#like his teeth and bandana scarf

[francixoxoxo]

⋆.˚✩ Bloodlust 𓆩𓆪

𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐝

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤. 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

@milliesfishes 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬!!!

Billy knew what was wrong the moment he called your name, unbuckling his gun belt and expecting a warm welcome home after a tiring day. All he got was a weak mumble from some room in the small house.

“Honey?” He called, hanging his hat on the coat rack, his boots thumping on the wood floor. Billy’s forehead was creasing. Well, he wasn’t expecting a king’s welcome, no red carpet or nothing, but he was a bit spoiled by you to expect a hug and kiss hello.

Billy realized your voice was coming from the bedroom, “Here,” you croaked. When he stepped into the doorway, he stopped in his tracks a moment.

There you laid, ever-beautiful, on your side with both hands tucked between your thighs. Your cheek was in the pillow, your usually entrancing eyes hollow as they lifted to meet Billy’s. “Hi.” You murmured, watching as Billy crossed the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. He twisted to look at you, his calloused hand smoothing back your silky hair.

“Hey, baby doll..” Billy cooed, brows slightly lowered. His azure eyes darted over you almost frantically. “You okay?”

He knew the answer. He knew you were lying as you nodded that pretty little head of yours. He felt a bit sick looking down at your state.

“When’s the last time you ate, huh pretty girl?” Billy hummed, trying to keep his tone as lilted and cheery as he could manage, like he was talking to a sick kid. His expression betrayed his worry for you.

You shrugged lamely. Your lips moved silently for a moment, eyebrows pinching, before you spoke, defeated. “A few days.”

“How many’s a few?” Now, Billy couldn’t keep the distress from his voice.

“Five.” You breathed, you let your eyes flutter shut. You hear Billy click his tongue against his teeth, open your eye a crack to see him shaking his head at the window across from the bed. He sighed your name.

“What? I didn’t want to go out and— and hurt anybody, so I just put it off. I’ll go hunt when—“ Billy cut you off firmly.

“When y’cant move?” Billy hissed, the hand on your head moving down to the outer cusp of your shoulder. You opened your eyes, making eye contact as he told you off. You knew he had good intentions, he always did, but you were defiant above all else. “Or is that already happenin’? You were just gonna wait ‘till you’re too weak to even fix your lips to ask for some help?”

“I don’t need help. I’ll go tomorrow.” You huff, and Billy shakes his head. You had to admit— he was hot when he was angry with you. His nostrils flaring, brows thick and drawn low, eyes intense.

“No. No, you ain’t puttin’ this off any longer.” Billy fumed, breathing out like a bull through his nose. He shakes his head again as he makes quick and messy work of the bandana around his collar.

Only Billy could get mad that you weren’t taking care of yourself the way he would.

Your brows draw together, your hand moving to his forearm in a moot attempt to stop him. “Billy, no.”

“Yes.” Billy’s tone was firm, his expression serious. He wouldn’t budge on this, would he? But you wouldn’t let him win.

“I’m not feeding off you.” You hiss, but you can’t stop him from tossing aside his neck scarf and unbuttoning his collar. He clocks the way you swallow hard. Fuck all, he just smells so good.

The moment he walked through the door you were reminded of the dull, aching pang of hunger in your stomach. Billy’s scent was intense, overpowering, tempting. Even when you weren’t so starved. So unbelievably difficult to refuse, and he was just making things harder for you.

Billy gently took hold of both your forearms, lifting you to sit upright beside him. You were so weak that you leaned against him, his arm curling around your torso and holding you upright. “C’mere, c’mon.. Up y’go, baby girl.” You bury your nose in his shoulder, feeling awfully dizzy— dizzy with weakness, dizzy with that awful, gnawing hunger, dizzy with the smell of Billy.

“C’mon, baby.” Billy cooed, his hand not supporting you gently cradling your head and bringing it closer to his neck. He hoped you didn’t clock the way he swallowed hard. “You need it.”

“I won’t.” You breathed, but your voice wasn’t very assured. You sounded more like you were convincing yourself as much as him.

Billy wouldn’t have denied his nerves. You’d never fed from him. You swore you never would. But he was asking you to, he knew that you needed blood now. You were his top priority. So he disregarded the wavering of his hand as he stroked your hair, feeling your nose against his neck. “C’mon. Just a little. Just so y’can have energy t’hunt.” Billy assured you. “Please, baby, you’re scarin’ me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. Oh, you’d never forgive yourself. But you gently rubbed your nose to his neck, letting out a shudders breath. “Just a little.” You murmured. Billy nodded. But he knew he’d let you suck him dry if that’s what you needed.

He’d do anything for you.

You opened your mouth, your pearly fangs sinking into his neck and piercing the skin. Oh, the moment you tasted him, you were a goner. You could hardly think. Your mind was him, fully and utterly him, no room for anything but him.

Billy groaned in pain, his face screwing up and his hand tensing in your hair, but not pulling. It was such a strange feeling, such a draining and achy sensation. But it was helping you. You gained the strength to reach your hand up to tangle in his dark hair, your free hand resting gently over the opposite side of his neck. He tasted delicious, like a drug you couldn’t get off.

A grotesquely intimate thing, it was. A macabre, romantic thing, that Billy trusted you to take only what you needed. A morbid pleasure in drinking him in, the taste of his blood like crimson ambrosia on your tongue. More intimate than an ‘I love you,’ he’d dare say, though he knew he wouldn’t ever stop saying those words. More intimate than sex, though you knew you’d never get tired of his touch.

You were lost in it. His pained grunts and whimpers were the only way you could pull away from him, the only thing that could permeate your bloodlust-hazed mind. He grunted your name in a wavering, low and pleading voice.

You were careful to lick over the puncture wounds, sealing the wound and staunching the blood flow. Your hunger was barely satiated, but it was enough to feel alive again. You rested your forehead on his shoulder, licking your lips and wiping your chin with your knuckles.

“God.” Billy breathed, a hesitant hand coming to brush over the marks you’d left in his neck.

“There wasn’t anything holy about that.” You murmured bitterly, panting against his shirt, watching as the blood dribbling down your chin dripped onto the bed sheets. Billy turned his cheek, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Don’t care.” Billy says into your hair, his voice low, gravelly and masculine. “You feel better, baby girl?”

You couldn’t deny that you did. Oh, you hated yourself for it as you nodded against his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You whispered, your voice meek and broken.

With surprising strength for a man whose mind was reeling from blood loss, Billy wrapped his other arm around your middle and pulled you into his lap, your legs across his. He looked up at you, those blue eyes filled with something you dared to name worshipping. “Don’t say sorry. I wanted you to, remember?” Billy pressed a kiss to your jaw, letting you thump your forehead against his.

Delicately, he swipes his calloused thumb across your chin, wiping up his own blood. “I love you, Billy, I love you.” You murmur, your brows drawing together in guilt. He simply couldn’t have that.

“I love you.” Billy cooed, his nose nudging yours affectionately. He pulls you into a loving yet chaste kiss, not torturing you with another taste of him. You were infinitely grateful, your fingers gently massaging his scalp. He leaned into the touch. “I’d do it again. If you wanted me to.”

“I wouldn’t.” Your reply was firm and instant. Billy nodded after a lingering moment, nosing your cheek. His eyelashes brushed against your skin and tickled you.

“I ‘least taste good?” Billy let out a breathy chuckle, trying to lighten the mood, as always. A faint smile crosses your lips.

“Delicious.”

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumpuary Day 1-2

Prompt: Snow

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; blood; head injury

gif by r66dus

“Why are we patrolling when we can’t see ten feet in front of our faces?” You were yelling into the wind, only satisfied that the archer may have heard you when he turned halfway. 

“Wha’?” Daryl called from beneath the bandana that shielded the lower part of his face from the biting cold. 

Taking a deep breath, you moved your scarf aside and shouted louder. “Why are we—” The slightest crinkle next to one eye gave away the smirk hidden beneath the black and white patterns. “I hate you!” You could barely hear him chuckle. 

“No, ya don’!” At least he was kind enough to wait for you to trudge through the steadily deepening snow to reach his side. “Ya should head on back if it’s that hard on ya!”

“Please. Like I’d leave you out here alone!” You sputtered indignantly when he ruffled your toboggan hat. The man knew exactly how to rile you up, and he did it as often as possible. Though you acted perturbed, you actually enjoyed the times you could see a smirk or a small smile. 

Daryl smiled a lot more these days. It was one of your favorite things in the chaotic, dystopian world. After Rick and with the Whisperers still lurking, you wouldn’t blame him for wearing a permanent scowl like the old days. 

“We can cross over here n’ circle back.” He pulled down his bandana and motioned toward the frozen river. “Froze solid. Won’ fall through but be careful anyway.” He started across, sensing you weren’t following. “Wha’re ya doin’?”

“Keep going. I’ll catch right up.”

“Y/N, wha’re ya doin’?” He repeated more sternly. 

“I need to pee, Daryl!” You frowned when he smiled and there was the slightest bounce to his shoulders. “It’s not funny.”

“Yer gon’ freeze yer ass off.” The ‘literally’ hung in the air, but you knew he was thinking it. “G’on then. Ain’t nothin’ I’ve not seen b’fore.” 

