#marrow tys

[theyellowshirts]

our concert is tonight! remember, the basement of the building with the crimson bird on the front. if you dont know then ask someone who does!

entrance fee is pay what you can. consider bringing in some food, clothes, or medical supplies for anyone who might need them.

gonna be an epic fucking show tonight!!! weve got one hell of a set list for you guys!!! hope everyone has a goddamn blast!

and, just a friendly reminder, if theres any trouble, cooperate with the pigs. i know its not fair, but if you play nice with them theyre less likely to act up. we dont want a repeat of last time.

[thoughts-and-gayers]

HI HELLO!!!!!!!! i think your tys askblog is very very cool. i'm putting this here since it's ooc and idk if that goes on that blog: do you have refs for jay, fate, marrow and maia? (i'm definitely not thinking of drawing them <- lying. i'm obsessed with them and i'm not even hyperfixated on rnm right now)

AGHHHH THANK YOUUUU

im working on making them in gacha but i have some rudimentary picrew designs! the picrews are more about vibes than their specific design but its better than nothing haha

this is marrow ^

this is maia ^

this is fate ^

and this is jay ^

i can NOT believe ive already got people so interested in them, its so exciting!!!

[rwbysketches]

Impressive detail level packed into that Emerald PFP. I dunno if she'd want to *advertise* the 5-fingered discount occupation in a groupchat, but maybe Neo supplements their hauls with game tournament prizes. Also morbidly curious how deep Yang's officer ball headcanons go.

ask in reference to this post

come with me, step into the beautiful world of officer ball OC

[kiigan]

question prompts @uzchis asked: “ did you want to be alone? ” bonus detail: modern verse

ㅤIn all fairness, Suengri's question is a valid one given the state of affairs he just walked into. It's not even the mess of scattered papers and scribbled notes, or the two bass guitars thrown atop one another and thrown on the coffee table in turn, or the empty pot of coffee. No, what amidst this scene silently screams maybe it's best not to interrupt is the way Itachi is sprawled on the couch like he just lost the war for the fate of the universe, quite literally faceplanted into a big, fluffy pillow.

«No, no! Come in!»

ㅤIt comes out muffled, no surprises, which he compensates by waving with a hand and motioning for Suengri to, indeed, approach - rather than turn on his heels and possibly go look for some normal people to spend time with, instead. At his own risk, then. With a final, dramatic groan into that same pillow, Itachi manages the herculean task of pulling himself away and kneels on the couch instead, landing back on his heels as he brushes the locks of dark hair off his face.

«...Writer's block. I promise I'm not insane yet.»

Yet, quite obviously, being the keyword here.

[kaurwreck]

I am so so late with this, but it’s so so important to me to wish you a happy birthday.

you inspire me endlessly, you are such a beautiful soul, I truly believe your planets touch mine in some special ways because of how much I’ve learned just from reading you and then having pleasure to talk to you. I desperately needed to tell you that, so I had to write this, even so belatedly. I hope your new year brings you joy and so much love.

(also need you to know that I’m reading “The Idiot” and thinking of you! people in my book club are not fans of Dostoyevsky and I keep thinking “Magda would get me”)

I hoarded this in my inbox because it was so sweet and lovely to receive. At the risk of becoming your echo, you're so insightful and thoughtful, and your presence is an ongoing reminder to and celebration of engaging more deeply with the emotional loci of characters and people. Either our planets touch or our houses are in conversation, because I also learn so much from you, including to center joy and compassion in how I approach stories.

(What a wonderful impetus to begin reading my copy of The Idiot, but also, how does anyone read Dostoevsky without accidentally inviting him to live in your bones????)

[quirkle2]

I love Marrow's design 🤍🤍🤍 Does Marrow like cooking or have it not been introduced/figured out the concept yet? What does it and Link think of each other? 👀

marrow has only seen the concept of cooking put into practice by observing the yiga from faraway—and because of that, it probably thinks cooking is exclusively used for bananas (smth he doesn't have access to in the depths unless he steals from the yiga themselves). he's familiar with the concept of cooking meat, though he always chars it when he tries. he doesn't cook very often. i'd say the most creative thing he's ever "done" with "food" is him taking a bite out of the giant mushroom trees VGEYAIV

marrow sees link long before link sees marrow. marrow is very good at going about unannounced in the darkness, and link is a bit of a fumbling silly hylian in the same setting, so marrow actually follows link around quite a lot before he's ever even aware it's there. marrow thinks this new creature shaped like the yiga is very interesting. they bring in new light sources that marrow loves and soaks in gladly—this guy has WAY more brightbloom seeds than the yiga ever do, and he sprinkles them around like he's trying to grow a garden

marrow cannot help but feel there is something disturbingly familiar about the guy. he just never quite gets it, even when link finally does.

link actually reads about marrow before he sees it, too. in the book entries the yiga leave about in their camps, link occasionally sees mentions of "The Echo," described as a creature with the face of the very guy they have a mission to kill. mysterious, skittish, sometimes hostile, mostly curious. link thinks maybe it's some creature conjured up by ganon's gloom, despite some of the conspiracy theories written in the yiga entries

the first time link sees marrow is when marrow willingly comes out into the open. link sees a hylian body with animal-like hindlegs and a tail, concerningly visible bones, and a face that, while partially covered by thicker gibdo skin, is instantly recognizable as his own. he keeps it together outwardly. inwardly, he's freaking the fuck out

it's... kind of disturbing, looking at marrow. imagine seeing a clone of yourself, but like,, Really Fucked Up. think of the general vibes of the famous bonding scene between hiccup and toothless—link attempting to befriend this thing that's obviously not made of gloom but a living creature, and marrow having his general jumpy and untrusting nature constantly overshadowed by curiosity. when link moves too quickly at some point, marrow is scuttling into the shadows and not coming back out. link is left wondering

if this thing was just a creature with a random face that he didn't recognize, link wouldn't be nearly as bothered. he'd just think Wow That Was Crazy and go on with his day, since there's Other crazy shit in the depths to look at. but this thing had his face. that's . not something to ignore

link has no idea who to ask about this. he considers interrogating the yiga, but judging by their entries abt "the echo" they're just as clueless. he asks josha about it instead. josha bursts into ramblings about theories and starts flipping through books upon books of notes, asking questions link hadn't even considered and doesn't particularly want the answers to. josha suggests trying to find this creature again, to study him and learn. link shrugs; yeah aight

link catches onto the fact that marrow is attracted to light, so at some point he just tosses a bunch of brightbloom seeds on the ground and sits in the decaying moss, waiting. sure enough, marrow slinks out from the darkness and slowly but surely worms his way to link until they're a few feet apart, staring at each other

link asks marrow who they are, signing and speaking in case it doesn't understand one or the other. marrow tilts its head. okay. so it doesn't understand both

an obstacle to be sure, but it doesn't discourage him. he lets marrow lead the conversation instead—"conversation" being marrow poking at the lanterns of link's miner's set and watching them wobble and dangle around. link sees his clawed fingers in the light. he decides to be very careful about making any sudden movements

over time, their meetings became more casual, and more frequent. there are stretches of time where link doesn't enter the depths bc he's busy on the surface looking for zelda, but when he does come down, marrow is seemingly always nearby, despite the depths being just as big as hyrule itself

link asks marrow at some point if he knows of a zelda, or where she might be. marrow tilts his head again, crunching the glowing petals of a brightbloom seed between his fingers. ok.

later into link's journey, he starts to realize that he often finds marrow Somewhere near the secret spring of revival; if marrow isn't following along behind him after a while of him being down there, he always finds him at that spring instead. this must be his home, given the decorated lightroot nearby that link hasn't had the heart to activate

link looks at his map one day, and sees that the secret spring of revival is directly below the shrine of resurrection. he thinks about that for a long, long time.

[battlevann]

You reckon that Poshe's race is the "wet undead" kind? (like zombies, ghouls, etc.) or the "dry undead" kind? (like mummies, skeletons, etc.). My question, in fact, being: Do you think he would need to mask a smell? Or would he not notice himself? (people would notice something was literally off) Or are they just kind of dusty and smelling like an old closet? 😝 In which case, if he just kind of likes putting smells on nobody would notice?

I do think they are generally pretty dry, they are also v loud, like constantly cracking joints when they move

I thought about the smell question for a bit and have decided that poshe would smell like dry rot and bone marrow thats not completely fresh, but not completely disgusting yet, and dust

like the attic of a taxidermist who left all their stuff behind, i guess? he'd be used to it and wouldn't realize

[shvr]

feeling extra lonely tonight

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 11

part 1, prev part

As fast as Eddie opens his eyes, he shuts them again. Falling back into the slow, deep breaths and constant heartbeats.

Something changed.

