb, gut snarled tight with heat. It���s making him dizzy. He closes his eyes, and tries to focus on the slide of his hand. Just his hand. Tries to picture Phoebe Cates getting out of the pool. Perfect boobs and a slo-mo smile. But the picture in his head feels impossible to hold on to. Feels like he can’t- 

And then he’s seeing himself a little hazy and far away like looking through clear water. It’s him pulling himself out of the pool in his swim team speedos. Muscles flexing. Water streaming off him. Hand running through his own wet hair, and a cocky grin on his face. 

And okay, he knows he’s a good-looking guy. But he’s not- His ego isn’t this big. This isn’t the him he sees in the mirror. It’s sort of- Everything a little better than he actually is. The him he wishes he was. 

He didn’t- The shape of it feels wrong inside his head, like it doesn’t fit right. But he’s watching himself sitting down now, at the edge of the pool. And there's someone still in the water. There are hands on his thighs. A mouth on his cock. He can’t see much of the other person but long, dark, wet hair. He can almost feel it, the heat of that mouth on his cock. The sizzle of it through his mind going straight to his balls. And every time he strokes himself it’s like he feels it in his dick, and then he feels it again somehow like an echo throbbing through him. An overwhelming feedback loop of want and need and how good it feels. God. Fuck. I’m gonna come. He is gonna come, but he hears it against the inside of his head, and it doesn’t sound like him. It sounds like-

“Eddie?” he says cautiously. Out loud and in his head too.

He feels a quick stab of shock, fear. It feels like the rest of it. Sort of the wrong shape inside his body, inside his head. And then it’s like he’s got a song stuck in his head, but it’s a heavy metal song he’s never heard before. 

“Eddie?” He thinks it harder. Tries to make it a scream, send it out past the inside of his own head. But the music keeps going, the noise of it so loud he can hardly think past it, can’t hear past it to whatever Eddie’s thinking behind it. That is Eddie behind it though, he’s pretty sure. That was Eddie just now. The things Steve was feeling. That was what Eddie was thinking about while he was getting off. He was thinking about Steve. 

Steve should be more weirded out by that, probably. Knowing he’s starring in Eddie Munson’s wet dreams is a bit of a surprise. He didn’t even know Eddie’s gay. He waits to feel shocked or upset, but outside of being kind of confused how any of this is even happening, he doesn’t seem to mind it. It’s a compliment, really. If that’s the way Eddie sees him. He kind of likes it, actually, in a deep down, self-satisfied way that makes him wonder if he does need to work on his ego after all. 

He feels vaguely guilty that he accidentally ruined the guy’s jerk off session. He looks down at his hand on his dick. He’s not sure if he should finish now. It’s like stolen valor or something. Is he even horny or was he just piggy-backing? However he got here, he’s still pretty close. He gives himself a couple careful strokes. Can Eddie feel that? Or was it just a one way connection? He heard it when Steve thought his name though. The heavy metal is still fucking blasting, so maybe he can’t hear or feel Steve past that just like Steve can’t hear him. He doesn’t know if he should risk it though. 

It’s pretty fucking weird.

The kind of weird he can’t ignore. 

He takes a cold shower, the heavy metal stuck in his head starting to give him a headache. Could you turn it down a little? he tries thinking. If it gets through to Eddie, he ignores it. Steve tries to figure out if there’s a way to turn down the volume on his end. Putting his fingers in his ears doesn’t help. He tries counting backward from a hundred and that seems like it does something, sort of. But as soon as he stops counting he can hear the music just as loud. Maybe Eddie will turn it off on his own if Steve gives him a little time to stop freaking out. 

He’s got to be freaking out. Having the dude you’re jerking off about pop up in your head has to be the nightmare scenario of all time. But how is Steve supposed to tell him it’s cool if he won’t stop putting up a wall of sound?

Or maybe Steve could try something a little less direct than whatever this head to head connection is. He tries calling Eddie’s trailer. No answer. He tries the walkie. No answer.

He wonders if Eddie can tell he’s pulling into the trailer park like Steve can always tell when he’s pulling up the street to Steve’s house. Steve can feel it. That magnet tug as he walks up the stairs. That feeling just underneath his breast bone that always seems to orient toward Eddie like a compass pointing north. He wonders if Eddie can feel that too. 