You pouted. “You can’t watch me pee!”

“Ya do it ev’ry mornin’ while ‘m brushin’ my teeth.”

“Yeah, but this is more…open!” When he titled his head with a look that clearly stated you can’t be serious, you huffed. “Shut up, that’s different too!” Your cheeks were suddenly warm, even against the frigid gusts. Daryl had been up close and personal with your lady bits more than you could even begin to recollect. 

With a grin, he held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll keep goin’. Slow. Wanna be close jus’ in case.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, daddy.” When a dark brow arched, you feigned displeasure and grabbed a gloveful of snow and tossed it at him. “Go away, pervert.” He was still grinning as he turned to put a little distance between the two of you. Pants and underwear were down to your knees quickly, the urge nearly unbearable by the time you’d convinced him to keep moving. You couldn’t stop the relieved groan even if you’d tried. 

You had expected to hear him laugh but thankfully, the wind was just too loud. With the wonderful lack of toilet paper, drip-drying was the only option left to you, though you were certain your vagina would be full of ice by the time that happened. After several moments, you pulled up your pants and secured the button and zipper, then your belt, curling your lip at the yellow patch of snow. The apocalypse was gross. 

“Done!” You announced cheerfully loud. 

“Wash yer hands?” He chuckled when you were close enough. 

“Oh, shut up and walk.” A handful of poncho enabled you to spin him around and shove him forward. You were smiling to yourself when the hairs stood on the back of your neck. It wasn’t from the cold. “Daryl.” It felt like someone was watching you. Your eyes met his. He had felt it too; was already pulling his crossbow from his back. 

“C’mon.” He motioned you closer while you each surveyed your surroundings. The Whisperers had been absent since the cold had set in, but it was possible they had returned. Over the scream of the harsh wind, neither of you heard the low growls coming from below. 

Daryl yelped when a hand caught his ankle and gave a sharp tug. You could only watch as his boot slipped and he tumbled, the back of his head bouncing off of the ice with a sickening crack and splatter of red across white. His weapon slid to a stop several feet away.  

“Daryl!”

The walker was trapped in the snow, only one arm and half its face exposed. Enough for your blade to find its mark. Dark, congealed blood covered your knife as it fell next to the archer, your hands on him immediately. He remained unresponsive to each shriek of his name, but you had to find some measure of calm to assess his condition. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

The frosty vapor that formed in front of his lips showed him to be breathing. You quickly removed a glove to press your fingertips to his neck, finding a thready pulse rather quickly. With the gentlest touch you could manage, you slowly, carefully lifted his head, nauseated at how boneless he appeared. You were terrified of moving him. Head and neck injuries were never a thing to play with, even in the old world when hospitals were abundant and functional. 

Holding his head only slightly off the ice, you whimpered at the moderate amount of blood that had covered the pale surface. Head injuries bleed a lot. He’s fine. He is fine. Your teeth were nearly puncturing your bottom lip while you probed the back of his head blindly. Through his wavy hair, it was difficult to find the injury straight away. Once your quickly numbing fingertips pressed onto a swollen split in the skin, you were forced to turn his head for a better look. 

The laceration was small but deep, most likely near to the skull. You couldn’t see bone, but the snow and blood made that nearly impossible. For now, you needed to take care of the blood oozing from the wound and over your fingers. The cold would help with the active bleeding but you unwound your scarf and placed it behind his head. Why the fuck didn’t you bring medical supplies and food on patrols when shit like this was a distinct possibility? 

“Daryl.” You said loud enough to be heard over the wind but with a calm that betrayed the panic stirring within your chest. You had to move. The two of you freeze if you remained. There was also the possibility of walkers or Whisperers, and you were sitting ducks. “Come on, baby, wake up.” The pet name flowed out easily, reserved for intimacy or comfort. 

You were met with unrewarding silence for a moment that seemed to last forever but finally, your archer groaned and grimaced. He made to turn his head before even opening his eyes, gagging almost immediately from the pain that surely accompanied the movement. 

“Stay still for a minute. You’ve got a concussion for sure but I’m worried about more.” You soothed, rubbing his chest in lieu of touching his face or hair. “Getting back is gonna suck. Take some time to get yourself ready.”

“Survived worse.” He slurred. You didn’t need to see his pupils to diagnose the head injury. He had hit so hard that you wondered how the ice didn’t splinter from the impact. You kept a sharp eye on the surroundings to buy him some time. Both of you knew what the journey back to the gates would entail, short as it would be. “Le’s get outta ‘ere.” Daryl shifted toward his side to get an arm beneath him. He had yet to open his eyes, likely knowing the tilt of the world that awaited. 

“Slowly.” You kept your hands on his arms, his shoulders, prepared to assist and comfort. “That’s it.” The archer barely made it to a sitting position before retching, cognizant enough to turn the opposite direction from you. Your hand rubbed circles over his back, a grounding comfort that was also a display of gratitude for not vomiting on you. “I’m sorry.” Your heart ached with a need to draw the pain from him and take it upon yourself. The whimper that followed the sick was the only indicator of the agony the action had likely caused. 

“M’ready.” He panted. 

“Okay, let me grab your crossbow.” You scooped up your scarf, stuffed it into your coat pocket, took carefully swift steps to collect the weapon and strapped it to your back as you returned to his side. “Okay, grab my shoulders and pull yourself up slowly. I’ll help balance you but you go at your pace, okay?” There was the slightest dip of his head in an almost nod before he thought better of it and mumbled an ‘okay’ that you couldn’t even hear. 

You planted your feet, watching the area for any signs of threats while Daryl used you to begin levering himself upward. At the first pull of his weight, you grunted and he let go. 

“It’s okay. I’ve got you, baby. I promise you won’t hurt me.” You smiled, hand on the crook of his shoulder with your thumb stroking his collar bone. He didn’t balk at the endearment, not even the usual scoff. 

“Okay.”

The process began again. Daryl was stout, but the challenges of surviving had helped you build strength. While it wasn’t easy, it was not impossible for you to bear the added weight. On his feet, the archer swayed and granted you the first glimpse of his unfocused blue eyes. One pupil was noticeably larger; worrisome but you couldn’t do anything about it. He needed medical attention that the infirmary could hopefully provide. 

You were quick to grab his elbows and steady him when he stumbled backwards. “You’re vertical. I’d say we’re making progress.” One of his arms pulled across your shoulders, the two of you embarked on what promised to be a difficult trek home. 

You’d only been walking for about five minutes, when Daryl lurched forward and vomited, painful heaves that made keeping him upright nearly unattainable. He groaned, clenching his eyes shut and spitting onto the dirt. 

“You can do this. Just hold onto me.” You frowned at the hardened blood on the back of his neck, frozen into flecks by the bitter cold. 

The process repeated several times and by the time the gates were a looming shadow beyond the whiteout, Daryl was putting nearly all of his weight on you, toes of his boots dragging with each slow step. 

“Almost there.” Your voice was no longer reaching him. As the gates opened, the archer went down and dragged you along with him. You began shouting for help, silhouettes of your friends growing more perceivable with each hurried step. “Help! Daryl needs help!” 

Your worry for him was overriding the urgent voices surrounding you, blurred hands coming into view to settle on your archer. You had no choice but to step back and allow them to take him, following in a daze while more hands guided you along. The panic you had stored away was finally able to break free. 

You cried. 

Stitching the wound had been a brutal excursion. Daryl needed to be held down as the near frozen skin, hypersensitive in the heated infirmary, was forced together. Aaron and Gabriel assisted, their guilt for the required intervention was evident in both faces. You sat in front of him, whispering encouragement and reminding him how much you loved him. The archer vomited from the pain alone before unconsciousness mercifully claimed him. 

Without the means to confirm, Daryl was released on strict bedrest in case of a skull fracture. He could sleep as long as you were near to monitor for any changes in his vitals. He would become confused, nauseous, and irritable. You were there to hold back his hair, mindful of the stitched wound. You needed to remind him of where he was and what had happened. At one point, he had even asked for your help in finding Merle, who had died years before. 

After a while, he settled and dozed, Dog on the bed with his furry head on the hunter’s thigh. You finished your list of chores quickly, placing a steaming bowl of soup and a cup of tea on the nightstand by your side of the bed. Daryl was awake the moment you had stepped inside the room. Damn hunter’s senses. 

“Hey, Humpty Dumpty. How are you feeling?” Settling yourself with your knees resting against Dog’s side, your fingers gently brushing back Daryl’s hair. The archer hummed, and caught himself seconds before he would have moved his head to scowl at you for the nickname. 

“Had worse.” He croaked. 

“Doesn’t mean this can’t hurt like a bitch.” You countered immediately. The archer hummed once more. It probably hurt less than speaking. You had helped him clean up just after his release to recover at home. If he was stuck in bed, you were going to make damn sure he was comfortable. The flannel pants and Ozzy t-shirt at least made him smile. “Do you need anything?” You adjusted the blanket Carol had left once during a visit. 

“Jus’ you.”

You smiled, your face and neck flushing. You pressed your lips to his temple, the brush of your mouth against his skin but a mere whisper. 

“You’ve had me for a while, Mr. Dixon. That’s not gonna change now.”

