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ms0milk · 7 months ago

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pitch in a teapot

sanemi x inn keeper

reader has a business to run and sanemi can't help but watch you do it well, barking orders, teaching firmly, smiling and scurrying around like a fancy little bell. There's something he's been trying to get out of you all afternoon but chores keep stealing you away. cw MDNI, frustrated thunderstorm quickie, reader w vagina + penetration, slight manhandling, desperation and a little bit of sass. 4.1k

thank you so much my darling @neiptune for requesting a little sanemi this @ficsforgaza season! you were so generous and patient waiting for this to come out, I hope you enjoy angel

Six bowls of soup upstairs and an old man somewhere in the bowels of the inn with a limp and half a shoe. Right, okay, send two girls to the garden– no. One to the garden and one to the kitchen. That’s dinner taken care of as long as the scholar with the fat pony– donkey, maybe– doesn’t regurgitate an encore of the rakugo performance that couldn’t have been funny in the first place.

You roll the sleeves of your apron slightly tighter in their tasuki. The cyprus walls of your inn bleed fragrance before summer thunderstorms so you make a mental note too, to order storm doors for the second floor before the clouds go black and blue. Incensed breeze, juniper, wisteria, paper windows, one foot, the next, again, each step down the wooden hallway is a quiet knock. Each summer at home is heavier, heavier, and this year is the flood.

“Oi.”

“Not my name,” you blow from the corner of your mouth without changing pace. That breath was ready to jump off your lip before the demon slayer even called out to you; he hates doing nothing and hates even more what great pains your staff take to avoid his room.

“It reeks.”

“Excuse me?” You huff and this time do turn enough to interrogate him via glare. Sanemi, ridiculous, folds his arms in the doorway of a very nice room, a too nice room, without any of the appropriate embarrassment of someone who has been lying in wait. The stippled blue pattern of his robes doesn’t suit him. They clash with his ugly scars and uglier attitude but don't keep him from wearing the chest wide open like a well paid rent boy.

“Stinks.”

“Whatever of, princess?”

He growls and drops his arms as you brace for the lecture, “Demons.”

His heart is incapable of peace and yours with it, and every summer he’s assigned a post in your mountains by a master you’ve never met and who couldn’t possibly be sane themself. Four years of this. Four years of twelve weeks of sixteen-hour-days of the world’s most neurotic demon slayer.

“The whole property is wide open for any fuck to attack.”

You adjust your grip on a slender bucket handle and the cloth in your other arm and continue back downhall, “You always say that.”

“I’m always right,” he nags and pushes free of his bedroom.

You met Sanemi when you were sixteen and still working under your parents. He was a brand new hashira then and prone to fist fights, spitfire, bloodshed. Nothing special. Nothing new. Hashira come and die and new hashira come again. They arrive in flashbangs and ego and leave like everyone else, in pieces.

Your parents were calm, they had peace and practice, they ran this inn, they welcomed Sanemi with his summer floods. They loved him, took his counsel and died by it, and they probably wouldn’t have lost an old man inside the house. But this is your inn now. They aren’t here anymore and at your inn sometimes old men get misplaced.

“And what would you like me to do about all that, sir?”

The hashira keeps an easy military pace behind you, “The gardens need to be reinforced and–”

“Nine acres of wisteria arbor need reinforcement? Yeah I’ll get right on that.”

“The storm will take out ha–!”

“And the other half will hold until autumn. Go berate the kitchen staff for their unpreparedness– they’re all unarmed you know? Totally unprofessional.”

“Y/n–”

“Shinazugawa,” you spin and it all comes out as a threat, a hiss, instead of just a whisper so much so that the water in your bucket nips up your sleeve. “I am the lady of this establishment and you will not address me so familiarly.”

Dark cyprus, cool hallways, the undeniable scent of thunder. Sanemi rests his hand on his sword to glare like he does when his hands don’t quite know what to do with themselves. His eyes roam, quiet under long lilly lashes until they have traced the shapes your tasuki makes with your waist and rise again to your gaze. “We’re not fucking finished.”

“Go eat,” you snap and turn back down the hallway, red at the ears. Lady of the establishment, great job.

Feet aren’t complicated, bone to tendon, tendon to muscle, muscle to skin, one step and another. You tilt your head back and an eager girl rises to wipe sweat from your temple.

“Like this,” you hum and tilt the old man’s heel in your palm. He winces but lets you continue while the girl stares on. “When the skin is split like this it can’t receive moisture– sorry sir, better?” You set his foot on the hammock of cloth between your thighs, “So you need to soak it first before applying salve. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” the girl parrots, still unable to look away.

“Yes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smile through an eye roll but gesture for her to come sit beside you. You’ve been like this since he’s met you, too old for your body.

You’ll train anyone who asks, hire any runaway girl, absorb the cost of thieves when runaways are exactly that, and you will wash old men’s feet before eating dinner with the self preservation of a samurai. Famously long-lived, those. Sanemi has to look away when you take scissors to the gnarled yellow nails and almost covers his ears when your pupil starts asking you questions about it.

“Feels good right?” You chuckle at the man’s response to your ministrations, and then a little louder, when you realize just how seriously the girl beside you is trying to focus. Birdsong. “Do you have companions on your pilgrimage, sir?” He shakes his head.

You lean away again so the girl can dab your brow and push back stray hairs and turn back to explain overdetailed care instructions to this man who is obviously so embarrassed he can’t hear a word you’re saying. Something about tallow and socks, Sanemi tries to read the syllables off your lips and loses focus the second time your teeth catch damp and pillowed pink.

The man seated in front of you grumbles some and flexes a few fingers around his cane like old men do, but doesn’t protest your instructions. He nods instead of thanking you like a real tough guy.

“Fetch a new pair of sandals from the garden shed,” you instruct your girl who bolts up and out the door past Sanemi without so much as a breath. “And you,” you turn back to your patient, “keep the nails short, you hear?”

He nods again, increasingly avoidant of eye contact. Sanemi tenses in the dark outside the guest’s complimentary room and hates ungrateful fucks enough for both of you.

“And don’t skip any more meals.”

The man’s wrinkled skin unfolds at his eyes and he pulls his legs back underneath him. You dry your hands after scrubbing clean in a soapy pot and stand to collect your tools. “I couldn’t find you this evening and I hate to lose track of my guests at mealtime.”

You are going to feed every stray you find until the economy collapses. Peasant monks, pickpockets– you’d put up a demon if its stomach growled. After too many unnoticed minutes watching you, following the white x between your patterned shoulders, eating your voice, warming the hallway, you finally pick out Sanemi’s eyes in the dark behind the sliding door. He’s waiting for you. You clear your throat for the broke old pilgrim one last time, “You don’t owe any money. Do not skip meals.” And bid him a wordless good night. The door cracks shut behind you. It isn’t late enough for sunset. Thunderstorms make it so dark so quickly and they mask the scent of blood with all their rain and iron. “What is it?” You deadpan and shuffle towards the stairs with all the confidence in the world a tenured hashira will work to keep up with you.