But maybe he can’t, because he looks shocked when he opens the door. Wide-eyed for just a second. The music breaks apart in Steve’s head enough that he can feel fear, just for a second. Less than that. Barely long enough to notice if he hadn’t been paying attention. And then the music starts up again, and whatever Eddie’s feeling is hidden behind it. Behind the easy laugh as he reaches out to thump Steve on the chest with the back of his hand like normal. Says, “You couldn’t call?” like Steve didn’t. Says, “You’re lucky I don’t have a life,” and tugs Steve in through the doorway. Like normal. 

For a moment Steve thinks maybe it was all in his head. Maybe he’s just like- Losing it. Maybe he's making up weird shit and thinking he and Eddie have some kind of psychic connection and hearing things that aren’t there and seeing things that aren’t there. Maybe none of it is real. And there’s nothing weird here except him. 

But there’s music in his head. And he doesn’t know this song.

[secretly-tword-obsessed]

i saw your lee!thanos fic, aaaand... i saw you left a cliffhanger about potential lee!in-ho.. see... this man is so cute (evil, but cute) maybe could you make a part 2 on the man getting wrecked? <3 (if possible, gi-hun can appear!!) ily /p /serious

Oh okay! Tysm - both for the compliment and the request. I had so much fun writing this and hope you enjoy reading it!

Title: Everyone Everyone

Summary: After his plan to bring Thanos down a few pegs backfires, In-Ho tries everything he can to defend himself

Implied shipping of Gi-Hun and In-Ho but it can also be read as platonic!

Warning: This is a tickle fic. If you are not a tickle blog, DNI.

In-Ho's plan was successful. At first. He'd exposed 230's vulnerability, embarrassed him in front of his allies and possibly every single player. That would teach him for acting like an indestructible bitch all the time. Now he'd both stopped Thanos from attacking another player and disrupted his unhinged self-obsession.

Yet, in the process, the Frontman may have accidentally exposed one of his own vulnerabilities. He mentally slapped himself in the head for it, yet he maintained his calm and unbothered demeanor. Well, mostly - a slight blush was growing on his cheeks as Dae-Ho had just asked about this weakness. How could he lie logically?

"No, I'm not, I was just saying that most people are"

"Nah-ah", Jung-Bae interrupted, patting Dae-Ho on the back as if to loyally demonstrate his allegiance to the 'Player 001 is definitely lying' side of the argument; "You said that everyone was ticklish, everyone and most people are two very different things"

Shit. Now In-Ho needed an ally of his own. He turned his head around to Gi-Hun, who was sitting in the middle of his bed, his mind wondering through space.

"Hey, 456", he called, causing Gi-Hun's eyes to widen in surprise - as if he had just been dragged back to Earth from Mars.

"Yes", he responded hesitantly and somberly. In-Ho almost felt bad for putting this poor bloke back in the games. Almost.

"You know figure of speech right? When somebody says that everyone is something, they usually mean most people. These two former marines are claiming the two are synonymous".

Gi-Hun just looked at his new friendly acquaintance in confusion. This was probably the last thing he thought his fellow player would have needed him for. He heard Dae-Ho whisper to Jung-Bae, "The fuck does synonymous mean?"

Finally, Gi-Hun said something. The man had obviously sensed the ramifications of picking a side in this argument, so he said, "Well, it depends on the context".

Dae-Ho smirked, "Oh come on Young-Il", he teased, "Tell him the context!"

Damn it. The Frontman's whole identity was a lie - he had to be able to conceal his sensitivity.

"Alright", he said in resignation, "Maybe lets just drop it".

"O-ho, I don't think so", Jung-Bae chuckled, stepping closer to the Frontman so that he was almost backed against the metal bunk behind him.

"Yeah, don't think your getting away that easy", Dae-Ho added, stepping toward him from the other side.

Gi-Hun, completely oblivious to everything that had just happened around him, felt a concern rising in him. The intrusive worries seemingly flooded from all directions - Are they about to fight? My friends? Does this mean I'm allied with the wrong people? Would the fight have been my fault? I should have just kept my mouth shut. I-"

But than the man noticed something. As Jung-Bae and Dae-Ho surrounded him, stalking up menacingly, Player 001 actually had the remnants of a smile on his face, as if the anticipation excited him. Moreover, he could see a blush running down his cheeks. Weird. Although he'd never admit it out loud, he thought that Young-Il looked kind of cute in this state.