[agent-cakeshroom]

Trolls Universe TMNT

There's at least 4 of you out there interested in my thoughts on tmnt being in the Trolls universe. SO HERE IS THOUGHTS

To start with, their species! I figured it would be similar to trolls with there being different subspecies of turtle-people(no idea on name yet). Maybe not all the turtles that exist, but some popular ones. We gotta have the obvious: Alligator Snapping Turtle, Softshell Turtle, Red-eared Slider, and Ornate Box Turtle. I'm debating on whether the turtles all live together, or in smaller groups based on their real life habitats.

Generally, they'd be about a head taller than your average troll. However, turtles like the Alligator Snapping Turtle are twice the size of a normal turtle. When designing any of them, I try to keep in mind they have sharper edges. More square vs Trolls who are more round. They only have three fingers, much like in the TMNT cartoons, although if we include Sea Turtles maybe they'd have webbed fingers?? They all have TAILS!

They're born from eggs of course, but it's more of a community thing than with Trolls. The eggs are kept safe in a pond dug specifically to house the eggs, and there's a rotation of turtles on protection duty. Parents will come and bond with their egg by simply holding them in the water, talking to them, and just being close.

Now onto TMNT specific thoughts! I wanna keep the species to the ones from ROTTMNT since they make sense. Raph is an Alligator Snapping turtle. His skin is tougher than his brothers', his shell is thicker with large spikes, and all of his teeth are sharp. His tail is nearly as long as a troll is tall, and he can control it about as much as a cat. With his size and sharp edges, Raph is incredibly careful and gentle around others. To the point his brothers are entirely unafraid and will climb all over him like a jungle gym. Mostly Mikey. Speaking of, Mikey is an Ornate Box Turtle with yellow spots across his skin, maybe like large freckles? And yellow stripes on his carapace. He's definitely the roundest of the bunch, but still more square than a troll. He's about the size of an average troll, being the runt. Leo is a red-eared slider of course, but unlike the ROTTMNT design the red stripes run under his eyes almost like eyeliner and then down back towards where ears would be. And he has two light yellow stripes on each arm from shoulder to wrist, as well as one on each side of his face from under his chin to his collar bone. Donnie, as a soft shell, is more lanky than his 'twin' but has similar stripes down his arms. However, rather than light yellow they're a dark brown, and he has a faint yellow spot on the outer corner of each eye.

The brothers aren't going to wear masks, but they'll all have an article of clothing with their colors instead. Raph has a large bandana neckerchief/scarf that he likes to hide his face in when he's embarrassed, along with dark red wraps on his wrists and ankles. Mikey wears a bright orange short sleeve cropped hoodie, and he has brightly colored stickers across the front of his plastron. He's also got burnt orange leg warmers, and a few brightly colored bracelets. Donnie has a sort of battle shell, still bright purple, but with a lot less features. He also has his goggles, a tool belt, and dark purple leather gloves. Leo I'm unsure about, so if anyone has some ideas lemme know lol. Been sat here for 20 minutes trying to parse out his design. I'm trying to avoid giving them pants because the shells, almost rethinking Mikey's top too, but I keep wanting to give Leo stirrup socks of some kind.

Ok, I'm getting sleepy so I'll stop here. Feel free to share thoughts, suggestions, criticisms, etc.

[paperhalfshell]

season of the soul

Pairing: Rise!Raphael x Reader

Word Count: 1,473 words

Warnings: None

You are surrounded by red.

An apple-crisp breeze flutters through the branches, plucking loose leaves from their homes and carrying them away. One catches on the thick stitches of your scarf. You tug the leaf off and hold it up to your face.

It’s soft to the touch and a bit ragged looking, big and beautiful. Red. You quickly let go of it.

Red, red, red. You wish you were sick of the color by now.

In the distance, you hear crunching underfoot. And then, a voice.

“[Y/n]? Hello?”

Your heart plummets into your stomach.

“It’s me. Raph. I just – I just wanna talk to ya. Are you out here somewhere?” His words drift over to you on the wind, and you curl up even more. “It’s … it’s just me. Out here … alone … if you’re not here …”

His anxiety is palpable. Guilt wracks your body, but fear keeps you locked in place.

The sound of crunching leaves grows louder. You hold your breath, bottom lip caught between your teeth, tucking your legs up as far as possible and pressing close to the tree trunk.

Raph stops right underneath your branch. The bright red of his bandana almost melts into the sea of maple leaves, but to you, it sticks out as much as he does in a crowd.

“Get it together, Raph,” you hear him mutter. “Maybe you should try calling again. Yeah, that’s a good idea. At least you’ll get the cute voicemail if there’s no answer …”

(Oh, geez. He’s so nice you want to cry.)

Hardly daring to swallow, you watch as he digs his phone out of his pocket.

Wait. If he’s calling you, that means your phone –

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

If Raph didn’t hear your phone vibrating, the panicked squeak that launches itself out of your mouth gives you away, anyway.

His head whips this way and that before dropping back to look upwards. Large, worried eyes meet your own, and a broad smile graces his face.

“[Y/n]! There you are!” he shouts, relieved.

You force a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. “There I am,” you echo, defeated.

“Can you …” His brow furrows as you stay where you are. “Can you come down? I’d join ya up there, but, uh, I’d probably break the whole tree.”

He doesn’t sound frustrated or annoyed, or even particularly embarrassed. But then again, Raph has the habit of trying to spare people’s feelings, and the thought of being gently rejected makes you feel nauseous.

“I …” don’t feel like it, you want to say, but you can’t, so the singular ‘I’ that makes it out simply trails off and dies in the cold.

Raph’s gaze softens.

“I got apple cider,” he says. Unzipping his coat halfway, he fishes out a small thermos from one of the inner pockets. “Mikey made it special for ya. To apologize.” He scratches the back of his head, looking at his feet. “They’re all real sorry for makin’ you so uncomfortable.”

You stare down at him, arms wrapped around the tree. It’s chilly up here, and the thought of Mikey’s signature hot apple cider sinks down into your very bones. “It’s okay,” you reply, even though it isn’t. “I was just being sensitive.”

“And that’s fine! Ain’t nothing wrong with bein’ sensitive,” Raph insists, coming closer to the tree. “I shouldn’t have let them go so far with the teasing. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to say sorry.”

“I feel like I should, though.”

Despite everything, you huff out a laugh. “You’re such a softie.”

Raphael grins, goofy and blushing and him. The weight in your chest feels a little lighter because of it. “That’s Raph. A big ol’ softie. Will you come get your apple cider now?”

“Okay.”

Gripping the rough bark, you start to descend.

“Careful,” Raph warns.

“Mhmm.”

You think that you know which branches to step on and which to avoid; this is your tree, after all, and you know it like the back of your hand. Mindlessly, you rest your weight on a branch about as thick as your arm.

Crack.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You swipe at a nearby branch. Miss. Plummet down towards the hard and unforgiving ground at a speed that is much, much faster than you had thought.

A name leaves your mouth in a scream.

“Raph!”

He shouts something – your name, maybe, you don’t know. There’s a jolt. And just like that, you’re safe and cradled in his arms.

“I told you to be careful!” he cries, loud and booming. He doesn’t mean anything cruel by the volume, you know this, but you find yourself bursting into tears anyway. “Oh – no, don’t cry, I didn’t mean to yell at you. Or did I hurt you? I hurt ya, didn’t I –”

You press your face against the front of his sweater. “I’m fine,” you babble. “’M just … just crying, I dunno. I’m sorry. Thank you for c-catching me.”

“I wouldn’t not catch you,” he exclaims, as if offended that you would even think of the possibility.

A gross sniffle. “I know.”

Raphael shifts on his feet. You’re equal parts overjoyed and mortified by your position, cheeks wet with tears, eyes screwed shut and surrounded by him on all sides.

“Look,” he eventually speaks again, his hands firm underneath your knees and upper back, “about what they said …”

Your grip on his coat tightens. “We don’t have to keep talking about it.”

“’Course not. I was just gonna say that I talked to them, and they won’t tease you about that kind of stuff anymore.” A pause. His voice quiets. “Since you don’t actually see me that way, and all.”

Your crying comes to a halt out of sheer confusion.

“Huh?”

“Well – well.” He clears his throat. “I mean, you got real upset when Leo said you had a crush on me the size of the Chrysler building, so, y’know …” His hold on you seems to soften as he shrugs. “A-And I get it! Everyone’s got the wrong idea and you’re tired of it, right?”

There is no way. No way that he hasn’t realized.

Everyone knows about your crush on Raph. Even Donnie caught wind of it a month ago. You’re famously horrible at hiding your feelings, so surely Raph … why else would he be so awkward when they tease you, laugh so nervously and avoid your eyes at the mere suggestion that the two of you should go out?

“But I do,” you hear yourself say meekly, so soft that you almost think he doesn’t hear it.

It’s just your luck, though, that he does.

“Wait, what?”

You sniff. No point in hiding it now. “I do,” you repeat, more loudly, “have a crush on you the size of the Chrysler building.”

“Really?” Raph sounds incredulous. You can hear the gears in his head creaking and turning. “Like … a crush-crush?”

This is becoming more painful by the minute. “Yeah. A crush-crush,” you mumble.

Raphael absorbs your confession as you wallow in the misery of your own making.

“… I didn’t know.” His voice is strained.

“I’m sorry.”

