#fc!metal man

[leaffiii]

happy pride

[threezzor]

Amenaza en Camión

Nintenn y ThreeD

[tickly-tufts]

Evil Mutants

happy @tickletober! mutant power counts as a “favourite tickle tool” right?

inspired by raven’s ler potential, sibling moments in FC, and the shortcomings of “mutant and proud”

—

“Raven, look, I didn’t mean it like- Wait! Raven, be reasonable! We’re far too old for- No!”

Erik barely processed the words before Charles barreled into his chest, forgoing eye contact and explanation in favor of scrambling behind him. He stood there stunned until Raven followed, poised like a predator mid-pursuit.

“Really, Charles?” she scoffed when she saw them. “You think Erik’s gonna save you?”

Charles didn’t answer, though he did cling, grip tightening on the back of Erik’s shirt. He’d intercepted Erik right at the doorway, effectively using him like a blockade.

“Save him from what?” Erik finally asked, curiosity piqued by the odd exchange.

Mere moments later, Charles’ cufflinks betrayed him, commanded by his equally treacherous friend.

—

“You know you only have yourself to blame,” Erik remarked once Raven recounted his insult. An unintentional insult, to be sure, but an insult to mutants nonetheless. Charles likely would’ve disagreed, had he still been capable of doing so. It was, however, difficult to argue when one was nearly in hysterics.

“NohoHO!” He tried to twist away when Erik pinched along his left side. Unfortunately, it only brought him closer to Raven’s nails clawing at his ribs. “Wait! WAHAHAHA!” he protested when she thought to tug up his shirt, cackling at the raspberry she then blew against his unprotected skin.

“This wouldn’t be so bad if you had scales,” Raven commented, cheerfully petty.

“Thahat’s not fahahair!” Charles countered, once they’d eased up to let him breathe.

“She’s not wrong, though,” Erik chimed in, fingers tracing across Charles’ stomach. He smirked as it trembled beneath his touch. “This is an easily exploitable weakness.”

“Ehehevil! You’re bohoth ehevil!”

“And you’re too ticklish to be running your mouth. But if you really want me to be evil-“

“Raven!” Charles squeaked when her hand shifted.

“Oh, that’s diabolical,” Erik marveled as Raven showed off newly-feathered fingers. It was almost as if she’d put on a glove, scales past her wrist transformed into plumes.

“Don’t!” Charles’ vehemence suggested past experience. “Not in front of-!“ he started, then stopped, face warming.

Thoroughly charmed, Erik tugged his shirt higher. “Well, now I have to see this.” He turned back to Raven.

It was not Charles’ first time enduring the belly rub from tickle hell, but Erik’s presence, even passive, undeniably made it worse. Charles didn’t dare meet his eye, though he could sense the other man observing him. Were his giggles really that high-pitched? Was his face as red as it felt? If Raven tickled him to tears again, would his pride ever recover?

“Isn’t he cute?” Raven teased, grinning conspiratorially at Erik. Her feathered palm tickled across Charles’ torso, frond-like fingertips fluttering lightly.

“Adorable,” Erik agreed, drinking in Charles’ reactions. He held Charles’ cufflinks with ease, feeling him struggle against the metal.

Raven wiggled one feathery finger in Charles’ navel to hear him squeal, then lifted her hand once more, shifting through several different textures. “What do you think? Furry or fuzzy?”

Erik noticed Charles flinch. “Definitely fuzzy,” he replied, gazing straight into pleading blue eyes. Perhaps it was a tad sadistic, but Charles had earned Raven’s wrath on his own… and honestly, Erik was enjoying the sight of Charles helplessly flustered.

Meanwhile, Charles let out a screech when Raven’s hand inevitably returned. She’d only used fuzzy once before, the morning after one of his more drunken exploits. It’d sobered him up like nothing else, the mere threat of it becoming a warning, and now that she was doing it again…

He remembered he absolutely could not stand it.

“EHEEHEEK! R-RAHAVEN PLEASE!” He writhed beneath the maddeningly ticklish fuzz. Further down, his legs kicked, thumping desperately against the floor. “I’M SORREHEHEE!” he frantically apologized.

“That bad, huh?” Erik mused, recognizing the start of tears.

“This isn’t even his worst spot,” Raven revealed, brushing circles on his belly. “Actually… have I ever used my mutation there before?” Her fuzzed hand began drifting higher, up his side, then over his ribs.

“PleheHEASE! YOU DOHON’T HAHAHAVE TO-!”

He felt the fuzz beneath his right arm.

“Oh!” Erik startled when Charles yanked, nearly ripping his own shirtsleeve. He quickly adjusted the corresponding cufflink to re-secure Charles’ right wrist. “He’s fighting me much harder than before.” The ferocity was almost impressive.

As was the intensity of Charles’ laughter, rendering him fully incoherent.

It tickled. He couldn’t speak. It tickled so much. He couldn’t think. The fuzz bordered on itchy, or maybe prickly, terribly ticklish wherever it touched. Charles doubted it could get any worse… until he felt Raven’s other hand.

In that instant, the telepath panicked, finally summoning his own power.

ENOUGH.

Mentally compelled, Raven pulled back, while Erik released his magnetic hold. Erik’s eyes widened when he realized, while Raven tensed, no longer amused.

Charles noticed the new tension. “I… I didn’t… Sorry…” he wheezed. Eyes watering, he looked up at them, something fragile in his expression.

“For what?” Erik questioned before the mood soured. “Defending yourself with your mutation? Really, Charles, it’s about time.” Both siblings stared at him in shock.

“Are you really… not bothered by it?” Charles ventured hesitantly.

“You’re a telepath. It’s natural,” Erik reasoned. “Though I never thought tickling would force your hand.”

Relief and embarrassment warred within Charles as Erik smiled, lighthearted and playful. Raven watched the interaction, re-evaluating, before making herself relax.

“Like I said, he’s ridiculously ticklish.” She reached out to ruffle Charles’ hair. He batted her away with an indignant huff, though he couldn’t maintain his pout. Unease between them usually lingered, yet with Erik’s intervention, it’d dissolved like sugar.

“Yes, well… can’t help my nature.” He wobbled to the couch with Erik’s help.

Charles dropped onto the cushions with a sigh, allowing Erik’s arm to settle over his shoulders. Raven joined on Charles’ other side, leaning close like she’d done since they were children. They weren’t children anymore, and their relationship wasn’t what it’d once been, but he supposed that moments like this proved some things really never changed.

Before Charles could get too wistful, Erik interrupted the peace. “So, is this a common occurrence? Tickling Charles into submission?”

Raven perked up, devious, as Charles’ blush reignited. He thus became a captive audience to her extended recollections.

