#instead of sorta maybe almost getting there after it's too late

[antirepurp]

inb4 i end up doing a rewrite of the shadow dlc if i ever get a chance to play it for myself because i feel like the premise could make a cool but loose follow up to bow your heads low from either shadow's or maria's POV and i doubt the dlc has the balls to go there

[merakiui]

crow & goat in courtship.

yandere!rollo flamme x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, dub-con, coercion, religious symbolism/imagery, mentions of pregnancy, implied breeding kink, obsession, alcohol/intoxication, slight codependency, non-consensual touching/groping, au in which you attend classes at nbc instead of nrc under rollo's supervision note - the crow is always on call.

i. “but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed. then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death” (james 1:14-15).

Rollo answers on the third ring.

He always does—claims it’s polite to answer after three chimes just as it’s right to knock thrice before entering a residence. He’s stubborn in his ways, a crow bound by routine, only ever doing things in threes. Habitual to a fault, strictly so. You are similar in that regard; you find solace in the familiarity of predictable patterns. The relief that stems from knowing what will come next—in being prepared for all manner of events even if you haven’t yet reached the first.

But then you also like fun, and the best sort of fun is often had with a disregard for habit. Disorder and spontaneity. Throwing all caution to the wind. Trusting in the arms of the crow who will catch you, the carefree goat, when you fall.

“Good evening,” he mutters into the phone, his voice sounding so close despite the distance between you and him. “It’s rather late. Is there a specific reason you’re calling?”

“Rollo! Hey! Hiii,” you drawl, grinning like a fool. You stagger through the door into the chilly, starless night, your heels slipping on cracked, frozen pavement. “Whoa!” You stumble against the railing with a carefree giggle. “Almost lost my footing!”

There’s a stalling silence on his end. And then, with a deep inhale, he asks evenly, “Have you gone out?”

“Mm. Yeah. Went out to celebrate with some friends.”

“Some friends?”

“Like one or two…or a whole house full of ’em.”

“(Name).”

“What?” When he doesn’t reply, you laugh. Not because it’s humorous or embarrassing, but to merely fill the silent gap. “What? Roro, you’re sho stern. Don’t lecture me!”

“So you’ve been drinking.”

“What?! No!” With an offended scoff, you shake your head even though he’s not here to witness it. “You know NBC’s no-booze rule. I’m not gonna get caught—won’t get caught.”

“You slurred your speech and called me ‘Roro’—both in the same sentence, mind you.”

“So what? Rollo, Roro. Tomato, potato.”

“It’s to-may-to, to-mah-to. And—” he exhales an exhausted breath— “Never mind. That’s besides the point. Why, pray tell, have you called me at midnight?”

“Why’re you up at midnight?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“Not fair! I asked first!”

“Not quite.” There’s a smile in his voice when he speaks next. “If I were to visit your room right now—knock on the door and wait there—would you let me in?”

“Yeaaah,” you start to say, only to catch yourself halfway in the trap. “No!”

“No?”

“No…thank you. No visitors tonight. S’late and I gotta study for tomorrow’s exam.”

“And a party will somehow aid in that endeavor? (Name), you do realize you’ve spun one too many lies and now you’re woefully entangled.”

“Less poetry and more picking me up.”

“Ah, so that’s what this is about.”  

“Rollo, please be nice,” you whine, your lips twisting into a pout. “S’cold and I didn’t bring a jacket and I’m kinda-maybe-sorta a little…”

“A little…?” he encourages, and you can just envision that self-satisfied smirk of his.

“A little-drunk-but-also-not-really-drunk-but-also-totally-drunk,” you hastily admit in a string of syllables. Snowfall swirls around you, and you grasp the bannister to prevent yourself from falling over. “Oh, it’s snowing.”

“I can see perfectly clear from my window. Beautiful, is it not?”

“So stop being an obtuse dick and come get me before I freeze!”

“Should that come to pass, you may just rival the Righteous Judge at the entrance. I’ll be sure to polish you every month.”

“I’m gonna kill you. I’m gonna poison your coffee and watch you drink it, and then we’ll see who’s stiffer than a statue. It’ll be you—in death, y’know!”

“Will you now?”

“If you don’t pick me up, yeah!”

There’s the distinct sound of shuffling. You hear crisp pages turning and then a book closing before the rustling of fabrics invades your keen ears. You picture your responsible friend pacing around his room as he dresses himself for the weather.

“Very well,” he says after a moment, ever the composed gentleman. “Send me the address.”

“You’re the best. Love you lots. Thank you! Thank you!” You press your lips together to mimic obnoxious kissing sounds, which elicits a huff of amusement from him. “It’s not a far walk. Promise.”

“Stay on the phone with me. I’ll be there shortly. And don’t go anywhere.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“You do realize sneaking out is against the rules, yes?”

“Aaand here comes the lecture. Gimme a break. Can’t a girl celebrate her birthday in peace?”

You drag your hand over your mouth and wipe sticky wine residue away. In the process, you smear black lipstick. Dark like night, like a crow’s inky feathers, it leaves your once-flawless appearance in disarray.

“There are much better ways to celebrate. Did I not say I’d take you into town this weekend and we could celebrate then?”

“That’s so far from now.”

“It’s three days away, (Name).”

“Still too far.”

“Don’t expect me to provide cover if you get caught.”

“And you can just leave campus whenever you please?”

“This is different.”

“Yeah?” You giggle into the speaker, warm and fuzzy and endlessly entertained. It’s enough of a distraction to keep winter from seeping into your marrow. “How so?”

“This is official Student Council business.”

“Really?” you ask with an impressed whistle. 

“Indeed. On account of my being President, it’s only natural I punish students who conduct themselves poorly. Shall we review your list of infractions and decide on a suitable penalty together?”

“I’d rather we not.”

“Oh, but I insist. Perhaps our discussion and the cold will sober you and teach you a valuable lesson about integrity.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you lower onto the step to await his arrival. The icy stone digs harshly into your rear, which is hardly covered by your too-short dress. It’s definitely not fingertip length or weather-appropriate. You shiver and stuff your hand into the pocket of your cropped sweater. You should take shelter inside, where it’s plenty cozy and inviting, but your inflated pride disagrees. Retreating to the warmth after you’ve already bid farewell would be foolish. At least, that’s what the alcohol in your system is telling you.

So the goat endures the cold, for it knows that that is all that awaits it as the crow closes in.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m an academic criminal. Get on with it, President Flamme.”

“Let’s see. You’ve disobeyed campus curfew, snuck out on a school night, attended a party when your grades could use improvement, neglected your studies, drank carelessly, called the one person who can and will punish you for this and the aforementioned…”

The sound of crunching snow pierces the air then, and you look up in time to see Rollo approaching. He’s dressed in a long woolen overcoat with a scarf twined around his throat and a hat pulled down over his ears. He smirks at you from where he stands on the pavement, cutting the call and sliding his phone into his pocket. Tilting his head at you, he pulls another coat from under his arm and offers it to you.

“And you’re dressed for your death.”

“Okay, that one’s personal.”

Rolling your eyes, you rise on unsteady legs. He meets you at the stairs, climbing two of them to help you into the coat. It’s an embrace more welcoming than that of a lover’s, so soft and comfortable that it immediately rejuvenates your weary skeleton. It smells like Rollo, too—like coffee and weathered pages in an old book. You hum your approval, snuggling into the fluffy fabric. He’s plopping his hat on your head next, tugging it so far down that you almost slip on the slick stoop. Like he always has, ever since he first met you, he catches you. 

“Hello to you, too.”

You blink back at him. “Yeah, thanks. I owe you.”

“Let me see your hands.”

He takes them in his, runs his thumbs over the tops, and then procures mittens from his pockets. You watch him slide both over your hands, rubbing them together briefly to generate heat at a faster rate. Your body sways, gaze unfocused. He’s just about to unwind his scarf from his shoulders when you reach out to stop him.

“I’m good. This is enough.”

“You’ll catch your death—”

“And you won’t in just a coat and scarf? At least let me give you your hat back.”

He shakes his head, holding his hand up in objection. “You’ve been out in this weather longer. It’s only fair. But, really, did you have to wait out here? Couldn’t you have gone inside?”

“My pride’s on the line.”

Rollo’s unamused stare cuts through you. “You won’t have much pride left if you’re encased in ice.”

“Then we’d best get moving. Campus awaits!”

You wrap your arm around him, clinging out of instinct. Rollo peers at the proximity, his lips upturned in a covert half-smile, and his arm snakes slowly around your waist in return. You don’t notice this, for you’re too busy dragging your feet through the snow while he acts as a helpful crutch, stable in a way you just aren’t. Not right now, at least.

But then the goat is never stable enough to survive the inevitable—the swift, sacrificial blade that befalls and beheads, leaving gory spatters to run red and visceral in the wake of the end.

You’ve never known, and you never will. How could you when he’s been nothing but cordial? A clean slate. Admirable guidance. A helpful friend. Your only friend.

The crow descends in three knocks. He lets himself in regardless of whether you wish to have him as a guest. He is unwanted and feared, the very foundation of death and destruction, and he has set his beady eyes on you—the goat.

It’s common knowledge that you cannot pray away the crow. He persists, as always, quiet even when his wings beat against his sleek, feathered body like the loudest war drums. And the caw—the dreadful caw! It’s a most disturbing cry, one that pierces through the dark like jarring slivers of light in shadow. Or a butcher’s blade through flesh, sawing through sinew to get to brilliant bone beneath. The hoarse call of Death’s crows—they circle in a murder, swooping down to meet you as harbingers of malevolence.

Rollo has always strived to lead a virtuous existence defined by a rigidly righteous moral compass. In the gloomy pits of misery and hatred, where he festers in a bundle of tar-colored feathers, he does not hope for sunshine. He no longer knows the uplifting ebullience of life’s greatest miracles. Because there is no miracle in death or tragedy. Because there is no happiness to be found in a doomed hand, every card showcasing Death and its many forms. Not for him. Never for him.

But then, amidst the despair and despondency, each all-consuming, a goat fell into his lap.

A divine offering to the crow, who is so far from divinity himself, can only mean one thing. It is neither conciliatory nor a reward.

It is a sacrifice.

But then the City of Flowers adores its goats—reveres them for all that they are. Goats are cherished, not sacrificed. But to drag a nameless, magicless goat from the grounds of its far-off, inconceivable pasture—is that not the cruelest form of sacrifice? To drop this goat into the equitable embrace of the crow—is that not the sweetest gift? Generous yet unfair. Plucked right from the folds of another heaven.

The mortal coil can be callous, which is precisely why the crow is permitted to exist in impartiality. Death does not care for who you were in life and who you will be in the next, and the crow only ever oversees finales. Never beginnings. Much like a deity does not care for what good you can do if you do not first adore them in copious adequacy.

The crow carries with him a most fearsome knell—the chime of judgment, to be delivered right on time like an execution staged for noon.

All throughout life, you can plan for the crow and all that he shall deliver, and still you will never be fully prepared to greet him. He brings misfortune bundled in baskets woven from the bones of sacrifices past. In holy scripture, it is the goat who is punished most often—who is slaughtered at the altar, who is arranged as peace to quell the torrential fury of the deity, who is made to suffer at the hands of those hoping to avoid damnation or godly wrath, who is meant to shoulder the blame when no one else wants to. Favors have been bought with the blood of the goat, its head nestled amidst verdant grasses, pure forevermore even when it is dyed carmine. It appeases and pleases.

So it’s just—religiously so—that the crow takes the goat for himself, strips it bare, and proves to the prying eyes in heaven that the greatest sin is more than lustful temptation.

For the crow—for Rollo—the heaviest sin, a vile, cursed burden from his very first breath—it is existence itself.

And only the blood of a pure goat can wash away such filth—can cleanse what has been rotting within. The goat can make a garden out of the crow—bring life and love to its barren insides regardless of however fleeting its presence may be. It is within this garden—within the softest, fertile soil—where the crow shall sow the most special seeds.

You cross the bridge with Rollo, your laughter filling the cloudy sky as you recall all manner of amusing stories from the past few hours. Drinking games paired with drunken gossip. Delicious wines and snacks. A party with an energy so lively it could rival the city’s annual festivals. Even though he doesn’t seem outwardly pleased to hear any of it, he listens well and occasionally stops to steady you before you can topple over the railing into the water below. Your heels clack against smooth, frosted stone, and the wind whips at your face, each snowflake biting and vicious. Noble Bell’s vast campus waits just beyond the wrought iron gate, standing proud and backdropped by the night.

“You think anyone’s up?” you ask, curling your fingers into his arm as he guides you through.

Rollo eases the gate shut. “They might if they hear you. It would be best to keep quiet.”

You pantomime zipping your lips and discarding a nonexistent key. He quirks a small smile at that and then hurries you along. Nights are always peaceful at Noble Bell. The halls are desolate and quiet, devoid of all signs of student life. Your and Rollo’s shoes click in unison as you walk through the hall and past the courtyard. You gaze at the arched openings, counting each one as they become fainter with the growing distance.

Your breath materializes in front of you when you sigh. “I’m so sleepy. I wanna go to bed for a thousand years.”

“You’ll miss your exam if you do that,” he chides, tutting. “And every other exam that will follow.”

“That’s the point!” Your voice bounces off the walls, returning to you in a reverberating echo. Cringing under Rollo’s disapproving glower, you speak softer. “Oops. Sorry.”

“Just how much have you had to drink? You can hardly walk straight without leaning on me for support.” He narrows his eyes, his lecherous gaze crawling down to your bare legs. “Not that I mind…”

His words don’t reach you, for they’re swallowed in a howling gale as it sweeps across the courtyard. You spy the dormitories then, each one looking more like gingerbread covered in confectioners’ sugar instead of buildings dusted with snow. Your eyelids droop while you cross the distance to reach your designated building, your every movement feeling slower than molten molasses, and by the time you’re actually inside the dorm—Rollo’s shushed you more than once—you’re yearning for the warmth of your bed.

So it’s bewildering when, rather than your own room, you stop at Rollo’s instead.

He opens the door and steps inside with you in tow. You keep your mouth shut, too tipsy to think coherently. After he clicks the lamp on, which leaves the room awash in soft shades of amber, he shrugs his coat off, draping it over a nearby chair. You drag yourself over to his bed and flop down, squeezing your eyes shut to block out both the light and your spinning surroundings. Rollo doesn’t say anything, but you hear him shuffling about his room, crossing to close and lock the door before walking back towards you. The mattress dips under his weight, and you feel nimble fingers working to undo the buttons on your coat.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” you ask, cracking your eyes open just as he’s pulling the coat from your person.

Rollo folds it neatly and sets it aside. “You’re practically melting into my bed already. It would be quite the undertaking to make the walk back to your room at this hour.”

“So considerate,” you tease, grinning up at him. Sleep stretches your expression into something dazed, and you yawn loudly. “Then I’m gonna sleep here. Wake me up before class.”

You almost drift off, but those frigid fingers are moving to tug you out of your sweater next. They crawl across your bare shoulders like a spider on a web.

“You really are something,” he marvels, glancing at your body sprawled beneath him. “To brave the cold in such thin material…”

“Stupid choice. I know.”

“It appears we’re in agreement.”

“Shut up,” you snap back with a weak laugh. “You’re no better, showing up so cozy and then giving everything to me.”

Rollo memorizes the way the form-fitting dress hugs your figure. He inhales a shaky breath and brings his hands back to his sides. Your chest is right here. So close. So frustratingly close.

He can’t indulge. He really shouldn’t. It’s unbecoming to show such unfair favorability when he’s meant to remain impartial. Death should not lust for the beauty of life because it only knows endings—or the beginnings of ghostly eternity. The crow should not allow himself to be swept up in tumultuous temptation.

And the goat is the only friend he’s known—the only one who understands the crow, if only by a few meager slivers. But someday the goat will know.

Rollo swallows his inhibitions, beating his urges away with a stick. He’s not one for rash decisions; he’s meticulous and thoughtful. He would never take such a risk—would never nosedive into a crude confession. He’s plotted it in his diary, but it’s never come to fruition. He restrains himself because he must. Because it’s the polite and proper thing to do when caught up in courtship. Because if he opens his torso and allows you to poke around inside, you’ll find that he is not the friend you’ve known for all these months.

He is a fiend, devilishly so, wearing the hide of a goat to put the real one at ease.