“Not fucking finishied with you,” Sanemi grunts, working to keep up with you. The apron over your service kimono forces your hips to sway in tight little circles and Sanemi sucks his teeth. He doesn’t look away.

Through the hallway and down the servant stairs, socks on polished wood, you tap, tap, tap nimbly to your next assignment. The room below radiates heat and life. “What do you want?” you whisper.

“I–” he slips barefoot on the slick last step into the kitchen and you stumble in your newly damp right sock. “Euh, I–”

“Mimiko!”

“Lady?”

“Wet.” You point behind you, palming Sanemi out of the way, and a free washerwoman dives for the spot with the rag tucked into her belt. The kitchen rages silently in the easternmost corner of the mansion; men and women sweat over donabe, rinse their body weights in rice, and beat little fires with littler fans. Two women and a boy linger just outside the paper door in clothes that match yours for formality and Sanemi assumes as he weaves through the bustle, that they are responsible for bringing food to customers and for doing everything they can not to sweat through their pretty borrowed uniforms. Your own kimono is purple tonight, a cool little shape bobbing nimbly between flames.

Sanemi opens his mouth to shout after you and shuts it again just as quickly to grind his teeth instead as you lift your apron over your head. You let a girl feed you a spoonful of something on your way out of the room and she wiggles when you nod several times before ducking through the door.

Laundry next, then a double check of the firewood cache and the whole while Sanemi occupies your shadow. A few times you hiss over your shoulder at him for looking so gruff, for looking like a bodyguard, for making your customers imagine your distrust of them, always you bite back before he can get more than a few words out but mostly you just scurry in preparation for the storm picking up warm wind outside.

You avoid the entrance with him so close in tow, armed and obstinate, but make a show of circling both tatami halls where guests come after dinner on rainy nights to stretch and smoke by the brazier with strangers. A female musician trills her koto. The sky hasn’t let loose a single drop of rain yet but wet hangs like a fog and thunder scents the air ahead of its arrival. As Sanemi trails the outer walkway of the mansion behind you, the sky bleeds with the last of day’s light in the cracks between bruised and racing storm clouds.

“Second floor secure?” You confirm with the men slotting thick panels into grooves where paper doors usually go. They nod in their white uniforms. Beyond the porches, beyond the east garden and its fat green vegetables, beyond dogwood trees and sarusuberi and maples that have begun to tremble violently in winds buffeted by humidity and nightfall, the wisteria arbor glows. You radiate a cool purple pull beside him just like your flowers.

The arbor surrounds the property on all sides for half a mile and all three paths away from the house are barred by gates of twisting wisteria vine. The inn belongs to your family, but does not serve Ubuyashiki. Theirs is not the only house that discovered a use for these flowers. Yours is not the only wisteria business in the country.

“Do you see that?” You murmur at so much the same tone as the wind that Sanemi almost cannot hear you.

Three years ago he left before the end of summer, called away to investigate a massacre nearby. A tree fell that season. It crushed a straight path through the edge of the mountain forest and onto your property where, lured by so much blood and wine, a pair of sister demons descended through the broken orchard and devoured everyone who wasn’t fast enough to hide in the flowers like the slayer suggested they should in an emergency. Your parents evacuated the house and died in it with the guests who couldn’t walk on their own. Nestled under three braided vines at the far edge of the property, you listened to them die.

The winds kick up sand from your vegetable garden and you step off the porch into the start of the storm. Tiny and purple. “Y/n!” Sanemi lunges for you. His sword whips the meat of his thigh and you step out of his way before he can grab any part he intended to. The men on the porch watch you both scramble through the backyard. You snap at the strange guest and duck when he swings a hand towards you, hop in your sandals when he tries to trip you into his arms and dart away like a dragonfly.

“Get back here!”

“Go inside!”

“Y/n!”

“How dare you!”

“Motherfucking, Y/n!”

“That’s enough!” You bark and twist back towards the garden shed. Your pupil left the door wide open and all its shining tools caught your eye across the yard. Sanemi was staring when you stepped outside. His eyes feel like beads of sweat on the few bare parts of you. His gaze is all teeth on the back of your neck.

With all but one storm door up, not a single guest can hear the ruckus you two kick up outside in the prologue of the storm. “It’s about to pour!”

“Then go join the other guests!” You shout through a particularly violent breeze and you have to grip to the break in your kimono closed. He does not. By the time you lay a winded hand on the wall of the shed, it has started to rain.

A silencing wall of water falls from the back of the property straight towards you. It kills dust clouds in its path and paints every surface soaked in a perfectly straight line. Sanemi rushes from behind and nearly lifts you off your feet to get inside the shed as you watch the supernatural army advance on your home.

“Shit,” he grumbles and winces when the rain overcomes the little shed and splashes off the pavement into his face. He pulls you deeper inside and you jolt. The first crack of thunder is a scream that shakes the ground, “Scared of thunder now?”

“Scared of my profit margins, you oaf.”

Under his shoulder you are glaring at the storm between this shitty stuffy shed and your business. You are so small and wrapped so tightly in layer after layer of fabric. It must be hot. The damp drips down his open chest and thighs, it frizzes his hair at his ears. You must be sweating somewhere in that formal getup. Wet glistens at the curled little hairs on the back of your neck where the skin is just barely visible and it sparkles under your high collar.

“I can’t walk back inside soaked,” you groan, “there’s not enough time to change before final rounds.”

Sanemi takes his hand off his sword. There must be damp parts of you hiding from him. He brushes his knuckle up the bare skin of your neck, across your throat, and you falter slightly.

“Sanemi–”

“Nuh uh, don’t address me so familiarly,” he smirks and cups your cheek in his big hand when you jerk around.

“That’s not–!”

“Not what?” He smiles now, and drops his hand back to his sword so that you might find your own weapon and finish the fight. Four years of this.

You shove a finger into his chest, “You’re such a clingy fuck Shinazugawa,” and shout a little because you know the thunder will hide it. A sudden gust blows the sheet of rain sideways and straight inside the open door of the garden shed, up your dress and down his robes and through your prettily pinned hair. “Y/n this, y/n that, I’m busy Sanemi, I’m stuck in a shed! You’re the only one who calls me and people think we’re fucking! You want my attention you have it so please tell me all about the demons that’re gonna slurp up my customers and fuck my taxes to shit and–”

The door creaks in Sanemi’s hands even through the oceanic sounds of storm when he begins to close it. He nods as you get louder, nods as he slides the door closed and flicks the latch.

“Do not,” you growl, “there’s five thousand–”

“Five thousand little bitches in there lost without direction? They’re fine, Y/n.”

“Don’t call me that here.”

“They’ll survive, little lady.”

You spit, “not better.” And the new humidity of the closed shed begins to swallow you whole. It fills your throat. “What about all the demons you’ve been crying about?”

“You’re such a cocky cuss.”