Wayne calls the nurse. They check off things on their charts, try to ask Eddie some questions. Like if he can move his hand, try to open his eyes again. Nothing happens. They say something about checking back every few hours.

He’s convinced that they don’t believe him. That they think he fabricated it all out of some hope filled delusion. Not like he’s been waiting here for days. Praying for his boy to wake up. Wishing in some miracle that he’d be able to smile again. All for it to be answered and taken away from him in a blink of his eyes.

But the nurse assures him that they believe him. Explain how most coma patients start to wake up with opening their eyes, moving their hands. How if he shows more movement while Wayne’s here, they’d like to know about it. Will be checking up on him more frequently, and in longer increments to try and document them.

It all sounds too good to be true. Like the last string of hope holding on to dear life. The only thing holding Wayne together. Tying him down so he doesn’t fall down and break.

He needs to get out of here for a while. Take a night for himself.

He drives around, burning gas traveling to an unknown location. Mindlessly following the paths he knows well. Drives past the trailer park three times, almost turning in. Only stopped by the construction signs blocking his path. Ends at the bar he would frequent on his nights off. Would get a beer to cool off after work. Try to forget about life for a while.

Forgetting sounds nice. Loosening the stress that knots in his shoulders. Be able to sleep restfully for a night. Refresh enough to walk back into that hospital room with a full basket of hope. All for it to slowly drain again.

It can’t drain this time.

Instead, Wayne brings himself to a gas station and counts the stray dollars and quarters in his glove box. Has just enough to buy himself a case of beer. Giving himself a limit so he doesn’t spend, or drink more than he can afford.

Sees Harrington and his brown-haired friend walk out of the video store they work at. Closing it up and heading to the diner down the road. Perfectly fine.

No matter how hard Wayne tries, the anger still points in Steve’s direction. For reasons he doesn’t even know anymore. More because it’s easy. They went through the same attack. Steve knows enough about Eddie from that week to have the answer Wayne craved.

But no one tells him anything. Continuously keeps secrets from him without good explanations. Makes this so much harder than it should be. Makes him down beer after beer, wanting to just make any of this easier.

Wayne wakes up the next morning with empty beer cans pressed into his side and a crick in his neck that won’t quit. Cracks his back in a way that just makes it worse. Cleans himself up, tries to wipe away the bags under his eyes. Scrub off the hospital and beer in the shower. Change into slightly cleaner clothes. Cursing himself for using his quarters for beer instead of the laundromat.

He makes his way to the hospital. Eating a shitty stale toaster pastry and hoping it’ll be enough. Knowing his upcoming paycheck will be mostly eaten up by all the other things before him. Walks into the room a little after eleven. A nurse asking Eddie question after question.

Eddie responding to almost every one of them. Opens his eyes when asked, then closes them again. Squeezes the nurse’s hand gently. Turns his head just slightly toward the light.

The hope basket overfills this time.

Dustin comes in the room a little after three. Bookbag thrown over his shoulder, ruffling through to find the book. Shocked still when he sees Eddie opening his eyes.

“He’s awake,” he says in disbelief. Tears starting to form in his eyes.

“Not quite.” Wayne gently corrects. “He still has a long way to go before he can respond, or even register what’s happenin’ around him. His body and mind are racing to get back in sync with each other.”

That’s what the nurses told him earlier. How he’s slowly getting there but isn’t all the way awake again. He’s there, and awake, but not all the way yet. It just all takes time.

“Can he hear me?”

Wayne looks at his boy, watching as his head turns ever so gently toward the two of them. “I think he might, yeah.”

Dustin leans forward, placing his hand over Eddie’s. Watched as his hand tenses at the touch. “Eddie,” his voice breaks. “It’s Dustin. You know, Henderson. I just wanted to say that you’re doing a great job. I hope you get better really soon. I’ve really missed you. And I’m sorry. You should have never been apart of this, I should have never dragged you into it the way I did. I wouldn’t have if I knew you would end up here.”

Wayne wants to know what this all means. What Eddie was dragged into. How this poor kid knew about it enough to drag anyone into anything. How dangerous this all really was.

But it isn’t the right time for these questions. Not for this kid to answer right now. He just sits back and listens to the next chapter of the book. Watches as Eddie responds to it. Is almost brought to tears with each time he opens his eyes to a part he likes. As Dustin stops just to make sure it’s true.

He follows Dustin out when he goes to leave. Sees how he runs up to Steve in the waiting room. Eyes closed and head resting on the wall.

“Steve, Eddie’s starting to wake up,” Dustin shares excitedly.

Steve picks his head off the wall enough for the visible relieved breath to show. “That’s-that’s really good, Dustin.”

He takes a pair of sunglasses out of his jacket pocket and slides them on. His head thunks back on the wall. Almost like he’s hungover. Face lost some color, voice sounding breathless.

“Are you ok?” Dustin asks.

Steve shakes his head gently. “Call your mom, can’t drive home.”

“Shit ok.” Dustin runs off to the nearest payphone. Pulling a few quarters out of his bag and dialing a number.

The brown-haired girl that Wayne should really know the name of comes down the hallway. Immediately knowing that something’s wrong with Steve and rushing over with a bottle of water. Asking him something before scolding about how he’s going to put himself back into a hospital bed.

Wayne’s not so sure this is just a hangover.

“How bad’s the pain?” The girls asks, pouring some of the water onto a tissue and pressing it against Steve’s head.

“Eight,” Steve exhales. Fighting like he’s about to puke.

The girl must realize this too, as she slings one of his arms over her shoulders and basically drags him to the bathrooms.

Wayne’s starting to realize that there’s a lot he doesn’t know. Made harsh judgements that might have not been deserved. He’s starting to realize that he wants to know what happened. To all of them. About all of them. Why this group of people know each other and how it all connects to Eddie.

He just has to start asking the questions.

Next part

tag list, let me know if you want to be added or removed: @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

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@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,

@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

[okartichoke]

(sorry this one doesn’t have too much… busy with other things but wanted to finally get godot out there :])

(he makes fun of phoenix for being bad at flying even tho he literally is incapable of it himself)

link to masterpost

extra notes for why bearded vulture in particular:

- these vultures have a VERY unique diet!! they usually avoid meat, and instead eat bone marrow⁉️ i feel like you can relate this to godot in a few ways… (1) you could call it being “picky” or having “more refined tastes” ,, a godot vulture would 100% be like, “oh… you eat raw meat??? ha,, hahah hmmm, of course you would. *I*, on the other hand, only eat pure bone marrow” and (2) something about ignoring the meat and going just for the bones feels very,, thoughtful? like, not calculated, but purposeful?? idk, i don’t quite know how to explain it,, just vibes…..

- their head feathers look like godots hair !!! lmao

- they have red eyes !!

- i also want to mention that apparently, harming an egyptian vulture was punishable by death in ancient egypt,,,, something something dahlia hawthorne

-i also was happy to be able to include some red on his wings, even despite the poison turning them white

-oh and vultures are big !!! (similar to red kite edgeworth)

bird was originally suggested by @aromanticbride (hope u dont mind the tag) wayy back when,,, ty !! can’t believe it’s taken me so long to sketch this one out.

[admirxation]

彡 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟒𝐭𝐡 - 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐮𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲

♡ 𝐬𝐮𝐦. Floch is obsessed with his ex-girlfriend, the one that should have never got away. (wc: 4.3k)

𝐜𝐰 — afab!reader x yandere!ex-boyfriend!Floch Forster. Dead Dove Do Not Eat (very dark oneshot), 18+ smut mdni, mention of previously established relationship (reader and Floch are exes), kidnapping, non-con and kinda turns into dub-con, obsessive yandere, tying up, groping, nipple play, gunplay (he fucks reader with a gun) -> you've been warned; continue at your own discretion.

You awaken slowly, feeling a cool sweat drag along your brow bone as blurred vision becomes sharpened clarity; your heart drops into the pit of your stomach as you notice the cold surrounding you, that biting chill that seems to seep into your bone marrow as the world felt small, the darkness in the room feeling suffocating as if the walls were slowly tiptoeing into your personal space.

Your wrists ached, feeling a throbbing and tight pain with the coarse road tightly wrapped around you like an animal, cutting into your flesh with every slight movement, a wince echoing the cold walls as you twisted them in hopes you could untie them, but of course, you can’t, they’ve been tightened by someone who knows what they’re doing—like someone who has been practising and planning.

Trying to focus, you blinked, but the room just remained in a shrouded cloud of shadow, illuminated only by a weak, silver light of the moon filtering through a high barred window. You could feel how the dust in the room was almost in thick clouds creeping into your lungs, the scent of dampness on the walls as if the room itself had been left to decay for lifetimes, forgotten by time and the living. You tried to sweep every memory, looking at every detail of what you could see outside the bars, trying to think of where you could be. The only possible answer you could come up to was that you were in a cellar in some abandoned building; you didn’t hear anything outside, not even the sound of a rat or bird, so you had to be somewhere far away from your usual dwellings—whoever put you in here knew what they were doing.