[tewwor]

𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗡𝗘𝗪 𝗦𝗢𝗥𝗖𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗥 … like for a starter and/or ask! multi's please specify

STATS .

name: yuma kochiya

alias: tba

age: 34 ( verse dependent )

height: 5'11''

gender & sexuality: cis man ; he/him & bisexual

occupation: doctor at a small clinic during the day & on call semi-grade 1 jujutsu sorcerer / nightshift doctor at tokyo jujutsu high

fc: tba

CURSED TECHNIQUES & ABILITIES .

bone destruction ( names of fractures — oblique, compression, comminuted, segmental, avulsion, etc ) & regeneration ( fuse ): able to break, splinter, crush, etc. any bone in his, and another's, body at will. the need for physical contact is required when manipulating others. he's also able to regenerate, mend the bones, and transplant marrow to boost blood regen.

density manipulation ( brick - heavy & feather - light ): this ability allows him to shift the density of bones at will i.e. 'hollow bones' and 'dermal armor'.

osteokinetic constructs ( manifest ): can turn bone into tools, objects, weapons and other items, create semi-living constructs and/or create structures/buildings of varying permanence. being rather efficient and near masterful with his technique, yuma's able to create anything within his mind's eye.

invisibility awareness ( passive ): yuma is able to detect anything that is made of bones — living or dead. thus, makes it practically impossible to sneak up on him if someone, or something, has a skeleton.

puppetry ( rally ): able to control and morph skeletons at will. very rarely does yuma resort to this as he thinks it disrespectful to the deceased & the living ( unlike his family ).

wing manifestation ( silver vein ): able to construct skeletal wings that act as both defense and offense. despite it's name, yuma isn't able to fly with these additional limbs.

HISTORY .

tw : car accident

The rumbling ambiance of gravel paths against thinned treads is what wakes you. Slow, like the meandering of that stormy cloud across the crescent moon above. You hear the faint wash of radio talk crackle from tinny speakers. Breathe in verbena buffed leather and clove scented smoke. The faintest tap, tap tap punctuates the switch in talk show speakers before a familiar, "hey-yo, sleep well?" pushes you further into the present. The first response you give is a groggy huff. Then a whine curls with the back of your tongue upon stretching what you can in this all too cramped car. Something's said about how you slept well enough with all things considered. Your older brother answers back with a huff of his own. Ends on an understanding, "fair 'nough" before a jaunty transitional tune takes over.

The two of you are squabbling over something stupid, something small. Both sides are justified in their own right, but there's an overlap of beliefs. A bunch of 'well I think's and 'no, you're wrong's being flung back and forth. Any hope of reaching a middle ground gets trampled by big personalities and even bigger opinions. Remember, it was stupid and small — you cannot forget this. You cannot let the looming thing caught in headlights eradicate it. Your brother was spirited; a shared likeliness of resilience and mulishness inherited by parents you've never met. He cannot be reduced to something only characterized by pain and suffering. There was zeal once, modest pride, undefeated geniality. He cannot be lessened to his last moments, writhing in agony by the shaking craft of your hands. You knew not of flesh nor organs then ( far too young, too green ), the complexity of nerves and skin, but you did know of marrow. Enough to mend the breaks with nothing else to stilt the hurt or staunch the ceaseless flow of blood. You have to remember how relentless he was in reassurance. Between the wet sucking of lungs, the crushed rasps and grunts and groans — trembling body misshapen among the debris of metal scraps and laminated glass. '—'s okay. I'll be.. Okay. —'m alright... Be fine.' Remember how you wanted to scream back? Take him by the torn, bloody collar and shake him back into sense? Shake more life into him somehow, by some miracle? But a shooting star didn't blink across the night sky — finally lit bright by the full width of silver moon. All that's left is you, your dying brother, and that thing still on the road.

MISC. FACTS .

interests: ginger, rest, cute or funny bandaids, gag gifts

dislikes: taking things too seriously, his parents

often fights with a mass of bone ( yes, it’s his own — don’t ask or do 🫣 ). it’s kept fluid to act as extra defense and solidified when on the offensive. usually molds the bone into gauntlets, scythe, or spiked bullets. if he’s really feeling some type of way ( enraged ) he’ll cram liquified bone into a target’s mouth, eyes, ears, nose, or open wound and solidify it with spikes.

injuries sustained was a broken arm and 80% loss of sight in the left eye. otherwise, he was more or less okay.

yuma's trademark greeting of 'hey-yo!' came from his brother. the same applies to how he treats current patients like they're children ( constant gentle conversation to distract from the pain, the promise of a sweet threat after, etc ).

his favorite & most used scents are clove and leather. again, influenced by his brother.

after the incident, yuma threw himself into constant training. he took on far stronger curses to get a better understanding of his powers — both to harm and heal. his efforts paid off at a steep price.

VERSES .

main — jjk: works the nightshift at tokoyo jujutsu high ( so shoko doesn't have to ) and enjoys it! had a stint where yuma was a teacher for some brief period of time, but decided that he could help bolster their recovery instead. stayed with principal yaga & shoko during the shibuya arc as extra defense.

main — modern day / au friendly: works as an underground medic. good, bad, whatever’s in between — he’ll patch anyone up if they can pay the fee ( can be money or favors ). somehow weaseled his way into something legally binding so neither side tries to shake him down for information.

the marked: tba.

op: tba.

[blue-thief]

respectfully asking you to drop those trans hcs for the bllk boys!!!

yeah sure ofc i'm so glad you asked!

i'll split them up based on which NEL team they're on for the sake of my own sanity

(i don't actually hc ALL of them to be trans so i'll just mention the ones i actually have a hc for lol)

bastard munchen

kaiser - THE most trans-coded of the bunch imo. like the whole thing with the blue rose tattoo to represent "turning the impossible into reality" and "defying the natural order of things". and his full name is "michael kaiser" which can be interpreted as "god's chosen emperor". there's no way bro was given that name at birth. he's also coded to have religious trauma which would become much more layered if you interpret him as trans. he's also, interestingly enough, the only one to NOT have a metal chain around his neck on his cover. he's the only one with glass. a lot of ppl have interpreted this as him having a fragile ego, but glass can also be taken to symbolize transformation (i just pulled this from a random website talking about the spiritual meaning of glass lmao). ALSO also him being annoyed by his long hair in ness's flashback. trans. plus his insecurity concerning how good he is in comparison to (who he perceives as) cis players just screams insecure trans masc who's relying too much on toxic masculinity to affirm his gender to his peers lmao.

ness - he totally thought he would have to fight his parents on this but they were surprisingly cool with it + even helped him w puberty blockers and stuff. he still hates them for the anti-magic stuff but at least they're not transphobic?