“And you’re needy,” you taunt. It’s Sanemi’s turn to wince and his frustration starts to drip from all those places he shoves it away from you. He's been gentle with you since that summer. He lets you interrupt him, he follows where you go. “I watched you check perimeters this morning, you don’t need to talk to me about demons.”

“Eyes everywhere huh?” His throat is pink, “Lady of the house.”

You grin and pull him by the loops of his robe into your tiny purple kiss, “Shut up.”

“M’lady,” he growls against your lips and succumbs.

Four years of stolen touches, lips on damp summer skin, coming out of empty rooms too ruffled and pulling the hashira between your legs without disturbing the folds of your work kimono. “Don’t call me that either,” your breath hisses against his throat like an iron and he drops his sword quickly to gather you in his arms.

Too much fabric. Shovels and shears clatter against the floor and one another when the thunder shakes their little house again, and they tremble at every thump and roll of your body against Sanemi’s. He pulls your hips against his and guides your legs around his waist so he can sink into those soft parts of you. So he can tilt his head back to look up at you, so you can pour your kisses down his throat like wine.

You drag your nails up the back of his head when he offers his tongue to your lips, biting, suckling, drawing out gentle sounds and eating them before they compete with the rain outside. Where his hips dig into your own the folds of your skirt fall apart. Legs that glisten with sweat and rain part nicely for him and his own robes grow clingy with exertion where he grinds hard against you. Every subtle roll breaks your concentration in kisses, in lips sliding, begging with salvia and rainwater. His hands cup your cheeks, thighs, the collar of your kimono shudders open for him when he dips to suck bruises under your jaw and the swordsman’s hand loses control as he grips your belt to free you from all this formality. He’ll press crescents into your breasts, he’ll lower his tongue through your peach sweet folds and drink until you cry– but you pull his head back with a sharp yank of your wrist.

Your breath comes in clouds. The inn glows with candlelight across the yard but the light through the shed’s window is too weak. Welts of lighting illuminate the flush of your chest and cheeks. Two seconds of bright and twelve of dark warmth, shaking swirling thunder and then only rain. Sweat rolls from your temples and into the depths of your kimono. It’s been days since he’s had you like this and longer since you’ve had true privacy, others a whole yard away.

You can’t be gone long, he knows. Staff watched you race in here together, watched him shut the door, he knows he knows, he just can’t put you down yet. He leans in for another kiss and you let him fall close enough for his chest to crush yours before pulling back on his hair again.

“Y/n,” he’s suddenly not above begging but you hold his gaze tight. You watch him as your hand slips between the place your bodies meet. Pretty fingers reach for the heat between his legs. Pretty knuckles ghost over the swell of his robes and draw the fabric aside instead of ordering he bring you back inside. Sanemi’s cock perks up in free air as high as this position will let it and rests heavy under the swell of your ass.

He kisses you again, toothy and smiling and when you kiss him back your sharpest teeth clink together. He ruts into your desperation against the wall, harder than the rain, harder than the wind that threatens to blow your shed away and you with it. Obviously he wouldn’t let it but the thought that nature might be jealous of the rumple you made of each other drives him harder against you. Slipping, cock hard and suddenly shifted up against the hair under your belly. Peach fuzz yields to warm slick and Sanemi drops his head to your chest when he shudders to avoid whimpering into your mouth. He slips through your folds with a tight hold still under your thighs and drags himself up, down, up, hypnotized always by the faces you make when you’re trying to keep quiet.

The scars across his body are forever numb, but when your clammy hands paw is his chest he swears he can smell color. He can touch light when you pull his face back to yours frantically, when your hips with all their fabric flowing off of them buck sloppily against his, when he thrusts once deeply inside of you and forces a broken gasp from the back of your throat.

Before you can catch your breath your lips have crashed against his and his hips against yours. Sanemi keeps the relentless, restless, starving pace you like and knows he’ll last only the next few minutes before the worst of the storm blows over. Again and again he carves a palace for himself inside of you. You guide him with the falter of your kisses when he finds that perfect spot and with the slick that coats both of your thighs. Your voice escapes you in choked whimpers, his name comes out in hiccups. You’re a little bell in his arms folded in half and singing for him.

Again and again, out and so deep back inside, Sanemi’s feet grip the floor as he plunges his hips into yours and both of your bodies into the swelling wood walls. His rhythm staggers as you flutter around him and with his head against your shoulder he watches the circles you draw on your clit with the tips of four clumsy fingers as your other hand muffles your voice. He grabs that quieting wrist without thinking and without taking his eyes off the place your bodies connect with lewd squelches and sticky white threads. His threatening grip, his thick cock and your fingers push you right over the lip of your pleasure and fluttering becomes milking spasms quicker than Sanemi can think to treat you gently. That half-sobbing voice he loves so much cheers him towards his own climax and the more sensitive you grow the easier it is to coax those sounds out of you that you try to keep hidden, “Don’t– don’t be so quiet.”

“Inside,” you whisper in reply and draw his face into your hands as his pounding stutters in pace and loses all flow completely under your dreamy gazes. Sanemi can’t keep his eyes open when he cums. His pretty lilly lashes flutter with lost concentration. He shudders, ruts you deeper into the wall and groans with release as he fills those swollen wet parts of you. Warmth pools in your belly and trickles off his cock still buried. Sweat falls like the rain outside.

“Wanna taste,” Sanemi rumbles without setting you down or stilling his thrusts fully. He nuzzles somehow farther into the dip of your collarbones. Soft snow white hair, a heartbeat in the fingers that grip you. Every twitch of his hips is a starving ache.

“C'mon,” you grin, “dinner’ll get cold.”

“Let me taste you.”

“Sanemi, what will I eat if you eat me?”

“Have a few ideas,” he smiles back through the trembling of the shed in encores of thunder and gale. A leak tip tap tip taps nearby. Four years of this, maybe more.

#love this guy #think he gets whipped easily #ego free whipping he doesnt even struggle with it #total tunnel vision #sanemi x reader #ficsforgaza #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader

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spatialwave · 1 month ago

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V's All That

Chapter 2 || The Invite

➥ Summary: Jayce Talis, the school's golden boy and a guaranteed pick for Prom King, seems to have it all—looks, charm, and popularity. However, when Kino presents him with the opportunity to win back Mel, his ex-girlfriend and the one who got away, Jayce jumps at the chance. The challenge? To transform Viktor, a snarky outcast who is as far from popular as possible, into Prom King instead. Jayce takes the bait, but he may have taken on more than he can handle. ➥ Word Count: 3.8k ➥ Pairing: Jayce Talis x Viktor || Arcane

🧡 beta'd by @spxllcxstxr 🩷 art by @wapimostosis 🧡 available on ao3

<- part 1. | part 3. ->

“You need to stop showing up uninvited,” Caitlyn’s voice rang clearly in her bedroom, sharp blue eyes analyzing the dozens of homework pages on her perfectly tidied desk. Her hair was tied back into a tight pony, a sign of concentration from the girl who’d spent much of her time reaching academic heights. Ready to tackle her upcoming senior year.