Your heart continued to race with that beating rhythm meeting your eardrums, feeling a weight on your shoulders and chest as the reality of the situation was drawing in; this wasn’t just some nightmare, nightmares make your mind shiver, not your heart. Your eyes just kept their shaky gaze at the unfamiliar room, its decrepit and rotting nature with how the walls seemed so empty, but also seemed like they were growing taller and closer.

As your heart continued to pound at the chamber of your ribcage, a low creaking sound from the far end of the room could be heard, pulling your attention into a snapping neck movement; your pulse quickening as the shadowed figure was looming in over you, its figure detaching itself from ambiguity into familiar likeness was making your blood turn to ice. He steps forward, and your heart lurches in your chest with that sudden recognition of who has seized you.

Floch Forster. Your ex-boyfriend and now captor.

He emerges into the pale light the window only allows, his figure towering above you, with his broad shoulders casting a dark and heavy shadow to take away the only light you could bask in. You noted the mess of his auburn hair, once perhaps kept and handsome in the light of day when you saw him, but now in a messy state with how the moonlight catches the edges like a sharp blade. The look in his eyes was only making this grotesque and rotten room feel more decayed as that smirk that was appearing on his lips sucked all the remaining life out of the room and in your consciousness. They trap you along with the tight ropes bound to your flesh, his gaze is cold and calculating as a predator looks at his prey. Once you might have thought of them as perhaps warm and inviting, how his eyes used to remind you of caramel, not only sending a shiver down your spine and making goosebumps appear in fear's wake.

You swallowed the lump that was formed in your throat, the fast of fear sharp on your tongue the moment your mind helped you reach recognition, only managing to let out a soft and exhausted whisper: “I should have known it would be you…”

Of course, you should have known. Floch and you used to be close, lovers on the brink of a whole new journey as man and wife when you accepted his grand on-one-knee gesture, but the more you kept being with him, noticing how his loyalty—once a trait you admired—was something that was ruining him and you with how you became his possession to keep, not his lover to please. The man would just look at you and he always had to do something, if you were out late by a millisecond he was trying to get in your mind and see if you were plotting something behind him; it became exhausting to love him when he sucked all your character out and left you a walking bag of skin and bones.

He never took the break up well, who does? Whenever people say they broke up on good terms, that’s a load of delusional and mature bullshit people latch onto to believe that of course they were good enough, just not the right time, because no one can ever just admit that the relationship was nothing but utter failure, everyone needs to be the good guy in their own story. But Floch took it further than anyone else could, you name it he did it. Constantly sent letters, waiting at the doorstep with flowers, but one thing he never did was promise to change; in his mind why should he change? Every woman wants a man so loyal they go crazy and only think about them… right?

His lips curled at the edges, a smirk that carried no warmth, only the smug satisfaction of a man who had been planning this moment for far too long.

“Should have known,” he echoed as he mocked your fearful tone as he crossed his arms against his chest, his gaze piercing right through you, “any more theatricals you have planned, sweetheart?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but your voice cracked under the pressure of suppressed terror; your mind running a race with your beating heart wanting to explode out and give you a lucky escape from any torture or suffering he was going to inflict upon you, making every morbid imagination run rampant through your freezing bloodstream.

He had you where he wanted you, cowering for him. His presence oozed arrogance as he crouched down and brought your face level to his, his rough fingertips on your chin as he watched you, up so close like your intimate moments in history; only this time, there’s nothing intimate about this, only fearful as his eyes watched you.

“Should have known you say,” he says softly with a false warmth surrounding you with the voice that used to comfort you, “but you didn’t did you? If you’d known you would have changed the locks to your house now, wouldn’t you?”

Your eyes widened as his words hung in the air like a decaying body on a rope, thick and cloying as the room seemed to grow colder and a phantom feeling tightening around your heart, squeezing and releasing it to make you pant under manipulation.

“What… What do you want?” the question weakly slips past your lips, so pitiful and pathetic; you’re supposed to be a soldier, and now you’re cowering to a man. Oh, how you have hit rock bottom.

“What do I want?” he repeats, having fun with how he had you on puppet strings, eyes raking over your form with possessive hunger that just made your skin crawl. “I want you, silly.” You felt an unbearable crushing of anxiety as he spoke to you like it was a normal day when you two used to sit on the sofa, whispering sweet wantings to one another, one this time, what was once sweet was turned bitter and tainted with the cold invasion against tenderness.

“I’ve always wanted you,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as if he were claiming a priceless piece of art, marking it as his. “I always proved that to you, with how much I gave you and then… You throw it away just because of a little jealousy. I thought people were supposed to try in relationships… but no, you soon gave up.”

“A little jealousy?” you had an outburst of bewilderment, “you’re seriously downplaying—”

“Oh, how I loved not being able to finish a sentence,” he rolled his eyes in sarcasm and soon shut you up with a cold and metallic feeling in your mouth—a gun.

“Great… Now I can finish,” your eyes continued to widen and your body continued to shake as you felt the ending of life right in front of you, “I want you more than anything. We can work everything out… We were such a lovely couple weren’t we, I know you were scared and got cold feet, but I’ll forgive you, I’ll always forgive you, my sweetheart.” When he had finished whatever theatrical he had been cooking up for however long this plan was brewed up for, the gun soon came out of your mouth, your heart feeling like it had stopped and been restarted by a jolt as he pushed it back into his holder.

“You… You’re… You’re sick,” you managed to spurt out, your voice faint and trembling as if only the shell of your previous self was talking to whoever this man was. This wasn’t Floch, this wasn’t the man you had spent years with and built a love story with; you hated whatever time had done with the Floch you fell in love with, all his warmth and comfort now replaced with cold obsession.

He chuckles with a dangerous and arrogant tone lacing at the end of every inhale, filling the room like a rustle of dead leaves in the graveyard. “Sick?” he echoes in a continuation of his mockery and taunting. “If making you mine again is sick then—” he leans in closer with his lips brushing against your ear “—Then I am extremely sick… For you.” When he whispered that last part, you only felt dread trickle down your spinal cord, feeling like your blood had clotted into a icesickle; and god how you were wishing for that sweet escape than whatever mental torture this was.

His words kept twisting in your gut, so cold and venomous masked in your past lover's voice. Your body kept tensing with panic continuously flowing through you and your mind screaming for a way out, but there was no way out. The room was in the middle of nowhere, the ropes were tight enough to keep a beast chained to its master, and his looming presence was never going to leave you.

“Don’t worry,” he says with a threatening softening to his voice, “I’ll take care of you…soon you’ll see things, my way.”

He steps back, retreating into the shadows from which he came, his presence lingering in the air like the stench of decay. You were alone, bound, and utterly powerless, and terror gnawed at you. But even in the loneliness of the voic, you felt him like an omnipresent being. Floch is watching, no matter where he is, you feel his cold stare… He’s always watching.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You got no sleep when you watched as sunlight crept into the room, making all the dust and mildew stains of the wall visible; oh how you were missing the ambiguity faint moonlight gave, reality was much worse to a terrorised mind that had no room to be creative. You felt the ringing in your ears, and the heavy pain in your temples as you watched the door, knowing he would appear any moment.

You heard the plethora of footsteps upstairs and even near the door at times; it made your heart jump every time you heard the click of his boots on the floor approach nearer, making your body tense up to pray he wasn’t going to come again, and he didn’t for the whole night, but years with Floch you knew he likes to build adrenaline and anticipation within you, knowing he would save his second appearance for the morning—when you’re too exhausted fighting sleep to use any logic or remember anything.

For a moment, you just sat there still like a doll, it wasn’t like you had anything else to do but be one with the dull throb of pain anchoring you and trying to lull you into a sleep, not one of comfort, but one that would make your time here go by quicker; if your consciousness wasn’t around, you wouldn’t have to remember the nightmare, what was unknown to you was like a sinister and unknowing present. But that lull was soon brought to a halt when you heard the familiarity of his clicking boots against the hard floor.

It’s him again.

His footsteps were deliberate, the sound sending a spike of dread through your chest as you follow the vibration of sound from above you, then down the side, then in front of the door, hearing the metallic clanking of keys before that bone-chilling creaking was heard again. His tall frame was towing over yours, in his hands carrying a plate with chipped porcelain clinking faintly as he crossed the room toward you.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he says in a voice was is too cheerful for comfort, too saccharine for this decrepit place with a smile that just sends a bone chilling effect through your body. He crouches in front of you, setting the plate carefully on the floor in front of you. Your favourite breakfast, but even if the smell of the food makes your stomach growl and beg, you still feel a mix of uneasy discomfort, not wanting to take it; if he could put you in here, god knows what was in the food.