Warring with rationality, he slides away from you and intends to recover at his desk. He’ll scrawl all of the things he wishes to do to you in there and that will be enough. That will help clear his head of the intoxicating fog that settles whenever he’s with you in private. But then he’s reaching to untie the canopy draped over his bed, each corner undone within seconds. The sheer curtains fall in thin layers, confining the both of you to this island in the middle of a barren sea. It’s darker in here, dimly lit by the faint glow of the lamp outside.

You blink up at him, owlish.

“You…” He stops himself, shakes his head, and turns away. Hastily, he fishes his handkerchief from his pocket. With this enclosed propinquity, he can smell your perfume. It’s spiced and flowery—alluring and adorable all at once—and it assaults both his nose and mind. “You should sleep. It’s late.”

This is for the best. The crow is only meant to look after the goat, remain unaffected even in the face of lustful, fateful sacrifice.

But you’re here. You’re splayed like a spill, perfectly imperfect, and your shoulders are a canvas coveting kisses. He clutches his handkerchief in a white-knuckled fist.

“Mm, okay. Night…”

“Yes… Yes, good night,” he mumbles, lowering his handkerchief. He swallows thickly.

This is for the best.

But even though he thinks this, his arm is stretching out. Closer. Closer. So close, until his hand is hovering just above your chest. He’s so close.

When will he ever have another chance as fortuitous as this?

His hand closes around your breast and he squeezes it experimentally. It’s soft when his fingers dig in gently, depressing with the pressure of his digits. Rollo’s green hues flick to your face. Your eyes are shut, and soft snores slip from your parted lips. He glimpses your chest again and, with the utmost care, slides your dress down to free your breasts. They’re mostly bare, save for the heart-shaped pasties covering your nipples. Rollo heaves a disbelieving sigh.

“Promiscuous,” he mutters, plucking the edge of the first adhesive and peeling it away to reveal the perky nipple beneath. You look so soft, so clean, so pure… What was he even worried about? No one’s had you before. He’s sure of it.

He’s about to remove the other heart when your voice freezes him.

“What…are you doing?”

He holds your gaze. It’s tense for a moment, unspoken accusations brewing between the both of you.

“A massage,” he blurts, but there isn’t a hint of haste in his tone. He suspected this outcome when he chose to traverse the line of right and wrong—and ultimately sided with the former. Because to him it’s right, even if it’s wrong. He knows what will soon follow: disgust and detestation.

Instead, you giggle. It’s sleepy and silly-sounding, but it’s also light and lively.

You catch his hand in yours and drag it back to your chest. “If you wanted to touch, just ask,” you murmur, your words slurring. “Nothin’ wrong with it.”

You’re not just perfect and pure. You’re everything.

Yes, it’s the alcohol blurring your brain and the intimacy of being trapped in a quiet, comfortable space such as this one that allows you to desire him. Would it be the same if you were sober? He can’t quite say, but he doesn’t wish to know. This is enough. This is paradise.

He kneads slow, steady motions into your breast, and you watch from where you’re lying on the bed. His other hand slithers between your legs to search for your clothed clit. Your breath hitches just as his fingers brush it, and he presses in, rubbing with his index. Your arm falls over your face, and your chest rises with every breath.

“How does it feel?” he asks, rolling your nipple between chilly digits.

“Not enough,” you bemoan, curling your fingers into a fist. “S’not enough…”

“How fascinating. I suppose cheap wine truly does turn you into a pute.”

“No… Was definitely expensive. The fancy kind.”

“Was it now?” He circles your clit, predatory and shark-like, his eyes alight with glee. “You say that, but look at the state it’s left you in. Utterly disheveled.”

“That’s because of—” you gasp, your voice rising in pitch— “because of you…”

His heart hammers in his chest, a resounding, pounding melody.

The City of Flowers treasures its goats, and the crow loves his fiercely even though he shouldn’t.

“Did you enjoy drinking yourself foolish and indulging in debauchery?” His fingers dance along your inner thigh, hooking around the hem of your underwear. “Was it a fun celebration?”

You lower your arm to glare halfheartedly at him. “Someone sounds jealous.”

“More so disappointed, mon chou chou,” he coos, sugary, sickeningly sweet. “Someone could have taken advantage of you. Someone could have tainted you with magic.” His lip curls up into a nasty sneer. It lingers for a moment before fading into something calm. He gazes at you, oddly tender. “That didn’t happen, though, yes?”

You shake your head and flinch when he drags your panties down. Dewy strings of your slick come away with it, and you shudder at your newfound nudity. He hums approvingly and drags his finger through the wet patch staining your panties. Driven by libertine compulsion, he stretches viscous strands of your essence between two fingers.

Your eyes find his deceitful greens once more. Silence sparks between the both of you, quickly broken by your exhalation. Rollo kneels before you, taking in the sight of you as your face wavers through the stages of consideration. Upon arriving at your conclusion, you sit up slightly and shuck your dress over your head. And then you’re lying back, shaking your panties from off your ankle, and wrapping your legs around his waist to draw him in closer. 

You grin, coquettish. “Why not search for yourself if you’re so worried, Mr. Student Council President?”

There’s no turning back. Not that he ever would. Not when the goat’s given him the signal. The blade doesn’t fall, but he does.

And this is better than dreams and erotica. This is real.

He surges forward to fit his lips against yours. Sloppy and inexperienced, he molds himself to your body. You tug him against you, your hands working to undress him. Clothes and shoes are cast aside between open-mouthed kisses, torn off half-buttoned and ripped away from soles. You breathe him in, gasping into his mouth. Translucent strings of saliva connect your mouths when you part, soon broken when you lean in for a chaste peck.

“You’re okay,” he says, the words practically bleeding onto your own tongue with how close he is. “Still as pure as the day I first met you.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“The best thing.”

His third and fourth fingers prod at the depths of your pussy, pressing inwards. Shallow at first. He watches your face unblinkingly, burning every pleasured contortion into his brain, and slides his thumb along your clit. Your breathing staggers, coming in quick huffs, and you grab at the bedsheets to steady yourself. Rollo works you open on those fingers, curling and scissoring in equal measure. The slick squelches join in the salacious symphony you’re currently producing. Every sigh and groan come together in perfect harmony. You’re a heavenly harp, and he’s plucking your strings like an expert musician.

“Tonight is unforgivable,” he adds, and you blink through blissful tears to view him. “Folly is the worst distraction.”

“Then be stupid with me,” you joke, running your hands over his shoulders. He’s so cold. “Warm yourself with me.”

And he will because he’s always wanted to. He’s desired it. Craved it. Coveted it. Thought of nothing else for days and days, each delusion so cyclical it often felt tangible.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, sliding his other hand up your hip and towards your rib. He traces the path of where it lies beneath layers of flesh before pressing down to feel it. “So beautiful…”

Your hand glides into his, fingers twining like silken thread around a spool. A lopsided smile lifts your lips, and you preen under him. “Yeah? Am I really?”

“I wouldn’t lie about the obvious…” Your walls hug his fingers tighter then, and a shiver electrifies your nerves. He hums again, quite pleased. “Oh, did you like that?”

“I did. Very much.”

Lashes fluttering against your cheekbones, your head thrown back in ecstasy ever-mounting, you render him ensorcelled. Like a prized Renaissance nude, a goat laid to sacrifice in the crow’s nest, you are beatific. Divinely so.

“Allow me to reiterate then.” He hastens his pace, pumping his fingers relentlessly. You tamp down a shameless moan. “You’re exquisitely beddable. A work of art. Enchanting. Une belle femme.”

You’re nearing the edge—very gradually, but not quite—and so it’s devastating when he slips his fingers out, each one thoroughly coated in you. They shimmer in the dim light, reminding you of where they had previously been.

“Put it back in,” you beg with wide, glossy eyes. “C’mon… Please don’t stop now. Was so close. So close and—”

Your complaints are curbed when you follow his hand as it moves to wrap around his half-hard cock. He strokes himself thrice, using your slick as lube, until his cock is curving up against his stomach. You stare at him; he stares right back.

And then you realize he intends to go all the way.

“Wait, Rol…lo… S’not my safe day,” you say, shifting away. Whether impatiently or anxiously, he can’t tell, but he can certainly guess. Your world spins once, a dizzying blur, before it promptly clears. In the very center of your vision, as he’s always been, Rollo remains. “S’not safe…”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with levity. “I know.”

He’s kept track, dutiful like always.

You attempt to crawl out from under him, but he stops you. Your stomach churns.

“I’ll pull out in time,” he promises, rubbing soothing circles into your plush hips.

Even with the alcohol still buzzing through your system, you aren’t convinced. “N-No, really, we should stop here…”

“You’ll feel so good. Come now, aren’t we nearly there already?”

Rollo lifts your legs onto his shoulders. You squirm with more determination this time, but his fingers dig into your thighs. With a startled squeak, you sink into the mattress, cowed into submission.

“We… We can’t.”

“Why not?” The smooth, soft head of his cock prods curiously at your pussy.

You chew your lip, admitting in a meek tone, “I… I could get p-pregnant…”

“Pregnant,” he parrots, tasting the word as if it’s a delicacy he has yet to sample. His cock twitches. “Pregnant…”

“So… So that’s why…”

“Do you not want children?”

“I… Well… Now is kinda…”

He presses onwards, sinking in slowly. Your breath hitches; your heart stumbles. The intrusion is not entirely unwanted, for your slick, snug walls cling to his shape, and you almost give in to bodily inclination. But it doesn’t feel right. You’re scared. No matter how naturally your body reacts, you don’t want this.

“Rollo, wait—”

“It would be a wonderful thing—to see you rounded with my children.” Rollo props himself on either side of you, his body pinned to yours in sinful, sweaty connection. He exhales a deep breath, restraining himself as he pushes deeper. Patience is a virtue, after all. Your expression tightens with discomfort, and so he peppers your face with placatory kisses. “To see you grow in and—mmh—out of the most flattering maternity wear. To behold every change that blesses this beautiful body of yours… To see you swell with my love, filthy as it may be. Ah, but pregnancy is just as messy… Nevertheless, it shall be a special bond for us—a sacred vow, if you will. We are connected here—” he punctuates this point by slotting the rest of his length inside, and your legs involuntarily close around him to keep him there— “and soon here when life develops within.”

One hand splays across your stomach to pat it with fondness. You choke on your helpless whimper when he rocks his hips once, experimenting with the movement. It’s awkward, but it reminds you that he’s inside. So close to your womb that in just a few more thrusts he might—

“No… No, please… Rollo, you have to—oh—have to pull out. Please pull out. Don’t wanna get pregnant…”

“Oh, but you would be so beautiful.” He breathes you in, savoring sex and floral fragrance. “If I’m allowed one miracle—just one for all the anguish I’ve endured—let it be this.”

You know not of what anguish he speaks, for he’s never verbalized it, but even so it can’t possibly be so agonizing that it would warrant such invasion.

The vise-like hold your velvety walls have on his cock is deliciously addictive. He groans while he ruts into you, his eyelids fluttering. He could be animalistic and cruel in his movements—ravish you as if the world is faced with annihilation and this is his final hour—but instead he settles for exploratory leisure. His hand fits into yours and he squeezes it gently. A feeble protest builds in your throat and so he swallows it with a hungry kiss, his mouth molding against yours.

Your nails dig into his shoulders when he draws back and slides in again, filling you deeper than before. You breathe between kisses, panting and licking into his mouth in even intervals. He does much the same, anchored to you in a way that is both temporary and yet so permanent.

The world narrows down to this single sliver of space, enclosed in a canopy. And in it, laid bare and fertile, the goat is sacrificed to the crow. Death cannot reach either one here. There is only the promise of new life, thrust upon the goat all at once.

You don’t have the willpower to object, for you’ve already found yourself entrapped, so instead you cry. Tears track down your cheeks; your mascara runs with it. Ruined. So, too, is your pitch-black lipstick, smeared along the edges of your lips and printed onto Rollo’s porcelain skin.

Rollo’s hips stutter to a halt and he holds you against him when he spills thick and hot inside. Nothing is wasted; it’s all emptied deep within. If you’re lucky, it won’t take. But if some mischievous fertility goddess has cursed you, you’ll wake nauseous in the coming weeks.

If you have anything worth praying for, it’s the former.

The both of you are panting in the aftermath, but only one is coming down from his glorious high. You remain unsatisfied, your peak not yet breached. Rollo rolls his hips once more for good measure before easing out. You crumple into the wrinkled sheets, frigid and still as a statue. Carved empty and hollow, yet stuffed with sin.

The crow has come. Though this time the gift of tragedy is something between boon and curse.

— — —

The curtains are drawn to let in sunlight. It filters in through frosted glass, each pane stamped with snow, and it blinds you the moment you try to open your eyes. You twist and turn in bed, feeling heavy with hangover. A splitting ache cracks your head in half, and you groan loudly.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you hiss, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. “This sucks…”

You force yourself to wake after two more minutes of rolling around. Groaning once more, you sit up in bed. The canopy has been tied back in place, and when you glance sidelong at Rollo’s desk you notice something. A glass of water and a plate are waiting for you, seeming more enticing by the second. You throw the covers off, realize you’re nude seconds later, and promptly snatch them back. They’re wrapped around you like a comforting cloak. You stagger out of bed to check the contents. Two croissants, a single orange, a dollop of strawberry marmalade, and two tablets are arranged on the plate.

Hangover medicine, you realize, lifting one up to scrutinize it.

You peer around the room. It’s empty. And then you see the clock. It’s a little past noon.

“Oh,” you mumble, lowering into the chair. You clutch the blanket closer. “Rollo must be in class.”

Amidst the piercing migraine, which you quickly resolve by throwing your head back to swallow both tablets in a single gulp of water, two things occur to you. You’re in Rollo’s room. Naked. In Rollo’s room. Surely you must have spent the night after you returned from the party. Why are you naked?

But more importantly…

“Shit! My exam!” The excitement doesn’t help your current state, and you slouch in your seat, even more exhausted than before. “I completely missed it… Rollo’s gonna kill me.”

You scrub the sleep from your eyes and reach for a croissant, content with giving up. You don’t want to endure the walk of shame from Rollo’s room to yours. If anyone were to catch you, they’d certainly be left wondering.

As you nibble on the croissant, admiring the way Rollo’s arranged the contents of his room, you spot the edge of something beneath the plate. Perplexed, you push it aside to reveal a note. Penned in Rollo’s effortlessly pretty script, it reads:

I’ll forgive your transgression just this once if you’ll forgive mine. For now, get some rest. I’ve left breakfast here. Stay for however long you’d like.

You scowl at his attempt of ‘breakfast,’ and your stomach rumbles in dissatisfaction.

“Right?” you say to your stomach, clicking your tongue. “If anything, this is hardly a snack.”

But you’re grateful for his efforts. He cares. He always has. From the very first day you found yourself in this world, he cared.

While you peel the orange, pondering foggy recollections of last night, you begin to realize just how sticky you feel. As if someone’s slobbered all over you and left it to dry. The feeling persists between your thighs.

You pause momentarily, overcome with an uncanny sense of panic as you piece the puzzle together. The still-forming picture does not look good.

“Shit…” you whisper, haunted with a fragmented timeline. “What the hell did we do last night?”

You know. The deep, dark part of your brain knows, but you don’t want to confront it. Because Rollo wouldn’t, right? He couldn’t. He’s always done what’s best for you, so he wouldn’t.

Right?

[d6volution]

you, a little mime, just trying to keep quiet and stay out the way in this new and strange world, but the ringmaster doesn't seem to be too fond of your silence.

tags: afab reader x caine, dubious consent, fingering, creepy caine.

Caine hummed, straighting his tie in the mirror as he prepared himself to look his utmost best before introducing today's new adventure!

"Now, you see Bubble, as ringmaster I have to look absolutely prepared for any situation. That includes—" He turned to face bubble, squeezing his tie as it squirted water from it directly into the bubbles face. "Perfectly prepared to put a potential fire!~" He laughed at his own wacky joke, slapping knee in the process. "I don't see how that would really—"

"Quiet bubble!" Caine hushed his friend simply by scooping him into his hat. "Don't you hear that?"

Absolute silence.

"Exactly, I'm 2 minutes late for the introduction today!" He appeared in front of the digital circus crew in the blink of an eye.

What he didn't notice was the lonely mime hiding away in the corner.