“No!” You wince, and he quickly adds, “No sorries. It’s – it’s okay.”

“It is?”

“It is.”

You frown, pulling away to gauge his expression. “Why?”

Raph sighs heavily, the hint of a crooked little grin on his face. He puts you down gently and squeezes your hands.

“’Cause … ’cause I like you too,” he says.

You stare.

Heat floods your cheeks.

“You … like me?” The question is but a croak.

“Yep.”

“How long?”

“The … the past year.” Raph chuckles wryly, hanging his head before sneaking a glance at you. “Guess I shoulda said something sooner, huh?”

You laugh. It’s hoarse, but relieved, and you lean forward to bump your head against his plastron. One of his large hands comes up to cup the back of your neck, stroking it idly.

“Do your brothers and April know?”

“Leo figured it out after New Year’s, and I was pretty much done for.” He groans. “It was a nightmare. I thought all the teasing was mostly to make me suffer.”

“Leo and April found me out on Valentine’s Day,” you say.

The two of you stand there in the cold for a little longer, considering.

“I can’t believe it. They played us like a fiddle.”

“They’re all horrible.”

“I’m cold,” you mutter.

Raph chuckles. “Same. Let’s head back. Here’s your cider.”

He presses the thermos into your hands. Wraps his arm around your shoulders after you assure him that you’d like that. You lean against his side as the two of you trek back to the lair together, lifting the apple cider to your lips and taking a sip.

And it tastes red.

[xjumbled-up-brainx]

Holiday Hugo my beloved❤️

Bakin clam cookies :3 🍪 Hugo also doesn’t like to part with his bandana, but Pinto made him that scarf for the holidays so they could match <33

Sled race, Kwazii canonically painted the teeth on the Gup B so he helped with the fly custom decorating😎

No one goes home a loser, but they’ll only cheat if they have to😌

“Listen here Pinto, your brother is very dear to me, but he is a bit of a ninny. SO I’m gonna help you crush all of your little friends instead, and when we win, we’ll all go out for ice cream, ey chap?” :D

[techcat]

Shit I forgot Crag's birthday. He was very very first drawn June 20th 2017

He didn't even have the name.

Scarf+Bandana and nose ridge has been there since the START

He got a bunch of refinements in his first year and a half as I worked with him. Big ones being eye color placement, chin crack, and sharp teeth.

His design is still loose, but more like hitting landmarks than specific structures.

Anyway, happy belated birthday, my decadent bastard.

[rottmnt-hc]

Entering the Bay

Warnings: mentioned kidnapping, mentioned killing, Author's Note in the end

New York had been in relative peace since (out of the shadows) the turtle brothers came into the light.

Though there was still the threat of the Foot Clan and their leader Karai, who's been planning her revenge.

Trying to find the perfect weapons to wield against her enemies, the most powerful.

She found them, in the form of children. More turtles, but different.

She lost the two she took with the most promising outcome, to a creature.

And she hates losing…

========

Far from the crazy assassin lady, were two young teens and their gruff father.

Raphael, named after an angel per his mother's request, stood proudly in his bright red hoodie. A grin on his face as he victoriously carried three bags of McDonald's, each carrying something different. He is a blasian male (all pronouns actually) that has his hair braided in the front only to stop into a puffball at the back of his head, being held by a red scarf. Standing at 6'5, he has a faint scar on his left eye, a tanky exterior and sharp looking teeth.

Walking in the dead of night with his younger brother, to a rooftop

In front carrying a suitcase was Donatello, named after a famous Renaissance artist as per father's request, walking quickly with excitement. Royal Purple hoodie and a sly grin as the two walked towards the Hudson.

Donatello was a blasian kid (they/him) with an afro puff at the back of his head held in place by a pair of custom goggles with a purple bandana. He is 5'5 with a muscular build and deep faint scarring on his back and equally sharp looking teeth.

They were curious about the so called heroes of New York but didn't seek them out, instead the two looked for a way home.

Their true home…a different dimension, their dimension.

"Raph, I'm telling you stargazing isn't going to help anyone with anything." Though the smile on his face was telling.

"Yea, but Barry is going through it and I think we deserve a break, home school is hard man." He took the lead and led his brother to a rooftop.

Once the coast was clear, Raphael summoned his Ninpo and carried the cargo to their roof.

They claimed this rooftop as their own day three of being here, noone disturbed them and they kept to themselves.

Both kids refuse to admit they needed this, their Big Brothers day…which is actually a few months but needed.

Serious talks quickly turned stupid and goofy as the days went on. Learning more about each other since their last BBD.

As Donnie set up his telescope, Raph decided to start the random questioning.

"Okay, if you had to pick, would you rather prank a soap factory or a fireworks factory?"

"What made you think of that? Fireworks, especially before 4th of July, fill all of it with either whipped cream or oil. I both love and hate them. What about you?" 

"Soap, especially that one soap that dries out my hands. Look, I steal all the glitter in New York, and throw it in the soap mix. Everyone gets pranked now."

"You are by far the most evil person I know, glitter? Yep, thank whoever's listening they didn't give you the energy to commit these high acts of crime against humanity. They should've arrested you on the spot."

They laughed faintly noticing a moving shadow but ignoring it as they continued their game, "Ok, ok, how about super powers? What would you pick?"

"Flight."

"Not Strength? Dude you're a muscle guy, I would have never figured flight."

"Okay listen, I might not be able to bench press a bus, but I'd be happy zooming around in the air. What about you? And don't say super smart, you don't need twice that."

"Haha laughing sarcastically, telekinesis so I can do a bunch of things at once…but thanks for saying I'm super smart."

Raph passed his brother his bag of plain burgers and fries (he did make a fuss about the plain and got it plain), "Okay time for the moment of truth, evil villain knows where you live and what your family looks like, what do you do to him after getting him down."

"That's a hard one, on one hand…murder isn't good, on the other hand I'd kill for you. Pros, world's safe, no one else gets hurt, my family is safe…cons, that shit will live with me, might be considered a villain afterwards, still might get my family hurt, they have kids."

"....I didn't say you'd be a hero dumbass."

"Murder. That fucker messed with the wrong family."

Taking a bite out of a burger, Donnie and Raph stared at the in coming stars on the screen in silence.

The shadows behind them got closer, so Raph shifted a bit forward to look at the screen.

He always thought the galaxy looked pretty and grinned, "I think I could rock a dress in those colors." (Do you think we'll have to fight?)

"Really? I mean you could if you had the right cut." (Probably not, we'll have to wait)

"Ooh, so apparently people eat turtles…should I add that to the bucket list?" (They smell like turtle, maybe won't be attacked?)

"I don't know how to respond to that, maybe. Should we head home? I think I got a full scan." (We should leave.)

Raph stood up and started cleaning up their mess while Donnie packed his equipment and decided to walk along the rooftops.

At the corner of his eye he sees a shadow move and decided to play along, his head quickly turned towards the hiding places as a quick scan.

"Phae? What's up?" Donnie sounded monotone to everyone who didn't know him, but he sounded amused.

"Thought I saw something, nevermind I guess. Come on, let's get to populated roads please."

"I don't think you should be going anywhere that way little bros." A voice called out from the shadows.

There was a thump before a soft "ow" followed.

Donnie was the one to answer, "Oh yea? Why not?

"Uh, dangerous people? Kidnapping? Why are you even here alone?"

Raph's face morphed into confusion, "Why, you gonna kidnap us?"

Donnie narrows his eyes, "That's creepy, our kidnappers talking to their victims before kidnapping us. Bro I'm fifteen, I don't need this drama. If I'm getting kidnapped just do it."

"We're not kidnapping you-"

"That's exactly what a kidnapper would say, the suspense is killing me."

A gruff "That's not the only thing gonna kill you-"

"Did you bring an army with you!? And you're skipping the kidnapping!?" Raph managed to keep his voice even enough for it to sound hurt.

"They must know you're a tank, they need friends to take you." Donnie sounded a bit high pitched, he was trying not to laugh.

"ENOUGH!" This new voice has the two flinching and it continued a bit softer, "You kids should head home, and don't come back. Gangs like to appear here."

Raph groans, "We've been coming here for months now, no gangs!"

Though the thought did run through his head, were they being hunted?

Donnie huffed obviously perturbed, "Fine, I think I got what I need. Come on Raph."

"Wait, what's your name!?" It was the lighter voice again that Raph assumed was this world's Michaelangelo.

"The fuck are you asking my name for?" He felt really defensive all of a sudden.

There was silence before they continued, "My name is Michaelangelo, what's your name."

There were hushed scoldings before Raph huffed, "Raphael, yes named after an Angel."

"Donatello, mostly cause dad was an art dweeb." There was a gasp of air before Raph's phone buzzed.

"Dona, we gotta go. Pops is freaking out." Raph said after reading the message.

Donnie gave his brother a look before starting to climb down the building.

They started walking away when they heard a huge thing behind them.

It took everything in both their powers not to move.

A more analyzing voice, being directly behind them, spoke, "You didn't run, why?"

"Honestly, we don't know if you have guns. Besides you just said gangs like to show up here, running will just make them notice us." Donnie sounded confused so Raph picked up

"Also, we are new to New York and I wanna stop by the corner store."