You stared down at it, your stomach twisting in starvation; you wanted to devour every piece, lick the plate and beg for more, but the logical part that guaranteed your survival every time you ventured out the walls was shouting at you not to eat it.

Floch just watched you with that glint in his eye, expectant. “I brought you breakfast. You should eat. You need your strength.” His voice was soft, almost coaxing, but there was always something lingering underneath the surface when he spoke; something cold and something that made you shiver, turning your insides hard and freezing as ice.

You just looked up at him, hatred bubbling in your chest; you hated how fearful you were of him, but you needed to be afraid, you couldn’t play a hero who could get out of any situation, you needed to find more information. You could tell that—despite the insistent with the gun—he wasn’t going to kill you instantly. Sure, he was capable of hurting you, but he had been planning something, and killing you instantly would be a complete waste of time, but you never know, maybe Floch could have been a time waster.

“Look… I already have you down here, what benefit would it give me to drug your food… I’m just keeping my sweetheart alive.”

With a sudden, sharp, and fluid movement, you lashed your foot out, kicking the plate as hard as you could; watching how the plate skidded across the floor, the food splattering in an arc as the plate flipped and crashed into the far dark corner of the room. All that food was not smeared on the filth of the floor, leaving streaks on the floorboards and it just sat there, making Floch’s face darken in the heavy silence after the plate’s rotation.

His neck spikes toward you, a jagged shadow crossing his face as his jaw tightens, his gaze piercing right through you like a bullet, the creases on his face hardening in its sharp appearance as he looks down on you. But there wasn’t anger, he wasn’t going to lash out at you, no, he would punish you in ways that hurt more than an angry outburst.

“Oh, do you really think that was a smart idea, biting the hand that feeds you?” he asks with a low voice, fury and amusement intermixing with one another in a dance hanging on his elongated syllables. “Rookie mistake.”

You shrunk back instinctively, the rope biting into your wrists as you tried to pull away, but of course, there’s nowhere to go. His face comes closer to yours, and you can make out every detail of his skin, every crease, dark circle, blemish and the intricate clouding streak features on the brown circles of his gaze, feeling his warm breath almost suffocating you. You slightly jumped as you felt his hand caress your cheek, that warmth being familiar, but now it’s tainted; it’s no longer the touch you craved after a long day of training, it’s the touch that will forever live in your nightmares as you watch the intensity in his eyes that much makes your stomach congeal in churning.

“Hm, I guess you just need a push to remember how good we are together,” his voice is unnervingly calm, tension coiling and swirling beneath every single word he uttered. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we all need reminders… You’re so forgetful sometimes anyway,” he let out a breath of amusement as his fingers trailed on your jawline, slowly trailing on your neck and collarbone.

Your whole body was screaming at you. Kick him and make a run for it, don’t let him touch you like this, he’s sick and he’ll pay for everything he’s done or whatever he was planning to keep doing, but you just remain there, stuck and still like a deer in headlights—the solider within you now vanished into a cowering girl.

His hands trail on your collarbone, feeling your soft skin underneath his fingertips again; you watch as his pupils swallow the brown colour of his eyes as he intensely stares at your body, letting his fingers take an invitation written by him and move further to the first button in the line of your shirt.

No, he’s not going to… Is he?

All your fears were coming true as you watched how he unbuttoned your shirt, popping each button with just one hand in skill of dexterity but also his craft of timing; he didn’t rip them off, he slowly calculated the pop through each hole in a way that made you pant every time each button came loose until your shirt was wide open, leaving your bra on show as your chest had a quick rise and fall, making his focal point go straight to your breasts.

“Floch… Please… Don’t do this.” You pathetically whimpered out, your gaze started to go misty-eyed.

“Aw, what’s wrong?” that sinister smile would just keep coming back and all you wanted to do was kick it off of him, but your limbs felt like sandbags that were permanently glued to the floor as if Floch commanded it. “You loved it when I used to touch you… Don’t you remember, sweetheart, you used to do crazy when I… did this.” That last word came out like a serpent’s hiss as his fingers plunged into the barrier of lace, feeling his cold digits rub and smooth over your nipple, feeling as your sensitive bud rose and pointed against his fingertips from that familiar touch your body had grown accustomed to over the years; it would always remember his touch, and it wasn’t listening to the rational inner monologue that was running rampant in your psyche, as you hated and wished every curse to fall upon him in karma’s name. But you just remained there, stiff and still.

“Mm.” You quietly reacted as you felt him tweak your perky nipple, making a coil spring into a knot inside your stomach, feeling a rush of heat upon your cheeks.

“Ah, I see… You do remember how much you loved this… You just want to keep acting like you hate it, okay sweetheart, I’ll let you keep up the act… like I’m the bad guy,” that uneasy chuckle escaped his lips as he watched your shaking and anticipating form.

He gave another pinch to your sensitive bud before moving the cups of your bra down and exposing your bare breasts into the cold bite of the room; a hitch in your breath and fogging out into the atmosphere as you felt his slender fingers around the swell of your breasts, making a mist gloss over your eyes as you felt his hands grab and paw at you in a grope. He didn’t look at you, he looked at your body, and you could see every thought and plan that was running and swirling within his inner monologue; watching as he continued to fondle your doughy breasts as the plush of your skin poked out between the gaps of his fingers.

“You’re still so beautiful.”

As he uttered his terrifying compliments you felt his fingers travel down the sides of your waist, and pull down on your pants, watching your legs twitch at the thought that you could maybe escape from him. All he did was look at how they remained glued to the floor.

“You’re not going to kick me… You’re going to lift up and help me take these off… Because you like it,” his fingers continued to pull down from your waistband, “don’t worry sweetheart, no one’s here to judge you… and I for one am certainly not judging… I want you.”

No words from you were needed as your lower half lifted as you scraped your back upwards on the cold wall, letting him drag your pants down from your thighs, past your knees, then flicked off from your ankles; his cock twitched in his pants as he watched your glistening cunt stare back at him once again, that familiar arousal coursing through his body and making that heart pounding sound ring in his ears as blood flowed to between his legs and hardened against his trousers. But he wasn’t going to give the satisfaction your wet and acing hole was anticipating as he watched your inner thighs shake, no, you still needed to be punished after that little ungrateful stunt you pulled. He smirked as he looked at you through his brow, that metallic sound coming back as you heard his gun being pulled out.

“No… Please, I’m sorry I—”

“Shh, shh, shh… I’m not going to hurt you… just trust me,” he elongated every syllable and kept you hanging on each word as you felt the cold metal run down the valley of your breasts, the muzzle at the end of the barrel grazing over your perky blushed nipple. Floch continued to bite his lip, taking in low breaths of amusement as he smirked at your body’s reaction to the cold metal as it started to run down the middle of your stomach, the phallic muzzle then prodding and pocking at your wet lips.

Floch wasn’t trigger happy, he wasn’t going to physically harm you, but what he loved to do was keep you on edge, having the constant question ‘What if he actually does it?’ keep repeating in that mind which he knew was running rampant with every scenario, self curse and insult against him; but your pretty body was still his to play with as he pushed the barrel of his gun inside of you, making your squirm as your tight walls spasmed against the stiff metal. Your lip trembled as your chest rose and fell in a broken shivering pattern in your pants.

“Oh, you’re so beautiful,” he says to your shuddering body and the way you were taking it so well, your body recoiling as you felt a clouded desire permeate throughout your body, pinching your eyes shut as you felt the cold metal be fucked inside of you.

Pure terror washed over you like a tidal wave, and it took all your strength not to sob, but as the gun kept being pushed in and out, in and out, you felt a tortuous desire bubble up inside of you, arousal ignited as you slick coated the gun as you panted for him. Floch—clearly liking the vulnerable position you were in—croached down further to twirl his tongue over your perked-out nipple, taking deep and warm sucks on your sensitive bud as the gun was still held inside you.

“Mmmph… ahh~” You were just a lazy puddle of sounds as you felt the thrusts of terror inside of you, as Floch drew out pain and pleasure as you arched your back further into his mouth, sucking in a sharp gasp as the entire barrel burries itself further inside of you.

“Can you cum for me, sweetheart?” he whispered before rolling his tongue over your chest again, “I wanna see that tight pussy cum for me… Like you used to.”

He gently nippled and sucked harder, hearing the suctioning noises as your pussy sucked in his gun further, feeling shame for getting wet and almost liking the terror that filled you up; he angled it to hit that post inside of you that he learnt very well, looking up and seeing your eyes roll to the back of your head and filling the echoing room with those moans that just made him cum in his pants, feeling his release as he bit down a bit harder of your chest before your clear released escaped out of you and socked his gun.