So without a moments delay the ringmaster began yapping away until pomni awkward raised her hand.

"Uh.. Caine?"

"Yes, my colorful friend how can I help you!?" He pointed his Caine at the jester.

"Uh.. well— weee... sorta have a new member." Pomni pointed at the corner where you were hiding out.

"OH! Oh, dear! How rude of me! Why don't you come out, my dear, we don't bite!" Just then bubble suddenly popped from his hat without warning to quietly add, "Heh.. I do.." Caine rolled his eyes, "Come now, don't be shy!"

"Maybe you're just being too loud Caine, they seem a bit.. overwhelmed." Ragatha added with a reassuring chuckle, attempting to ease the uneasiness you were feeling.

"ME? LOUD? NEVER!"

With all eyes on you, it seemed like you had no choice but to stand up, gloomy as ever, and finally walked towards the crowd.. your colors seemed washed out compared to everyone else's, which in turn made you stand out a lot.

"Well then, what's your name? Or perhaps you need a new one!" Caine's voice seemed to drown out , you weren't listening to a word he was saying nor did were you planning on replying.

"Ah.. a quiet one then? No matter! I'm sure you'll open up in no time!" With his usual gleeful act he spun into the air.

"Now then! Where was I!?"

Caine did his usual spiel about the adventure, keeping his eye on you most of the time. You could feel his eyes on you, and it only causes you to curl in on yourself even more, attempting to make yourself less noticeable.

"Alright then! Off with you lot!~"

Just then, Jax popped up next to you comically , draping an arm around your shoulder as if you were old pals. "Get all that new kid?" You blinked a few times. "Yeah, yeah.." He seemed to fill in the spots where you'd normally be expected to reply. "Caine's a riot .....but, hey.. I'm sure you'll do juuusst fine.. heh." He was getting a kick from your expressions. They succeeded in doing all the talking for you.

You looked up, expecting the charismatic leader to still be floating in the air but he vanished.. you felt relief flood your body, the way he was eying you early made you feel.. uneasy.

The day was.. eventful to say the least.

You're relieved that no one really forced you to speak, opting for nodding yes and no instead.

See, you can speak.. you can you just haven't felt inclined to ever since you arrived here. It was strange, staying silent.. selectively mute almost. Right? Perhaps it had something to do with your new body. You looked like a sad little mime, after all.

"Hey , mime person— thing watch out!" Pomni rushed past you, and you failed to notice until now that all of the props in the circus came to life and chased everyone around. It was utter chaos, and you did beneath a table until someone finally found the solution to getting them back to normal.

Thanks, Ragatha.

All in all, it was an exceptionally draining day.

You followed behind the crowd at a distance, and gangle tried to close the gap a bit to make you feel more welcome in her own .. introverted way. Silently, you appreciated it..

....?

To your left, there was a stray floating eyeball watching closely as you walked by. Not the crowd ahead of you.. just you.

A shiver went up your spine.. surely it was just ! ... one of the props from earlier you all forgot to tame , yeah.. had to be.

You all had the infamous digital dinner, and headed back to your quarters.

So this is what life would be like now?

No— no, you can't give into that idea so easily it has to be a dream— "Oof! Eyes up here dear! Wouldn't want to get hurt now do we?"

Two large gloved hands rested on your shoulders and steadied you. Blinking away the dizziness you looked up, .. Caine!

Immediately you stumbled back and out of his grip before falling onto your ass, you winced quietly but not quietly enough that Caine didn't notice.

"Ahh, so you can make noise! Here I thought your vocal cords were— well who knows! Glad to see their working my dear! Now, I think it's best we get to know each other a little better."

He yanked you back up unceremoniously and you sucked in a breath at the suddenness of it all. But.. still you didn't respond.

"Oh, don't be modest my dear you can speak to your hearts content little one!" It was starting to sound more like a command if anything but you shook your head and attempted to walk past him to get to the safety to your room instead.

You don't know why you expected this to work, he appeared right in front of you causing you to plant into his chest face first.

"Ah, of course ! You must be excited to show off your new room hmm?" He opened up the door and moved aside causing you to stumble in, losing your footing you planted face first on the carpet. Caine's eyes lingered on your rear end for a moment too long before you finally gathered your bearings.

He cleared his throat. "Hm."

How awkward. Your eyes tried to look everywhere but him, the wall the floor the little knick knacks that adorned your dresser.

Without warning the ring master gripped your waist with both hands, sending a shiver up your spine and another pathetic sound left your lips.

"My, my I think I MAY have cracked the code~!" He grinned and allowed his hands to pull you in closer, hands snaking up your waist just along the swell of your clothed breast. You made another sound.

The prick was toying with you just to get some noise out of you.

"Humans are sensitive here arent they? What silly little creatures you are!" Another beat and his gloved hands cupped your breasts squeezing them without holding back.

"S.. Stop..." You finally spoke up, bit it was hardly a whisper.

"Hmm? I couldn't quite hear you dear!" His pupils were blown wide, and for a moment you felt relief as his hands trailed away from your breast and down to the hem of your shirt instead.

You thought it was over, until a cool breeze hit your now bare breast. The bastard yanked your top upwards and immediately started tweaking and pinching your nipples, causing them to harden. You whimpered and shook your head, scrambling in his grip which only seemed to tighten.

You could feel hot his breath hitting your neck.

" ...please.."

"What a darling voice you have dear, what a shame you want to keep it from everyone! ... why don't you let me hear a bit more, hmm?" He asked, voice laced with desperation now. He'd lost the original reasoning of why he was doing this, right now he just wanted to hear more of your pretty voice.

Yes, the voice that made his slacks tighten and his breathing to become heavy.

He needed more, and you'd have no choice but to give the ring master what he wanted.

"How about here?" He inquired , removing one hand from your chest and cupped your sex instead. Fingers rubbing along your clothed folds.

"Nh...!" Your eyebrows furrowed, it was so hard not to give in. Not to make noise, you didn't know how long you'd be able to last.

Your knees were getting weak , buckling in on themselves. He held your body close to his as you both slid to the floor unceremoniously. Caine used this to his advantage and hunched overtop of you, your face pressed to the floor and ass in the air now.

Your head felt dizzy and your legs trembled.

His gloved hand ran along your ass before it giving it a slap, and you yelped. Causing him to shudder in delight. "Oh dear me! My hand seems to have a mind of its own." He looked at his hand accusingly, before it rested on your behind just for a moment.

He lingered in silence , debating his next move. His thoughts so were jumbled right now, but he couldn't help himself. After this.. he'd stop, yes just this last thing.

He yanked your bottoms down and you immediately scrambled and tried to sit up , but he pushed a gloved hand on your back to keep you still. "Now, now none of that. You've been very stubborn up until now my dear. It's only fair you receive a little more punishment, yes?" He sounded amused, desperate and absolutely delighted all at once.

"N.. No.. no.." You whined, but your body was hot and secretly wanting more. Release.. something.

"SEE! Look how far you've come, speaking more words now then you have all day!" He chuckled before plunging a finger into your wet sex. You gasped, back arching and your gummy walls tightening around his finger. "Hmn.. there we are

..." He hummed and thrusted his finger in and out, your soft pants were enough to keep him satiated at the moment.

After a few moments, he slipped in another finger, and you reached back, grabbing his wrist, trying to push him away, shaking your head.

But he wouldn't let up, his fingers were slamming into your sex , the room filling with the wet sounds your sloppy cunt was producing.

This was wrong.. right? But it felt so good, too good. Your body was on fire. You couldn't think about anything besides the fingers pummeling in and out of you, secretly wishing it was something bigger.

"Please— g-gonna.. hhaa.." Your body locked up, tightening around his fingers and spasming like crazy. He seemed amused at how fast the coil inside of you seemed to snap. Still his fingers moved , his other hand gently caressing your back as you yelped and pleaded because of the overstimulation.

He watched you tremble and whine for a few seconds more before finally removing his fingers, licking them clean with his oversized tongue.

Your breathing was returning to normal, but your body still felt tingly buzzing with the aftershock of pleasure.

"See? I knew you could do it! perhaps more exercises like this would be helpful, don't you think?" It was a rhetorical question, not like you'd answer anyways. Caine pulled your pants back up, leaving you in your sticky clothes, but at least not naked for all the world to see.

"OH DEAR! Would you look at the time!? You'd better get some rest dear , wouldn't want to be late to tomorrow's adventure, would you?" He winked, and just like that, he was gone.

[willowser]

bakugou + strawberries ; 2.7k ੈ‧₊˚ for our meet fruit collab ! ‧₊˚✧ ₊˚

mina suggests speed-dating.

first as a joke — you think — after the two of you spend too many weekends in a row watching sappy rom-coms on her couch while crying into a bowl of trail mix, and then a second time, and then a third time, after you refuse.

in her last attempt, she pulls out the big ones: her upcoming birthday. it will be so fun!! she tells you, with her big eyes and bigger pout, looking at you as if you'd hung the stars by saying yes. it's a cheap shot, really, because she knows you or anyone would do pretty much anything when it comes to mina the birthday girl.

— and that's how you find yourself here, sitting in too nice of an outfit to be spending your allotted time listening to a man bash his ex-girlfriend.

you might have found him a bit cuter if he wasn't doing that, or if he showed even an ounce of interest in you whatsoever. instead, he's treating this like a therapy session, and you're not getting paid for it.

when the timer rings, you're more than thankful. irritated enough, even, to spin around the room in search of mina — who is happily watching on as two men grapple with each other for who gets to sit across from her next. you suppose being a top hero is good for that, finding someone who is willing to give you their all.

to yourself, you sigh quietly and turn back to the little bowl of strawberries in the center of the small table, the flutes of champagne on either side of it. mina's bottle, you noticed, is almost totally empty; your last date hadn't even looked at yours, nor did he seem to think to offer you a drink.

it's not that you're jealous. really. you wouldn't even say that you're interested in dating right now, finding your job at the agency to be too much of a whirlwind to balance, anyway. you love mina: she's your closest friend, your home away from home, your cheerleader and personal hero — but working for her is nothing short of a full-time job.

sometimes your bed is a little lonely, when she's not staying the night in it after another rom-com evening, but you really can't think that you'd like someone in it, anyway, much less a stranger. it's hard to explain where your time goes, who it goes with; having to share that with someone, you think, would take more emotional energy than you have right now.

and maybe it also sorta, kinda has to do with the fact that the one and only man you're thinking of outside of work — is the same man you see inside of it every single day.

the very thought of bakugou has your stomach turning, painfully. the image of him in the late afternoons with the sun glowing in his hair, the gentle look he spares you as you wait for the elevator, how he'd looked at you today, when you told him where you and mina were going; you don't know how anyone could make you feel the way he does, at least right now.

the seat across from you is taken up suddenly, then, and you look up into the eyes of someone that looks — nice. a little shy, a little nervous, as they introduce themselves. they decide to pour you a glass of champagne, and they even tell you, openly, voice shaking, how nice you look tonight.

you smile so hard that your cheeks hurt, much to your own surprise.

"i'm actually allergic to strawberries," they tell you with a laugh, gently pushing the bowl closer to you. "that would be a hell of a first date, wouldn't it?"

you agree. "definitely one to remember!"

"well, in that case—" they joke, suddenly leaning forward as if they're going to pull it back towards them, and it's so earnest and sweet that you feel your heartbeat in your throat a bit. "i sound like i'm kissing up to you, but—you have a really nice smile, also."

you have to sit back in your seat, fanning your face dramatically as you both laugh. "wow, i'm not used to someone—"

"time's up, extra."

you blink so hard that your eyes are crossed when you open them, and you look up at the man standing there, waiting for his turn, just as the timer dings and the room comes to life with a bustle. the person across from you only frowns, too timid to say anything in response before they're getting up and casting you a regretful glance. they're barely a foot away before the chair is taken, so aggressively that it scrapes against the floor and shakes the table.

you can't believe what you're seeing. you can't believe bakugou is sitting across from you, right now, ruining everything.

"what—are you doing?" you hiss, though your feelings — with a mind of their own — flutter like butterflies in your stomach at the sight of him.

the scowl he gives you is ugly, as always, but his face is smoother than you remember it being today; freshly shaven, maybe. the cologne he's wearing is strong, woodsy, potent enough that it dizzies you from across the table, that you can only imagine how sweet it smells soaking into the soft skin of his neck. even the shirt he's wearing, you notice, is a button down that you've never seen him in.

"the hell do you mean?" he growls, face pinched as he leans closer, so that his voice doesn't carry as it usually does. "'s'it look like i'm doin'? saving you from some sorry dumbass."

"bakugou," you grit, though the room quiets as everyone takes their seats again, and you have to swallow back your annoyance so you don't draw anymore attention to yourself.

you're not dumb enough to think he'd get away without some people fighting for his attention, too, the same way they did to mina, and — as irritated as you are, suddenly, at his appearance — you're not exactly keen on sharing him, either.

"they were very nice, thank you very much,"

"psh," he rolls his eyes, a muscle in his jaw jumping. "couldn't even look me in the eyes to tell me to fuck off—"

"maybe because they were worried you would blast them through the window—"

"and i would have—"

"oh!" you clench your hands into fists and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will your anger back down. losing your cool isn't a good look, especially in a room of people that are trying to get to know you. "are you serious right now? why are you here?"

"you really wanna spend our five minutes doin' this?"

and there's something about the way he says it — our five minutes — that has your stomach turning in that horrible way it always does, whenever you bite into the softer parts of him. the look on his face is pensive, nervous if you thought that he was capable of being nervous. his shirt, his shaven cheeks, his alluring cologne; he's here, right now, on a date with you. pushed his way into it, even.

you straighten in your seat and sit back, dropping your eyes to the table, ashamed at the fire you've just thrown at him. "can you at least tell me why you're here in the first place?"

bakugou is silent for long enough that you can't stand not to take him in, how appealing he is to look at, how your heart sings when he looks back. one shake of his head has him sighing and then he's leaning back, too, staring only at the strawberries.

"this is her birthday thing, ain't it?"

"yeah," you murmur in agreement quietly, fiddling with your own fingers in your lap as your nerves harden into bitter disappointment. he's here for the same reasons you are, you tell yourself: for your friend, only.

distantly, you try to remind yourself that this nothing out of the ordinary. that you shouldn't be thinking of him this way, getting so hung-up on someone that's never expressed an interest in you to begin with. there have been a few late night conversations in the stairwell, that ran longer than they should have, that revealed more than they should have — but it doesn't make him yours. not in the way you want it to.

in an attempt to swallow down your own sourness, you reach for a strawberry, picking through them until you find the fattest one, and then bite it to the stem. a little stream of juice sprays out, dripping down over your bottom lip as you scramble for your napkin. you lick after it before patting at your face, spreading the sugar, the sweetness.

bakugou leans across the table so suddenly that you startle, mouth twisted like he's struggling to say what he's about to say. "alright, look—"

the timer rings, horribly, but his ruby stare never dims, never leaves yours and yours never leaves his, either, as if you're both suddenly trapped in a weird limbo of in-between; in-between the quiet moments, in-between the loudest ones, in-between everyone else, together.

and then mina notices.

"oh my god, blasty, you came!" she shouts, springing up from her seat to wave at you both from across the room. her earrings jingle loudly, bracelet beads knocking together as she leans too far to the left, champagne-drunk already. it snaps the moment between you and him, worry filling the gaps as you think about how you're going to get her out of here, once the night is over.

bakugou sinks a little further into his chair, as if it will hide him, before grumbling to himself. cheeks reddening, you realize; strawberry-kissed. he heaves a heavy sigh before digging his fingers into his eyes, deep enough that an ache develops in your own, and he opens his mouth to speak again when someone else approaches the table.

"okay, time to switcheroo!" he sings, grinning too cheerily at you, enough to make you laugh at his enthusiasm.

it darkens bakugou, considerably; "piss off," is all he says, scooting his chair further into the table as if to claim it. he barely gets another word out before the man is starting to protest, and the look he gives him then is awfully viscious: nostrils flared, looking up from beneath his long lashes and furrowed brow, as if this stranger had pissed in your champagne. "i said, fuck off, before i howitzer you through the—"

"okay!" you interrupt, reaching across the table with both hands to close one of bakugou's. his fingers are curled dangerously, and you swear you can see little sizzles of steam slipping between your linked fingers. "let's just—do an extra skip this time, okay? how about you just gives us this one, and you go to the next table?"

the man frowns — which is a bit flattering — but ultimately takes the lifeline you offer, trailing away without another word down to the next table. you can feel the couple on the other side watching you and bakugou now, a little open-mouthed, and your heart quickens at the worry that they're noticing him, that your new five minutes are going to be wasted, too.