Jayce was sprawled out on the floor next to her bed, his back against the hard, wooden surface, his hazel eyes staring up at the stark white ceiling. He was lost in his thoughts, the day replaying through his head over and over again as he refused to answer Caitlyn.

His thoughts were rudely interrupted by a pink-haired girl who stepped over him and stared down with a playful expression of faux sympathy.

“I think he’s broken, Cupcake,” Vi murmured, cocking her head to the side and holding the football between her fingers just above Jayce’s face. She had it briefly before dropping it, letting the ball fall from her fingers.

He reacted almost instantaneously, swatting it away as it plummeted to his face, eyes narrowing at her in disbelief.

“What are you even doing here?” He grumbled, a frown creasing his forehead.

“Leave my girlfriend alone,” Caitlyn sighed in exasperation, spinning on her rolling chair to face them, her expression offering clear signs of annoyance. Not only was there a mountain of notes to be studied before the end of the day, but having Jayce and Vi around always led to unnecessary distractions. At least it was nice to know they got long—for the most part. “You didn’t come here to sulk, so spit it out. What did Mel do?”

Vi snickered under her breath, stepping over Jayce and collapsing onto Caitlyn’s bed, head hanging off the edge and powder blue eyes fixating on the boy on the floor. Reeking of sadness and desperation.

“Mel didn’t do anything,” Jayce lamented, dragging his hands over his face. Caitlyn cringed at his dramatics. I miss her, but that’s not the problem… God, I really miss her.”

“I can’t believe she dumped your ass. You really fucked that up,” Vi howled out a laugh, the sound vibrant, but was quickly shut up by a warning glare from Caitlyn.

“You’re so funny, Vi. It’s actually incredible. You should consider a career in comedy with all the jokes you have under your belt.” Jayce spat, though there was no real anger behind his words. Slowly, he sat up so he could instead hang his head between his bent knees. It was a pathetic sight that left both girls staring, knowing they had to at least try to mend the poor guy’s obvious broken heart.

Vi let out a quiet grumble, annoyed that she was dragged into the mess Jayce had served them on a silver platter. Since Mel broke up with him a couple of weeks prior, she’d been finding it difficult to find alone time with her girlfriend, but it was hard to blame the poor guy.

Heartbreak was tough, she knew that after a few rough patches with Caitlyn during their past year together. She shed plenty of tears, gave herself a butchered haircut that had just grown out, and spent one too many nights being consoled by Powder while they watched ‘80s romcoms and ate their weight in ice cream and junk food.

Caitlyn, now completely turned around in her seat and staring at Jayce, let out a sigh as she let her stress of the day release so she could focus her remaining energy on him. “What’s the problem?”

Jayce didn’t respond, sulking, his head still hanging pathetically between his knees. There was no response for a moment, silence filling the air until he asked in a quiet voice, “Is it hard to be my friend?”

Caitlyn and Vi exchanged confused glances, unsure of what Jayce was about to spring on them.

“A little–”

“No,” Cait interjected, lifting a finger at Vi and stopping her mid-sentence without even looking in her direction. She focused her attention entirely on Jayce, someone she considered a big brother after years and years of being stuck together at the hip. She knew him better than anyone; despite his flair for the dramatic and occasional immaturity, he had a big heart. For him to feel this way made it hard for her not to sympathize. “Why do you ask? I find it hard to believe someone wouldn’t want to be your friend.”

Sadly, he peered up, eyes shifting between the two girls. “You have no idea, Sprout.”

“Seriously? Mr. Golden Boy is having a hard time making friends. I call bullshit,” Vi said, rolling over so her chin rested on her crossed arms as she stared at Jayce. As a girl from the ‘wrong side of the tracks’ it was hard to feel for the guy who had everything handed to him.

If Viktor was anything like her, he would be rather bitter about some of the school's wealthier and more popular kids. He wanted nothing to do with Jayce.

“Again, why are you here?” Jayce snapped, glaring daggers at Vi.

“Oh my god, this conversation is going in circles. Jayce,” Caitlyn clapped her hands together, grabbing his attention and forcing him to look in her direction, “What’s going on? You have to be transparent, or we can’t help you.”

Jayce scrunched his nose, his mind reeling at how to explain the situation, fearing judgment from them. They didn’t have to know about the bet, did they? Was it really that important of a detail to disclose?

Shifting to face them both while still sitting on the floor, he groaned and shook his head, “It’s Viktor.”

Both girls stared at him with puzzled expressions, the name ringing a bell in one of them.

“I don’t—”

“Viktor? Really? That dude Powder hangs out with?” Vi spoke up, raising an eyebrow.

Jayce’s eyes shot towards Vi again, “You know him?”

With a shake of her head, Vi replied, “Hardly. I know they get together to play that weird board game in our basement once a week. The one where it’s like—” She snapped her fingers a few times, trying to recall the information, “They fight dragons and roleplay. Real nerd shit. Mylo and Claggor join in sometimes.”

“Dungeons and Dragons?” Jayce clarified.

The pink-haired girl briefly narrowed her eyes at Jayce, a small smirk forming on her lips, “Didn’t peg you as the kind of guy to play that sorta’ thing.”

“I don’t play,” he scoffed, cheeks warm from embarrassment with a pink colour dusting over his tanned skin.

“Jayce, don’t get me wrong,” Caitlyn chimed in, “but why on earth are you trying to befriend him? He’s not really…”

“His kind of friend. I’m calling more bullshit.” Vi murmured.

“Christ, fine. Let me explain before you jump to any conclusions,” Jayce explained, hands moving with his words. “He’s in my chemistry class, and I tried to ask him for some help today, and he brushed me off like I was nothing more than shit on his shoe. I don’t get it! What’s so bad about helping someone out with some homework? What have I ever done to him?”

Vi raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, but what have you done for him? He’s not entitled to help you for no reason.”

“Don’t you have a 3.9 GPA, Jayce? Why are you even asking for help?” Caitlyn added, trying to wrap her head around the situation.

“That doesn’t matter,” Jayce brushed her off, running his hands through his perfectly styled hair as frustration consumed him once more. “I never ask for help. Can you just tell me how to get him to help me without judging me?”

Vi stared at the poor guy, huffing a quiet sigh as she sat on the bed, legs dangling off the side. While he buried his face in his hands again, she glanced at Caitlyn. She offered a sympathetic shrug, and Cait nodded, slowly slinking away from her chair until she was on the floor in front of Jayce.

Her delicate hands extended out, fingers with neatly manicured nails wrapped around his wrists as she pulled his hands away from his face.

Jayce was forced to look into her eyes, cheeks flaring bright with embarrassment. He wasn’t keen on asking for help, his pride often getting in the way, especially from someone he considered his younger sister. He was supposed to be the role model here!

“Can I give you some advice?” She asked gently, pulling her hands away to rest in her lap.