“Good girl,” he panted out as he moved away from you, slowly removing the gun and leaving your spent hole to want more, to want him. His fingers collected at the bottom of your chin and gently forced it up to who you know: “Now sweetheart, you will get to feel me again, when you have learned not to bite the hand that feeds you… Understood?”

“Understood.”

“There she is, that’s the girl I love.”

taglist: @wintrrxxo @sleazymac-n-cheesy @localkiss

a/n: FLOCH FORSTER CONTENT FINALLY OUT oh my god I've been lowkey obsessing over this man like ooo I love red heads. and before anyone wants to bitch he's a complex and well written character, I don't like everything he does I like his writing, blah blah blah... also if i here bitching f off you were literally warned before the reading content. I am defo gonna be writing more floch and this may or may not be turned into a full series on ao3 in january.

[theyellowshirts]

It's been forever since I've heard some good music! All the mainstream stuff with Ricks talking about how fucking great they are just pisses me off. For your gig on Friday, I've got this friend who basically lives in a Rick disguise. Is it okay if he comes along? He blends in scarily well with the Ricks, so I get why you guys wouldn't want him there, but he's been really disappointed and hard on himself recently and I think he could really use a break. (full disclosure, he's also been acting kind of... I mean he's still one of us, but it's... you know, it feels like he's had to act less to "get into character." So I totally get if he can't come.) (Absolutely not a council sympathizer though, I mean that's part of the way he's been acting like he is, he's just so pissed off at them. But he's been a little bit... omnidirectional with where he points it, recently.)

as long as your friend behaves himself, hes absolutely welcome! i dont blame him for being pissy, i get snippy with the others sometimes for the same reason.

we've actually got a few rick fans, interestingly. i was a little surprised that there would be any non-mortys who enjoy our message, but it seems like some ricks get screwed over, too. not as screwed over as mortys, but, well, thats a hard bar to clear.

the mainstream shit pisses me off too. theres even rick-dick-sucking punk bands. whats even the fucking point of bootlicker punk music? punk is about rebellion and fighting back against the establishment. i never want to hear any of that "hail ricks" shit ever again in my life.

looking forward to seeing you guys at our show.

[dilutedconfusion]

The Nameless

SoftYandere!Eustass Kid x F!Reader (Part 1) MDNI 18+

CREDITS TO @likeeliterallywtf for requesting this!!! She gave me an amazing request with a detailed description of what she wanted so hopefully I’m doing it justice!!

Summary: Kid sees you for the first time and is stunned. Melting into a cacophony of insistent need to have you. He’s had a rough past with woman before but this felt different. Or at least that was the excuse he was going to use to have you.

Warnings: YANDERE TROPE!!! There is no explicit warnings in this first part but THERE WILL BE. So I would advise not reading this if topics such as mental & physical abuse, blood/gore, and just an overall unhealthy relationship bother you! Of course you can still read this first part if you want just be wary of any of the other chapters.

Word Count: 4.4k

The clawing feeling that Kid felt inside when he first saw you wasn’t something he had expected.

The insistent pumping of his warm blood could be felt like a flame across every inch of his skin. Tying his stomach in knots and melting his marrow as he just stood there like a deer in headlights to watch you from afar. Expecting a glance. Expecting a conversation. Expecting your blood to boil with passion forcing you to run into his arms.

I’m a handsome guy. I’m the future pirate king. I could get any woman I want. But if you impress me enough...then maybe I just want you. This thought dripped like honey on his mind. Enveloping every crevice and stem with just this all-encompassing thought of you.

He could nearly taste you on his tongue. He could nearly feel your hair dance between his fingers. He could nearly see you smiling at him shyly as you spoke to him. A bright red dusted across your cheeks like the slow sweet blossoming of a flower. A flower he wanted to encase in glass and delicately touch whenever the urge hit him.

But just like the glass a wall of space separated the two of you. A gruesome space separating you from the man you’d spend the rest of your life with.

He just couldn’t wait to tell you the good news of his arrival.

“Earth to Kid! What the fuck man? Are you even listening to me right now?”

As if cold water had splashed over his face Kid's body jumped a little as he stood. The muscles in his neck tightened spastically. His eyes were weary and his hands nearly vibrated as he slowly came out of his stupor.

“Yeah..yeah uh what..what were you saying?” It was almost physically painful for Kid to take his eyes off you. To give even Heat an ounce of his attention. The slight sheen of sweat gracing his brow got swept back into his hair as he adjusted his goggles a bit.

“Since you’ve been blanking out everything for the last 10 minutes I’ll tell you what’s happening. We’re going shopping right now. Buying some ingredients before we head home. Look I get it, you hate shopping. But at least help me instead of just standing there.” Heat's voice was aggravated and low. A whisper of words meant to reach Kid's ears whilst trying not to reach others.

Kid didn’t particularly understand why Heat seemed so reserved. It was just a crowd. Just a herd of unmentionables moving through the open market. The sun oppressively beat down on the civilians. Their awkward and wayward gawking at the aforementioned pirates wasn’t something new to Kid. But if he wanted anyone to pay attention to him, to look at him at all, he was hoping it’d be you. Yet his hopes were not being met just yet.

You seemed to be staring out just like him on the other side of the street. Thanks to Kids' tall height he could see you past the bobbing heads walking by. No glaring sunlight or bright colors or the vendor's canopy fluttering above him would steal away his attention. Everything seemed to center on you as if it was where his eyes naturally glided.

Side pressed against the tagged and rough alleyway wall you stood. A thin hood covering the softness of your face in a deep shadow. The rest of your clothes seemed worn. You’re canvas pants shredded in a few places along with a rough patch of what looked like dirt on the calf. They led down right to a pair of shit-kicker boots slightly scuffed in some places. The deep red shawl laced with the hood itself covering up the loose black t-shirt hugging your torso. Though compared to the deep rift of darkness in that alleyway nearly swallowing you up, he could still see you crystal clear.

Maybe she’s just trying to stay in the shade. Beat the heat.

There was a keen look in your eye that fluttered over the passersby’s in the street and vendors at their stands. It was sharp and antagonizing. A slight snarl quirked at your lower lip.

You were looking for something or moreover, you were looking for an opportunity.

A thief are we now?

“KID!” A loud thud of pain erupted onto Kid's shin. Making his jaw get even tighter if that was even humanly possible.

“What the hell man? Don’t fucking kick me!” Kid's cheeks became noticeably flushed. Trying to mask his anger but also trying to appease the shop vendor to think that the two of them were at least partially normal.

Heats hands were still occupied with filling a small crate with supplies. Cans, jars, and a load of nonperishables slowly getting jenga-d in there. His sad-looking eyes not even sparing a glance towards Kid. “Quit being creepy and help me pack this shit up or I’m making you carry everything.”

Those words caught in Kids' ears like a fish on a hook. His lips flattened out into something far more ashamed. “I’m not being creepy. You don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

Heat chewed on the inside of his mouth. Holding himself back from saying something too stupid but glowering at him regardless. “Well I have a pretty good idea what you’re doing and it sure as hell doesn’t involve helping me. But since you wanna just gawk, you’re carrying the crate.”

“No the fuck I’m not”

“Yes the fuck you are.” Heat stare didn’t falter in the slightest. Sure this big red-headed brute was his captain but he was also his friend. A friend that just so happened to be a bit strange at times. Heat knew not to try and change him but he also knew to not let Kids habits get in the way of their work.

“Fine” Kid grumbled while sliding the full crate over towards him. Heat then promptly picked up some bags as they were sitting loosely on the floor. Kid hoisted the crate up easily and held it snugly under his right arm. Following Heat in a slow meandering pace out into the street.

Where is she? His eyes glazed over the spot where you once were. That full figure of yours is now gone from his sight. Heat of course was walking way too damn fast. Already a good bit ahead of him and siphoning through the crowd.

Fucking hell where is she? He made no move to walk faster and just scanned the crowd in utter desperation. Hoping to catch a glimpse of your red hood bounding through the streets.

Heat of course gave a wayward glance back towards Kid. His abnormally tall height made it easy to spot him along with the red hair of course. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, coming to a stop in the middle of the street until Kid met up with him.

“Should I just leave you here? I want to get home man it's hot as hell out here.” Heat's voice rasped out in a solemn whisper. Watching the way Kids eyes seemingly couldn’t maintain eye contact with him. Like the rest of the crowd held the promise of wealth and fame if he just looked hard enough.

Or it held another girl like always.

“I’m...I’m coming. I don’t want to have to hold a stupid crate when I…” Kid trailed off. Rubbing his prosthetic hand through his hair as he wistfully imagined the first conversation he might have with you.