—but his hand hasn't moved from yours and his eyes have returned, full to the brim with some emotion you can't read. if you had to guess, you'd say regret, maybe, but you aren't sure how to take that, and so you don't.

you should let him go, literally and figuratively, but the solidity of your logic is no match for the soft beat of butterfly wings in your gut.

"what are you doing?" you ask him again, softly, surely, because you want to hear the answer whatever it is. he either needs to deny you, here and now so you can move on — or he needs to acknowledge the confliction on his face, the soft intertwine of his fingers into yours.

bakugou looks at you now the way he does in the stairwell, the way he does when the sun is painting you warm, too. "i told you," he murmurs, "savin' you from some dumbass."

"but why do you even care?"

another heavy sigh falls from him and you can feel your glass-fragile heart breaking when his hand slips from yours, a little roughly. it surprises you when he grabs the champagne bottle from the center of the table and pours himself a small glass, downing it in one, bitter go before filling up your flute, too.

liquid confidence, maybe; his cheeks darken, noticeably, before he's running a rough hand over his face, still struggling to wash out the words.

"why the hell do you think?" he finally says, though his harsh question lacks the abrasive tone his voice usually has; instead it's gentler, more sincere, bakugou — katsuki — in his rawest form. "why d'you think i do—any of this shit?" one hand waves around to gesture to the span of the dining room, but you know he means more than that, much more. "you think i spend that much time after work just 'cause i have time to waste? jesus."

"i don't know," you say, earning a flat look. "why do you?"

"why do you?"

you take the glass from the center of the table and peer down into it, how it bubbles. maybe you're playing dumb and maybe that's what's really bothering him, but — someone like bakugou deals in absolutes, and you need him to do it now.

the struggle is clear, though, across his face, thickening how he swallows and turning down his lips that much more. you feel a bit bad in the silence, when the timer rings and the muscle in his cheek jumps again.

before anyone can even approach the table, he simply sticks his hand out, and the man beside you was definitely watching on, because he doesn't spare you a glance before going around.

and maybe, you think, decidedly, that's enough.

"because i don't want to go home yet," you tell him honestly, trying to ignore the blood rushing in your ears with his mouth twists and he starts to squirm at your truth. "because i'd rather spend the night with you in a stairwell, than anywhere else."

there's a ludicrous amount of tension that leaves his shoulders then, so much that you didn't notice it until it was gone, and he slumps back into his chair with pink ears, now. the sight makes you smile, widely, as if the sight is a confirmation.

maybe for him, it is.

"yeah, well," he grumbles, eyes dropping to the strawberries before darting away, as if he'd thought of something he shouldn't have. "that's what 'm sayin', too."

"no, you're not!" you laugh, nose crinkling when he side-eyes you with a frown. "you're not hardly saying anything!"

"i'm here, ain't i?" he argues, huffing like a bull. "makin' a damn idiot of myself just to stop you from—"

"—going home with some dumbass?"

"well, yeah!"

"so you want me to be going home with you, then?"

"yeah! no! i mean—" he scowls when you laugh again, lip pulling up over his teeth as if he means to bite into your softest parts, too. the thought is more thrilling that you're willing to admit — at least for now. "quit laughin'!"

but it's not just you; across the dining room, you realize mina's giggling, too, turned around in her seat, ignoring the chatty man that wouldn't shut up about his ex. when bakugou turns around to glare at her, she nearly tips out of her chair by throwing her head too far back, and when he moves to stand up like he needs to help her, all she does is wave at him to turn back around.

and he does, to you, cheeks flaring as he grabs the bottle of champagne again, pouring himself his own glass to glare into. he mutters out another quiet, "jesus" before slamming both his elbows on the table, rudely, and holding his glass up for — what you belatedly realize is — a cheers.

behind him, the afternoon sun has long since set, replaced now by nightfall and stars that shine through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows — but he glows regardless, and the look he gives you is just as warm.

[bradleysass]

The Snare of the Stag - @leeny-leens - word count: 542 - Sorta Starchaser in the making

Regulus Black always felt like he was being watched. Not just by the oppressive eyes of his family, or the judgmental stares of Hogwarts students who whispered about his ties to the Dark Arts. No, this was something different.

Something sharper. Hungrier.

James Potter.

It started in fifth year. Regulus didn’t notice at first; James was too busy making a fool of himself, trailing after Lily Evans like a lost puppy. But there were moments—small ones—that began to set Regulus on edge. A glance that lingered too long. A smirk that seemed too sharp when their eyes met in the halls. James, normally loud and brash, would grow unnervingly quiet when Regulus entered the room, as though cataloging every detail of his movements.

By sixth year, it became undeniable.

James would corner him in forgotten corridors under the guise of mischief. He’d laugh, play it off as harmless fun, but his eyes betrayed him. They glinted with a mania Regulus couldn’t quite place—a predatory intensity that sent shivers down his spine.

One night, it escalated.

Regulus was heading back to the Slytherin dorms after a late Quidditch practice when he heard footsteps behind him. He quickened his pace, but the footsteps matched his rhythm, echoing through the empty corridors like a heartbeat.

“Black,” came James’s voice, soft but commanding.

Regulus stopped, turning slowly. James stood a few feet away, his wand loosely held in one hand. His glasses were askew, and his usually neat hair looked more disheveled than usual, as though he’d been running his hands through it compulsively.

“What do you want, Potter?” Regulus asked, his voice cold and clipped.

James didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, his head tilting like a predator examining its prey.

“You’re fascinating, you know that?” James said, his voice low and almost reverent. “So much like Sirius, but… quieter. Sharper. Like you’re hiding something.”

Regulus stiffened. “Stay away from me.”

James laughed, but it wasn’t his usual carefree sound. It was darker, jagged.

“Why?” James asked, stepping closer. “Because you’re afraid I’ll figure you out? Afraid I’ll see what you’re really like?”

“And what exactly do you think I’m like?” Regulus shot back, his wand slipping into his hand.

James’s smile widened, but his eyes remained unhinged. “Like me,” he whispered.

The words sent a chill down Regulus’s spine. He took a step back, his grip on his wand tightening, but James was faster. In an instant, he had Regulus pinned against the cold stone wall, their faces inches apart.

“You think I don’t see it?” James hissed, his voice trembling with intensity. “The way you carry yourself, like you’re above everyone else. Like you don’t care. But you do. You care too much. Just like I do.”

“You’re insane,” Regulus spat, struggling against James’s grip.

James only laughed again, the sound echoing in the empty corridor. “Maybe I am,” he said, his voice softening. “But you… you’re the only one who gets it. Who gets me.”

Regulus stared at him, his heart pounding in his chest. For the first time, he saw James Potter not as the arrogant Gryffindor everyone adored, but as something far darker. And in that moment, he realized he might not be able to escape.

[mizu0xox0]

Aventurine x reader (School bus graveyard au) Basically Aventurine is Aiden while reader is Ashlyn except they're the only ones in the Phantom World. {Tw: sorta? spoilers for Ep 60-61 for SBG, Gorey descriptions, injuries, rubble and nightmares}

You were searching through the cabinets and drawers for the keys to the supply whilst Aventurine stood on guard duty in case of any Phantoms that might attack you whilst searching the room. "Aventurine I hear one." You warn your boyfriend as for some reason only you could hear the strange noises these Phantoms were making. "Yeah can hear it's footsteps they really ought to be more sneaky! If they're planning to attack from the back." Aventurine says as stabs the Phantom straight in the eyes with his pocket knife. "I can still hear those Phantom noises check if there's any more of them." You say. Aventurine peered down the hallway to not find a single Phantom in sight. "That's odd I swear I can sti-" However before you could finish your sentence suddenly the building started to shake. You look up to see the ceiling was going to collapse, "AVENTURINE GET UNDER SOMETHING!" however it was too late as while you managed to get under a table Aventurine wasn't so lucky. Displayed in front of you was Aventurine covered in rubble but you still managed to pull his body out of it.

You cradled his bloodied face in your arms, there was a clear wound at the side of his face. However as you looked down only to find Aventurine with his eyes protruding out of his sockets and red veins bulging from their place. His haggard gaze fixated upon your figure, it looked almost as if he forgot to blink. With a cheshire like grin displaying all his whites with blood splotches near his mouth from his wounds. He looked more like those Phantoms rather than your beloved.

Immediately you awoke, you weren't sure how or why it was possible considering the fact the Phantom world was a 7 hour cycle that occurred at midnight and you would be asleep in the human world. The first thing you did was check on Aventurine who was beside you, his breathing was unsteady and rather heavy. "D-dont need hospital. S-stay here with m-me." Aventurines voice sounded distorted almost like those Phantom noises however you wrapped your arms around him as he laid against you. Aventurine coughed a little before he looked up at you, looking like your beloved instead of the nightmarish image you saw in the Phantom World. "Hey look at me. I'm alright in this world, look no bleeding whatsoever. After all I never take gambles that I don't win." Aventurine says however he is met with a tight and firm hug from you. Shit Aventurine never realized that you were sobbing up until now. Aventurine wrapped his arms around your sobbing and trembling figure, he hated seeing how much you were shaking even though the adrenaline from the Phantom World felt good every once in a while it wouldn't pay off if he had to see you shake every time.

It took a while but Aventurine managed to calm you down and usually it was difficult to get sleep after the Phantom World ordeal so you were downstairs in the kitchen preparing some food as late night supper for the two of you. Aventurine laid on the bed as he thought about what went down. Aventurine couldn't stop thinking about what he had felt or even saw in the moment he was in your arms after you had gotten him out from under the rubble. The fear in your eyes as you were staring at him, he wasn't sure if it was because of his injuries or something else but he knew what had occurred today was too much for you to handle. He should be more careful with his gambles after all he now had someone important to hold him everyday and every time after he had awoken from the horrors of the Phantom World that the both of you had experienced together you were there for him. Maybe just this once he could be selfish as Kakavasha not as Aventurine. "Venturine! Foods ready." You say as Aventurine made his way downstairs however something caught his eye. His own reflection in the mirror was off. That wasn't him, that was the him who you had held in your arms in the Phantom World.

Ty for reading! As you can tell the School Bus Graveyard brainrot got to me thus I wrote this and also because I won my 3rd 50/50 in a row and got Aventurine!!! Now I will gamble for his lightcone if I can. Aventurines lightcone please come home. Also good luck on your Aventurine pulls if you're pulling for him!!

[saccharinesunsetretired]

Safe With Me | Gothbur x Reader

This took fifty years and it's not even that long MY BAD I've been working on a million writing projects at once and I'm terrible at time management.

Summary: An attempt to lose your virginity to your boyfriend doesn't quite go as planned. Of course, he's a sweetheart about it.

Warnings/Tags: Virginity loss (sorta?), smut, discussions of sex/boundaries/comfort levels, mention of an uncomfortable (but consensual) past sexual experience, Gothbur is a demisexual icon and also an absolute sweetheart, brief alcohol usage but nothing crazy, hurt/comfort, reader is AFAB but gender neutral 

Word Count: 2k

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOCKS WILL BE BLOCKED

The bed had been made earlier in the day—Wilbur’s red sheets still smelled fresh. They were warm against your back, having been taken out of the dryer not long before. Clearly, he’d finished setting everything up only moments before you arrived.

It had all started with a conversation over a few drinks in Wilbur’s apartment, just two new lovers up late at night with nothing to do. You’d just started dating him after being friends with him for months. The transition felt as natural as breathing. Wilbur was a steadying force, a calming presence. It was impossible for you to be upset when he was around. At least, you were never truly upset for long.

So that’s why, after a few shared drinks and stories, Wilbur asked you for a secret. He said it jokingly, like he expected a sarcastic answer. Instead, you’d been honest.

“I’m a virgin,” you’d said. You felt your cheeks get slightly hot as you waited for Wilbur’s judgment. As per usual with him, no judgment came. “And I haven’t told you yet, because I was worried it’d…I dunno. Be a dealbreaker or something, because I’m so inexperienced.”

Wilbur’s brows had furrowed as he gazed at you. The lights in his apartment were all turned off except for the purple LEDs that lined the walls of his bedroom. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to hide that from me. It’s fine. I don’t have any issue with it.”

“…You don’t?” you asked, hesitant. 

Wilbur shook his head and scooted closer to you, setting his drink aside. He gave you the softest of smiles. “Of course not. I promise.” He rested his forehead against yours. “We’ll move at your pace, okay? Whatever feels comfortable.”

“How about soon?” The words left your lips before you could think twice about them. And then, it got worse. “Tonight, maybe?”

Wilbur laughed softly. “Sorry, darling, but I’d rather not take your virginity when we’ve both been drinking.” He gave your cheek a quick kiss. “But soon, okay? Promise.”

And he’d stayed true to his promise, because there you were—naked, lying on his clean sheets as you gazed up at him. His fingers were inside you, curling in all the right ways as you gasped and tried not to completely lose your composure. It was almost too much, the feeling of his hands on you, inside you, touching you. His face occasionally dipped down to where your neck met your shoulder so that he could press a kiss there and murmur more soft reassurances.

“You’re doing so good,” he said, voice soft and quiet. “Is this okay?” You couldn’t do anything but nod as you tried to hold back the noises that threatened to fall from your lips.

You were so, so close. You finally let yourself moan, small whines as he got you closer to the edge. “That’s it, baby, just like that,” he murmured. He pressed a quick kiss to your jaw as he continued working his fingers, pressing them to your g-spot while massaging your clit gently with his other hand. 

It didn’t take long for you to finish, panting, grasping at his wrist to make him stop his movements. He immediately caught the hint and pulled his hand away. You didn’t have words for how overwhelmed you were. It felt good, better than you could describe. Your legs trembled slightly, and they only stopped when Wilbur laid his hands gently on your thighs. “Hey, sweetheart, are you okay?” he asked. His brows were furrowed in concern as he looked down at you. “Do you need a minute?”

“I’m okay,” you said. Truth was, you were a little freaked out. It was odd, being naked in front of someone else, even if that person was just Wilbur. Every sensation felt so foreign. Sure, you’d gotten yourself off before, but this was a completely different ballpark, and you found yourself hesitant. “Can I just have a quick minute?” 

“No worries,” Wilbur said. He pressed a few kisses to your jaw. “I’ll grab a condom.” He shifted away, reaching for the bedside drawer. It gave you a moment to try and calm yourself down.

You told yourself there was nothing wrong, nothing to be afraid of. Wilbur loved you. This was right, this was good. So why did it feel so overwhelming?

You glanced at Wilbur as he rolled on a condom. You knew he was bigger than average—he’d warned you before taking his sweet time stretching you out—but seeing him put on the condom was a stark reminder. You glanced away quickly, not wanting him to see you staring.

He scooted back over to you. “Alright, love. Are you sure about this?” He looked at you with that same concerned expression.

“I’m fine, Wil. All good.” You managed a small smile as you parted your legs. He smiled back as he settled between them.

“Hey,” he said softly, “if you ever change your mind, tell me to stop, okay? I’ll stop, and we can try this some other time. It doesn’t all have to happen tonight.” 

You nodded and relaxed slightly before giving him a quick kiss. “I trust you,” you replied. And it was true. You did trust him. You trusted him with everything, even if you were a little on edge.

“Okay.” He lined himself up. You could barely feel the tip of his cock pressed against your entrance. He slowly entered you, pushing in just the tiniest amount. “Still alright?” he asked.

“Y-yeah…” Your voice was shaky. It didn’t hurt, but it was a bit of a stretch, and it felt…odd. “You can keep going.”

Wilbur nodded and pushed in a little more. He let out a shaky sigh as he did, a sign that he was thoroughly enjoying this. He was over halfway in. After a slight nod from you, silently urging him to go all the way, he did just that.

You let out a soft moan. He filled you completely. “Wil…”

“You’re doing so good for me,” he said quietly. He kissed your forehead. “Does it feel okay? I’m not hurting you?”