"Really? You took down ten double cheeseburgers and three large fries, how are you still hungry?!"

"How do you know I didn't want something to drink? I mean I am getting some chips but I'm actually pretty thirsty."

Three more large thuds made themselves known, "Dang kid, you play sports?"

"Nope? At least not yet, but I'm kinda going to work my way into working with kids." It was true, Raph was a great assistant teacher when April needed him.

This time Donnie's phone vibrates, Barry's panicked words flashed across the screen.

The two finally turned towards their "stalkers" and did a quick look over.

They were all big and bulky, they probably have Raph beat in height but he's got them all in bulk.

With a grin Raph nods, "I can take you. Most definitely."

The red bandana, Raphael, grinned, "You wanna test that? I will be happy to give you a shot."

The analytical one, Donatello, hit his arm, "Well my name is also Donatello, I'm Michelangelo's older brother. This is my twin Raphael, don't let his appearance fool you, he's a softy."

Raphael gave a growl that sent shivers up Donnie's spine but Raphie stood his ground with narrowed eyes.

The blue mask sighed, "I am Leonardo, the leader of the group. Because my brothers introduced us to total strangers, means we'll be seeing each other again. We'll make sure you make it home."

There was a silent conversation that was missed but nonetheless they kept their word and escorted them home.

Once inside Raph pulled his little brother to the side to huff, "We literally just showed them where we live…should I be worried."

Donnie groaned and shrugged, "Probably, welp, let's face the music."

They entered the apartment to see Baron Draxum in his human form glory, he looked more startled than actual concerned.

With a sigh of relief he hugged them, "Boys, what did I say about texting me whenever you're out."

"Sorry Barry, we didn't mean to worry you."

"We got caught up in the stars, which I think I have enough data for my project!"

The old goat groaned with a smile, "Go wash up, you might be homeschooled but I want to relax this weekend."

The two washed their faces and brushed their teeth and hair.

"You finishing up tonight or tomorrow?" Raph was putting on his pajamas, a large grey t-shirt and bright red shorts, and grabbing his phone from the counter.

"I'll do it tomorrow, tonight was kinda draining. Weird encounter though, honestly I didn't expect it." Donnie was in silk purple pajamas and phone in hand.

The two went into separate rooms to sleep, unknowing the true dangers they'll be in.

A/N: Originally, Big Mama was supposed to be the one in the Bayverse with the boys, but then I would have written her joining Karai for her machine just to get double and triple crosses...

[hoshi-no-pops-05]

idk why, but i always thought that frost man's scarf/the thing that's around his neck was supported to look like teeth.

like it's not teeth, but it has like a teeth pattern, kinda like nabbit's bandana, if that makes sense...

[cherrydrawz]

Thanks! It would be more comfortable for me to send them here tbh

(My gijinka headcanons)

Hollow Heads are pretty different from Full Heads/Stickfigures.

Stickfigures are generally shorter and slimmer, while Hollow Heads are taller (normally they're at least 1,70 when they reach adulthood) and with more visible muscles.

Hollow Heads also have some peculiar characteristics like sharp teeth and long pointed ears (they can emote with them. If they're happy, their ears wriggle. If they're scared, they lower a lot, and if they're angry, they lower halfway! They can also move independently, like one ear up and the other down, or one ear flickering).

They also have some glowy "tattoos" in their bodies that represent their powers (for example, Chosen has black tattoos, Dark has bright red ones, Victim has dark grey ones and Second has neon green ones, even if his are bornally hidden unless he actively uses his powers), and no Hollow Head has the exact same pattern as another.

Occasionally, their hands and feet will fade to the same colour of their tattoos, but it's a rare thing.

There's also some traditions regarding accessories: Hollow Heads always have either a cape, a bandana, a poncho or a scarf, and they have a shared accessory (may it be a necklace, an hair clip, a bracelet or another kind of accessory) between siblings, either biological, adopted or found family (if an Hollow Head gives to somebody a shared accessory it means that they consider them as a sibling).

Gender is also a strange subject for Hollow Heads.

They're created as androgynous, but they can change their own gender at will, and their bodies will automatically change to mirror their gender identity. For example, a Hollow Head that goes by he/him or she/her will have either a masculine or feminine body, one who goes by he/them will have a body that's a bit masculine, one who goes by she/them will have a body a bit feminine, or if the Hollow Head uses they/them they will stay androgynous.

Another strange thing regarding Hollow Heads is how they're made. Normally, Hollows are generated by the creators, who are people outside the Digital World. They can’t bear children via reproduction, but there are two different methods for Hollow Heads to have children: the first method is to simply adopt children of either species.

The second method is used to create biological children, and it’s made by using magic. The method can be used either by couples of any gender or by a single parent, and consists in using their own signature power to create a child, either by merging it with their partner or using a big amount of power if alone.

Every single Hollow Head possesses strong powers, the starkest difference between them and common Stickfigures.

There is no member of the species with equal powers, not even among twins.

The powers are extremely varied and can involve elemental powers, destructive powers, healing magic, or any other type of magic.

did you. did you not say this in the rbs already did you delete it from the post huh. am I hallucinating. Did I not read this like five minutes ago????

I mean cool HCs! But like . I got really scared seeing this like "....DIDNT I ALREADY READ THIS WHATS HAPPENENING" lmao

[zonerobotnik]

Be honest, you've talked down most of the theories I've showed you, saying they are coincidences or meaningless.

Zhan Tiri causing the moonstone and sundrop to fall.

Varian being the son of Zhan Tiri and painting her teeth on his bandana.

Gothel having created artificial magical fire that she kept in her secret lair, maybe in order to destroy everything in case of an emergency.

You always react negative about it.

Why should I act positive towards theories you support.

One, because Zhan Tiri is a GLOATER, and she would absolutely tell them that SHE caused the Sundrop and Moonstone to be formed, especially once she had them caged up. She would use it to support her claim that they were meant to be hers all along, because why wouldn't she? The fact that didn't is proof that she didn't cause it! Two, Varian would have to KNOW she's his mother for him to put her jawline on his scarf that he most likely didn't even make himself, and I pointed out with pictures that it's not even the same mouth! And, again, there's no possible way for her to be his mother unless it's by PROXY, through his HUMAN MOTHER, because she was sealed away and never left it LONG BEFORE HE WAS BORN! BY HER OWN ADMISSION. Three, Gothel didn't create magical fire, she just made that formula that turned fire green! The fire itself was from the fireplace. IF it was magical fire, the fire would've started FROM THE SHELF. Which I debunked WITH PICTURES. There's no point in making "magical fire" that needs other fire to activate! True magical fire recreation would go off THE MOMENT IT LEFT THE BOTTLE. Think about Varian's goo! THAT'S what her artificial magical fire would've done, IF IT WAS ACTUALLY MAGICAL FIRE. All she did was TURN THE FIRE GREEN. I'm not "acting negative" about it, I'm debunking the theories with canon evidence! You're just being a contrarian out of SPITE.

[fluffy-papaya]

wiggles hands. character design!

[ID: A digital drawing lineup of RNJoy, ShadowMech27, VikingPilot, and Legundo all from Dominion SMP. They are all facing the camera in casual poses on a white background. Joy is first in the lineup. She is a woman with fair skin, freckles, dark eyes, and pink hair. She is wearing a shoulderless dark blue dress with a gold belt and golden lining on the hood. The skirt of the dress fades into a much lighter blue, following the fabric motion. Joy is carrying a wooden staff, and is wearing grey trousers and dark brown boots. Shadow is second in the lineup. He is a man with tanned skin that is blacked around the fingers and the partially exposed chest. His face is mostly hidden shadow, with only sharp teeth and a red eye being visible from under a purple hood. Shadow is wearing a purple scarf as a hood, a faint purple shirt, a grey belt, dark pants, and wrappings instead of shoes. The clothes are all subtly ripped and tattered. Viking is next in the line. He is a transparent man with pale skin, blonde hair, and a wide, cheeky grin. He is dressed in goggles and a fluffy coat, both of which are split between light blue and gold. He is also wearing grey pants and snow boots, as well as fingerless gloves. There is a necklace with a bell hanging from his neck. Legundo is last in the line. He is a presumably human man, based off of shape, but his face is entirely hidden by a gold gas mask shaped like a pig’s face. He has tanned skin and dark hair with a white streak. Legundo is wearing a blue bandana around his neck, a dark button up with gold buttons and a symbol over the breast pocket, grey/brown pants with red fabric pieces stitched in, and black buckle up boots. /end ID.]

[divinerulerluvr]

Deal is a Deal

Tate and you decide to try something new sexually.

Pairing - Tate Langdon x Fem!reader

Words - 1.8k

Warnings - Smut, ice play, fingering (fem receiving), slapping, mirror kink (?), internet humiliation, shit like that

Requested by anon: I just want a rough Tate Langdon smut. I just want him to choke me and finger me and then fuck me hard with his hand around throat. I love your writings so much! I hope you are doing well!

Stepping out of the shower, you dry off your skin before wrapping your towel around your body and head into your bedroom.

Tate leans back on your bed, his eyes set on your phone as he scrolls through it. He said he had never owned a phone and you found it odd. It was 2021 and he never had a cellphone?