She is going to swoon for me. Look up at me with those pretty eyes just begging to be mine. I have to be perfect. I need to show her what I am. What I can provide.

Heat had waited for Kid to finish his sentence but he never did. The redhead just chewed on his lips and looked off into the distance with a thousand-yard stare.

“God if I knew any better I would think little hearts should be floating around you right now. You gotta control yourself, man. Let’s just get home and then you can come back...and do whatever.” Heat stepped next to Kid's side. Trying to persuade him to keep walking as if he were a child.

“There’s no fucking hearts floating around me. It ain’t like that.” Kid snapped his head towards Heat with a snarl. Taking long board steps forward in a stomping motion to get a move on.

“Yeah? Well if that’s true then water must not be wet huh?.” Heat again gnawed on his cheek like always. His sarcasm was raw but his willingness to say more was seemingly gone.

“Shut up! I just don’t want to leave and then I don’t see her again. What if she’s leaving tonight? What if she doesn't live here?” That very thought made Kid's heart skip. Still trying to take notice of every passerby on the street hoping and praying one of them was you.

“So it is about a girl huh? Knew it. It’s fine if she leaves because what does it matter? You could pull someone else or go to a brothel like the rest of us.” Heat cocked his head up at Kid. A wry smile pulled at his lips, or at least the sort of half smile that his sad face could manage.

“I know that asshole. But I’m allowed to want what I want. Don’t judge me for being particular about the chicks I pick up.” Kid scoffed a bit and looked away from Heat. That smile did little to pick up his mood. He began walking even a bit faster. Urgency on his mind as the heels of his boots clicked against the cobblestone road.

“When have I ever cared about what you do with women, Kid? I literally don’t give a shit unless you start acting weird and not doing what you’re supposed to.” There was a slightly serious tone under the natural wave of relaxation that Heat often held. Kid has been infatuated with a few girls in the past few years. Picking them up just to string them along for a month max before leaving them on some island. It was...a questionable choice in his and some of the other crew mate's minds. Though if he was being honest it particularly annoyed him.

He gets hung up. He gets what he wants. He realizes it is not what he wants. He gets mad at the rest of the world for it. What a fun cycle about to start again. Heat nearly rolled his eyes at his thoughts. Gripping the bag handles a bit tighter as he offhandedly glances up at Kid once more.

“All I did was not help you buy and pack shit? Are you seriously complaining about that?” Kid couldn’t particularly see the logic in why Heat was complaining. To him this was simple. To him, he didn’t remember about those handfuls of girls he’d been maybe halfway committed to. It felt real and full and passionate at the start. But then they break his little heart by being completely different than what he expected.

This girl doesn’t seem like that though. She’ll be different. She’ll be perfect. She needs me. I can feel it.

“I’m complaining because I know how you are. You take things too far sometimes.” Heat mumbled his words a bit. Trying to cautiously weasel around the big elephant in the room that was Kid's love language.

Kid, though emotionally unintelligent as he is, still caught on to how Heat was avoiding specifics. He wanted to know what his crew mate thought of him. He wanted to wear it on his chest and feel the piercing sting it might cause.“Too far as in what?” Rolled off his tongue with an emphasis on the what. Eyeballing Heat as they slowly made their way out of the town. A rural glance between here and the sea upon them.

Heat paused for a moment, biting his lip in thought as he tried to piece together the best way to put it. “You..seriously don’t remember that blonde chick? The one that you...” He couldn’t finish his sentence. Not because what happened particularly bothered him. But Kid…just seemed different in the worst possible way the last time he had one of these so-called partners.

“Oh, you mean that. Whatever. She was pushing me to do it. It was practically her fault. I don’t like getting taken for granted and I don’t like my women looking at anyone else. She was just a fling and I’m fucking regretting it.” Kid once again scoffed. Brushing that whole incident aside like it was just dirt on his shoulder.

It wasn’t just nothing though. I’ve never seen him like that before. Heat's worry continued onto the present day. A day he was hoping wouldn’t be another chance for Kid to sink his teeth into someone.“It didn’t seem like a fling at the time...”

“You don’t know how it was! I’m saying she was worthless from the start and I’m fucking right about that. I didn’t take it too far, I took it exactly where it needed to go.” Defensive as always Kid couldn't see his actions as wrong. Heat knew they weren’t good people and he didn’t expect Kid to be a saint.

But what if he gets worse?

“So...are you planning on being the same with this girl?” The question was simple and didn’t point blame at Kid. He hoped Kid would come up with a resounding no. Saying he would take it slow, maybe test the waters a bit more before diving head first. If not for the girl then at least for his own sanity.

“She was pretty. She seemed interesting and there’s not a single doubt in my mind telling me she wouldn’t love me. I’m allowed to go for things that seem good, so quit being jealous.” The strong air of confidence that Kid held was average. He was confident in each and every single syllable that slipped off his tongue. Heat could tell there was no changing that but sometimes he wished his captain wouldn’t be so...persistent.

“I’m not jealous. Like I said, I literally don’t care what you do, I just don’t want it bothering the rest of the crew.” Heat averted the blame for Kids attitude towards him. Shaking his head dismissively as he walked a bit faster to finally approach their ship lined at the docks.

Heat was never much of a man who needed sexual pleasure to get by but Kid definitely was. So it didn’t make sense why Kid thought he was jealous. But Heat supposed Kid would even turn a scorned eye at Killer if he touched his ‘toys’.

“Well, you sound jealous. So don’t be catching looks when I come home with my woman later.” Kid eyed the few crew mates hanging out on deck. The sun slowly dipping into the watery depths of the evening gave him hope that he would have you soon.

Maybe even before midnight if I’m lucky.

Heat cast an accusatory yet playful smile towards Kid.“What are you going to do? Kidnap her? You’re sounding like a creep Kid.” There was a sense of worry in his voice though he tried to laugh through it regardless. Because it simply had to be a joke or else he wouldn’t be laughing.

I mean he would never do anything like that…would he?

Kid's body instantly paused. Leaving Heat to do a double-take and suddenly stop a bit ahead of him. He turned around towards the redhead with a weary glance. Noticing the piercing gaze that shot through him like a pistol.

Resolutions and ravenous tendencies dripped out of the hellhole that was Kids painted mouth.“I am a creep. I’ll be anything and fucking everything I need to be to get what I deserve. And I deserve her.”

__________

Fuck.

With sprinted exhaustion, each breath became a fiery roar of necessity. Legs close to throbbing from the amount of hits they had taken. A marred bruise turned to blood against your thigh. Each pounding step kept you unbalanced and staggered as you ran as fast as you could.

“Get that fucking thief!”

Shit. There was no time to realize what was happening until someone had slammed a stool down on your thigh. It had sent you toppled over ready to take a few sparse kicks in the spine body before you scurried upwards. Nearly falling face first as you barely managed to climb out of a window and out into the alley.

Now here you were running with a decent amount of money and scraps of food hitting your back. Thudding against your already sore spine you desperately clung to the makeshift tarp you were using as a bag. Your eyes skidded along the road in front of you as you made a sudden and sharp turn into another alleyway. It was slightly more crowded then the last and filled with exactly what you needed.

Perfect. It was a last resort in your mind but you were glad you had thought of it before stealing from that noble's house. You had a way to get into their town connected to the far more poor and dangerous area you were from near the shore.

A water flow system that brought water from the lake down through their city and back into the ocean. Of course, it was guarded on every inch of that huge wall that separated the rich from the degenerates. But you knew how to get in and had for a while now.

The sounds of racing footsteps behind you made your nerves go into overdrive. Hands shaking in a mix of fear and excitement from the rush. You quickly darted into the crowded alleyway. Running behind some large dumpsters you had pushed as a barricade into the middle of the road. Just a small enough slit to let you squeeze through their metal encasings just filled to the brim with rotting food and something a little extra.

Maybe if these dumbasses behind me had a lick of sense they would smell the gas in the air.

There was about a quart of alcohol sprinkled over the perfect kindling that was trash. Along with a very small and homemade piece of dynamite and a half-assed Molotov cocktail just to make it a bit more...well what would you call it?

Eyebrow scorching. Finally, these bastards will look about as ugly as their insides do.

You were quick despite your shaking hands. Picking up the Molotov cocktail you had hidden behind some trash bags. Eyes fluttering down the alley to spot the hoard of angry guards you had roused closing in on you. With quick succession, you threw your bag of goodies a good 20 feet away. Flicking out a lighter tucked into your pocket and walking backward from the men.

A devilish smile couldn’t help but quirk itself at your lips. The darkness that surrounded you now getting filled with the faint spark of light turned that turned into a flame. Butane hitting your senses just so you can breathe it in a bit deeper.