You shook your head. “You’re not hurting me.” But as you said that, the anxiety swelled back up within your chest. It was so much. His skin on your skin, the sheets, his cock, the muscles in your legs straining slightly to hold them in a position you weren’t used to. Every sensation felt like a little too much, but you wanted to keep going. Or, at least try. “You can go.”

Wilbur smiled down at you, but there was a hint of anxiety on his features. “Alright. Just relax, and tell me to stop if you need to.” He started moving, slow, languid movements of his hips. You let out a few quiet noises as he did so. Meanwhile, your mind spun.

You hadn’t expected to feel so vulnerable or so nervous. This wasn’t like what you thought it would be. It was simultaneously more and less intense. As Wilbur moved, and you felt every movement both inside and out, the anxiety got more and more prominent.

After a few more thrusts, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Could you please stop?” you asked. Your voice was quiet and shaky, but Wilbur immediately got the message. 

“Oh, sweetheart, of course. Are you okay? Do you want me to pull out?” You nodded. To your utter embarrassment, tears were stinging your eyes. Wilbur immediately did as you asked, pulling out and sitting by your side so that your legs could rest. 

He took off the condom and tossed it in the trash before quickly settling beside you, a clear sign that he didn’t expect this to continue any time soon. “Hey, darling, can you look at me?” he asked. His voice was soft but worried—there was a slightly higher pitch to it that he only took on when he was nervous. You looked at him despite your tears, and he immediately pressed a few quick kisses to your cheeks and forehead. “There you are, love. You’re safe. It’s just me.”

“I’m sorry,” you croaked out. “It—I was having fun, but then…it was…it was too much, and I got freaked out, and…” The words got more and more strained as you got closer to tears, and Wilbur ended up quietly shushing you.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s alright. You’re gonna be okay. There’s nothing you need to apologize for.” He laid beside you, allowing you the option of cuddling if you wanted it, and of course you did.

You buried your face in his chest, and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Deep breaths, darling. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

As you laid in his arms, you knew it was true. Wilbur would never even dream of hurting you. You could still feel the slight tension in his muscles, an unspoken worry that he’d done something wrong and scared you away. “I’m sorry,” you said again. “It’s not your fault, I just…”

“It’s okay.” He kissed your forehead as he ran his fingers through your hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You sucked in a small breath. “I…I guess I didn’t realize how overwhelming this would be, being with someone like this. And I know that I’m safe, that it’s just you, and that you’d never hurt me, but it’s just a lot to process. And I feel stupid, because people lose their virginity all the time, and most of them aren’t crying about it.”

“It’s not stupid,” Wilbur said softly. “Not at all.” He continued playing with your hair as he spoke. “You know…I had my first time before I found out I was demisexual.” 

You had somehow never thought of that, but it made sense. He’d only figured out his sexuality recently, earlier in your relationship. “Oh,” you said quietly. “And was it…okay?”

“Embarrassing, mostly,” he confessed. “It was awkward. I didn’t know them very well, and I wasn’t really attracted to them, so it took me forever to get hard. It was sort of terrible. Fine and consensual, but really overwhelming.” His eyes met yours as you looked up at him. “I should have gone at my own pace, you know? The last thing I’d want is for you to feel rushed when you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry that happened,” you said quietly. You couldn’t imagine that, trying to lose your virginity to someone you weren’t particularly interested in. After all, you’d chosen Wilbur for a reason. “Really, you deserved a better time than that.”

“And so do you,” Wilbur said. “So keep that in mind, okay, love? We can take things at your pace. I don’t mind waiting at all.” He pulled you into a gentle hug. “I love you. Remember that.”

“I love you too.” You settled into his arms, accepting the affection gratefully. After a few moments of silence, you spoke again, still worried that he’d taken offense. “I trust you, I really do. I just…”

“I know you do,” he replied. “I’m not hurt, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He kissed your forehead. “I’m happy, honestly, that you felt comfortable enough to say something.” A pause. “I would’ve been horrified if I learned later on that you only put up with that to make me happy. Nobody deserves that.” 

That finally settled your nerves. “And you’re okay? You’re not disappointed?”

“Nah,” Wilbur said. “There are other things to do.” He ran his fingers through your hair, calm, slow movements to help settle you. “We could cuddle up, watch a movie…? Maybe?”

“Can we focus on the cuddling part first?” you asked, tone slightly teasing.

He smiled, and you could tell that he hadn’t been lying; there truly wasn’t even a hint of disappointment in his expression. It was almost hard to believe. Part of you had assumed that your first time would be uncomfortable, because wasn’t everyone’s? But Wilbur seemed to completely reject that idea. It was reassuring. “We can definitely focus on the cuddling part,” he said.

You pulled a blanket over the two of you and buried your face in his neck. He was right. There were always other things to do. And one day, you’d be ready. For now, the sheets were still warm, and Wilbur’s arms provided a reassuring shelter from the world. You could hear the soft sounds of his breathing and the slow beating of his heart. It was more than enough.

[deafeninggalaxycandy]

Stuart and Carol McCormick Backstory

Warning: mentions of pedophilia, drugs, alcoholism, death, and whole bunch of disturbing bullshit 💀

Disclaimer: This is purely a headcanon idea based on the age gap of Carol and Stuart that I read on a South Park wiki page. I originally thought it was canon until recently, but I'd already given this lots of thought. It may or may not be true. Also the sus parts of this are based on experiences I've had being groomed minus the pregnancy of course. If u don't like it, scroll and block me, please. Also, read the warnings first before you start complaining.

Okay, so since Stuart is supposedly 42 and Carol is supposedly 26, then the age gap is by 13 years. This would mean their firstborn Kevin, who's supposedly like 13, would have been born when Carol was 13 and Stuart was 26.

Now, you might be wondering. Where the fuck are Carol's parents?

Well, Kenny has a grandfather. It's not said explicitly that he's Carol's or Stuart's father, but I'll assume he's Carol's.

So this guy (lets call him Bill) lived in rural Texas with his father deceased when he was a child from fighting the Vietnam War and his mother gone insane due to grief. Bill had no siblings and was pretty isolated. He moved out as soon as possible into the city and his pain was poured into cocaine and Jack Daniels. He was a drug addict and heavy drinker in the 70s (I'm assuming he's like 80 now, which would make him born in 1944 and 26 in the 70s). His habits continued for years until one day he met a hooker he found strung out on the street (Anne maybe? Idk). They only had sex and were both incredibly high but they had developed some sort of feelings for each other. Bill couldn't stop thinking about her and decided to actually date her. After a few more hookups, Anne started to like him too and decided to leave the prostitute thing. Later when she found out she was pregnant, they were both pretty happy. Anne moved in, Bill quit his drug abuse, Carol was born, all was well. For like 3 seconds

Anne died after giving birth due to blood loss which led Bill into a deep depression. He tried to take care of Carol as best he could but he had almost no motivation and fell back into drugs and drinking.

Carol grew up neglected. Not necessarily abused but just not cared for properly and very ignored, emotionally and physically. Bill left her alone in front of the TV most of the time and didn't bother to hide his addictions from her. This led to Carol getting into his alcohol and sneaking some of his beer bottles. She grew up pretty independent and rough acting.

When she turned 11, she started to sneak out of the house out of boredom (and lack of food) and go to convience stores to shoplift. Then, this guy comes in. This tall, kinda good looking guy with a gross mustache.

Stuart!!

He's like 27 at this point and sees her stealing. Instead of telling, he offers to pay for Carol's snacks. They chat for a bit and she asked him for a cigarette. They talked about each other, and Carol told Stuart why she was out this late and that her dad was a neglectful parent. Stuart felt some pity for her. Carol didn't have lots of friends at school and was generally pretty lonely. She felt happy someone was really talking to her and asking questions. Stuart told her his situation. He had fallen on some hard times with his drinking, fighting with his brother, poverty and not knowing what to do with his life. Carol was much more empathetic and offered him comfort.

As almost year went by, they were basically a couple. They loved each other sorta. Stuart didn't really "love" love her but saw her more as an empathetic nice girl who was easy to control. Carol loved Stuart because he paid attention to her and made sure she was safe unlike her father. Carol was always sneaking out to see him, or bringing him over. Bill never noticed because he was a fucking alcoholic idiot. It was a mess 💀

So yeah blah blah blah, they ended up uh...yk.

When Carol was pregnant, Stuart freaked out and was ready to leave her. He thought he'd be sent to prison and was gonna run away until Carol begged him to stay. After a couple months of relentless pleading, he complied. Carol had to run away before her father noticed what happened to his daughter. He did eventually find out Carol ran away but he knew he'd go to prison if he did. He mourned Carol's absence for years before he eventually decided to continue numbing himself.

Meanwhile, Carol was pregnant with Kevin, residing in Stuarts shitty run down apartment and the arguments with him began. They fought over everything, where to live, what to do, whether to abort the child, all kinds of stuff. This conflict led to them finally reevaluate their ridiculous choices. They both had essentially ruined their lives and didn't even really pay attention to that fact.

Carol had Kevin in April of 2000. She didn't go out much, mostly staying home for Kevin and so the police didn't get involved. After a couple years, she was 14 and started to go outside again. She had a job and even made friends. Stuart just lazed around all day and complained as usual but he was making somewhat of an effort to be kinder to Carol as she had given birth to his child. Things were swell untilllllll

Kenny!!

Karen was like 15 to 16 while she was pregnant. This was when her and Stuart were going to the Cthulu meetings. The members sensed she was pregnant with a boy and thought Kenny would be perfect to be the new placeholder of the curse. Carol was drinking while she was pregnant as was Stuart but the cult members spiked her drinks with potions to ready Kenny for his immortality curse and help make Carol's body strong enough to give birth to him repeatedly. Of course, they didn't know this because the couple was incredibly wasted.

The exact day after Kenny sacrificed to the Cthulu curse, was when a coworker of Carol called the police to investigate her relationship with Stuart after she let it slip that she was almost 17 with two kids already.

A policeman came investigating until Carol freaked out and hit one of them in the head with a pipe, killing him in front of Kevin. They all got in Stuarts junky truck and decided to move out of state before things got worse.

They went to South Park where Stuart knew his brother lived. He helped them a little bit but not much due to the fact he had a personal grudge against Stuart.

So yeah blah blah blah, drugs, alcohol, the physical fights began. Carol is stronger than Stuart due to the spiked liquor she drank at the cult so she was doing most of the fighting back.

To end the story, they mostly loved each other. As Carol grew into her body, Stuart stayed with her partly due to her looks. Carol realized Stuart was kind of a bum and an asshole but she still cared for him. She was still an empathetic sweetheart, and he was still a source of comfort and protection to her (at times). They reconnected eventually. They had some emotional talks the rare times they weren't sober.

So yeah, they love each other, but it's a whole gross mess, idk why I wrote this, but yk whatever. But it's like a really bad story

Oh, and Bill never found out Stuart basically groomed her because when Carol called him to south park, she lied, saying Stuart was her age.

Expect lots of Stuart slander from me :) Again, if u don't like this, u can just block me and move on. This was kind of based on a relationship I had with an older man when I was in junior high school and seeing Carol's age listed as 26 and Stuart's as 42, kind of struck something in me and I immediately came up with headcanons. Again, this isn't true, but that's what I read first, and since they haven't said otherwise in the show, I'm making it canon in my universe. Also sorry this took a long time, it's cold in my house I've been under the covers, paying bills, trying to get my fucked up life together. I didnt have much time to be on my laptop.

Okay, that's all. Have a nice day. Drink water, byeeee :)💖💖💖💖

[twothpaste]

some PSI headcanons

Ness' PSI developed from a very young age, but never grew powerful enough to do anything particularly impressive 'til he went on his journey. A little bit of clumsy wimpy telekinesis, usually dropping stuff in the process. Mending small cuts & scrapes. Talkin' to dogs. Nothing too flashy, almost mundane even. His efforts to practice or show off usually ended in goofish blunders, or incredulity from others. While his best bud Porky flip-flopped between jealousy and dismissal. So Ness grew up feeling sort of insecure about his abilities. Meeting Paula & Poo was kind of a game changer for him, realizing he really wasn't a lone psychic weirdo.

Paula was well-known for her PSI in Twoson. Practically Ness' opposite, she was a natural child prodigy. Loved to show off her abilities like party tricks, much to the delight and amazement of her community. Her mother encouraged it, kinda parading her around (vicariously soaking up the praise & awe). She's never been ashamed of her powers, but did grow to feel misunderstood & a little taken advantage of when she realized most folks (her mother included) just saw them as a novelty. Her visions of Ness are actually a rare precognitive ability. However, Paula can't exactly provoke visions on command, and can't tell whether or not the futures she sees are set in stone. Since she's got so much proud finesse over her offensive PSI, having little control over her precognition actually frustrates her to no end. Meeting Ness & Poo humbles her, and comes as a huge relief when she finally has fellow psychics in her life who really get it.

Poo's trained with fellow psychics all his life, but was taught only to use his powers under formal discipline. When he meets a little fat kid who telekinetically juggles chicken wings, and a snarky girl who uses PK Thunder for static electricity pranks, he's kind of blown away. The freedom granted by using his powers loosely & Teleporting around the globe cannot be understated. Dude lowkey develops a bit of a rebellious streak, finding crafty ways to employ PSI for fun. He can definitely read minds, which probably unnerves his friends at first. I like to imagine he can't learn PK Fire 'cause it embodies a sort of brazen fury that just isn't present in Poo's character - whereas Thunder and Freeze are more focused and composed.

Lucas n' Claus had latent psychic abilities from birth - but contrasted with Ness' flashback where he was using telekinesis as a baby, I get the impression they were comparatively late bloomers. Maybe due to their hometown upbringing; Tazmily's defined at its core by such a profoundly repressed peace, after all… They could communicate with animals, and assumed everyone else could too (adults lackadaisically humored their babbles about whatever Boney was sayin'). They had a strong telepathic link with each other, and assumed that was just a normal twin thing. It's interesting how trauma, urgency, and an implied survival instinct is what "awakens" their true potential. I could probably make a whole post about that alone, oh no, I'll go on instead.

Since he didn't grow up actively using PSI, Lucas tends to forget he has it, and often overlooks or forgoes its practical applications. He rarely uses telekinesis, he cleans & bandages wounds before recalling he can use Lifeup, he doesn't often consciously employ his empathic abilities. Said empathic abilities are extremely potent, though. Kid picks up on everybody's feelings all the time, and can never quite tell if it's a psychic thing or his anxiety or just his natural compassion for others. He can't actually read the minds of strangers though - the mere possibility is deeply unnerving to him. He can passively hear Claus' thoughts (or ominous lack thereof 😶). And he's at least sorta sensitive to the thoughts of other folks he's grown dearly close to (Kuma, Duster, Flint post-reconciliation, etc).

The Masked Man's powerful PSI is all just tightly-channeled fear and rage and love and despair, so warped beyond recognition that neither he nor his handlers can correctly identify it. Fassad trained him through dubiously brutal methods, forcing him to inflict pain, conditioning his subconscious mind to relish what little power it could wield over its surroundings. My post-canon Claus goes through a long phase where he swears off PSI, afraid of its potential, convinced he doesn't deserve it. Only for it to re-emerge from his fingertips anyways in moments of stress or concern (oops, sorry little dude, it is a fundamental part of who you are). Once Lucas n' Kuma show him how to use it in a healthy way, Claus does a 180, eager to reclaim it. He's got all of the same abilities as Lucas (including Lifeup & Shields, which'd been thoroughly repressed along with the rest of his compassion, before). His empathic capacity is literally the same too - but since Claus ain't nearly as emotionally intelligent as his brother, and his head's usually rattling with his own mess of feelings, he can't often make much sense of other peoples'. It kinda just forms a layer of background noise, which he tends to tune out. As his disabilities progress with age, he grows more comfortable relying on telekinesis.