Ignoring him, you walk over to your dresser and grab out some clothes to put on. “Do girls like rough sex?” he asks randomly, clearly having found your Twitter account. You glance over your shoulder at him, an amused smile on your lips.

“I mean, yeah. I do, at least,” you reply.

“Like, being slapped and choked and shit?” he asks further, shutting off your phone and sitting up in your bed. You chuckle, his questions awfully funny.

“I guess,” you answer. He smiles, humming shortly to himself. “Well then…” he leads off, standing from the bed and walking to where you stand. He grabs your towel and pulls it from your body, leaving you naked. “Let’s try something new,”

You smile, his devilish smirk making you excited already. “Safeword?” you ask first, making sure there was one established. He thinks for a second. “Avalanche?” he replies. You nod. “If I say ‘Avalanche’, you stop immediately,” you say.

“Sounds good to me,” he comments. “Get on the bed,”

Nodding obediently, you get onto your bed. He grabs one of your scarves from your vanity and gets on top of you. He grabs your wrists and ties them together with the scarf before securing them on your headboard.

Stepping back to admire his work, he smirks as he sees you tied up and completely naked. He pulls off his own shirt, revealing his lightly toned body.

“Be right back. Down move,” he adds on condescendingly. He exits the room, leaving you naked and tied to the bed while he did whatever he had left for. After a few moments, Tate returns with a cup and a bandana.

“What’s that for?” you ask, seeing him set the two objects down on your nightstand. From what you say, the cup had nothing in it.

“No talking. You talk, I get to slap you. The same goes with moaning,” he quickly instructs, his newfound dominance taking you by surprise. Using the bandana, he leans over you and lifts your head up.

Staying completely still and silent, you let Tate tie the bandana over your eyes like a blindfold. Now, unable to see anything but darkness, you squirm on the bed.

You hear a shuffling like ice in an empty glass as Tate sits beside you on the bed by your legs. Your entire body jolts when you feel an ice cube being placed on your stomach. “Fuck,” you hiss through your teeth.

Quickly noticing your mess up, he slaps your face with medium force before you could do anything.

Keeping quiet, you bite on your inner cheek. “Better,” Tate comments, pleased with your silence after he had slapped you. He goes back to the ice cube and slowly runs it up your body, the cold stinging your skin.

The small, slowly melting ice cube slowly creeps up to your chest, rolling over your breasts and leaving a cold, wet trail in its wake.

Your breathing picks up, as does your arousal. Tate circles the ice cube around your nipple before moving to the other. “You’re doing such a good job,” he comments lowly, his free hand resting on your thigh so his fingers were teasingly close to your core.

He continues his teasing, your hands balled into fists as you try your hardest to not make any noise. Tate places the mostly melted ice cube in your mouth, allowing you to suck on it as he grabs a fresh ice cube.

This time, he trails the ice cube downwards. Your body tenses as he parts your legs from your thighs, spreading your legs open shamelessly. Tate brings the ice cube down to your thighs, running it in circles on both of your thighs.

After a few more moments of taking joy in how you thrash, Tate moves the ice cube to your cunt. A sharp inhale leaves your lips accidentally, only earning another slap to the same cheek on your face.

The pain sent shockwaves through your body, this slap being harder than the previous one. “No noise,” he says simply.

Trailing the freezing cold and slowly melting ice cube through your pussy, he focuses on rubbing your clit with it. Your body tenses yet again, a signal to Tate that you enjoyed it. After all, you hadn’t said “Avalanche” yet.

He chuckles at your apparent eagerness, more than turned on by how you reacted to the ice cube on your wet pussy. “You want more?” he asks, a subtle patronizing tone in his voice. You nod, still unsure if you should speak.

“You’re gonna have to use your words. I don’t understand pathetic gestures,” Tate teases.

“Yes, I want more,” you speak, glad he was allowing you to speak. But it was apparently a trap, given he slapped you again. This time on the left side of your face instead of the right. Maybe now the pain would be even on both sides.

“Come on, baby,” he says, no longer sitting on the bed. “I expected you to not give into my lies,”

Staying silent this time, he hums in satisfaction. “Better,” he approves. He grabs something else off of the nightstand, enhancing your nerves even more. Being tied up left you defenseless. Unable to protest anything Tate did.

Nothing happened for a few seconds, only making your breathing intensify. After a bit, you heard the sound of a camera shutter clicking.

You immediately knew what he was doing.

After the camera clicked a few more times, he stopped and removed your blindfold. “Now, be a good girl for me. Or…” he trails off, showing you your phone screen. On the screen, a tweet was open ready to be sent.

The tweet consisted of two pictures; both of your naked and tied up body. “I’ll be sending this out,” he finishes his sentence. You look at him, seeing that he wasn’t kidding. “Nod if you understand,”

You nod frantically, swallowing thickly. He smirks, setting your phone down on the nightstand before moving his attention to the scarf that kept your wrists bundled together.

He unties you from the headboard but keeps reties your wrists behind your back this time. He sits on the bed behind you, pulling you into his body so that you were resting with your back flush to his bare chest.

Tate points loosely at the body mirror in front of you guys, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Watch yourself as I touch you,” he instructs, pressing a kiss to your cheek as your eyes meet in the mirror.

Trailing his hand down your body, his hand reaches your pussy. Keeping your eyes on your own reflection in the mirror, you fall back into his body as he runs his finger over your clit.

Your entire body jolts, but you manage to keep silent due to his instruction and ultimatums of slapping you if you misbehave. Without warning, he pushes two fingers into your cunt. Your fingernails dig into your palms, your hands pressed into Tate’s hip as they remained tied.

Subtly, you try and pull your hips back due to the pain of his sudden intrusion. “That little move counts as misbehaving,” he says, his lips grazing your ears as he whispers.

Your eyes jump onto his in the mirror, giving him a brief nod as you returned to your prior position where your hips were relaxed. He starts moving his fingers inside of you, causing you to slam your eyes shut so you wouldn’t moan.

“Open,” he instructs vaguely, his free hand coming up to wrap roughly around your neck. You open your eyes, looking at your disheveled reflection in the mirror.

Moving his fingers quicker, he prods at your g-spot while mixing both a “come here�� motion and moving his fingers in and out of you. You shake in his arms, your head resting on his shoulders as you watch yourself in the mirror.

“Look at you, being so good,” he praises, his dark eyes falling onto yours in the mirror. Your fingers manage to grip the waistband of his pants even if your hands were tied up. He chuckles at the minor movement. “Such a good little slut,”

Tears form in your eyes, unable to handle the pleasure that plowed over you in these intense waves.

You were inches from cumming when Tate slowed his movements. “Did I say you could finish?” he asks, the question clearly rhetorical due to his prior instructions. “No. I didn’t. So that means you don’t,”

With a submissive nod, you relax even further into his arms as his fingers move to your clit. His free hand stays secure around your neck, squeezing the sides with enough force to make your breathing go rugged.

Rubbing circles on your clit, he takes pleasure in the way you thrive pathetically in his arms. He had never done anything quite like this and he enjoyed it. Maybe not as much as doing other things, but it was rather fun.

“You have to ask to cum. So, that means to cum, you have to be slapped,”

Internally, you groan at his words. Continuing to hold out on your orgasm, you try and delay it best you can. That was until he pushed his fingers back into you and used his thumb to continue and rub your clit.

Giving up, you whimper. “Can I cum?” you ask, your voice breaking as you speak. The hand on your neck briefly lets go and slaps you. Hard. “Yes, you may,” Tate replies, his hand returning to choke you.

Your legs quiver as your orgasm ripples over you. “Fuck!” you cry out, only earning you another slap. You didn’t care anymore, though.

Tate fingers you through your orgasm, watching you shake in the mirror with great pleasure. Overstimulated, you wanted nothing more than to get him to leave your hypersensitive cunt alone.

But you still refused to say “Avalanche”.

Panting, you feel his fingers slow down inside of you until he had completely stopped your movement. He watches you in the mirror for a second before moving from behind you.

You lay back on the bed, your eyes meeting him as he stands beside the bed, your phone in his hand. He clicks a button and you heard a ‘swoosh’ sound affect. Tate looks down at your defenseless look and grins.

“Sent,”

“No!” you try and protest, but you were still tied and over all, truly defenseless.

He shrugs, tossing your phone on the dresser carelessly as if it wouldn’t break. “A deal is a deal, baby,”

Taglist:

@just-some-lesbian @evanmybeloved @sallyscigarettes @arsenicbruise @auricgold @billyhxrgrove @liandav @peanutbutter-y-jams @ellamaianderson

[overescapeau]

The new papyrus design looks great! Definitely has a more- papyrusy feeling? That makes no sense but I think you get the idea

Definitely feels a lot more like him! His little bandana is very cute, and clever if it’s still used to hide his teeth, because of the whole “getting confused for his brother” thjng

YES ABSOLUTELY GETTING CONFUSED WITH HIS BROTHER!

It could also be a thing where he is trying to make himself look more “approachable.” Since after accidentally putting that bandana/scarf thing on… I kinda get a sense how he doesn’t like his teeth. Since well- their sharp and scary to him. So they must not be very likable. Even if Sans insists their magnificent choppers :)

[dvnieldraws]

Decided to do a line up of my D&D characters! Some I’ve played and some I haven’t! (left to right: Zúca, glamour bard; Lucas, sun soul monk; Ángel, lore bard, Velwyn, shepherd druid/barbarian; Ezra, divination wizard, and Sombra, shadow sorcerer)

(ID under the cut)

(BEGIN ID: Digital illustration of 6 dungeons and dragons characters, in a line.