isagi - don't ask me to explain this i just get those vibes

noa - (reporter) "what is your opinion on trans people with an unfair biological advantage in sports?" (noa, a trans man who transitioned wayy before he got famous) "i AM trans people with an unfair biological advantage in sports"

pxg

shidou - he just has bigender vibes man. japanese isn't big on third-person pronouns, but once he starts getting better at english, he'd def start collecting pronouns like pokemon cards. he figured out his identity through chainsaw man ("wow denji's just like me fr but so is angel devil but so is asa but so is-")

ubers

(i have nothing for any of the ubers. feel free to prove me wrong)

fc barcha

bachira - non-binary but he doesn't know it yet (any and all pronouns once he does figure it out)

manshine city

chigiri - peak gender, everyone confuses him for a girl. he uses masculine language, and while he sometimes acts annoyed when ppl call him princess, he doesn't bother correcting them. does anyone actually know chigiri's gender? no. does he know what it is? yes. will he tell anyone? no. he thinks it's funny to keep ppl guessing with the constant contradictions

reo - i didn't actually hc him as trans at first but the post i was complaining about earlier was dunking on this hc specifically so uhhh yeah he's trans now sorry i don't make the rules <3. his dad's company also pioneered top surgery that doesn't leave any scars which is why no one in bllk has any. like with ness, his dad is surprisingly not transphobic but he sucks in other ways lmao (but now that you think of it, his whole struggle with wanting to live a life completely different from what his parents had in mind for him IS a very trans-coded backstory)

[a-throne-of-lies]

ok fine official introductory of anda

AGoT OC: Andaren Sparr

FC: Dev Patel in The Green Knight

Andaren Sparr, known as Arroko na Lua, was born in the year 280 AC amidst the chaos of Meereen. His mother was a bed-slave carefully bought from Yunkai; a ghiscari woman by birth. Andaren was born ten minutes before his twin sister, Naraqua Lua. His early years were filled with turmoil, living in the shadow of his mother’s master for nigh on five years. In 284 AC, Namezzi Lua, their mother, fell ill with an infectious disease. The illness took her quickly, and upon her death, Andaren and his sister were thrown out into the streets to be sold again. They were rotated into the slave markets for months until Naraqua was bought for the fighting pits, leaving Andaren alone to be sold again. In 285 AC, he was bought by a Westerosi man by the name of Eliar Sparr, who had been gallivanting around Essos for the last two years.

Taking pity on the little boy, he bought him and took him aboard his ship back east, officially adopting him as his son and renaming him. Eliar, who had been a friend to Eddard Stark during the rebellion, returned with Andaren to Winterfell, where they set up in a little home above the armory. There, Andaren learned to fight, hunt and ride, shaping him into a resourceful boy despite his lineage. It was here that Andaren became fast and close friends with Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell. They were nigh on inseparable. Wherever Jon was, Andaren was there too, always by his side.

In 298 AC, King Robert Baratheon I visits Winterfell to ask Eddard to be his hand. A fortnight into their visit, Eliar Sparr is found in the woods during a hunt. The sight of him sends Robert into a rage, for during the rebellion, Eliar had been charged with hunting down and killing Queen Rhaella Targaryen and her small children. However, Eliar could not bring himself to kill them, and abandoned his mission in Essos after chasing them that far. He returned to Winterfell in hopes that Robert would never find him there, but that was where his folly began. In the eve of that day, Eliar was beheaded in the yard of Winterfell by Eddard Stark for his treason, leaving Andaren orphaned once more. In his grief, Jon suggests that he comes with him to the Wall, to truly become his brother. Agreeing, Andaren becomes a black brother, fledging into a ranger of great skill.

Some little facts about Anda.

Anda is left handed. His hand is always stained with ink or charcoal on the side from writing/drawing.

He keeps a journal, documenting the little things in his life. He has done this since he was a boy first learning to read and write the common tongue.

Anda is afraid of horses.

He loves collecting little trinkets such as metal scraps, feathers, leaves and rocks. He is truly a crow.

Anda is a formidable swordsmen and fights—much to the dismay of others—without armor.

During the Great Ranging, Anda comes across a Shadowcat kitten whose mother was poached. He raises her to be his constant companion.

[kivaember]

ac6 drabble: fall

cracks knuckles right, onto the next prompt: "Rusty vs. Brainwashed Walter" from @brightlady-lise which! I actually did want to write a oneshot for before... maybe i can use this drabble as a springboard hmm, we'll see.

Anyways, here we go.

fall

In any other circumstances, it barely would've counted as a fight.

The AC Walter had flown in on was a beast, bristling with Coral weaponry that threatened to slag both Rusty and Raven's ACs at the slightest misstep, both of them running lightweight mechs with equally lightweight armour. Even then, in any other circumstances, it wouldn't be a fight.

Walter was disorientated - deranged, really - his movements unpredictable and wheeling, as he ranted in a slurring voice that pinballed between random topics, linked by a logic only his scrambled brain could see. That unpredictability was dangerous though - Rusty had almost dodged into a shot just because Walter had been aiming at something none of them could see, and Rusty's own FCS and ocular feeds were partially busted up from soloing an entire suppression fleet in the toposphere, meaning it was hard to tell what Walter was doing most of the time.

Even then, in any other cicumstances, it wouldn't be a fight.

No, the problem came that Rusty and Raven were exhausted and ammo depleted. Rusty had ran out of ammunition in the first minute of the fight, having had only a fistful of rounds left in both his rifle and his needle launcher. Raven was just as badly off, having burned off most of his rounds on Arquebus's Balteus mech, which meant both of them were reduced to melee only. That wasn't getting into the damage their ACs had already incurred, the low fuel in their generators...

...and...

Rusty remembered before, when he and Raven fought in the Depths. There hadn't been a shred of hesitation on Raven's side, the moment he realised Rusty wasn't playing around. If he had any emotional attachment to him, any misgivings, it hadn't manifested in the fight. Raven had gone for the throat as ruthlessly as any attack dog - no mercy, no compromise.

In this fight, it was an entirely different story.

Rusty narrowly evaded the screaming beam of Coral energy by leaping upwards, STEEL HAZE ORTUS's HUD beeping several strained warnings at him from several directions: G-Force warning (the Xylem was re-entering Rubicon's atmosphere), temperature warning (the Xylem was re-entering Rubicon's atmosphere) and high Coral contamination (the Xylem was re-entering Rubicon's atmosphere). Every violent movement, every quick-boost, carried a drastic risk to go horrifically wrong if Rusty mistimed it or went too high.

The Xylem's gravity well was just barely keeping their ACs tethered to the ship as it plummetted down towards the Alean Ocean, wreathed in a burning plasma they were just about shielded from by the colony ship's superstructure. Walter's AC seemed to defy basic physics with how it effortlessly hovered above the ship's hull without needing to continuously gun its boosters to stay level, which meant that Walter's derangement wasn't endangering him much. The man just had to point his various Coral weaponry at them and shoot: wildly.

Still, it was a fight that would've been manageable, otherwise. But a combination of no ammunition, low generator fuel, the Xylem currently screaming into Rubicon's atmosphere and transforming into a lump of melting metal as the air became superheated plasma... the fight was tough. The fight was dangerous.

And, even more telling, Raven was floundering.

Several times, Rusty had seen Raven ignore a clean shot at his handler. One time, he'd witnessed Raven actually charge in with his pulse blade, and if he'd followed through he would've cleaved Walter's AC in half - but at the very last minute he had aborted the hit, and got booted full force in the Core for his moment of ill-timed mercy. Rusty had to all but throw himself on Walter to ensure that the man hadn't followed his kick with a killing blow and ended up losing his shoulder mounted needle launcher in the process.