Kumatora's such a natural psychic, she was literally having telekinetic fire-breathing tantrums as an infant. Which is the main reason why the Tazmilians passed her onto the Magifolk, knowing they'd be able to raise her better than a bunch o' amnesiac bumpkins ever could. Though not exactly structured or formal, her training was baked into her upbringing. Thus, PSI's baked into her everyday lifestyle. It's hard for Kuma not to use her powers casually, to fetch writing utensils from across the room, or heat her tea with PK Fire, or overhear your thoughts and respond to them aloud. (Probably a hilarious challenge when she was posing as Violet). She was the only human psychic she'd ever known, right up until Lucas rolled up packing new powers he was mildly to severely frightened of. It's only thanks to Kuma that he learned how to handle himself with care and confidence. And only thanks to Kuma that the postgame world's got any proper knowledge about PSI. I like to imagine she offers tutelage to any new psychics that may emerge. The one person who's left to bear PSI's history and proper training methods, carrying on a tradition passed down by her guardians…

I headcanon all psychics have telekinesis, but some are better or worse at it than others. And they all have some degree of telepathy, though very few are focused & skilled enough to straight up read minds. Communicating with animals falls somewhere relatively low along the same scale. They can learn techniques from each other (a la the adorable explanation given for Ness & Lucas' Smash Bros movesets) - but it takes a long period of dedicated one-on-one teaching, hence why we don't see it happen during the fast-paced storylines of the Mother games. Though PSI is very uncommon, it isn't really hereditary, and can manifest in literally any rando. But it does appear more often in some locations / populations than others (ie. Dalaam as a place of longstanding psionic spiritual traditions, Nowhere as a blessed place sitting atop a draconic embodiment of the Earth's power, you get the idea 🤷‍♂️). I like to portray it more as a cerebral brain power than a 1-to-1 with fantasy magic. It does have a wishy-washy hippie sorta vibe to it though. Something that comes from a connection to Mother Earth, a way to channel emotions and love and the gift of life itself.

(I personally find M1's explanation for PSI's origin incompatible with the other two games, which both present a much more grounded, ancient, and Earthly take on it. Which is fine, since M2 plays out more like a reboot than a sequel anyways. But in an earnest effort to try and connect the threads, maybe PSI is simply a kind of power that exists within every planet? Thus, when George "steals" the secrets of PSI, he's learning how humans can unlock the powers granted by the Earth, the same way aliens presumably unlocked the powers of their homeworlds?? Who knows.)

[xtinaangelicax]

J Being on the Chapter 2 Title Card?? Theorizing (sorta... I'm clueless ;-;)

Can we talk about the fact that J is on the chapter 2 title card rn?? Like... I see ALMOST NO ONE so far in the fandom theorizing about what this could mean. We know that her secret about Mariabella being her mom was revealed during this chapter, but... I don't really feel like that's big enough to warrant her being on the title card yet so far? I think? It's an important secret, don't get me wrong, but it doesn't rly rival the importance of the actual murders going on imo.

I mean-- Teruko and Xander were on the first chapter title card. That is a big deal. Xander died after trying to kill Teruko, and got killed by Min instead: Teruko's our protagonist. Being on the title card is obviously the most indicative clue of a character being insanely important to the narrative for that chapter, possibly even a culprit or victim, but we all just been sleepin on that clue lately and ignoring it lol wut--

Like... I mean, J tries enlisting Teruko's help getting away from Arturo for a minute in this chapter- the dressing room scene- and has a frigging knife pulled on her. She got her secret she desperately wanted to cover up, probably for a large portion of her life, exposed by some jerk in the very same, what, 24 hour period? And she's constantly now being stalked by said jerk, too. Poor gal.

I don't know if J maybe snapped from it all, and murdered Arei. I'm not sure how she WOULD have, given Arturo stalking her. So... maybe it's... something else? But like? SOMETHING is being set up with J here, and if anyone has any ideas feel free to suggest, cuz I can't figure out what it is yet. I'm thinking randomly off the top of my head of stuff we know... like...

J was the first to go to Arei's room to check for her body, after they realized she was missing? Also, J was the first to complain about Teruko possibly being in cahoots with the culprit and choosing who guards the body based on that. After which, J was then promptly chosen to guard the body as well. Important? Possibly. Maybe. Idk...

She goes on a whole spiel about how serious murder is that gains a lot of spotlight for a few minutes, when she was talking to Nico... also, she has this new sadistic grin sprite after revealing Arturo's secret. UH is that sprite gonna be used again for something?

I think there's literally no way J isn't gonna have some sort of big reveal of significance to the plot during the rest of the chapter 2 trial.

There's a bit of evidence that could point to her being the killer, but I don't wanna say I believe that for sure. Just that... SOMETHING'S up.

J being on the chapter 2 title card is definitely important.

ALSO FINALLY: J's hidden quote is "Please don't call me your daughter ever again."

????????how the frick is J going to say this quote?? So far, all the hidden quotes have been said a little while before the character dies, before/during a pivotal moment in the plot and their development... therefore, J is gonna say this line at some point. That's indisputable.

But??? How?? Will it be said during a flashback where she said it to Mariabella in the past? Or... are we gonna see J get in contact with her mom somehow? Is J the culprit, and MonoTV calls in a 'special guest viewer video call' right before her execution just to rub it in her face, and it's her mom, and... J says her hidden quote there?

Is one of the future motives gonna involve being able to communicate something with your family, maybe, and then J says it?

I'm probably gonna look back more and see if there's any other sort of hints or foreshadowing going on with J, but... I just wanted to point all this out and possibly open up discussion/theorizing about this :)

[writtenjewels]

Blind Date

Salim entered the club but was too nervous to approach the bar. Instead he found a table and sat there while he worked up his nerve. After being divorced for almost five years, he was finally convinced to try dating again. Zain was the one who finally managed it. Salim figured if his son was supportive of the idea, then he should at least give it a try.

Though truth be told, it was absolutely terrifying to do this. He and Maysa were in an arranged marriage and all of their interactions before marriage were supervised. This time he was all on his own. He wasn't sure how to go about doing this.

He watched the other patrons mingling in groups or dancing or having drinks at the bar. All the faces sort of blurred together. Just then someone approached his table. It was a man looking about a decade younger than Salim. He had short brown hair and wore jeans and a plain black shirt. A blue-jean jacket was worn on top. Salim couldn't help smiling; at least he wasn't the only one who wasn't really dressed in club attire.

“Hey,” the stranger greeted him. “Are you waitin' for someone?” He had a pleasant voice with a bit of a drawl on his accent. All he needed was a pair of boots and a ten-gallon hat. Salim smiled wider at the thought, then pulled himself back to the moment.

“No, not really.”

“Ah, shit.” The stranger deflated. “I've been lookin' for my blind date all night.”

“I'm sorry to disappoint you.” Salim hesitated before adding: “Would you like to sit with me and wait for him? This table has a good view; you might be able to spot him walking in.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” The young man sat down and took off his jacket. Salim couldn't help staring at the defined muscles of his new acquaintance's arms. He was quick to look away before he was caught. “I'm Jason, by the way,” the man told him, holding out his hand.

“Salim.” They shook hands. “Have you been on a blind date before?” he wondered.

“Not really.” Jason shrugged his shoulders. “I don't date much at all, if I'm honest. How 'bout you? If you ain't waitin' for someone, are you here hopin' for a date?”

“Something like that,” Salim hedged. “I've been divorced for five years now and I'm trying to get back into it. I feel a little out of my element here.”

“It ain't that hard,” Jason assured him. “Your looks are gonna take you a long way. But if you want, I can be your wingman.” Salim didn't answer; he was stuck on Jason complimenting his looks. It was very flattering coming from someone so much younger than him. “What sorta woman are you lookin' for?” Jason went on.

“I'm not sure,” Salim admitted. “I'm not... specifically looking for a woman.” He could feel his face heat up in a blush. “I think I would just like someone I can talk with, as a start.”

“You can't do much talkin' if you're sittin' here,” Jason pointed out with an amused quirk of his lips.

“You make a good point, my friend,” Salim agreed with a sheepish laugh. “But you forget that I'm out of practice. What would I say?”

“ 'Can I buy you a drink' is a good start.”

“For someone who doesn't date much, you know how to do this better than me,” Salim observed.

“I'm a really good wingman,” Jason said simply. He paused to check his watch, letting out a sigh. “He's late.”

“He could be caught up in traffic,” Salim suggested kindly. There was a small part of him hoping that Jason's date never showed up. It was a horrible thing to want, he knew, but he was enjoying Jason's company. “Or he could be looking for you,” Salim added.

“Maybe.” Jason looked thoughtful. “Wait here.” He got up and disappeared into the crowd. Salim felt his heart sink a little. He knew it was the right thing to do, but he still mentally kicked himself for saying those things. He glanced over at the space Jason was occupying.

“Jason, wait!” He shot to his feet. “You forgot your jacket!” He snatched up the object and pushed his way through the crowd after the younger man. After a bit of hunting, Salim found Jason at the bar. He tapped the younger man on the shoulder to get his attention.

“Hey.” Jason greeted him with a smile. “I was gonna come right back, ya know.”

“Oh, but your date...”

“I promised I'd be your wingman,” Jason insisted.

“That isn't necessary. I don't, ah... that is, I...” Salim felt suddenly nervous. He twisted Jason's jacket in his arms. He settled for a white lie: “I don't think I'm ready after all.” What could he say? Jason was here waiting for a date.

“Gimme your phone,” Jason requested suddenly. Salim frowned but did as asked. Jason started typing in some numbers and handed it back. Salim saw he had a new contact listed. “So you can call me when you're ready,” Jason explained.

Salim felt the blush deepen on his face. Jason was giving Salim his phone number? “Aren't you on a date tonight?”

“A blind date,” Jason corrected. His fair skin was a little red, too. “And right now, I like what I see.” Salim swallowed and pocketed his phone again.

“Jason,” he began, taking a steadying breath. “Can I buy you a drink?”

[love-fireflysong]

You know what that means! Another Wednesday, another Work In Progress to share with you all. But before all that, I gotta confession to get off my chest. You all remember that promise back at the end of June where I said that I was gonna be spending a couple of hours every morning after work sitting by the river writing? Yeah I sorta haven't been doing that the past couple of weeks ever since my vacation ended 😅 Though in my defense, that's almost entirely NOT because of laziness but because there's been a heatwave going on so the average temp has been like between 30° and 35°C every day. Which is fucking HOT up here btw, so I decided it was probably best for my health to not go outside if I could help it lmao. So to compromise I've instead been writing by sitting on my balcony at night when its cooled down considerably. Though while that sadly does mean I'm only able to do it twice a week on my days off, I've always found that I tend to find it easier to write late at night anyways. To the point that I think even though I only write for at most a couple of hours, during those two nights alone I've probably been doing about at much as I would during those morning periods combined. So I'm making it work lol.

Anyways enough about me complaining about heat while simultaneously patting myself of the back, here's another little snippet from One Coat, Two Coat, Red Coat, Blue Coat!

With a sigh that is both entirely too fond and dejected (despite how much Ashley dislikes Josh's tastes in movies she does still bitterly wish that she also got to enjoy their sleepover shenanigans far more than she was actually allowed), Ashley nevertheless puts her phone back in it's place of honor on her table and goes back to cleaning. But not before making sure to shove Chris's hoodie into her backpack so she wouldn't forget to bring it to school on Monday. After removing the rest of her schoolbooks and binders of course. She still has that history report that's due the coming Friday (hence the actual need for the library visit tomorrow) as well as the two pages of algebra homework for Monday morning. Plus that short story for English that she was only able to write maybe two paragraphs of before the guys had found that board game in closet. …Just because the three of them were supposed to be doing homework for the past couple of hours didn't necessarily mean a whole lot of it ever got done.

[nathanielbuildsatesseract]

It's that time again, and I don't know what to say.

I'm here because I'm here. As I wrote last time, it's clear that I'm on Tumblr to stay, even if I abandon other social media sites. I took a sorta hiatus from Xitter this last week, because I had my first meatspace social engagement in months and because I'd just gotten into a fight with one of the only people I actually interact with over there, and I really don't feel like I'm missing anything. I really might quit using it this year, but Tumblr is a different story.

But I don't know what to write about, even so.

When I wrote the last milestone, my dad had just crested the peak of his post-stroke health, and still doing well enough that I thought he might actually beat the cancer. It killed him, not two months later. Did I ever explicitly talk about that on here? I don't recall. I did, back on Xitter. I took a week off the site after that happened, too.

Then Mom got sick, right before the family reunion in May, and ended up in the hospital three separate times. She's still not well, now on second- and third-order consequences of the original thing. So I came back to Kansas City, and I've been here all summer, again.

All told, the last 18 months or so I've simply felt like I have no real control over my life. Using the singular feels wrong; I have two lives, the good one back home and the bad one here, and basically no control over which one I'll be living at any given time. Everything hinges upon the biology of another human being, both cases one which I have only the most limited power to influence to take the actions that maximize future utility for either of us.

It's soul-crushing precisely because it's nothing new. I consider my 20s a lost decade because almost all of it was spent on dealing with my family's irrationalities and incapacities, instead of building the career which they spent so many years encouraging me to pursue. The pandemic didn't help and inviting a literal Randian parasite into the house towards end definitely didn't help. Since this latest round kicked off right before my birthday, my 30s aren't exactly off to a great start, either.

The nine months or so between taking my current job and Dad's stroke were, in retrospect, probably the best of my adult life. I thought the bullshit was behind me, and we'd finally get to have the sort of relationship I always wanted with my parents, and which I figured they wanted with me. We never got to experience that. Everything reverted to the mean and now I just feel hopeless. Will I get to live while either of them still does? With every miserable month that passes it seems less and less likely.

Compare the 27,000 post to this one. So full of optimism by comparison. (Don't believe what anyone says: I'm an insufferable optimist by nature. I expect things to go right the first time. Then they don't. Expecting the worst is a strategy that leaves me less disappointed when the actual results are significantly worse than whatever I imagined the minimum could possibly be.) Not even two years ago, and despite recognizing my own hand it almost feels like a different person must have written it. As I keep having to tell people, when I took this job I had two healthy parents. Now I can barely contribute to my team, because I'm just...exhausted. There's nothing left in the tank.

Maybe it gets better. That's happened before. But it's never stayed better remotely long enough for me to recover. The tank is dry and there's no reason to expect it'll get to refill. Outside view is great and all, but after so much pointless pain I can't make myself believe it, not where it counts.

If that day does ever come, maybe then I'll finally leave Tumblr like I almost managed in late '22 and early '23. Until then, I'll be here, sharing my small scraps of sanity with this insane world. It's not like there's anything else to do while I'm waiting.

[hokiis-writing-dump]

Genshin Team Sleeping Trend, but I write about it instead.

So I’m back from a long time of no writing at all, and there’s no real reason for my absence besides me burning out. I stopped playing Genshin for a while and didn’t really keep in touch with any content for it either. Don’t expect this to be really all that accurate with storyline (because I did sorta not pay too much attention during Sumeru’s story, I got tired of how long it was) but it’s taking place after the most recent lantern rite. I can’t guarantee I’ll stay consistent with a schedule, so honestly, expect more of me posting at random when I’m in the mood, lol.

Characters in my team: Aether, Kazuha, Albedo and Heizou

Content Includes: Maybe ooc characters bc I haven't written for genshin in a long time, no paimon bc idk how to write for her, Scaramouche/Wander mentioned to be in the teapot but not with the others, teapot layout is the one thats like...water and islands. forgot what its called.

Extra Headcanons:

They're kinda relevant for this, but both Traveler(Aether in this case) and Wanderer don't sleep. Wanderer because he's a puppet, Aether because...well he's not human. That's a headcanon thats lenghty, so i wont explain it here. Okay last thing, Aether doesn't speak in ig...full sentences. He skips words sometimes and breaks up the sentence. I don't think he's fluent in Teyvat's language, hence why Paimon speaks so much.

The 4 entered the SereniteaPot after a long and arduous day of commissions, quests, errands, etc. and removed most of their unnecessary accessories.

Heizou swiftly made his way over to the nearest couch and flopped down face-first, probably almost asleep already. “Im not the only one who’s completely dead after all of those cases, right?” Heizou’s muffled voice echoed from the pillows on the couch. Albedo smirked at Heizou’s display of exhaustion.

“Guess it’s time to sleep then already? We did eat while we were out, so I suppose we can go right to bed. It is late.” Kazuha turns and questions, hanging his haori(correct me pls if that’s the wrong thing) up near the door. He places his shoulder guard down on a shelf nearby as well, besides the numerous trinkets Aether has collected on his travels.

“I’m not completely drained but…I suppose we can. Aether, you’ll be resting tonight, right?” Albedo turns to Aether, who was about to walk right back out of the teapots mansion and probably train outside the whole night. Albedo shoots Aether a disappointed look, expecting him to turn back around immediately and follow them back in, but Aether continues to slowly leave the doorway.