This is going to be satisfying.

You pressed that small flame against the dry rag sticking out of the bottle. Taking no time to throw it as hard as you can directly into the dumpsters.

“BURN IN HELL FUCKERS!” You yelled, a crazed laugh shaking in your chest as you heard the ceremonious crash of glass which of course quickly escalated into huge balls of flames.

The boom that resounded through your stomach and skull was nearly climax-inducing. Your body struggled to fall back as you took in the contrasting flames now filling up the once-dark alleyway with a piercing light. The roofs and windows of the nearby building instantly set on fire. The dumpster now jagged lines of half-melted metal barfing out trash onto the street.

You had shaken your small portion of the world yet again. A small triumph amongst an endless sea of crimes that were your playground.

Their screams took hold of your attention long after you had been staring at those rolling balls of flame. Backing up towards your bag of goodies you listened to the people panic. Trying to find a way to put out the fires the owners of the houses on each side of you called up yet another round of authorities.

Welp, that went accordingly. You walked up to a manhole cover hidden behind a few cardboard boxes you had placed. Picking up the heavy metal with a grunt you slid it over. The men were still trying to see past the dumpsters. Some of them were weaving their way around the buildings to make it to the other side. But you were already two feet underground before they spotted you. Every civilian's eyes were on the fire and every guard just a moment too late.

__________

The walk home was damp and dark. A small cement trail perfect for a brisk stroll. An underwater river that made up the water system of the city to add to the ambiance. A few rats following you along to keep you company.

It was gross and it was dark and it felt like you.

You had been feeding these rather plump rats for a while now. At first, they nearly bit your fingers off but now the little guys couldn’t help but find your light inviting. The small pitter-patter of their feet across the cement and piping brought you comfort despite being alone.

“Here you go you guys.” You mumbled softly. Quickly breaking off little pieces of bread for each rat as they scurried up to your feet. Standing up on their hind legs as their little hands greatly accepted the bread.

It was a ritual at this point. Like paying the toll on a bridge except you were underground and the toll was entirely self-inflicted. Though the rats clearly appreciated it or so you’d like to think. Their black glassy eyes just near a smile and their quiet squeaks a thank you. Letting you scratch their soft tummies before they hurried into the nooks and crannies that were their home.

A home that was akin to yours as soon as you made your way out of these tunnels.

We’re not so different, you and I.

It was a bit difficult getting out of these tunnels because it required nearly getting swept up in a strong current. A smaller cement walkway slanted down towards the river where all lines of water conjoined back together. So you had to tie your bag to your pants. Looping it through your belt and leaning forward as far as you could go without slipping into the water.

The ceiling above was curved and made out of scratchy brick. You’re ass pressed against the wall as you side shuffled towards the light of night. The cool milky sparkles cast upon the rushing water only halfway distracting you from the gross spiderwebs you sometimes ran across.

Eventually, you made your way out. Quiet as a mouse you pressed you’re back to the tall wall separating the towns. Eyeing a forest line off to your right that would ensure nobody would spot you. Of course, the guards up top swung their blinding lamps and guns at anything that got too close. So you had to hide in the shrubbery that lined the walls. Thorns pricking into your skin though you made sure to wear nothing but long selves as you hurried your way towards home.

Thank god that's over with. You slipped into the forest, finding the trail you had carved out to lead you through the darkness. Your home was pressed against an outcropping of rocks. Wood, tarps, and thatch make up the cabin you belong to. One that was made with inexperience but love.

Walking up to the door you let out a little huff of air. Dusting off the dirt on your clothes before grabbing the handle and walking on through. The cabin was dark inside as you started slipping off your boots. Setting the loot bag down on the ground and bending over to unlace your shoes before kicking them off lazily.

Your thigh was of course still hurting like a bitch even if it had stopped bleeding. Your spine basically imprinted with the few kicks they managed to land on you.

A soft sound caught your ears and made you halt. Noticing the small sliver of light coming from underneath the door to your kitchen.

Did I leave that on? No, I always make sure to turn it off. But maybe I didn’t?

Fear struck you like lightning. You’re body halting as if it had been frozen before you forced yourself to move. Carefully craning your neck and pressing your ear to the wall. There were no loud sounds but you could tell there was some faint shuffling. As if someone was walking around in there looting the place.

I’m getting fucking robbed. Nobody knows I live out here! Did someone trail me to my place?

What once was fear became rage. Grinding your teeth unconsciously as you made your way over to the hallway closet. You tried to stay as quiet as possible. Clicking the door open and grabbing out a stolen rifle. Pressing the hilt of it into your armpit you got yourself ready. Aiming it steady as you cautiously walked up to the door. You gave yourself a second to breathe and wipe your sweaty hands on your pants before quickly opening the door. Letting it slam across the wall as you peered into the lit kitchen.

Eyebrows knitted as you found a nearly 7-foot-tall man at your stove. His wide back turned to you before he swiftly turned around, a big smile on his rosy face.

“Ah, glad you’re home dear. I’m making you something.” His voice was smooth and warm. The light rasp of his throat and the soft light of a lamp cast across his imposing figure. His amber eyes looked up and down between your confused face and the gun in your hands.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” Growled out of you. Hands steady as you pointed the gun right at his head. Not daring to take a step closer from the doorway.

With a grunt, he pressed his lower back up against the counter and crossed his hands over his wide chest. The corners of his smile turning more sarcastic around its edges. “Making you dinner that’s what. Though I personally don’t think rifles and pasta mix. But whatever makes my doll happy.”

A/N: So basically Kid is weird as hell. A walking talking red flag if you will. Dude just stared at y/n and was like “Yep…she literally needs me”. AFTER LITERALLY NOT SAYING SINGLE WORD TO HER. JUST DELUSION. Hope you like him like this 💞

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

will you write a fanfic about hunter from the bad batch and a female character who is maybe a nurse in pabu involving falling in love? Love love love your work

thanks so much for your patience, nonny! I hope you like this one <3

Nervous Love

Summary: You're nervous about telling Hunter how you feel; turns out, so is he.

Warnings: this isn't 18+ but my blog is so minors scram as usual; can be read as f!reader but I wrote it as gn; medic!reader, anxiety, fluff, confessions, post-season 3

Word Count: ~1.9k

A/N: apparently the muse likes Hunter right now. that, and I hacked my brain by changing the document font to Courier. Dividers by me, @/saradika, and @/dystopicjumpsuit

Falling in love with Hunter was the easy part. Telling him is proving to be far more difficult than you anticipated.

The rhythmic, ceaseless crashing of waves against the shore counts out the hours of your life on Pabu. Lungs full of brine and fresh-baked bread and bacta, you pass your days in your small clinic. You’re one of a handful of refugees on the island with any real medical training; between the younglings’ usual bumps and bruises, and the more complicated injuries that come from fishing for the islanders’ meals, or building new abodes, or just generally existing in the galaxy, you and your fellow doctors keep busy. Busy, but not overwhelmed. Not like you had been on the ship fleeing your home.

Pushing away the unwelcome dark cloud of memories, you glance out the small window of the medical exam room. Between patients, you’ve taken to inventorying the supplies at your disposal, making notes on your comlink about what you need to restock, what’s missing, what could work better. It keeps you occupied, at least.

Because if you’re not occupied or busy, your thoughts turn to him.

Not that you’re complaining. Not really. Hunter saturates your thoughts, soaks into your marrow and makes a home there. In the short few months that he and his siblings have finally found peace on Pabu, you’ve grown quite close to him. No, the reason you want to avoid thinking about the handsome eldest brother isn’t for any bad reason; it’s because thinking of him requires thinking about telling him how you feel, how you truly feel. And that, more than anything, sets off flurries of anxious butterflies in your stomach. You’ve never loved anyone before—not like this. Part of that newness scares you. 

As if summoned by your not-thoughts, there comes a familiar knock on your exam room door, a simple ascending pattern that no one else could know. Hot and cold rush through you in equal measures. Goosebumps prickle along your skin. 

“It’s open,” you call.

You keep your back to the door as you finish cataloging the small bin of medical supplies. Yet you don’t need to see Hunter for your body to respond to his presence. You’d know him anywhere. He carries with him the faintest scent of aftershave and carbon residue; every nerve in your body aligns to him like a compass pointing north. 

“Cyare.” 

His husky voice sends a shiver zipping up your spine. Despite your anxiety, the smile that spreads over your face feels natural and as easy as breathing.

“Hunter,” you sigh. 

Turning, you find his gray eyes already watching you. His hair’s started to grow out a little, and unless he cuts it soon, he’ll need to start tying it back. Today’s bandana is a deep cerulean that accentuates the glow of his skin and throws his skull tattoo into sharp relief. Part of you wants to tease him for abandoning his signature red; part of you wants to capture a holo of him in every color bandana he owns, each one better than the last.