“Yeah. I could use anything at this point.” Jayce mumbled, at a loss for motivation as his eyes dropped to his hands that fidgeted together.

Caitlyn took a few short moments to consider her wording carefully. She had never taken advice-giving so lightly, especially with a passionate man like Jayce, who could take things personally. He was rather impressionable.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get out of this, Jayce, and it’s not my place to ask if you don’t want to share, but you could try to put at least some effort into this. Vi’s right, there’s no reason for Viktor to help someone who… well, someone who doesn’t give him the time of day otherwise.” Her voice was gentle, but the words still cut deep for Jayce. A realization he needed but hadn’t been prepared for, shattering the assumptions he carried.

“Goddamnit,” he groaned, trying to fight the small smile growing on his lips despite his frustrations, “I hate that you’re always right.”

“Me too, man,” Vi said from her spot, raising her hands defensively when Caitlyn snapped her gaze to her, “Don’t look at me like that, babe. He said it first!”

Jayce let out a genuine laugh as he watched the two bicker, a rhythm in their relationship that he sorely missed in his own life. Mel was back on his mind again, and she hadn’t really left, had she? Yet, while he lay in bed later that night, he found someone else taking over his thoughts as he tried to sleep: Viktor.

The conversation from earlier that afternoon replayed in his mind like a broken record, the sound of Viktor’s annoyed voice clear as day: “I don’t want to help you.”

It made him cringe, his stomach churning and twisting as he imagined trying to talk to him again the next day, wondering how he would move past his poor attempt at conversation. He hated how invested he had become in this bet and how he had lied to Caitlyn about the actualities of this, hopefully, soon-to-be-friendship. He never lied to her.

To make matters worse, she was right; Jayce had absolutely no justification to ask for help from Viktor. He was already accepted into several prestigious colleges and was the fourth highest in their graduating class for grades. Where was Viktor on that list? Would Jayce even learn anything from him?

It was easy to fall into the repetition of insecure thoughts, a pattern of negative thinking he thought he had left behind long ago.

Groaning, Jayce rolled over to reach toward his nightstand, his fingers fumbling until they grasped at his portable disk walkman. In the dark, he pressed the play button, wrapping headphones over his ears as the foam earpieces blocked out the distant sounds of cars driving through the suburbs.

Instead, the familiar sounds of Simple Plan filled his mind and allowed him to drift off to a deep sleep—disturbed only by the loud blaring of his alarm clock at six a.m.

“Well, isn’t it the Prince of Piltover,” Kino’s voice rumbled loudly, catching Jayce’s attention as he walked through the halls confidently. There were only a few minutes left of their lunch break, and he’d been trying to figure out where Viktor would be lingering—no time like the present to attempt a second introduction. It was now or never.

The last person he wanted to see was Kino.

“Hey, man,” Jayce said, watching as his friend caught up to his pace, the crowds of students splitting open as they walked through like royalty. Girls gawking at them unashamed, and young freshman boys taking mental notes of how to be like them one day.

“You been avoiding me?” Kino asked teasingly, smirking as he nudged Jayce’s side with a sharp elbow.

“That obvious?” He teased in return, flashing a smile at the other as they turned the corner. It seemed that God worked in mysterious ways, and those ways were handing Viktor to Jayce at the worst possible times.

“Oh, shit,” Kino snickered, stopping in his footsteps in tandem with Jayce. His eyes focused on his friend, noting the nervous expression that flitted across his features, “You still haven’t talked to him since yesterday, huh? Dude, at this rate, it’s going to be prom night before he even says hi back to you.”

“Shut up, Kino,” Jayce hissed, brushing him off with a dismissive wave of his hand, “Can you just… fuck off for a second?”

Kino snorted a forced laugh, covering up the anger that swirled within him, “Yeah, whatever, man. Good luck.”

Jayce hadn’t paid any attention to Kino after that; instead, he paused in the hallway and stared at Viktor like a deer in headlights—unable to draw his gaze away, even if he wanted to. He watched as the tired-looking student stood at his locker, his cane put aside momentarily as he rummaged through his belongings and switched textbooks for afternoon classes.

When Viktor finally closed his locker with a sharp move, he nearly let out a yelp at the figure standing right next to him—wearing a toothy grin and leaning against the lockers much too casually for someone who had pissed him off the day before.

Viktor’s jaw clenched involuntarily, and he reached for his cane, his thin fingers wrapping around the wooden handle as he stared at Jayce with an uninterested and annoyed glare. “Haven’t I already told you no? Is that not an answer you like?”

Yikes. That was harsh.

Jayce let out a nervous chuckle, keeping himself calm and collected at the onslaught of Viktor’s obvious disdain for his presence. “I’m sorry. Yesterday, I came off a little strong, I realize that now.”

Viktor eased for a moment, hating the way Jayce’s laugh made his stomach flutter, shoving that feeling far, far down before it affected him any further. He couldn’t lie; an apology was a nice gesture, but it was far from enough to change his mind.

“The answer is still no,” he grumbled, a single hand tightening the lock of his locker, preparing to leave Jayce behind like he had yesterday.

“That’s fine, I totally get it,” Jayce replied coolly, but his heart was beating hard, and his hands were getting sweaty again. Trying desperately to figure out where he could pivot this conversation, “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

There it was—a gesture that worked wonders on Mel anytime they argued. It usually resulted in a bouquet of flowers and a night together, but he was certain that this bait for Viktor would go a very different route.

Viktor’s eyes narrowed slightly, golden hues sparkling in curiosity. He ignored the looks of passing students, the chatter of them whispering the same thing to each other again and again: ‘Why was Viktor suddenly so interesting?’

Jayce mastered the art of ignoring everyone around him, but it was for good reasons. His ego clearly loved the attention but knew how to give someone his full attention when needed. He wasn’t a total asshole.

“Anything at all?” He urged, that stupid smile on his lips making Viktor want to say yes, but he’d be damned if he’d let himself get caught up in whatever Jayce was aiming for. Jayce may not have paid attention to him, but Viktor had a knack for observing the world around him and would not admit the number of times he’d stared at the Golden Boy himself from a careful distance—usually from the back of the class.

He noted how academics came so easily to Jayce, how he would silently cheer to himself whenever he got an A-plus, or how he looked defeated whenever his performance was less than perfection.

“Jayce,” Viktor sighed, and oh, he hated how much he enjoyed the way his name rolled off of his tongue, “I really don’t think—”

“Viktor—oh! Hi, Jayce.”

Two sets of eyes looked to Viktor's other side as another student approached them, the same girl with rounded glasses that Jayce hadn’t been able to name. Once more, his mind was filled with a flurry of names, none of them fitting.

“Hi, uh…” Jayce cringed, desperately searching for her name, but it never came.

“Sky,” Viktor stated bluntly, his interest in Jayce disappearing, “Her name is Sky. She is in the three classes we have together.”