Zúca is a thin humanoid with light red skin and with pointed ears with gold earrings. He has dark red hair and light white freckles across his face and hands. They stand in a confident pose with their hands resting across their middle. He’s wearing a black shirt with puffy sleeves, a light yellow scarf, a golden cape with black tassels along the bottom, off white pants, and black heeled boots with gold chains. They look forward with a soft smile on their face.

Lucas is a human with tan brown skin and orange hair that turns yellow at the tips. His face is covered in a black bandana and all you can see is his tired looking eyes. They stand confidently, raising a flask in their right hand which is scarred and bandaged. He’s wearing a orange red poncho with yellow detailing down the right and left sides. His poncho covers a light tan shirt and he’s wearing black pants and light brown boots with silver spurs. They look forward, looking exhausted with bags under their eyes.

Ángel is a human with tan brown skin and has thick brows and dark brown hair that falls over his right side and is in a low bun. He stands turned slightly to the left, with his head turned fully to the left. They hold a white guitar in their arms. He’s wearing a pink charro suit, also known as a mariachi suit, with dark gray detailing and a big bow tie with light gray and light pink stripes. He looks sad, eyes turned slightly down.

Velwyn is a tall broad pink firbolg with long light pink hair that is almost white. They stand with their left hand up to their face, a small blue bird on his finger. His head is turned to the right with his hair half up in a small bun. He’s wearing a tight black sleeveless turtleneck tucked into high-waisted yellow green pants. A dull green cape with fur across the top hangs low on their right, held up by three ropes across their shoulders. They have a soft smile across their face.

Ezra is a thin, light blue tiefling with big ram like horns that are dark blue. They have long gray hair that covers their right eye and the right side of their face. He’s wearing a black cropped, sleeveless turtleneck and black shorts with sheer tights underneath. He has both hands up close to his face, showing off long black nails with three rings on each hand. They have long black glove-like arm coverings that reach almost up to their armpit. Slung across their shoulders is a yellow robe-like covering. He looks at the viewer with a big grin, showing off sharp looking teeth and on his head is a white rat.

Sombra is a young tiefling with purple skin and short choppy white hair that is longer in front and with small straight horns that turn dark purple at the tips. He looks at the viewer with a grin, tongue out, with his right hand up to his forehead, fingers held in an “L” shape meaning “loser”. They’re wearing a big pink shirt with a Hello Kitty design that is a neon green with its eyes looking hollow. They are also wearing a pleated black skirt with small studs along the bottom, pink tulle sticking out of the bottom, fishnet tights underneath, knee-high black platform boots, and black and neon green striped arm warmers. He’s slightly hunched forward and is holding a bright pink can in his left hand.

END ID)

[sh1tbird-shantytown]

wild west au

because @disdaidal mentioned it and i was already thinking of writing one (and yes, i know, indiana wasn’t one of the wild west states. we’re ignoring that though).

Steve flung a knitted scarf at Robin’s head and turned away just as it wrapped around her forehead, “Why don’t I have any clean Long Johns?” he shouted. He continued to dig in the hamper sized wicker basket uselessly all the while Robin laughed.

“It’s your job to do the laundry, Steve. You know how the wrinkles in my fingers freak me out,” she mused. She didn’t have to mention the additional reason being how she lost half their wardrobe in the well the last time he trusted her to complete the task.

He stood up and finger combed his hair back again, “Lend me a pair of your bloomers would you?” he shoved his basket away and returned to trying to crawl under his cot to retrieve his boot from Walter instead. Said cat, Walter, pawed a clawed out hand at his knuckles playfully. He hissed between his teeth the same moment Robin’s laughter grew hysterical.

“Your resort is to wear my undergarments?” she slapped a thigh as she bent to obey the request. “A real brute, you are, Steve Harrington. Wearing ladies bloomers!” After catching a grip on the lip of leather and narrowly missing the bar holding his makeshift mattress up with his head, Steve stood on his feet with red cheeks.

“If you were really a lady, you could’ve helped get laundry done,” Steve muttered to himself. He disregarded her ‘phhs’ sounding scoff and snatched the white fabric from Robin’s clenched grasp and turned around to change. “Remind me why I let you live with me.”

She scoffed through her teeth and he heard her tossing things around in a form of tidying up. “It’s just until I settle down.”

Steve pulled the bloomers up and then his pants, squinting past the almost unnoticeable bumps near the cuffs due to the lacing at the bottom underneath. “Right, because the local ladies are going to look at us and immediately catch on.”

“It’ll happen one day!” Robin’s arms were stretched out to Walter, the black haired cat darning grey streaks of age that they’d found in the library long ago. He sat on the bed with a cocked head just out of reach of her. She sighed at his slowness and let her hands drop back to her hips. Her skirts swayed and the amateurly embroidered flowers at the hem caught Walter’s attention enough for him to leap off of her pillows and down to the uneven wooden floor. Steve buttoned up his shirt and wondered over to the shutters, opening them up before readjusting the cuffs.

As he was about to turn and grab his tie, he caught a glance of a man walking out of the local hardware shop with a familiar redhead as caboose. He stared like a bird, partially leaning out of the window. He flew back wildly when the man looked up suspiciously and nearly caught his eye.

Robin made a shocked noise as he steadied himself roughly against the post of her bed and quickly began gathering his hat, boots, and red bandana. The bandana went securely under his chin and he stumbled for balance on his early morning legs as he pulled his black boots on. The vest hanging on a more hanger by a nail was fought on as he jogged to the drawer he kept his badge and gun in. He got as far as pinning the sheriff badge before he figured his lack of belt.

He looked over his shoulder and glared at Robin, she rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips, “Are you going to help with my temperance speech today?”

Steve groaned and looked towards the sky as though he was pained, “I can’t, Robs. You know how my dad gets.”

She ‘humph’ed, “Grow a pair, Harrington.”

Steve pushed his hat down tighter against his head and shoved his gun through the tight waistband of his dark brown trousers. He ignored her and held his head high until he was three feet out the door of their bought out bunkhouse. It’s where Robin stayed and looked over while he was out. She held herself well, gave rooms to strangers, greeted them politely enough, and wasn’t afraid to pull a gun out and ring the bell for Steve’s service if a bandit came along. She was his best friend and all the older women and men in town loved to think they were a couple.

He marched his way over to the stables behind their house room. Coins jingled in the pouch he always had tied to one of the loops around his pants as he opened the side door. He clicked his tongue for his mustang mare, Sparky’s, attention. Her burgundy neck and chestnut mane flew up and back as she noisily made herself known.

“Good morning,” he chuckled at her antics and grabbed the saddle hanging up. He tossed it over the lip of the fence between them, and then jumped over so he could fasten it to her securely. He sat back, a little out of breath, as she eyed him from one side, thinking. “You ready for the morning patrol, Spar?” he scratched gently down her neck fondly. “Remind me to stop and get you some apples,” he hopped down. She neighed diligently while he whistled and opened the gate so she could make her way out on her own.

He heard distant footsteps as he grabbed hold of the reins of Sparky’s bridle. He stayed looking forward and used his other hand to rest against the handle of his pistol sticking out of his pants. When there was a slow squeak of the hinges of the barn door, he was drawn up and aiming right at…Dustin Henderson. He sighed, relived, and shoved his gun back.

Dustin looked unimpressed, “Buck steal your belt again?”

Steve tugged lightly on Sparky and walked her out, “Yes, Henderson, yes she did,” he shook his head as the boy laughed at him.

“Well, lucky for you,” the boy adjusted his cap from the city and looked towards the sun, “There’s no robberies so far.” Steve used the sleeve of his shirt to remove the sweat from his brow after he’d made it on top of Sparky.

He looked down at Dustin, “What’s up with your tone?”

“Hm?” he didn’t miss Dustin press his lips together to hide his amused grin.

Steve kicked his shoulder, “What are you hiding?”

Dustin frowned and rubbed his arm, grumbling, “You’re a green bellied gator, you know that?”

“Who you calling green, Henderson?” Dustin walked along side Sparky as Steve guided her out around the property and to the slow streets of town.

“Oh,” Dustin sang like a crow, “I don’t know. How about the fact that just yesterday Mrs. Wheeler was eyeing up and gettin’ touchy with Mr. Billy Hargrove and she’s all of a sudden being dreadfully ignored by the post office and Mr. Bobby in the saloon.” Steve didn’t look back down from his sights on the carriage of people with their laundry hampers to go wash in the stream a mile out. He caught Billy and his sister, Max, amidst them. Dustin paused shortly to follow his gaze. “They’re sayin’ that she must have done somethin’ real bad to get on your bad side.”

Steve snorted and tipped his hat down in a respectable greeting towards the carriage as they passed it, “Mrs. Wheeler was out of line towards Mr. Billy Hargrove yesterday. The man was only trying to sell barley while that…well, I won’t use such discriminatory words. But she was disrespectful in the day time hours. She’s twenty years his senior and a married woman.” Steve let the reins be loose and began making thin braids in Sparky’s hair. He flushed when he looked up and caught Billy Hargrove watching him and smirking with a green grass blade sticking out of his mouth. He shuddered and returned his attention to Dustin, “But, anyway, who said I had anything to do with Mrs. Wheeler’s fate at this given time?”