One skeletal hand reaches for you. A furrow creases between his brows. “What’s wrong?” 

Blinking at him, you take his hand. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

If being nervous about telling your boyfriend you love him qualifies as ‘something wrong,’ then you’re a droid.

Hunter doesn’t seem satisfied, however. His palm is warm against yours, and he threads your fingers together, but his frown continues to tug on his features. In contrast, your smile widens at the additional contact. 

“You feel...off,” he murmurs. His gaze searches your expression as if he can find the details of your woes in the lines of your face. “Heart rate is elevated. You haven’t been nervous like this since our third date, cyare.” 

“Was there a question in there?” you ask. You should know better by now than to think you could hide everything from him. Doesn’t mean you won’t keep trying.

He gives you an aggrieved look. “No. Will you answer honestly if I ask?”

“Maybe,” you respond after a moment. Even you can feel how your heartbeat skips a beat or three, uncertain where he’s going with this. “Depends on the question.” 

Shaking his head, he sighs. “Very funny. You’re off in an hour. Would you meet me at our beach?”

‘Your’ beach probably is the same beach as many other lovers on this isolated island, but you’ve never seen anyone else there at the same time. Tucked away by a line of cave-pocked cliffs on the eastern side of the island, the powdery sand and warm water is where you and Hunter shared many of your firsts. First date, first kiss, first time.

“Of course.” Stepping closer, you nudge his nose with yours. His heady musk fills your head. “If I ask a question, will you answer honestly?”

The smug little smirk that tugs at his lips makes your thighs press together. “Maybe. Depends on the question.” 

Rolling your eyes, you lean more of your weight against him, bringing your faces ever closer. “What should I wear?”

“You could show up in these scrubs and it’d make no difference to me.”

“I’m not getting sand in my scrubs again.” 

“Then wear whatever makes you happy, cyare.” 

He finally closes the gap between you. Mouths slanting together, you both sigh into the kiss. It’s familiar, this give and take. Kissing Hunter makes your entire world come to a standstill, just for him. When his arm slides around your waist to pull you impossibly closer, you hum low in your throat, heat beginning to swirl through your veins. 

“Hunter,” you warn, though there’s no real heat behind it. “I have a patient in five.”

“Mm, alright.” He pulls back, but doesn’t go very far. Cradling your face in both hands, his thumbs stroke slow arcs over your cheekbones. “I’ll see you at our beach.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the galaxy,” you say. Pecking his lips one more time, you reluctantly step out of his embrace to begin packing away your inventory project before your last patient of the day arrives. The anticipation of experiencing whatever it is he has planned at your beach makes the appointment go quickly.

Just over an hour later, changed into fresh, comfortable clothes, you wind your way down the final few walkways to the eastern part of the island. On the opposite shore, the sunset paints the sky a vivid orange, the ocean turned to liquid gold. But here, in the gathering darkness, you can’t help but beam up at the stars twinkling into existence above the horizon. The warm ocean breeze dances across your skin and invites you to play. Toeing out of your shoes as soon as you reach the beach proper, you dig your feet into the sand with a long, relaxed sigh. 

You never expected to find a home quite like Pabu. Nor a partner quite like Hunter. But you can’t imagine life without either, now.

That same anxiety from earlier, about how to tell Hunter your feelings, returns, but it’s muted here. It’s almost like the island itself is trying to lull you into a state of calmness, trying to help you believe that love isn’t something to be feared.

You hope the island is right.

Bringing your gaze back down to Pabu firma, a delighted gasp gets drowned out in the rushing of the waves. Spread out on a dark blanket, lit by a few small electric lamps wired to flicker like fickle candles, reclines Hunter. Like you, he seems to have changed into far more comfortable clothes: loose-fitting cotton pants and flowy white shirt that gives just the slightest peek of his inked-in sternum. As you approach, he looks up with a smile.

“Mesh’la,” he says, just loud enough for your ears before the wind snatches the compliment away.

Lowering yourself onto the blanket, your teeth catch at your bottom lip. Hunter pushes up to sit cross-legged in front of you. In the low, unsteady light, sea salt and sand rimed along his ankles, he looks so... different from the soldier you first encountered all those months ago. Slowly, Pabu has changed Hunter. He’s gained necessary weight; the bags under his eyes aren’t quite so deep anymore. And you can feel how living here has changed you, too: no longer living just for yourself, just to see another day, but living for someone else, too. Someone else’s happiness. The realization makes your throat tighten with unexpected tears. 

“Why’d you bring me here, Hunter?” you whisper.

He scoots closer. Your knees touch, warmth spreading through your body at those two points of contact. His gaze cuts away, over your shoulder, but you don’t follow it. He’s not looking at anything, not seeing anything, but searching nonetheless. Worry twists your stomach.

He ignores your question in favor of asking one himself. “If I ask you another question, mesh’la, will you be honest again?” 

Heart thudding in your throat, you nod.

Those eyes you adore so much drift back to yours. “If- If I were to say that I love you, what would you say?”

Lashes fluttering, your lips part in surprise. Shocked into paying closer attention, you realize belatedly that the skin around his eyes is tight with anxiety, and that he holds himself straight-backed and stiff. He’s been just as worried about this as you have.

“I’d say that I love you too,” you answer. Even with his enhanced senses, he must struggle to hear you over the waves crashing just a few dozen feet away. “I’d say that I’ve loved you for a long time.”

He swallows. “I’d say I’ve loved you since you first smiled at me. Maybe I didn’t know it then, but my heart did. I’d say I asked you to come here, because telling you how I feel anywhere else would feel wrong.”

Warmth tingles in your fingertips. Shuffling closer, you lean forward just enough to cup his cheek in one hand, your other seeking out his touch. Though his eyes seem to have trouble remaining on yours, you wait patiently for him to meet your gaze again.

“Is that what you’re saying right now, Hunter?” You don’t dare speak any louder now. No one’s around, but you don’t want this to find any ears except his. 

“Yes,” he gasps out. 

Clambering into his lap a little clumsily, you wrap yourself around him in a tight hug. You bury your face into the crook of his neck and inhale his scent, inhale everything he is and make space for this new part of him he’s shared with you. It fits into the same space you’ve just given him.

“I love you,” you whisper against his heated skin.

“I love you,” he rumbles against your ear. 

A shiver cascades over your body that has nothing to do with the way the ocean breeze has begun to cool off with the disappearance of the sun. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” he repeats, stronger this time. “With everything I am. With everything I ever will be.”

And as his admission settles into your bones and integrates into your DNA, for the life of you, you can’t figure out why you were so nervous about this.

Ragu list: to be added or removed, go here! if you've got a strike through your name, I can't tag you.

@dystopicjumpsuit @littlemissmanga @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar

@sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat

@deejadabbles @starqueensthings @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator

@sleepycreativewriter @bobaprint @dickarchivist @a-single-tulip

@thorsterstrudle @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @cw80831

@mssbridgerton @isaidonyourknees @dreamie411 @jedi-hawkins

@dangraccoon @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl @zenrobbins0021

[kiigan]

non-verbal meme prompts

@uzchis requested: [ manicure ] sender paints receiver’s nails

«I'm tempted to fire our current style artist and hire you, instead.»

ㅤAnd imagine the scandal - headlines all over the press about legal charges regarding nepotism and underage labor in one of the most renowned bands. The cheeky smile curving Itachi's lips speaks volumes of how this is no more than a joke, of course, but, at the same time, it also does not erase the sincerity of his praise. Every time Suen takes care of his nails, he feels as though carrying a tiny masterpiece on each finger. And it's been like this ever since the days of his nephew being a delightful little toddler painting all over the uncle's hands with crayons and markers.

ㅤStill, there's multi-tasking to be done, because said band won't manage itself. There's ever a bottomless pit of emails to read and answer, meetings to schedule, materials to buy and stock, expenses to track and account for. With one hand resting on Suen's hold for now, the other is deftly running over the laptop's keyboard. Which does not prevent Itachi from glancing aside curiously.

«What color are you thinking of?»

[rwac96]

(ask, original stud werewolf) she won't tell them his identity, but would harriet describe to aces ops how her experience with the werewolf was?

(Part I / Part II)

Harriet: "--and he spread me wide with his knot, tying us together--."

Marrow: *disgusted* "Stop! Stop! Please stop talking about it!"

Elm: "And you talked trash about me and Vine's lovemaking."

Vine: *clears his throat* "Um, Elm, not around company, please."

Clover: *grimaced* "Oookaaay, TMI, Harriet."

Winter: *deadpan* "Let's all agree we keep this...disgusting development...between us."