For a brief moment, Jayce’s eyes widened in surprise. Viktor had paid enough attention to him to know they had classes together. He wasn’t sure why that made his heart skip a beat.

“It’s fine,” she laughed, shaking her head at Viktor’s bluntness and trying to relieve the obvious guilt rising from Jayce.

“I’m sorry,” the taller student said, a lowly but sincere apology. “Sky. I’ll remember that.”

She beamed, smiling cheerfully from ear to ear at just being able to talk to Jayce. Unfortunately for Viktor, Sky was not immune to the charisma that oozed from the class president.

Viktor looked at Jayce, one of reemerging annoyance, “We have to go.”

“But—” Jayce protested, desperation in his voice, “You didn’t answer my question. Is there, uh…” he stammered, finding it harder to ask with a third-party listening in, “anything I can do to make up for my total shitshow of a favour yesterday? Seriously, I feel like an ass asking a lot from you on a whim.”

Sky perked up, smiling at how she noticed Viktor was ready to pounce if Jayce dared to overstay his welcome. It was one of her favourite qualities of him, the ability to so easily speak his mind and stand up for himself, but she interrupted before he could even utter a word.

She could be selfish for once, couldn’t she?

“You could fill in for our game tonight!” Sky’s voice was full of enthusiasm, excitement palpable.

“Sky.” Viktor snapped at her.

“What? He’s offering a favour,” Sky replied, pushing up her glasses that had slipped down her nose, “Both Mylo and Claggor can’t make it tonight; Powder just told me. It’s going to be a difficult session… we could use the help.”

She was received by silence as Viktor stared ahead at his locker, begging for this to end and hoping that both of them would get the hint and leave him alone. Sky didn’t let up, though. Neither did Jayce, whose eyes flickered between them eagerly.

“The Duergars kidnapped Miss Fortune,” Sky started on a rant, desperately trying to sway Viktor, “We’re looking at a death wish if we go through with playing tonight without another player. Do you really think a cleric and a warlock can take down the entire Duergar war camp? We’re only level four—”

With a swift motion, Viktor smacked his cane against Sky’s leg, light enough to just interrupt her ramblings.

“Enough. He doesn’t want to play.”

“I’ll play,” Jayce interrupted casually, and he hadn’t expected a look so cruel from Viktor, practically seeing the steam blowing from his ears. Anger simmering below the surface.

“Yes!” Sky beamed as her features lit up, “If you don’t have a character, Viktor has dozens of unused ones, so I’m sure you’ll find someone you like.”

“I don’t want to teach anyone to play. We’ll reschedule.” Viktor doubled down, eyes staring right into Jayce’s.

“You won’t have to,” Jayce replied confidently. Offering a sweet smile that made Viktor want to reach over and tear it off of his face. “I’ll manage.”

Interest flickered in Viktor’s eyes, intrigued by the confidence Jayce carried so easily. He hardly seemed like the type to pick up a roleplaying game in his spare time, let alone master in, but regardless, this could prove to be a great time to prove how little regard he has for anyone but himself. Maybe a chance to embarrass him right back, a way to show how badly he wanted to get him off his back.

He cocked an eyebrow, “Eight sharp. The address is two-twenty-five Pyke Ave. Don’t be late.”

Jayce perked up, eyes wide like an excited puppy, “Y-Yeah. I won’t be late. See you later, Viktor. Oh, and Sky!”

Without another word, Viktor leaned on his cane and began to walk away while Sky offered Jayce an excited wave before departing with her friend.

Jayce stood alone for a moment, watching the two of them walk away as he smiled to himself. He finally had an advantage. Very few people in his life knew this about him, but before he was the Golden Boy and just a peer among a sea of students in middle school, he dabbled in Dungeons and Dragons. Not quite like others, considering he never played a real game, but he was fond of learning about it. He had convinced his mom to buy him a player’s guidebook—a treasure he read repeatedly but never shared for fear that his friends would make fun of him.

He hoped he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of Viktor, let alone other experienced players. He wasn’t sure if he could handle any more bruises on his already beaten-up ego.

Jayce avoided Kino for the remainder of the day, his mind reeling with the possibilities of the upcoming night and wondering how on earth he was going to manage to get on Viktor’s good side in just one session. After a short while of digging through his closet and making a mess out of his room, he pulled out a dusty book hidden deep in a box of trinkets and old treasures he’d meant to give away the previous summer.

The Player’s Handbook, second edition.

He scoured the pages for glimpses of information, some coming back and some lost over the years of trying to forget this interest existed at one point in his life. He flipped through the book until he was satisfied with the fact that he didn’t know as much as he let on and that this was more than likely going to embarrass the ever-living-fuck out of him.

But anything was worth it to get closer to Viktor.

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heckyeahponyscans · 1 year ago

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A new HQG1C baby boy, Little Sunrise!

#my little pony #g1 #hqg1c #mountain boys #customs

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supernatural-bias · 9 months ago

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𝐓𝐰𝐨-𝐁𝐢𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐰𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ notes: tagging @orinscrivellos who motivated me to write this. i really enjoyed doing it

↳ warnings: slight implications of transhobia. nothing directly mentioned

↳ song: a little less conversation—elvis presley

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• Two-Bit thinks you’re super kickass for being out and open about yourself in the way you are. It is the sixties after all, and along with living on the East side of town, you aren’t exactly getting treated the best

• But that doesn’t really matter to you. As long as the gang, and most importantly Two-Bit, likes you, then you couldn’t care less

• So yeah, Two-Bit thinks you’re brave. Probably calls you his ‘fearless knight,’ and treats you poshly for a good laugh sometimes. Or about as posh as he can pretend to get. He’s never been really good at playing a rich character despite his improvisation skills. You suppose it’s the way he was raised, the way all of you were raised, that makes it difficult

• Is loud and proud about you being his partner. Unless you want him keeping it under wraps, Two-Bit will pretty much scream it from the mountain tops about how much he loves his boyfriend. Consequences be damned

• “Golly, Two, you just don’t stop talking about him do you?” Ponyboy ogles at his friend as they make their way down the street, heading to meet you for a night out at the Nightly Double. He was in disbelief that anyone could ever talk so much and for so long, much less about the same thing. Even Soda didn’t use to talk about Sandy this much

• “Nope!” Two-Bit pops his ‘p’ loudly, grinning like a shark as he continues on with his train of thought. Pony just shook his head in a mix of awe and horror, already regretting that he had thought to ask Two-Bit how you had been doing. And that was over ten minutes ago!