Rusty just thought Raven needed a moment, a minute maybe, to process and realise that it was them or Walter, and that they had to choose survival. Walter was in too crazed of a state to leave roaming around in a superpowered C-Weapon AC unopposed. But a minute passed, almost two minutes, and Rusty realised that if Raven carried on, they were going to die.

"Buddy," he said tersely over comms, evading yet another bolt of Coral energy as Raven ineffectively dithered on the ship hull below. "I don't mean to press you, but we're running out of time here. We've gotta stop Walter, fast."

Raven didn't respond - Rusty didn't expect him to be able to - but the Xylem lurched underneath them, drowning the world out with an ear-splitting crack. The ship was breaking up underneath them, and the superstructure shielding them from the worst of the re-entry? That was beginning to break apart too.

Debris came crashing across their little battlefield, and Rusty weaved around the blocks of steel and reinforced cement to find himself suddenly crashing into something that forced STEEL HAZE ORTUS's structural integrity alarms to scream "AP AT 10%!" and his vision to spin nauseatingly as ORTUS was sent flying across the deteroiating hull in an uncontrolled pinwheel.

"Shit-!" he snarled, ignoring the chirping G-Force warnings as he fought the controls, trying to regain balance - only to hear the telltale scream of that Coral beam charging power - close, dangerously close - and thought well, i guess walter's worth more than me, then-

The noise abruptly cut off, just as Rusty managed to regain control of STEEL HAZE ORTUS's tumble. He engaged the maglocks on the AC's feet, slamming down onto the Xylem's hull as his fuzzing ocular feeds focused on-

Walter, frozen with his Coral rifle aimed at Rusty - and a dissipating pulse blade flickering through his Core.

Somehow, the whole scene felt isolated from the fiery chaos around them. The glowing Coral energy in the rifle dimmed, the arm holding it up slowly angling downwards as Walter's AC tilted awkwardly to one side. The comms crackled, Walter's strained, wheezing voice breaking through - the blade must've missed the cockpit, but that didn't matter. The Core had been breached, and that meant no oxygen.

"621..." Walter rasped. "You've... finally found..."

He didn't finish. What he thought 621 found, what he thought he gained, none of them would ever know.

The Xylem, placed under tremendous stress it was never built to endure, abruptly split apart beneath their feet, engines and fuel tankers rupturing and detonating with a cataclysmic explosion, the hull cracking open. Rusty acted on instinct, disengaging the maglocks on his AC's feet and boosting upwards to get out of the blast zone.

"RAVEN!" he yelled on the comms, if only to hear himself over the myriad of warnings blasting over his HUD. "YOU NEED TO JUMP SHIP! RAVEN!"

At first, Rusty thought Raven didn't hear him - or maybe decided to go down with the ship, with Walter. Raven's AC simply stood there, its arm rammed elbow deep into the Core of Walter's AC, seemingly oblivious to the ship breaking up around them. But, just before Rusty crossed the point of no return, before he left Xylem's gravity well entirely and lost any possible chance of tracking Raven afterwards, the mercenary abruptly released Walter's AC and boosted after him.

"There, that's it! That's it, buddy! C'mon!" Rusty slowed STEEL HAZE ORTUS's boost, giving Raven a chance to catch up despite the risk - it paid off. Soon they were both together, veering away from the Xylem's explosive re-entry, and finding themselves descending at speeds that would make anyone sweat.

"The last stretch!" Rusty said, reconfiguring STEEL HAZE ORTUS's posture into re-entry mode. Every AC had it, but re-entry was only recommended when the AC's intregrity was uncompromised. STEEL HAZE ORTUS's wasn't, and Raven's had taken a beating too, but they had no choice. They'd have to rely on their terminal armours if things took a turn for the worst.

"I'll see you on the other side, buddy!" he called, even as the warning light for comms interferences flickered across his HUD, the only thing he could hear being the dull roar of STEEL HAZE ORTUS trying to rattle apart as it hit terminal velocity. "Don't go dying on impact, okay?!"

There was no response. "CONNECTION LOST!" flashed across his HUD.

All that could be done was to sit and pray, really.

So that's what Rusty did.

-

From the ground, all that could be seen was what looked like a meteor shower chasing the tail of a large comet, hurling down towards the sea.

[storyshark2005]

your carraville fic is sooo excellent I keep rereading it, I can’t stop

hope you continue it, you’re writing is beautiful xx

Thank you so much for the kind words! I am, the chapter is about 10k now, I've unfortunately just writing at a slower pace than I have in a long time. I was hoping to sit on this ask until I could finish up-- it's not done yet, but do know that I'm plugging along slowly but steadily.

Here's just a little snippy from Chapter 8:

[Scene: Jamie's arrived at Salford FC home ground for a Saturday match, along with Gary and Paul Scholes.]

They park around back, and Gary leads the way through a door and up a set of stairs to a hospitality box in the South stand. It feels a bit like the inside of a big metal shoebox, but all done up with a big tv on one wall, a black leather banquette in the corner, and a table full of catered food. Gary’s in his businessman mode already, buzzing around giving out hugs and handshakes to everyone, staff included. Ryan Giggs and Nicky Butt are there, and they shake Jamie’s hand in a disinterested way, and go back to chatting about ownership things Jamie’s got no clue about. A staffer comes up and offers him a cup of tea, which he accepts, resigned to the next two hours of standing around the food table like a spare prick at a wedding.

Thank god, Roy comes in five minutes to kick-off. 

“Come on,” he nods over to where Gary, Scholes, and Gary’s mate Chris Casper were already huddled together in front of the plexiglass windows. “You don’t want to watch with them, they never stop talkin’.”

Which is how Jamie finds himself sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Roy in the little swathe of reserved seats butted up against the owner’s box. Roy crosses his arms and squints out across the pitch as the players emerge from the tunnel. Jamie recognizes a name or two, players who’ve played in the Championship or League One— but Roy knows all the player names, knows who Salford brought in and for what purpose and who’s working out and who isn’t.

“It’s been a rough start this season,” he grimaces. “The manager keeps sayin’ he wants to play on the floor, but I don’t think he knows who he’s kiddin’. It’s just big man hoofball, at this level.”

“You love this, don’t you?” Jamie grins. 

Roy frowns deeply. “It’s alright. The fans are good here. They don’t bother you too much.” 

The whistle blows, and Roy doesn’t speak for the next ten minutes or so, besides the occasional commentary: ‘That one up front for Crewe, Baker-Richardson, he’s a handful,’ or ‘Kelly N’Mai, I like him, he’s young, from the academy, a good lad.’ Salford play sluggishly, a bit clueless. The Crewe players just look better, they get up and down the pitch better, press high, and they score on the break at minute 27. 

The home crowd lets out a collective groan and the Crewe players celebrate. A voice crackles over the tannoy to glumly announce the goal. Jamie turns over his shoulder, and finds Gary looking ghostly and drawn through the window of the box. Gary’s eyes drop down to Jamie, briefly, then back up to the pitch. 