“Aether.”

Aether gives Albedo a glance back, almost pleading to not have to ‘sleep’. Albedo knows full and well that Aether doesn’t really sleep, but has still yet to know exactly why. Either way, seeing him at least lay down for the night would be enough.

“…You know I won’t sleep. No point in laying down.” Aether tries to reason his way out of this, preferring to do something a bit more productive.

“Get back here, and come lay down. We’ll even push the couches together like have you have it set up in your room, if that makes you more comfortable.” Albedo nods towards Kazuha after this, and Kazuha goes to start moving the couch Heizou is on and another couch in the open living room.

Aether sighs, deciding not to fight this one, and comes back into the mansion. He leaves his shoes at the door where everyone else’s shoes are, and then comes to help Albedo move blankets and pillows in from Aether's room.

"Where would you even be this late in the teapot? I know you have a small forest somewhere on the islands here, but would you really just train there all night?" Albedo inquires, genuinely confused on where Aether would even go this late since the teapot matches Teyvat's time. Aether looks around, putting a few pillows under his arm and rubbing the back of his neck.

He shrugs. "Dunno...maybe find Wanderer. Train with him? Talk with him. He doesn't sleep either." Aether's taken out the braid he usually wears now, his earing, scarf and whatever else being set at the table in his room. Albedo shakes his head in sighs. Guess he has to talk to this 'Wanderer', who he has still yet to meet despite Aether mentioning him before, and get him to rest as well. They both return to the living room soon after this exchange.

Once everything is moved, the four change into clothing that’s a bit more comfortable, and slowly begin to lay down one by one. Aether grabs a few books, of course. If he’s going to lay here for hours while the others sleep, he has to be doing SOMETHING. Not lay there contemplating his existence.

There’s idle banter for a good thirty minutes or so, chatting about what they’ll do tomorrow, what they’d want for breakfast, anything really. Heizou’s the first to fall asleep, after he curls himself around Aether in an inescapable death grip to insure he won’t be able to leave in the middle of the night without waking anyone else. Kazuha falls asleep next in the middle of his speech, causing Albedo and Aether to chuckle and joke about it for a few minutes after. Albedo then falls asleep last, after wishing Aether a goodnight and almost saying ‘Sleep well’ despite knowing he won’t sleep at all.

Aether opens one of the many books he’s read before, in similar situations of the others forcing him to at least lay down with them. He won’t sleep, but it’s nice to have the comfort of people he trusts being beside him in a moment of repose such as this. They can’t hear Aether but he speaks anyways.

“Goodnight, sweet dreams.”

[spaceacethespookypansfanfics]

For something silly and sweet how about a candybats thing where kevin and streber’s friends talk about the reasons why he’s not allowed to cook

Such as setting water in fire

With streber sulking the whole time

Here you go. It's really short but I hope it's okay. I kinda went a little angstier than maybe was necessary but ye. Also I did indeed include Robin, Radford's sister as a new addition to the friend group because she looks like she's their age and I thought it'd be cool.

Streber frowns at the back of Kevin's floofy head, his arms crossed but going unnoticed as Kevin continues to talk.

"Yeah, so he's not allowed in the kitchen to cook. Too much of a hazard. Which is surprising considering how skilled of a baker he is." Is it a compliment? A backhanded one? Streber isn't sure.

"What? Did he set something on fire or something?" Robin asks, resting her chin in her hand on the island counter, a bemused smirk always present on her laid back face.

"Yeah, kinda." Kevin chuckles, no doubt remembering one of the more lasting incidents with rose-coloured amusement. "He actually managed to set a pot of water on fire. Not sure how."

"Pfft!—sorry—ahem, did he really?" Radford snorts and it's obnoxious and Streber turns his frown onto him now.

Kevin laughs with Radford, nodding his head. "Yeah. Wasn't funny at the time. Thought our kitchen was done for." He keeps laughing, the others all joining in, none seeming to notice Streber's lack of participation.

"That's not all, right?" Rick urges with a sip of his beer, starting a trend that both Radford and Robin follow through on.

Kevin shakes his head. "No, no. That's not all. There was also the time he almost chopped his fingers off with our sharpest knife." It doesn't sound funny and Kevin doesn't even tell it in a funny voice yet he's elicited chuckles and quiet laughs from all three of his listeners.

Streber inches himself further and further into the couch corner, his arms tightening around himself with no aid provided.

"But he can bake?" Radford asks incredulously. Of course it's a little hard to believe that Streber has any competence in the kitchen after Kevin's just expertly tarnished his reputation.

"Oh yeah, brilliantly. You guy's have had his stuff. It's amazing." Oh look, he's trying to salvage the situation. It's not going to work, Kevin, it's too late, you're on the couch tonight.

There's a pondering moment around the family room, both Rick and Robin taking a sip of their beers, Radford reaching for a chip on the coffee table.

"That's true. He does make a mean cake. That's so surprising, that he can bake, but is abysmal at cooking." Radford says it like Streber isn't right fucking there listening to everything they're saying. Did they all forget he's still in the room?

One more dig at his cooking skills and he's going home.

~

He did indeed go home. With Kevin trailing at his heels, apologising like he's not already exiled to the couch for the night.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have started a roast fest like that, it just sorta happened—hey—Streb?" He's not deterred by Streber's silent treatment. "I'm sorry, I swear. I won't bring it up ever again. I promise."

Streber just lifts his hand and flips Kevin off while he walks up the driveway.

He unlocks the door and part of him is tempted to close it right in Kevin's face, but that feels too mean, so he doesn't. Instead, he takes off his shoes and jacket and marches right upstairs to the bedroom.

Kevin follows him, his jacket still half on and tries to get into the room but Streber stops him, holding the door. "Couch," he says and it's not a request, it's not a suggestion, it's an order. Kevin's not getting into that bed tonight no matter what he tries.

[thedo0zyslider]

Explosions Across Lifetimes - Chapter Nine: Returning The Favor - 5k words

Sausage makes an impromptu visit to the Codlands, one that leaves behind quite the messy two certain rulers

Playlist

A03 Link

Jimmy was rather worried as of late. He'd seen the warnings of Mythland’s King returning, and how hostile he'd acted. He’d already shown up at the Undergrove, House Blossom, and Rivendell, and each of those visits had included a threat of some kind; or a warning of what Xornorth would do to the kingdom once he’d reached full power.

Joey had also made a reappearance as well, but not even being demon possessed could make Joey get off his ass and go around threatening people. No one was truly surprised by this, as Joey was known for keeping to himself more often than not. The Lost Emperor seemed very content to simply close his borders and relish in his demon romance, a romance Jimmy doubted was going anywhere but down hill.

Joey wasn’t really the problem here, that was Sausage, who seemed to take some sick sense of joy in tormenting his fellow rulers. The other problem was…whatever the two missing rulers had been doing in their short absence. Though whatever it was definitely wouldn’t be a good thing, that was for certain.

The Codfather had increased the amount of people watching his kingdom’s border, so it was no surprise when a codfolk told him that Mythland’s King could be seen flying in. That and the near daily reports from other rulers. Jimmy told them not to stop him, that he would deal with Sausage. His citizen’s safety came before his own, always.

He heard when Sausage landed next to him, armor clinking as he did so, and the cod turned and feigned surprise. Well it was half feigned, he was not expecting the other man to have bloody red eyes instead of the striking blue they used to be. Oh and the outfit change, that was new, but it still suited the brunette, just in an evil sorta way.

"Oh," Jimmy said, struggling to keep the newfound terror out of his voice. "Hi Sausage!"

"Long time no see, huh?" Mythland’s king smirked in response, leaning on what looked to be a newly acquired sorcerer's staff.

"Yeah, it's been what? Two, three months?" The cod said, a little unsure of how long it had been since they last talked. The two didn’t exactly have frequent conversation before, and the months had been blurring together for Jimmy as of late.

“Yeah, about three months!” Sausage smiled. “I’ve been practicing with my new powers!”

The Codfather forced a normal smile, hand shifting to grip the handle of his trident. “I can kinda see that! You got a new staff!” He gestured to the item in question, taking note of how Sausage was watching him carefully, just as carefully as he was watching the brunette.

“Oooh, yeah I did!” Sausage said, a touch of his old self still underneath the darkness that had recently consumed him. It made Jimmy want to grind his teeth to dust, what the demon was doing to the people he cared about. He wished Sausage wasn’t a prime example of that.

“Maybe I could show you what this bad boy can do one day!?” Sausage smiled widely, almost unnervingly so, twirling the staff in his hands like a showman.

“No, thanks. I’ve gotten rather busy since we last spoke,” Jimmy’s decline of the offer sounded apologetic, and the lies slid off his tongue far too easily for it to be a good thing. The Codfather had a sneaking suspicion Sausage’s magic show would have a very bloody end to it, and that was something he wasn’t ready to tangle with. The other man simply made a disappointed pout at his words.

“Uh, cool voice dude,” Jimmy complimented after a stretch of stilted silence between them, gaze flying around as he tracked Sausage’s every move. The way he put his staff away with a puff of magic and how his gloved hand fell far too close to his sword for comfort. He was hoping flattery might spare him from whatever the other had in mind, if only a little. “Sounds a little…demonic, but still cool.” It wasn’t really a fake compliment, Sausage had gained a kinda cool new voice; which was probably a bad thing under these circumstances.

“Why thank you!” The Mythlander purred, leaning forward on his hilt of his sword. The smile he was currently flashing felt…more unnaturally wide than it had before.

“Uh, yeah, you’re wel-” His words were caught off with a yelp. The cod’s back hit the outer wall of his house with a painful thunk , a shadow falling over his vision. Jimmy swallowed, watching as Sausage tilted his head upward with the tip of his sword, his other hand pinning the blonde’s waist to the wall. “I could show you those powers I’ve been practicing with, how does that sound Codfather?” He smiled, his newly corrupted voice now low and threatening.

“Nah, I’m good!” Jimmy gasped, thrusting his trident forward and twisting. To both ruler’s surprises the attack actually managed to catch Sausage’s side. The shorter man stumbled back with a hiss of pain, “You’re gonna pay for that!” Sausage yelled, clutching his bleeding wound with one hand. The cut was deep, and bleeding enough for the red liquid to be flowing from Sausage’s gloved hand. Jimmy let out a yelp of pain as a burst of something--he assumed it was magic--hit his side, mirroring the wound his trident had given the Mythlander. His back hit the wall again, and had probably added a bruise to his new list of injuries.

Another stab of pain hit him, this time the familiar feeling of a sword piercing him. The weapon was pulled away from his shoulder, and the cod let out a primal growl of agony. Sausage stood over him once more, the joyous smile from earlier now replaced with a more menacing frown. He was oddly silent as well, which gave a sense of forbidding to Jimmy. Sausage was never silent.

Jimmy shut his eyes as Sausage’s sword was shoved into his leg, causing him to crumple to the floor like a wet piece of paper. He wasn’t going down without a fight however, as he began kicking upwards and falling his limbs. It seemed to work, as Sausage let out a loud swear when he tried to pin his enemy down. Something other than the sword came down on his skull when the cod tried to struggle to his feet, The Codfather cracked his eyes open again, and saw another blast of magic being readied through hazy vision. He braced himself, not putting it past the Mythlander to fatally wound him, not anymore.

“Sausage!?” Fwhip’s familiar voice broke through the fog in Jimmy’s brain, and he saw Mythland’s king turn his head towards the sound in shock.

“Oh, Hi Fwhip!” The brunette almost purred, moving away from the injured Jimmy.

“What are you doing!?” The Count growled, running to move between the cod ruler and his attacker. Jimmy didn’t know why the half dragon was here, but he couldn’t care less, not at the moment.

“Didn’t mean to injure your little boy toy so badly, sorry about that!” Sausage stepped backwards, and the Codfather could hear the sounds of an elytra and rockets being brought out. He’d stopped looking at the Mythlander and focused on Fwhip instead, who had drawn his sword hesitantly.

“My boy to--Sausage what did you do!? ” Fwhip yelled.

“He started it!” With that last call the brunette was gone, taking off with his firework rockets as quickly as he’d arrived. Fwhip stood there, dumbfounded, for a moment, before quickly dropping to Jimmy’s side.

The cod felt his head be moved into Fwhip’s lap, and he snuggled closer with only a vague worry of blooding the other’s clothes. “T-hanks for that…” He stuttered, feeling familiar clawed hands cup his face. Worry was radiating off the Count in waves, and he started to prop Jimmy upwards without a reply.

The next thing the Codfather knew the head of his namesake was being removed, and he was being slowly shifted into his bed. He watched Fwhip rummage through his bedroom through a half lidded gaze, presumably for healing items. He hoped that’s what it was, because the Codland’s healers were probably too far away, and none of them knew how to heal demonic magic. That was very understandably not a part of their training, because normally there weren't world destroying demons on the loose corrupting people.

Jimmy just barely heard Fwhip’s mutter of “ Shit ,” before unconsciousness induced by his injuries claimed him.

The past ten minutes felt like a blur to Grimlands Count. He’d been coming to the Codlands for slime, and maybe because he missed Jimmy a little, and maybe to talk about Scott. But then he had run in on Sausage attacking his partner, the first time he’d seen the Mythlander in months was him attacking Jimmy, because of course it would be. Now here he was, frantically searching Jimmy’s bedroom drawers for any sort of healing item. There had to be some in here somewhere, Jimmy was just as clumsy as the Count was accident prone.

He found the much needed items after a minute, a minute that felt too long. The cod was unconscious, had been hit by demon magic, and was bleeding in far too many places at once for it to be anything but possibly fatal. Fwhip swore when he broke a potion of healing in his haste, glass shattering across the floor. Fine then, he’d have to do with one. Why did Jimmy only have two healing potions in the first place!? His partner was as underprepared and stupid as he was clumsy it seemed.

He was at the bedside in an instant, dodging shards of newly broken glass as he propped Jimmy up with his pillows. He managed to get the life saving potion to the cod with ease, then moved to focus on his other injuries. Most had been healed by the potion, but the precious liquid didn’t have enough to fix all them completely. If Jimmy was conscious Fwhip would have him eat a golden apple, but it was too likely he’d choke in this state, so he’d have to work with this. It was fine, he’d healed himself from worse and with less supplies. The first wound he looked to was a head wound, one seemingly caused by an axe; having to regrettably remove the Codfather’s head to determine that fact. Fwhip did not want to think about how that had happened, he might actually break down if he did that.

Thankfully, the wound has ceased the worst of its bleeding, and all the Count needed to do was lightly bandage it and clean it to ward away infection. The wounds on his leg and arm; which looked to be sword wounds; required the same treatment, it was just where Sausage had struck his side that required a little more work. It was more like a burn wound, and reminded Fwhip of injuries from dragon’s breath, just far worse. It wasn’t quite a burn, more of a giant bleeding blister on Jimmy’s tanned, scaly skin. It took Fwhip a few minutes of careful disinfecting and even more careful bandaging, but the wound was patched up, but still likely to cause the Codfather a great deal of pain. Fwhip put the remains of the healing supplies away after he was done, before managing to tuck Jimmy in.

He sat on the other side of the bed quietly, holding his head in his hands. Why had Sausage been here? Why was he attacking Jimmy? And what did he mean by the Codfather started it?

Fwhip’s next thought was that he should notify the Codfolk, which he really didn’t want to do for a number of reasons. The first because, from what Jimmy had told him, the cod were still quite hostile to him; though he was fairly sure there had been some witness to the scuffle. Sausage, the idiot, had attacked Jimmy in the middle of his empire after all. The second was that he didn’t want to be blamed for or associated with the attack, which was a fair and likely assumption to go by if you were an unsuspecting cod citizen. Again, their two empires were enemies, and it was well known how close the Count and Sausage used to be. The third and biggest reason was that he really, really did not want to leave Jimmy alone right now; not after thinking he was going to literally die .

Fwhip sighed, running a hand through his hair. He couldn’t just not tell anyone, what would he do if someone came looking for the Codfather? Mind made up, he reluctantly stood with a quiet sigh, casting one last, long glance at the still unconscious Jimmy before exiting the room and his partner's house.