• Two-Bit has definitely gotten into fights to ‘defend your honor,’ as he likes to put it—most of the time he can hear people at his school bad mouthing you, which any one of you can handle. You don’t live the greaser life without getting your name dragged through the mud after all—but when they start throwing out those names about you, he’ll start a fight quicker than you could blink

• “Oh glory.” You stare at Two-Bit unblinking one afternoon. Two shiny new black eyes peer back, accompanied by a split lip, and you have to resist the urge to drag a hand down your face in exhaustion.All you had wanted to do is come pick him up from his house, and you were met with this mess

• “What? I’ve been trying on a new look. What do you think baby?“

• “I think you’re stupid.” You don't even have to ask how he got those, you already know. A part of you swells with affection at the thought of him caring about you enough to do that, but the more responsible part of you pushed it down in order to sigh

• “But you love me.” Two-Bit retorts with a gleeful laugh, sounding like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Which he doesn’t. In his eyes, he’s got all he ever needs. A mom that loves him, a sister that adores his jokes, friends that have his back, and a handsome boyfriend. What more could a greaser like him want?

• If you come out and then transition, in that order, Two-Bit and everyone would definitely help you with your new style. They’ve spent their entire lives in boys clothes, so they have plenty of fashion tips, if you can even call them that, and materials to spare

• if you wear a bigger size, or want baggier clothing, Dallas and Two-Bit with go and nab pretty much anything you want from the nearby corner store. If you like tighter fitting clothing, or run a little gangly, you are always welcome to borrow one of Pony or Johnny’s outfits. They’d give them to you in a heartbeat if you asked

• Hair greasing lessons! They’ll teach you how to grease your hair up nice so you’ll look tuff, until eventually you’ve learned to do it all by yourself. Two-Bit always smiles the biggest when you come out of the bathroom with your hair slicked back. He likes to think he’s got the best looking partner this side of the railroad tracks

• It doesn’t matter what kind of body you have or want. Two-Bit will support you all the way. It’s not like you can really afford testosterone or major surgery considering you live in the slums of Tulsa with everyone else, and those services aren’t exactly offered to the public thanks to laws at the time, but if you manage to get our hands on any of that stuff, the gang will support your recovery/shot sessions all the way; bringing you whatever you need in the moment and all that jazz, even if Dallas or Steve gripe about running errands

• “Here’s your stupid bandaids.” Dally threw a small cardboard box onto the foot of the couch you were sitting on with a slight rattle. You look up to thank him, and he just blows out a bit of smoke from his mouth. You had half a mind to ask him for a drag of his cigarette, but knew Darry would kill you if he caught you smoking after administering testosterone. He was already nervous enough about you constantly taking shots, so you didn’t want to worry him anymore

• “No problem.” Dallas’ gaze drifted over to Two-Bit, who was sitting next to you, and he smiled lazily

• “Hey Two? If the two of you are banging, does that make you gay, or straight?”

• Dally walked away from that conversation that day with a bruise on his arm and a big laugh tumbling from his lips

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lokirulzart · 1 year ago

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WILD WEST AU!!!!

You ever notice that when fools do a western AU, they cheap out on the horses or ignore them entirely??? WELL NOT HERE, FOLKS. ONLY THE HIGHEST QUALITY HORSE CONTENT. BECAUSE I LOVE Y’ALL AND ALSO HORSES.

Frank has a snooty Appaloosa because he’s fancy, but also appaloosas are reliable trail horses, so that means he can go bug collecting without worrying much. His insect collection is the envy of all the rich collectors in the whole county.

Wally ended up with a chestnut Arabian mare, because Wally is too small for a bigger horse and I just think it’s funny. HANG ON THERE, PARDNER!! SHE’S A WILD ONE!!! Luckily, Wally is usually unaware of his own horse acting up, and the mare ends up tiring herself out just because Wally simply doesn’t even notice her… he’s too busy spacing out. But he’s one of the best Bronco Busters around thanks to her!

Hunter/trapper/fur trader Barnaby has himself a lovely Shire mare with a sweet and patient disposition. She has no trouble carrying whatever Barnaby has hunted as well as big ol’ Barnaby himself… but he still feels bad about making her work, so he only ever hunts what he needs to in order to get by.

Julie and her mustang are BOTH wild. Julie had the chance to tame her, but instead she just fed off of her spirited energy and now the two of them just tear around being crazy together, getting into trouble, rolling in the dust… Julie wouldn’t have it any other way.

What better steed for a Pony Express postal worker than a sure footed mule?! Seriously, mules are the mountain goats of the equine world. Eddie’s mule might not be as fast of a sprinter as some horses, but this animal can trek over ANY terrain, ensuring that all of the mail gets delivered on time. They have yet to miss a single delivery.

(Snake oil) Salesman Howdy Pillar has a general store in town as WELL as a covered wagon to travel around, ensuring that everyone gets the best deals on their pork ‘n’ beans, biscuits, tobacco, and tonics. You want it? Howdy’s GOT it… and his team of 3 dapple gray Connemara ponies, and one brown one, will make sure that you can get it… also the tallest character having the smallest horses makes me giggle.

Poppy doesn’t have a rideable horse yet, which is perhaps for the best. She spends a lot of time at Howdy’s general store or riding in his wagon. She is his best customer. But she has recently come by a thoroughbred foal that she is now raising from a bottle. So perhaps one day very soon Poppy will have her own tall and elegant steed to carry her around… let’s just hope he’s not too fast for her.

Sally is a performer at the local saloon by night and helps out with cleaning during the day… she knows NOTHING about horses… but one night, after all the local drunks went home, a poor American Paint got left behind. Nobody came back to claim the animal, so Sally boards him at the local ranch and visits often. She hopes one day to learn how to ride him, but it’s slow going. She is, after all, a singer and actress first.

AND THEN HOME THE SALOON!! YOU DIDN’T THINK I’D FORGET HOME, DID YOU?? He has a small stable in the back and a second floor, where Wally lives! Wally gets to spend all his free time hanging out, meeting up with his friends, and drinking all the apple juice he wants! (Just don’t tell him it’s apple juice, he’ll get confused. He thinks he’s just drinking whiskey like everyone else. It’s easier this way.) Also Home is the only saloon that can kick out belligerent drunk people itself!

Also Bonus OCs, Luna O’Hare the bilingual cartographer (created by @m0stlygh0st) and Simon, my boy, the ranch hand! Luna has an Andalusian that she likes to dress up, braid it’s mane, and stick flowers in it-… as snacks for later. They’re also grazing buddies and Luna can often be found eating the horse feed because it’s so similar to rabbit food. Simon has a gelding Quarter Horse with golden retriever energy and not a single braincell to his name. Poor Simon… but at least his horse loves him.

YEEHAW!!!! 🤠

#welcome home #wally darling #frank frankly #barnaby b beagle #julie joyful #Eddie dear #howdy pillar #poppy partridge #sally starlet #welcome home oc #cowboy AU #western AU #wild west AU #horses

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miasmaghoul · 1 year ago

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who do u think is the best and worst at riding dick amongst the ghouls

what a STUPENDOUS question!

best to worst below the cut!

Rain - undisputed king of dick riding, whether it be real or silicone. knows exactly how every other ghoul likes it, when to clench and grind and roll his hips just right. he also has crazy high stamina and can ride for a g e s if he feel like it. it's his favorite way to top from the bottom too Aurora - it's her favorite position, and she's damn good at it. not that she minds getting thrown around or pinned to a mattress, but something about being able to bounce with her hands planted on their chest - or thighs, if she's going reverse cowgirl style - drives her wild. as such, she's gotten VERY good at it.