He remembers a moment from last night: crossing the darkened room and kneeling down in the space between Gary’s knees; how Jamie had felt all his troubled thoughts wash away, total relief, like a plunge into cold water on a hot summer’s day.

Roy groans, and points out some kind of objectionable behaviour as play resumes. “Jesus! Are you seeing this?!” 

“Yeah,” Jamie says, even though he’s not; caught up in later, in visions of skin, the sound of a voice shaping his name (James, James) over and over again.

[evita-shelby]

Bit by bit

This had no business being so dark, but it was

Cw: rape, sex trafficking, trauma, statutory rape, older man, underage girl

So sorry to do this to y'all on a sunday morning

@justrainandcoffee @emotionalcadaver @call-sign-shark @peakyswritings

Laurence Evertt and Aveline Young belong to @justrainandcoffee

Fc for teenage!Eva is Isabela Merced

The first time had only been with a semblance of choice.

While Eva came to know that Luca was not as terrible as the others, he was still a man who bought her like a leg of lamb.

It had been a punishment for her attempted suicide and Nelson’s failure to get rid of her.

Every time after was a punishment for staying alive. But her tributes needed a mentor, and she can’t kill herself when so many have begun to rely on her.

“I wish I could keep you, pussycat.” Luca had murmured with a stroke of Eva’s cheek.

His luxury home was bereft of anything she could use to fight back, the Avoxes ordered away so no one could help her and the booze and drugs to make her complacent.

Clemens didn’t know of this; Tigris was long gone and Abilene too doped up to even notice a girl dressed up as a gift for a man sixteen years her elder.

Still, Eva played her role and with the help of the exclusive wine and the tiny two pills her Avox had presented her with, she didn’t give Snow the satisfaction of seeing her hurt.

No matter how much it killed her bit by bit, the Victor made damn sure to hide behind the armor she built up piece by piece.

“Shh, just let go and let me take care of you,” Luca’s whispers as he used his experience to have her own body desire it, desire him, would never leave her head. “There are worse men than me, pussycat.”

And he was right. Eva came to know he would not be the worst. Far from it.

Laurence Evertt was the worst.

When she turned eighteen, he paid for her and held an event where she would be raped by him and every one of his friends, male or female.

“We give a piece of our souls to you, our newest goddess.” The man had raised a toast to her as she was chained like a dog. It was dipped in gold, the metal around her neck that tied her to gilded post that is.

And then when she woke up, without a single physical sign of what happened to her that night, she had never felt so wretched in her life.

The shame, the disgust, the phantom feeling of them on her, in her, plague her to no end.

If she had thought her first time had been a thing of nightmares, she was proven wrong.

She hates all of them, she prays for their deaths and yet when Luca appeared again as Snow’s pet murderer, Eva knew she needed him to keep everyone else away from her.

“You never forget your first,” he had said looking at the empty display where a sword should be knowing why the girl had sought him out.

Eva hadn’t known that his first Victor had been the indomitable Aveline Young until she told her how she acquired the katana.

He became her protector. Her one and only as long as the mysterious goddess she pretends to be keeps her end of the deal.

It’s a good deal.

Sure, she had to be the living embodiment of Luca’s fantasies, but there were worse things in this fucking life. She is not put on the auction block, no one bothers her and, as much as she’d rather claw off her skin, it is …enjoyable sometimes.

And for five years, all is good. In those times, Eva came to learn how to feel absolutely nothing as he and the people after him sated their depravity with her.

The settings in the showers are her refuge. The strongest setting feels like being power washed until nothing is left but bones and the even synthetic smells of vanilla, lavender and rose is as comforting as the real thing her mother used to wear.

Then Jack Nelson came back into her life, let the woman famous for raping every new male victor use him like a toy to give Finnick one more year and then tore off her collar like it was made of string and not gold.

He has learned to forgive her for killing his brother, no longer the boy stuck with all that rage at the wrong thing. Jack ---even as bullheaded and dangerous as he was--- couldn’t escape the prison being a Victor was either.

Stuck in the same hell together. Perhaps that was why they are so great together.

“You’re not a whore, you’re not his, Evie.” Jack had ignited something in her. A reason to fight, to want, to toss the mask and just be.

Eva had never done it on her own terms. Done what she wanted, what made her feel good, been herself and not the image she wore like armor.

They had laughed, felt something other than disgust or apathy and for once Eva didn’t feel like tearing off her own skin and growing a new one.

“You don’t belong to them. They don’t own you; you hear me.” Jack’s words become the mantra she tells herself after every encounter. He makes sure to remind her every time the nightmares return.

When Eva is stable enough to join 13’s meager society, she is given the perfect gift: the complete, raw footage of Laurence Evertt dying of in the arena she survived.

They never removed the spigot from the alkaline rich cactus. Evertt died raving mad as the alkali poisoned him and sped up his dehydration.

It was only then that the Victor finally felt free.

[tulipselfships]

TULIP'S OFFICIAL REQUEST QUE. (Will be updated with each new request)

Current requests: 21

- Fire Man x Reader (MMFC)

- Lammy X Katy Kat musk headcanons (N$FW) (Parappa)

- Instructor Mooshea X Autistic!Fem!Reader (Parappa)

- Fire Man x Femboy!Reader who is on their period (MMFC)

- Dee Jay X Reader (Street Fighter)

- Wave Man x Male!Reader pregnancy headcanons (MMFC)

- Transmale!Guru Ant X Fem!Reader

- Ma-San X Depressed!Autistic!Fem!Reader

- FC Fire Man x Pregnant!Male!Reader who was a part of Sgt. Night's forces

- Diana Cavendish, Toko Fukawa X Tutu Dancer!Reader

- Bully!FC Fire Man X Femboy!FC Wave Man school AU (N$FW)

- Pregnant!FC Cut Man x Reader

- Cyber Elf X, MMZ Zero X Reader who is afraid of them dying

- Chop Chop Master Onion X Fem!Insecure!Reader

- Kyoko Kirigiri, Sayaka Maizono, Celestia Ludenberg, Mahiru Koizumi, Ibuki Mioda, Sonia Nevermind, Chiaki Nanami, Kaede Akamatsu X Reader with comically over-the-top tragic childhood

-Pregnant!Metal Man x Male!Reader who is the God of weaponry and war

- General Potter X Autistic!Fem!reader with childish coping mechanisms

- Kaito Momota, Leon Kuwata, Kazuichi Soda X S/O who is popular in the music industry

- Alan Sylvastia, Shirou Ogami, Byakuya Togami, Nagito Komaeda, Kokichi Ouma X reader who is like Girlfriend from FNF

- Professor Nelson X Photographer!Reader who has her pose for their pictures

- Transfem!Instructor Mooselini X Transfem!Reader

[handlersandhumans]

C-Weapon Identification: IB-04: LLD-999

"Last To Fall"

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

“Who’s this tourist?” A sickly, deranged voice echoed over their comms, half-loony on Coral fumes and battlelust. They both knew who it was: Invincible Rummy, the dosed-up and delusional guard dog of RaD, piloting a trash AC with uncomplimentary weapons.