It didn’t take long for Fwhip to find a few worried codfolk hovering around, nor did it take long for him to get weird stares. Vaguely, Fwhip noticed he had Jimmy’s blood staining his shirt and pants and tried not to dwell on that fact for too long. Instead he beelined for the one cod citizen he knew well enough, Caleb. The young cod was standing with what looked to be two other members of the infamously annoying Cod Council, if the outfits and misplaced sense of entitlement were anything to go by.

“Count Fwhip!” An older cod said, seeing his approach. Caleb turned, and fixed him with the friendliest look he’d ever gotten from one of Jimmy’s people.

“Er, Hi, Caleb-” He began, but was quickly cut off by the third codfolk; Fwhip was already beginning to understand the Codfather's irritation with these people and it had only been five seconds . “The Codfather was attacked, correct? Where is he?” The older person at least had a sense of worry under their stern tone.

“He’s in his house unconscious, he’s already been healed the best he can be.” Fwhip responded, a bit caught off guard. He was somewhat aware of the small crowd forming around them, and the whispers that came from it. Most of them weren't very friendly whispers either.

“Healed? By you? ” The second Council member asked, and Fwhip felt himself go on the defensive.

“Yes,” He confirmed it tentatively, but to his surprise no harsh words followed his own. The Council member just simply called over another cod, who Fwhip assumed was a healer, before turning to enter Jimmy’s house. The Count was a little dumbfounded by this, and next thing he knew he was back in Jimmy’s room and there were four other people crowding the bed.

Caleb, who he’d gravitated towards unconsciously, muttered to him, “You’ve got blood on you, by the way.”

Fwhip just shrugged, still trying to mentally process the last twenty minutes of his life. “I’ll clean it later,” He muttered in response, focused on watching the crowd around the Codfather. Caleb said nothing in response, just gave him a glance before looking away again. A few minutes later the young cod was ushering the others out, seemingly able to sense that Fwhip wanted them gone and he wanted them gone now. Something in him was roaring with protectiveness, possessiveness even, and he was not okay with people crowding an unconscious Jimmy at the moment.

The Count sat down on the edge of the bed again, the shack empty once more except for the two emperors. Apparently, the healer hadn’t given Jimmy any more potions or messed with his bandages and Fwhip had to wonder why. Maybe they didn’t want to waste such valuable, life saving items on something that could heal naturally, albeit it would take a while for that to happen. That was the only explanation that made sense to him, and after the Sausage encounter Fwhip kinda needed things to keep making sense if he wanted to keep it together, because that attack was absolutely messing with his head right now.

That was a thought for later though, as Fwhip’s brain immediately went to the next task he probably needed to do. He needed to tell the other rulers what had happened, because if Sausage did he would be doing it to gloat and threaten them. And that was not a good way to break the news to Joel and Lizze, in fact it was the worst way.

He pulled out his communicating with another sigh, listening to Jimmy’s steady breathing as he sent a message far too casual for the situation. He had to retype it several times, his hands were apparently shaking. The Count hadn’t noticed that until now.

fWhip: Hey

fWhip: Jimmy just got attacked by Sausage

Pearlescentmoon: what???

Smajor1995: WHAT

GeminiTay: oh my god!?!

LDShadowLady: IS HE OKAY???

SmallishBeans: Is he hurt???

fWhip: Yeah, he's fine. Healers patched him up already

He watched more worried messages flood his screen, deciding to omit that he had been the one to tend to Jimmy’s wounds. He didn’t think the others would feel comforted by that, as Fwhip was more known for being accident prone and impulsive instead of gentle and good at healing. But the Count had done a good job, he thought so at least, since Jimmy wasn't currently bleeding to death. It wouldn't be the first time he'd patched the Codfather up either.

LDShadowLady: How badly was he hurt??

fWhip: head injury, stabbed in the arm and leg, magic wound to his side. A few healing potions and some bandaging took care of it.

Shubble: thank god

Katherineelizz: why are you at the cod empire anyways??

fWhip: it was to discuss trade deals or something

SmallishBeans: I'm gonna kill him

SmallishBeans: I'm gonna kill Sausage

Smajor1995: I didn't think Sausage would start attacking people…

GeminiTay: Was it him or the demon?

fWhip: That was definitely Sausage. He wasn’t being controlled when he did it

SmallishBeans: Fuck

Pixlriffs: That’s…worrying

Despite himself, Fwhip let out a small huff of amusement at Joel’s swear. Yeah, fuck was a good reponse for that, despite the latter supposedly not believing in the demon. Maybe this had made him.

Pearlescentmoon: can jimmy talk to us???

fWhip: nah, he passed out from his wounds pretty quickly. Thought he was gonna die for a second if im being honest

LDShadowlady: he WHAT

fWhip: he’s fine lizzie i promise

fWhip: im literally in the same room as him rn

fWhip: i can seeing him breathing

LDShadowlady: if you say so

GeminiTay: Sausage hurt him that bad!?!?

fWhip: yeah

Smajor1995: how did JIMMY provoke him that bad what the hell. I know he can be a little shit sometimes but jesus???

Before the Count could type his reply there was a shuffling sound, and he turned his head to see Jimmy starting to sit up right. He typed a hurried message before putting his communicator down on the bed and promptly ignoring it for the next few hours, no matter how many times it buzzed.

fWhip: shit gtg hes awake

He stood at the side of the bed, leaning over the cod ruler just slightly. “Fwhip?” Jimmy asked, wincing as he tried to prop himself upwards with his injured arm. The half dragon rushed to help him sit up after that, keeping a tight grip on the blonde until his back was comfortably propped up against a plethora of pillows.

“How do you feel?” He asked, gaze flicking over the bandages to make sure Jimmy hadn’t reopened his wounds.

The Codfather took a moment to find his words, but spoke as soon as he saw the worried flicking of Fwhip’s tail. “Everything hurts, but less than before,” Was what Jimmy settled on, and the Count smiled gently at the description. Well, that’s one way to put it.

“Yeah, I patched you up,” He muttered, moving so he could rest their foreheads together. “Was worried you were gonna die if I didn't do it fast enough.” Jimmy made a worried hum in response, but the Count moved away before he could be pulled closer. Before leaving the cod he pressed a kiss to the other’s forehead, steering clear of the bandaged area. “Stay here and rest okay? I’ll be right back.” He exited the bedroom again, ignoring Jimmy’s curious gaze following him until he was out of eyesight and the door was shut gently behind him.

Fwhip walked into Jimmy’s small kitchen, deciding he needed to do something with his hands. He’d decided on cooking before he’d even reached the room for that reason, and the fact that he was a fairly decent chef; though he thought the Codfather was quite a bit better. He’d cooked when either Gem or Sausage had been sick before, because they both couldn’t, so the task wasn’t a stranger to him. His siblings never shut up about it either, about how sweet he could apparently be when one of them was injured. Fwhip thought this was a way he showed affection, part of his love language maybe, but the Count never gave much thought to stuff like that.

He’d grabbed the ingredients for a vegetable soup before even realizing what it was, and later he would remember how the cod did it for him just a few weeks before. Maybe he was paying Jimmy back unconsciously by cooking for him, he thought as he set the water to boil, mildly surprised that Jimmy had so many ingredients. All that old teasing of him having nothing but slime was really stupid in hindsight. He tapped his foot as he sliced up whatever produce he’d gotten from Jimmy’s pantry. The ginger hadn’t paid attention to what he’d grabbed really, as everything was still kind of a blur to him; he’d just noted whatever it was needed to be chopped up before being put into the pot, then grabbed a knife to do so. The dish he was making felt like something he made often, with how familiar and unconscious his movements had become while preparing it,

There was a shuffling at the doorway as the soup finished, and Fwhip spun around quickly. Jimmy stood at the doorway to his kitchen, leaning on the frame for support. The Count stopped his wings from springing out in surprise behind him and running the meal he’d just made.

“Why are you out of bed?” He sighed, letting slight irritation seep into his tone. This idiot was supposed to be resting and recovering ! Not trying to reopen his wounds by walking around with an injured leg!

“I wanted to see what you were doing.” Jimmy said with no hint of apology in his voice, awkwardly shuffling forward until he stood next to Fwhip, who noted that he now had to lean on the kitchen counter to stay upright.

“Making you soup,” Fwhip said, turning back to said food. He turned off the fire and began moving it into two bowls. He hadn’t even noticed he’d made enough for two until now. “Oh, thanks..” Jimmy responded, sounding very touched by the action. The half dragon ignored how that made him swell with something fuzzy, focussing instead on getting other back to bed.

They made meaningless, stilted small talk between spoonfuls of the soup, which Jimmy had pointed out was potato soup. Ah, that was why the motions had felt so familiar to him. The Grimlands used to export the vegetable and still had plenty of it, so potato based foods were something Fwhip found himself making more often than not.

“The others were making fun of you in that group chat” Jimmy said, glancing over at Fwhip. The Count was sitting on the edge of the bed again, eating food that barely tasted like anything in his mouth with Jimmy sitting next to him. “Really?” He huffed, unsurprised, making a mental note to check his communicator later.

“Yeah,” The Codfather hummed, glancing at the abandoned device across from them. Fwhip had been wondering which one of their communicators he’d used to see that, and now he had his answers. The half dragon wasn’t very surprised that Jimmy had used his instead of his own. He wasn’t sure it had survived the earlier attack.

“Your clothes have my blood on them,” Jimmy spoke again, and Fwhip was glad that he was at least trying to fill the silence. There was a lot they needed to discuss, and he wasn’t quite ready just yet. The small talk was helping though, and maybe the blonde could tell that.

“So do yours, Mr. Snuggles His Bleeding Head Into My Lap” Fwhip snorted, taking the now empty bowl from his partner and placing it on the nightstand, along with his own of course. He’d clean those later, for now a strained smile was escaping him as Jimmy made a strained laughing sound at his remark.

“ Jimmy! ” The Count hissed out suddenly when he faced the blonde again, noting the red that was now seeping into his already bloody shirt. “You're bleeding!” He made a vague gesture towards the other’s side, tail flicking in worry behind him again.

“Oh, whoops.” The cod muttered with a glance at his wound, wincing a little. Fwhip grumbled something unintelligible as he began to grab the bandages once more. The Codfather watched silently as the ginger applied more pressure to the wounds, wrapping more bandages and gauze on top of the old ones. The only sign he was being watched was the slight hitch of the cod’s breath. Sometimes it was from pain, sometimes it was something else. Fwhip didn’t think this was the time to be admiring his beauty, but to each their own he supposed.

“You didn’t have to heal me, ya know that right?” Jimmy said softly when he was done, making grabby hands at the ginger. Resigned to this insufferable man’s needs, he shifted closer until Jimmy could hug him from behind. The Count hoped this wouldn’t open his wounds again.

“I know,” Fwhip sighed. “But I wanted to, I felt like I had too. Think of it as returning the favor, from when you healed me.” He felt his face heat up in embarrassment at his words, and god Gem was right wasn’t she? He really could be a giantaic sap when he was worried over someone, couldn't he?

They sat in silence for several minutes after that, enjoying the presence of the other, and the Count finally allowed himself to fully process everything he’d seen that afternoon. He tightened his hands into a fist, and the slight shaking of his form was quickly noticed by the person hugging him. “Do you…wanna talk about it?” Jimmy asked after a moment, nuzzling his face into the crook of Fwhip’s neck, the ginger’s loose ponytail tickling his cheek slightly.

Fwhip took a deep breath, beginning to explain as best he could. It still hurt to say his brother's name aloud. “I…none of us thought he’d actually try to kill someone,” His voice got smaller as he spoke, the last few words becoming a whisper. He wasn’t really sure how to word the next part, how scared and worried and upset he’d been for the Codfather, the pure panic he’d felt as he healed him; so he went for an imaginary sicario. A comparison of sorts, what Jimmy would feel if his sibling attacked the most important person to him.

“It’s like … .imagine if Lizzie started attacking me, or Scott or Joel and one of us almost died…” He trailed off, and Jimmy just made a hum to indicate that he was listening. Fwhip was honestly grateful for the silence; he didn’t want pity or sympathy or anything . He wanted someone to hold him and just listen. He’d heard a lot of “I’m sorry’s” after they’d lost Sausage, and how people were there for him if he needed to talk, and he was getting a little sick of it at this point.

“Don’t know if you heard it, but he called you my ‘boy toy.’” The Count added in a murmur, frowning as he remembered the Mythlander’s words.

“ He what!? ” The blonde exclamation was a mix of amusement and surprise. Clearly he hadn’t heard what Sausage was saying after all, at a certain point anyways. Maybe that was a good thing, the cod didn’t need to know the corrupted king had blamed the fight on him anyways.

“Is that…what people think you are to me? A toy? ” He wondered in a whisper, curling closer to Jimmy. Strong arms wrapped around him tighter. The Codfather wasn’t just a toy to him, he doesn’t think that had ever been true; not even when they’d hated each other. But if their friends thought that…if they thought he was just using the blonde…

“It doesn’t matter what other people think, Fwhip.” Jimmy muttered into his hair, previous amusement vanishing as quickly as it had come. “Because I know that’s not what you think of me, and that’s all that matters.”

“Thanks..” Fwhip whispered.

“Let’s rest for a while, yeah?” Was the Codfather’s response, and soon enough they were under the covers together. They’d changed clothes of course, the bloody ones now piled in a corner of the room. His inventor’s goggles had ended up…somewhere, which was a problem for morning Fwhip. Jimmy had given him an old t-shirt and an old pair of pants, things Fwhip fully intended on stealing. What could he say, they were quite comfortable clothes, and they smelled a little like Jimmy. Maybe that was part of it. The cod was now curled around him best he could, and Fwhip made sure to lay on his uninjured side; Sausage had very conveniently stabbed both Jimmy’s right arm and leg.

He rested his head under Jimmy’s, deciding to see what the others had said about him while he’d been ignoring his communicator. The Count stifled snorts of amusements and exasperation, aware of the sleeping person he was practically laying on.

GeminiTay: tell us if he’s okay please!!

Smajor1995: bye fwhip

LDShadowlady: can you send like a picture of something? Because im guessing he doesn’t wanna see us yet and i just wanna know

SmallishBeans: babe you are so overprotective

Shubble: you literally aren't any better joel

Pearlescentmoon: they’ll probably be cuddling or something if he does send a picture

GeminiTay: really pearl?

Pearlescentmoon: what? they have it BAD for each other

Smajor1995: can confirm they do. have spoken to both of them recently about stuff

Pearlescentmoon: i thought you would be in for some fwhip bullying

Katherineelizz: what kinda stuff scott? Huh?

Smajor1995: none of your business <3

LDShadowlady: OH and tell jimmy to message us when he can!! we’re worried!!

Pixlriffs: leave the poor man alone lizzie he almost DIED

Fwhip rolled his eyes fondly, adjusting his hold on the communicator to snap a picture of them. Though he doubted anyone else would be awake to see it, though they might be. He’d lost track of time a while ago. His friends were stupid, absolute idiots , but that's why they were friends wasn’t it?

fWhip: [A picture from above. Fwhip is snuggled up to Jimmy, whose chin is resting on his head as he sleeps. Fwhip has a undeniably fond look on his face]

fWhip: yeah we’re fine dw

Pearlescentmoon: told you they’d be cuddling

Pixlriffs: aw. cute

LDShadowlady: is that jimmy’s old shirt

fWhip: mine had his blood on it

SmallishBeans: okay fair

GeminiTay: he’s gonna steal it

fWhip: gem!!

GeminiTay: <3

The Count reached over to Jimmy’s wooden nightstand, placing the communicator next to the Codfather’s head when no new messages came through after his sisters. He curled in closer to Jimmy, and fell into a surprisingly peaceful sleep after the day he’d had. He left in the morning, after sharing breakfast with Jimmy and making him promise to visit the healers every day. One home he contacted Gem and Pearl, scheduling a meeting time. They had to talk about Sausage, they couldn't avoid it any longer. The Mythlander and his demon overlord needed to be dealt with, before he actually became a murderer and they lost a friend forever.

He’d convince Gem to speak with Scott, because he knew damn well the elf probably hadn’t . He doubted his sister would need too much convincing, but he’d do it anyway. Those two were their best bet at figuring out how to stop the demon. No one knew Xornoth better than his brother, and no one knew magic better than Gem.

If you could corrupt something, you could uncorrupt it or seal it away, the demon wasn’t any exception, no matter how many people they took over or tried to kill.