"Come on guys", he watched 001 defend himself, "We can talk about this".

"Why are you smiling?", Gi-Hun interjected.

Dae-Ho's grin widened, "Yeah, tell Mr 456 why your smiling why don't you?"

Player 001 could only look at him, almost pleadingly. Than, in a split second, Jung-Bae and Dae-Ho launched forward, and Young-Il burst into high pitched giggles.

As soon as he figured out what was happening, Gi-Hun sighed. And, for the first time in a while, he smiled. All they were doing was a bit of harmless tickling - Dae-Ho scribbling at the man's left side while Jung-Bae poked around his belly. Young-Il was letting out the most innocent giggles imaginable, squirming desperately to get away to no avail. Gi-Gun hadn't remembered the last time he'd seen or experienced such a display, but something about player 001's laugh was contagious - something about the playful atmosphere lifted his sunken spirits.

"Liar liar pants on fire!", Dae-Ho remarked, switching his tactic from scribbles to light pokes.

"Nohohoho! Dohohon't!"

Dae-Ho raised an eyebrow, poking faster and adding a few gentle squeezes to his victim's hips, "Don't what?"

"Tihihihickle me!", In-Ho cried, and Gi-Hun saw his eyes widened as he recognized his mistake.

The two ex-marines had the most shit-eating grins on their faces.

"Tickle you? Where?", Jung-Bae asked in feigned innocence, jabbing his hand under Young-Il's arms. That was when the man cracked.

"NAHAHAHA! NOHOHOT THEHEHERE! PLEHEHEASE!"

"We're merely doing what you asked", Jung-Bae commented, as if he was stating any other fact and not reducing his fellow player to a hysterical cackling fit.

Gi-Hun watched the scene unfold, seeing how player 001 had absolutely lost his shit, envious that player 001 was being completely distracted from the games - all the man's energy evidently focused on trying to knock off his attackers, not on wondering weather he'd live to see another day or help his wife and meet his child.

"Gi-Hun", Dae-Ho said, distracting him from his thoughts, "Quit daydreaming and give us a hahand! here! The vihictim's escahaping!"

Gi-Hun noticed that Young-Il had switched his mode of defense, trying to plow forward to get away instead of escape through one of his left or right side. As the two ex-marines had been concentrated on blocking his exit through those two locations, they were losing their grip on him as he seized this third.

Oh, what the heck. Gi-Hun hadn't remembered the last time he'd been so carefree. He'd help his friends.

Gi-Hun lunged into Young-Il's stomach, squeezing at it gently yet purposefully.

Meanwhile, In-Ho was absolutely losing it. He was being attacked from three angles, and laughing uncontrollably like a child, and he had no chance of saving himself. Not to mention the intensity of the ticklish feeling that buzzed through his stomach, sides and - worst of all - under his arms. He remembered when his brother had tickled him there when they were both young adults, attempting to embarrass him infront of a girl he was trying to flirt with. The noises he made now were as nutty and uncontrollable as they were back than. Moreover, he wasn't entirely sure he could trust these three men to stop any time soon, and he wasn't sure of how much more he could take.

"QUIHIHIHIT IT!", he begged, trying to grab at Gi-Hun's wrists but continually missing.

"Only when you admit how ticklish you are!", Dae-Ho challenged, making the Frontman even more squirmy at the mention of the word.

"EHEVEHEHERYOHOHONE IS!", he retorted, defending his dignity to the very end.

"Everyone everyone? Or most people?", Gi-Hun teased.

Man, the Frontman had only ever seen this guy sad, or emotionless, or angry. He had never seen him this joyous. He wasn't supposed to be having fun during these games. In the second game, he had to remember to break the man's spirit somehow. But he couldn't come up with a coherent plan while he was being tickled to bits.

"EVEHEHERYONE EVERYONE!", he cried out desperately, "IHIHIHIN - AHAHAHA - INCLUDING MEHEHE!"

Exchanging satisfied glances, his three attackers let up. In-Ho collapsed onto the bed behind him, catching his breath.

"You have a cute laugh", Gi-Hun said absentmindedly. Everyone suddenly turned to him, making him go dark crimson.

"N-nothing".

Hope you enjoyed (:

Keep Giggling!!!