Once upon a time the man had been a minor threat. In another world yet he had been a slight road bump on the way towards the Smart Cleaner. In this world…

“Think you can just… waltz straight in he-EEAAAAUUUGGHHH!!!” A spread-shot of Coral Plasma from Last To Fall’s rifle bathed his AC, wearing it down for a barrage of laser-fire and shrapnel from Cape. The heavy steel arms melted off almost immediately, untuned as they were to survive any sort of energy damage. The Double-Trouble chainsaw clattered to the floor before his scream even had the grace to end.

Last To Fall landed atop the wheeling AC with the force of a cargo cannon: enough to split the weakened legs from the torso. The yellow Tian-Qiang frame squealed louder than its pilot as the C-Weapon’s two anterior legs pummeled the piloting capsule in.

“N-NO! I’M INVINCIBLE! MAD STOMP, LISTEN TO ME! NOOOO!” The metal gave away, and Invincible Rummy’s callsign vanished from the ALLMIND mercenary rankings.

Nothing for it.

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

Build Below Cut:

Right Hand Weapon: Hu-Ben Gatling Gun Left Hand Weapon: BAD COOK (Additional: VE-66LRA and Vvc-760PR) Right Shoulder Weapon: 6-cell Plasma Missiles (Additional: JVLN ALPHA) Left Shoulder Weapon: Laser Drone (Additional: Coral Shield and Pulse Shield Launcher) Head: VE-44B (Hammerhead) Core: HAL 826 Arms: VE-46A Legs: Verrill Booster: 12345 FCS: WLT-001 Generator: NGI-000 Expansion: Pulse Protection Additional Notes: The weapons marked "Additional:" are the weapons that Last To Fall has, but don't exist in the actual, in-game AC. 

[leaffiii]

[threezzor]

Rocket Jump!!!

ThreeD / M.T.-512

[totowlff]

chapter thirty-four — no more secrets

➝ sometimes the fear of losing someone to stupid ideas drives people to do stupid things.

➝ word count: 3,1k

➝ warnings: none

APRIL, 2017

An early spring breeze ruffled Elisabeth’s hair as she walked hand in hand with Toto, across the crosswalk that led to the Mercedes-Benz museum building. It was in front of the company’s headquarters, and was a massive complex with not only offices, a factory, a dealership, and the museum, but also the imposing Mercedes-Benz Arena, where the city’s Bundesliga football team played, though she couldn’t remember the name of it.

In reality, Elisabeth knew very little about football. She had learned the basics from Mathias, who never missed watching FC Barcelona games. He was a fervent supporter of the Catalan team, and had named several of the family’s pets after its players. Mathias’ passion for the sport had certainly not come from Niki, but from Tilman, their uncle, and Mathias was already working to turn his own children into lifelong Barça fans. They’d had Barça clothing from infancy, and both of them learned the team anthem almost as soon as they’d learned to talk.

As Toto and Elisabeth walked toward the large metal-clad building, the man with them made small talk about the club — VfB Stuttgart, apparently — and their difficult season. The man with them was Ola Källenius, a Swede, and part of the board of directors of the Mercedes-Benz group. Toto and Elisabeth had stopped in Stuttgart to meet with him on the way back home from the Bahrain Grand Prix.

— However, I didn’t want to just talk with you about Stuttgart's misfortunes this season, but something else — Ola said, as they approached the entrance to the building — Something of interest to you, or at least, of interest to Toto.

As they all entered the atrium, Elisabeth couldn't help but be impressed by the building’s architecture. It looked large from the outside, but it looked even larger on the inside with the triangular-shaped panes coming together to give the visual impression of the room looking bigger than it was. The elevators stood out against the concrete walls, making them look like silver capsules, waiting for their passengers.

“This place is a work of art”, she thought, as the executive greeted a man warmly.

— Toto, Elisabeth, this is Pádraic, one of the museum guides. He knows everything about everything in here, right?

— I like to think so, Ola — the man replied, his accent indicating he wasn't German — It's nice to meet you.

— The pleasure is ours, isn't it, Liesl?

Elisabeth limited herself to a nod as she shook the man's hand.

— Which route would you like to take?

— We'll have to skip the traditional tour today, Pádraic. Toto and Elisabeth have a flight scheduled for later and they don't have time to see everything. However, they’d like to see the racing car collection — Ola replied, making the guide smile.

— Very well, would you follow me? — he said, gesturing with one hand. Along the way, Pádraic gave a quick explanation of the museum's internal structure, which had been planned to resemble a double helix, like DNA, with the outer section devoted to thematic collections, and the inner section to the history of the brand.

After taking an elevator to the second floor, they headed to a section of the museum that resembled a banked curve. It was built as an homage to ancient European chariot racing tracks, he said, and the steepness of the curve made it more challenging. The banked track in the museum was made to display an array of silver cars, with one or another colored model, corresponding to the most modern cars.

— These are our racing cars. Since 1894 we have records of Mercedes taking part in motor racing for the purpose of proving the reliability of the brand's engines. It was the main form of advertising for cars that existed for motor vehicles. It was how the company built its brand until the birth of the Silver Arrows.

Glancing at Toto out of the corner of her eye, Elisabeth noticed that he looked delighted, like a child let loose in a toy store. There was an undeniable twinkle in his eye and goofy smile on his face. She nodded as the guide talked, listening intently.

— Here we have the four-cylinder, 120-horsepower Benz Grand Prix, which was the first car developed exclusively for racing. There, we have the 1914 version, also with four cylinders but with a 274 cubic inch engine and, in front of it, the W25, which was the car that gave us the nickname “The Silver Arrows”. The mechanics had to strip all of the paint from the body to make it lighter, leaving only exposed aluminum — Pádraic explained, pointing to each of the cars and giving them a brief explanation.

As they walked along the curve, Elisabeth couldn't help but notice something odd about the exhibit. Just ahead, there was a space between two cars that was clearly bigger than the others. It was as if something was missing there, one of the pieces of the museum.

— That one has a funny story. With the dominance of German cars in racing, the Italian motorsport federation decided to restrict racing to only cars with 1.5 liter engines, which were not made by any German manufacturer. So, Mercedes decided to develop a car with these specifications in just eight months. In the end, the W165 was born, which won the Tripoli Grand Prix, in 1939.

— I think you have a little more time than that to develop the car in Formula 1, right Toto? — the brand executive asked, smiling.

— It revolves around this time, Ola. Of course, everything has become easier than before, with technology and all. It doesn't detract from their achievement of making a car in such a short amount of time.

A few steps later, Elisabeth's curiosity won out.

— Why is there such a big space there? — she asked.

— Ah, yes, that is where the 300SL usually is. It was our first car to compete after the Second World War, and it won the Carrera Panamericana in Mexico. But it was pulled from the exhibition at Ola's request for a bit of a… revision.

— Revision? — she asked, raising an eyebrow.

— Yeah, it's going to Italy to participate in the Mille Miglia, in honor of the 65th anniversary of its victory in Mexico — Ola said, smiling — It will be the car that Aldo and Toto will use for the race.