Dustin laughed with his head thrown back, “You’re not fooling no one, Sheriff!”

[arrowflier]

arrow!!!!!! the x-men AU idea! yes, yes, yES. 🙌

Twisha my dear, thank you for giving me an excuse!  This got a little dark (warnings in tags), but it was fun to try.

Spikes and Quills May Do Me Ill (but your hands never hurt me)

“The fuck are you lookin’ at?” the hedgehog boy growled at Ian, and Ian backed away, hands raised.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, then hesitated.

“Well?” the kid pressed, quills perking up in agitation.  “What is it?  Spit it out!”

“Your neck!” Ian blurted out obediently, and immediately closed his eyes with a wince.  He shouldn’t have said that.  He should not have said that.

He waited for the blow to come.  Hedgehog guy was notorious for his short temper, and the only thing Ian was unsure of was whether he’d be getting a fist to the face, or a spike to some other part of his body.

Probably his eyes, since he’d been caught looking.

He just couldn’t help it, though.

Ian had always sort of had his eye on the other boy.  He didn’t even know his name, but he’d seen him around school.  The guy would show up wearing like fifty layers of clothes—long sleeves, cut-off gloves, a hat and scarf no matter the weather—and he always stripped off as soon as he was in the door, shedding clothes like a snake sheds skin, until he was down to a sleeveless tee that showed off all his most unique attributes.

And unique they certainly were.

The first time Ian had seen him, he’d almost thought that they were tattoos.  Some sort of major piece that covered his back, his shoulders, and his neck, carrying down the backs of his arms but fading away from the front, from his chest.  He’d been trying to get a better look at the pattern when some idiot had come up behind the guy and tapped him on the shoulder, resulting a sudden flare of quills that had everyone around them stepping back in alarm.

It was beautiful.

That wasn’t the only beautiful thing about him, but it might be what Ian liked most.  Plenty of other boys had dark hair, or blue eyes, or a muscular stature.  Plenty of other boys walked through the halls like they owned them (even though none of them did).

But there was only one boy in school with all of that and more, only one boy that Ian wanted to touch.  To see if those spikes felt real.

Only one boy who…still wasn’t hitting Ian?

Ian squinted one eye open, then both.  The other boy was just staring at him, lips pursed, eyes narrowed.  He looked angry, but also…curious?  That couldn’t be right.

“The fuck did you say to me?” hedgehog boy asked quietly, the kind of quiet that was dangerous.  The kind before he threw that other kid across the bleachers last year for calling him a mutie to his face.

Ian wondered if that kid had ever regained the full use of his legs.  Or his facial muscles after they got all the quills out.

It had sure been something to see that happen.

But now wasn’t the time to reminisce about watching this fine specimen in front of him picking up some asshole like it was nothing, quills rippling down his muscled arms and back as he tossed him aside like a bag of potatoes.  Not unless he wanted the same thing to happen to him.

Well…

No.  Never mind.

“I said I was looking at your neck,” Ian muttered quietly, torn between answering and self-preservation.  He wasn’t really sure which one won.

“And what,” hedgehog boy hissed, stepping closer, “is wrong with my neck?”

Um.  Was he serious?  Ian had been able to tell from the across the room that something was wrong, even under the flickering hallway lights.  The other boy’s neck was red, and not in the fun, blushing kind of way.  

No, it was red like a bloody bruise.  In fact, now that Ian got a closer look, it actually was bloody—smears of dried blood covering an oddly smooth area that looked wrong next to all the quills spiked up around it.  

It almost looked like he had been plucked.

“What happened?” Ian asked instead of answering the question.  “Did you do that to yourself?”

“No, I didn’t…” the other boy sputtered and paused, clearly caught off guard.  He eyed Ian warily for a moment, but whatever he found in Ian’s eyes must have calmed him, because then he was backing away again, quills smoothing down into his skin.

“What’s it to ya?” he asked, glancing around.  There were only a few other people left in the hallway, most having already made it to class.  

It made Ian weirdly brave.

“I could help,” he offered, and tried not to shrink back when those ice-blue eyes fixed on him again.

“Yeah?”  Hedgehog boy stepped closer again.  “How you gonna do that?”

“I, um.”  Ian paused, swallowed.  Tried again.  “I can heal?”

The boy’s eyes rose.  “That a question, tough guy?”  He sounded incredulous.

Ian shook his head.

“No, I mean, I can,” he confirmed.  He lifted a hand awkwardly, reaching for the other boy, who pulled back out of reach before Ian could touch him.

“I just need to…” Ian trailed off, reaching out again.  With another glance around the hall and a shallow nod from his companion, Ian stepped forward.

He got his hand on that reddened neck, soft under the skin of his fingertips.  After a single breath of hesitation, when he wasn't pushed away, he flattened his palm against it focused.

It started as a warmth under his skin.  Almost soft, not unpleasant, just a brush of heat to tell him it was working.

Then came the pain.

Ian hissed between his teeth at the first sharp feeling, like a pinprick on his own neck.  If he looked, he knew it would be red like the other boy's, a tiny fleck of blood rising to the surface.

"Hey, wait," came that boy's panicked voice.  "What are you--"

"Shh," Ian urged, and pressed his hand tighter to that injured throat.  "This is how it works."

The pain kept coming.  Pull after pull of quills that didn't exist coming free of his skin, each one sharper, more real than the last.

And with one particularly rough pang, the visions started.

Come here, Mickey boy

Fear.  Anger.  Shame.

No son of mine...

Heightened heart rate.  Breath catching. A hand on his shoulder.  Around his throat. Pain.

Get that from your no good mother...

Pain.  Pain.  Tweezers in a gnarled hand, plucking.  Cold eyes, staring.  A girl cowering in the corner, watching, crying.

"Stop!" the boy cried, yanking back out of Ian's hold.  "The fuck are you doing?"

I’ll teach you to...

A door opening, hands dropping.  Metal instrument falling to the floor.  His neck is sore, but his legs burn more as he runs, runs, runs.

He sounded frantic, afraid, but Ian was too far to stop.  There was more healing to do.

He ignored the now raw wound on his own neck and reached out again.  The other boy went to slap him away, but hit his palm instead with his own, and Ian was once again lost in pain, and memories, and feeling.

His neck was healing, now.  But his palm was bleeding, crescent shaped marks from untrimmed nails digging in as he saw his own eyes staring at him across the hall.

Bright green eyes.  Pale skin.  Red hair.  Lips that looked like--

"Get offa me!"

Ian let go, panting, disoriented.  The eyes he gazed into weren't green like his own, but blue and sharp and wide.

"Mickey," Ian breathed, and the boy bolted.

🦔🦔🦔

Ian didn't see Mickey for the next two days.  Not at school, and not around the neighborhood, either.

He wanted to see him.  Wanted to apologize.  It was how his mutation worked, and he wasn't sorry for that--he had to feel something to heal it, take it into himself, live through it.  But he should have warned Mickey of what that meant.

That it meant he would see everything.

Ian was walking home after school, starting to wonder if Mickey would ever show his face again, when they jumped him.

Two older boys and a girl, all wearing anti-mutant propaganda shirts with bandanas over their faces, tugged Ian back into a narrow alley by the straps of his bag and threw him up against the rough brick wall.

"Heard about your little stunt with the Milkovich brat," one of them hissed in his face.  His breath was rank even through the cloth covering his mouth, and Ian tried to twist away.

Another one punched him in the gut, hard enough to make him wheeze.

"Don't you look away while he's talkin to you, mu--"

He was cut off by an arm wrapped around his throat.  An arm covered in bristling, sharp quills.

"You wanna say that again?" Mickey growled behind Ian's attackers, voice low and dangerous.

"Shit!" the third one yelped, and took off running, nearly knocking her own companions over as she ran for the opening of the alley.  Ian fell to the ground as his first attacker followed close after, and rubbed a hand over his ribs.

"Uh, hey there man," warbled the boy Mickey still held up.  "Just a misunderstanding, I swear, we were--"

"Shut the fuck up," Mickey ordered, shaking the arm around the boy’s neck so the longest quills rattled dangerously close to his face.

Ian wondered what he was going to do to him.  And whether he should care.

Mickey looked at him over the other guy’s shoulder.  Whatever he saw in Ian’s eyes had him relaxing his arm, and shoving his prisoner away so hard he stumbled.

“Don’t let me see you again, asshole,” Mickey said to his back, aiming a kick at him on his way to the street.

“What made you come back?” Ian asked from his position on the ground once they were alone.  Mickey turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow.  The quills along his back flared once and settled, calm.

“Why do you think?” he returned, like it was obvious.

Maybe it was.  But Ian needed to hear him say it.

“Thought you were avoiding me,” Ian challenged, and watched Mickey roll his eyes.

“Yeah, well.”  Mickey rubbed a hand over his lip, the quills on the back of it sticking out over his fingers.  “Us muties gotta stick together, right?”

Ian smiled.

And though he’d definitely deny it later, Mickey smiled back.