She blinked. Elisabeth had no idea what the Mille Miglia was, or why Toto would be involved in it. However, swallowing the lump in her throat, she just forced a curious smile.

— Use? You mean, race?

— Exactly. We received an invitation from the race organizers, talking to Toto at the beginning of the year, he offered to drive it, along with Aldo.

— I'm really glad you got the car cleared for us — Toto said, looking genuinely pleased about that — It's going to be fantastic driving it around Italy.

— And when will that be? — Elisabeth asked, doing her best to hide her displeasure at only just now finding out that Toto would be driving in a race.

— In May, Liesl — Toto replied immediately, smiling — And I can't wait.

— I can imagine — Elisabeth said, letting go of his hand and putting it in the pocket of the tailored pants she was wearing, something churning in her stomach.

After saying goodbye to Pádraic and Ola, the two went to the car they had rented on arrival in the city and made their way back to the airport, where one of Laudamotion's private jets would take them back to England. During the entire drive to the airport, Elisabeth remained silent, completely immersed in her own thoughts. She only gave Toto monosyllabic responses.

She was trying to remember if he’d told her or not. She thought she would have remembered if Toto had told her that he was going to drive a car that was almost as old as her father, but absolutely couldn’t recall, which could only mean one thing.

Toto had hidden it from her.

After returning the car to the rental lot at the airport, the two of them walked to the private flight boarding terminal in virtual silence. Toto had tried to strike up a conversation with her, but Elisabeth was still so deep in her own thoughts that she practically ignored him.

“Why, Toto?”, she asked herself, as she climbed the stairs up to the jet.

Elisabeth settled into one of the armchairs on the plane and took off her shoes. Toto sat in the seat across from her. She took a few seconds to watch him settle into place, strapping himself in. She arranged the briefcase she’d brought on the seat next to her.

“Why did you hide this from me?”, she wondered.

Even when they reached cruising altitude, Elisabeth didn’t get up or move. She was too distracted by the unanswered questions inside her mind.

— Liesl?

Toto's voice snapped her back to the present. She felt something tightening in her chest.

— Yes?

— Are you okay?

— Yeah — she replied quietly. He looked at her with a skeptical expression on his face.

— It doesn’t look like it.

She blinked.

— What do you mean?

— You've been quiet since the museum visit. Quieter than usual.

— Any problem with my silence? — Elisabeth asked, in a slightly harsher tone than she ‘d intended. And she saw in his expression that she was too harsh.

— No, none… It's just… You're only quiet like that when you're upset.

She pressed her lips together, one hand moving up her arm to the crook of her elbow, pinching the skin there. It was an almost natural reaction of hers to situations that made her anxious or stressed, especially conflict. She could feel that conflict was coming.

— Well, since you asked, I am pretty upset, Toto — Elisabeth replied dryly.

— Upset about what?

— What do you think?

— I don't know, there's so much...

— If you need a tip, think about what you're going to do in Italy in May.

Toto blinked, finally connecting the dots.

— Are you upset about the Mille Miglia?

— No, Toto. I'm… Fuck…

— You are what?

— Sad. Disappointed. Deceived. Betrayed.

The last word made him straighten up suddenly.

— You know I would never betray you...

— Then why did you? — she cut him off.

— Elisabeth…

— Toto, you know my fears about racing, my misgivings. You know that as much as I like racing, competing, winning, above all that, I love you. And you know my biggest fear is losing you.

He continued to stare at her in silence.

— I was honest with you, I told you all about my fears surrounding motorsport and racing. We talked about the Nordschleife, about my fears and about your accident and my father's accident. And I remember exactly what you said to me that night, every word. You promised me that I wouldn't lose you to your stupid ideas.

— I know, Elisabeth...

— Then why did you decide to take part in this race? We agreed that we would talk about anything like this that came up. You promised me this, Toto!

He was silent for a few seconds.

— I forgot.

Elisabeth couldn't resist a sardonic laugh.

— You forgot?

— Yes, Liesl, I forgot and I apologize for…

— Toto, do you really think I'm going to believe that excuse? Do you really think I'm going to believe that you just forgot to tell me you were taking part in a fucking race?

— But that's what happened, I received Ola's invitation just now in...

—  He said you offered yourself at his last visit — she interrupted him — Ola was last at the factory in January, Toto. You've known this since January. You knew and you hid it from me till now. It’s April!

— I didn't hide it, Elisabeth!

— And I even know why — she continued — You did it because you thought I was going to say no, so you thought it was better to hide it from me.

— Fuck, give me a minute to explain — he exclaimed, slapping his legs with his hands. Elisabeth was not at all interested in granting that request.

— And what would be your excuse for spending a week away from home? What would you say to me so I wouldn’t discover your real intentions? — she snarled.

— I was going to tell you, but I...

— “Hey, Liesl, listen, I'm going to Italy to fuck some whore, I'll be back next week” — Elisabeth spoke in a deeper voice, in a crude attempt to imitate him.

That was the last straw for him.

— God damn it, Elisabeth! — Toto yelled, getting up from his seat — Shut the fuck up!

Elisabeth tried to answer, but his expression made her stop. He wasn't just upset with her. There was something else in his eyes than what was on his face.

It was pain. Heartache.

— You can say whatever you want about me, Elisabeth — Toto snarled, one finger raised — You can call me an idiot, an ass, a selfish person, an asshole, anything that crosses your fucking mind. But never, never call me dishonest!

She felt a lump tighten in her throat.

— I was wrong. I was wrong not to tell you about the race. Truthfully, I was a bit afraid that you wouldn't agree to it, but I didn’t hide it from you. I was going to tell you. I brought you here to tell you about the race, the car, everything. I was going to invite you to come with me but… Fuck!

— Toto...

— No. Listen to me, Elisabeth! — he spat — Did I fuck up? Yeah, I did. I've fucked up a lot in my life. Not just with you, but with Stephanie, with the kids, with my mom, with my sister, with a lot of people. But I’ve never been dishonest in anything I do, Elisabeth. Not once in my life. 

— I did not say…

— That I was dishonest? And saying that I'm going to Italy to fuck whores, to cheat on you? Cheating is dishonesty, isn’t it?

She didn't know how to respond.

— I never cheated on you. You're the only woman for me. Even when I was with someone else, all I could think about was you. Even when I was fucking someone else, all I could imagine was being with you. I would never cheat on you, Elisabeth, because that would be dishonest of me.

— Isn't lying a kind of dishonesty too, Toto? You lied to me.

— You've lied to me too, Elisabeth. You lied about your feelings for me on that phone call on Christmas Eve. And I kept believing in you, even though you broke my heart into thousands of pieces. I kept loving you even if you didn't love me back.

— That doesn't count…

— Doesn't it? You’ve hidden plenty of things from me. The fights with Mathias, the things my mother told you? Weren’t those lies by omission?

— Me hiding things so I don't upset you is different from you hiding things because they're stupid! — she argued.

— This race isn't stupid, Elisabeth.

— Is it not? Isn't being away from home for almost a week, stuffed in a tin can with four wheels stupid?

— It might be stupid, but I want to do it! I've always wanted to be in that race, drive that car, and stupid or not, I'm going to go. I'm not going to give up doing this just to satisfy your spoiled little girl ego and, honestly, I don't even know why I'm justifying myself. I don't owe you any satisfaction.

Something inside Elisabeth's chest ached.

— You know what? Go ahead. Go drive that fucking car in Italy. When you get in another accident and end up in the hospital again, you’ll call me. And if you think I'm going to drop everything to run to your side, you're sorely mistaken — she spat.

Toto’s nostrils flared, lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw clenching. After a few seconds, he settled back into his seat, his eyes fixed on the window beside him. 

It was then that Elisabeth realized that maybe she had gone too far.

The rest of the flight after the fight had been silent. After landing in Oxford, the two drove home in silence. After parking the black Mercedes C-Class in the garage, Elisabeth got out of the car and went to the trunk to get the luggage she had taken for the two weeks she had been away. The suitcase was heavy, but the last thing she wanted was to ask for Toto’s help with it.

She wasn't a spoiled little girl.

— Need help? — Toto murmured beside her.

— No — she said dryly, setting her suitcase on the ground and into the house. Pulling the handle, she dragged the luggage up to the second floor, pausing a few times along the way to catch her breath. She was dropping her suitcase in the closet when Toto arrived in their bedroom with a small bottle of water in his hand. As she caught sight of him in her peripheral vision, she felt something tighten in her chest.

— Are you going to shower now?

— You can go if you want — she murmured, as she went to one of the shelves to get something to wear — I'm going to shower in the other bathroom.

— Why?

— As far as I remember, Torger — Elisabeth turned her face to him, staring at him for a few seconds — We don't owe each other satisfaction.

She grabbed her panties and, in complete silence, left the room, heading for the bathroom in the upstairs hallway. After showering and changing into a pair of shorts and an old University of Vienna T-shirt that she liked to use as pajamas, Elisabeth went to the guest bedroom, a room they always left ready to receive a family member or their friends when visiting them in England.

Sitting up in bed, she allowed herself to take everything in. The decor of the room was cold and impersonal. The walls were light, everything was very neutral-looking, and said that it was not a space to be occupied permanently, only for short visits. Not even Benedict and Rosi slept there, but they had their own rooms in the house, arranged and decorated according to their tastes.

Elisabeth shouldn't be there. But at the same time, she needed to be. She couldn't bear to sleep in the same bed as Toto that night, smelling his cologne and feeling the warmth of his skin. Settling down on the mattress, she sighed, trying to shake the tightness she felt in her throat away. But with each breath, she felt the agony rise in her chest and tears fill her eyes.

Finally, she broke down into sobs.

[exquisitexagony]

➹ && Neil Newbon, if you're up for it =)

send me a ➹ and a fc ;; i'll create a character on the spot !!!

Asaroth. A little devil from the depths of the Nine Hells, greedy and ambitious to his core, wicked at manipulating those around him to get what he wants. Favoured highly by Asmodeus, yet desires to usurp his place in the hierarchy to serve his own desires, perhaps even go so far as to. Cruel, cunning, charming, charismatic, persuasive, psychopathic, highly intelligent, god-complex, bullheaded, believes only in himself and pushes blame onto everyone else. Highly vengeful & always gets what he wants. Full of power, but it's never enough.

A study in: Fireball, cigars, the crashing sound of a waterfall, large weapons, strip clubs, smoke-filled rooms, hot coals, ashes in the wind, the smell of sweat & musk, bloodied wrists, broken knuckles, burned fingertips, dark sigils, cruel irony, neon lights, promises transformed, brainwashing, elbow grease, combat boots, vengeance, flaming circles, ornate architecture, the self-made man, the smell of rotting corpses, rusted metal

Leave behind: business attire, chaos, a breath of fresh air, protective barriers, rude remarks, visible eyes, cheap liquor, penny loafers, sterile lighting, open spaces, sunlight, a slice of life, mortality, clean hands, polite smiles, turning over a new leaf, grace, moving on

pinterest board

[uncxntrxllable]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE !!

Repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. if you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own!

LAKOTA

► NAME: Lakota

► NICKNAME: none, or... monster, if you ask people who go camping

► TITLE(S): Mother Nature's Monster

► AGE: 260+ in this current life, but passes for late twenties appearance wise

► SPECIES: Deity

► SEX: Female

► NATIONALITY: based on her FC and on human terms, British.

► INTERESTS: anything and everything related to the wildlife and nature, animals, she doesn't care what it is, if it involves nature, she likes. Humans, to a degree... Even if she denies it or won't openly admit it. Humans who actually dedicate much of their time to helping animals, helping the wildlife in general or even people who just really enjoy nature. She likes getting to know those types of people.

► PROFESSION: Protecting and helping nature, wildlife and similar.

► BODY TYPE: Fit, lean

► EYES: Amber-Brown

► HAIR: Blonde

► SKIN: White

► FACE: Cara Delevingne (in the 2nd season of only murders in the building)

► POSTURE: Healthy

► HEIGHT: 5'6

► VOICE: Cara Delevingne

► SIGNATURE OUTFIT: She doesn't have one, but she enjoys wearing things that look a little more formal, but never or rarely ever dresses or anything dress-frilly like.

► SIGNIFICANT OTHER: Nobody

► COMPANIONS: Also nobody. Unless you counted Lorelei, but they don't often see one another sooo... Imma stick with nobody

► STRENGTHS: I'd say the fact that she is a very powerful voice for the voiceless is a strength, which by that I obviously mean animals. She will advocate for the wildlife in ways that most if not almost all humans never ever would, and I think that's a strength. In that respect, she's very caring and compassionate.

► WEAKNESSES: She tends to judge people far too quickly, she more often than not sees the worst in humans before she will see the good. She's stubborn and without really even meaning to half the time, she can seem inconsiderate and or rude, insensitive.

► FRUITS: Big fan of fruits... But if you sat a fruit platter out, she'd probably clear the berries out first.

► DRINKS: Water. She's plain and simple. Just water, not even with any ice, that's weird. Needing frozen water in un-frozen water before you will drink it is weird.

► ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES: None, unless someone insists that she have a drink with them. And that someone needs to be a loved one cause otherwise she'll just say no.

► SMOKES: Never, she hates it so much. Very bad for the environment and smells horrible.

► DRUGS: Never. The only good drugs are the ones that have and are used for medicinal purposes, she does not care for nor like the idea of any other types of drug that humans have invented.

► DRIVER'S LICENSE: No, and the likelihood of her ever wanting to drive is zero. She just, doesn't care? She can just, run to the thing. Why sit in giant metal box on wheels when can run or walk?

Tagged by: @myriadxofxmuses

Tagging: @sorrowsick (cross) @wolfpackmuses (steele!) @legeandary (nicholas (manning)) @kingofthewebxxx @beastbitten @nightwatchr @luposcainus @lonetala @vulpuslunae AND YOU if you see this and think, ooo this looks like fun, STEAL IT.