Aeon - one word: flexibility. this boy can be bent and folded into all sorts of novel positions, ones that make even Rain raise a brow, but he'll ride his partner like a pony if they ask for it. he enjoys it too, don't misunderstand, but he likes to be able to keep a greedy hand on himself and that can be difficult when trying to stay balanced.

Dew - small, bendy and energetic, he likes a good ride. preferably with he's bouncing on a ghoul much larger than him. it's not his favorite solely because, unlike Aurora, he actually prefers being overpowered. especially at the end - he has a hard time finishing when he's riding, the effort tires him out, so he'll do it until he can't anymore and then demand to be railed until he can't breathe.

Sunshine - also very energetic, she will ride without argument. however, she has some issues with coordination. finds it difficult to time her bounces with their thrusts, can't focus on touching herself if she's also trying to keep rhythm. no one complains, but they know there are positions that suit her much better.

Cumulus - will ride on request, but it's far from her favorite. it feels amazing, to be sure, but it makes her knees ache and after a few minutes she's usually worn out. she'll take a reclined position any day, preferring to do less of the work but reap all the benefits. the exceptions to the riding thing are Dew and Sunshine, whose warm hands help relieve the soreness in her legs so they can enjoy the feel of her above them a little longer.

Swiss - "bad" isn't how you could describe Swiss' riding style, but most of the others don't have the patience for it. if Swiss wants to ride, it's a commitment - he wants it slow and without prep, wants to sink onto a cock and feel the burning stretch of with minimal lube. it's a specific thing for him, something he really only indulges in with Aether and Cirrus. they give him all the time in the world.

Aether - riding makes him feel weirdly shy, so more often than not he suggests alternatives when asked. Dew, though, gets ridden like a pony whenever he requests it. Aether can tolerate the tightness in his chest much more easily when Dew looks up at him all slack-jawed and stupid while Aether's cock slaps against his belly. sometimes, though, if he needs to feel small, Aether will dress up pretty and ride Mountain until he has tears in his eyes.

Mountain - it's not that he's BAD, per se, but he's got those long, long legs and scrunching them up enough to ride leaves him too sore to make it worthwhile. in all honesty he doesn't bottom often, so if he's in a riding position he's more likely to have his hips held tight and his hold used by whoever has the privilege of being inside.

Cirrus - she's the closest to a stone top amongst my ghouls, so her being at the bottom of the list is mostly perfunctory. could she ride someone til they popped like warm champagne? absolutely. but she would MUCH rather be the one making them bounce on the biggest strap they can handle. if she chooses to ride, though, it's going to be on her terms and probably framed as some hardcore objectification.

#miasma's work #the band ghost headcanons #nameless ghoul headcanons #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #aether ghoul #aeon ghoul #phantom ghoul #mountain ghoul #swiss ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #cirrus ghoulette #aurora ghoulette #sunshine ghoulette

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goat-guy-tm · 3 months ago

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Mouthwashing headcanons that I cannot get out of my head;

Organized by character cause I'm normal

Jimmy is at the very bottom so you can skip him if you want.

This bitch is long and took me like two hours to write I wanna lay down...

Curly:

Bisexual Trans man because honestly he has a bit of t-boy swag

For some reason I have convinced myself he's 37. IDK why.

Comes from a pretty big family. He's the second eldest of 8 kids, his older sister is technically only a half sister but still.

He has two moms and one abusive/dead beat dad. Idk I can't explain it I just feel it in my brain that he's got two moms.

He's a mama's boy but in like a good way, not a weaponized incompetence way.

He's technically a nepo baby. His grandfather on his bio-mom's side is a director/board member of Pony Express, thus why Jimmy constantly talks about him "getting his life handed to him on a silver platter". His grandfather actually had nothing to do with him getting the job, as he has a different last name and no one actually realized they were related for a WHILE. He is the reason Curly dreamed of being a space-crafy poilt though.

He smokes cigarettes often. When he gets stressed he smokes a lot more, but he's in denial that it's a problem. Jimmy got him into smoking in the first place, peer preassuring him into it. Jimmy now conviently always seems to have packs of cigarettes on him during hauls when Curly never brings them, specially for when Curly gets stressed. (Not in like a gay way, in like a manipulative way to keep him subconsciously needing Jimmy in some way)

He is surprisingly strict when it comes to "no fraternizing with subordinates". He likes to keep his work and personal life seperate, and especially to not allow any feelings to be developed for any of his crew mates.

His first name is Grant, he was named after his father and eventually grew to hate his first name because of how horrible his father was, but he keeps his first name because his mom likes it on him, it helps her connect better memories to that name instead of the horrible ones his father gave her.

Jimmy was his only friend for a while, which is why he is so die hard about wanting to believe Jimmy is a good guy, plus Jimmy manipulating him for so long to believe Jimmy was the victim of a lot of stuff.

He is a fucking mountain of a man when it comes to muscles. Bro is buff as fuck and scary when he wants to be.

He's been the captain of the Tuplar since he became a captain (roughly 11 years). That ship is his baby.

Anya:

She's omni, if you asked her to really identify her sexuality she would say it's complicated, but she just says she's bisexual.

I feel like she's in her early/mid 30's for some reason? Like 33 at the time of the game. I know realistically she could more so be like, 26-28 (assuming she tried getting into med school the SECOND she was graduating high school)

She's been part of the Tuplar's crew for roughly 4 years, she was transferred to them after getting the medical certification from Pony Express to be an on-board nurse. Before that she had worked with another crew for a while.

She also smokes cigarettes. Significantly less than Curly does, but she still does from time to time. She started after her 4th try into med school, where she then got extremely drunk to cope with failing again, and had drunkenly bought a pack of cigs. She eventually regretted it, but was also in such a low point mentally that she thought "why the hell not" and started smoking regularly. Eventually she smoked more when stressed, which was when she was studying or getting ready for an exam of some kind. Because of this her regular smoking went to her smoking a fuck ton before and after stressful events (mostly tests) because her body has subconsciously attached to that helping her study.

She is an only child. Her mother died when she was a teen, which eventually led to her and her father having an estranged relationship. After her mother's death, her father went into an almost debilitating depressive state, becoming an extreme workaholic and albeit unintentionally neglecting Anya during her teen years. Now-a-days they are doing much better and are trying to reconnect with each other. Her father adores her and becomes devastated when news of her death on the Tuplar eventually reached him.

While Anya is not shy in any way, she is commonly seen as so simply because she keeps to herself a lot.

She worries quite a lot about money since her family didn't make a lot in the first place, and her mother was a big financial gash on them, which led to pretty extreme finance anxiety.

She's actually a big horror fan, especially horror books and often gets a bit too into them and feels like she's being weird about them, but no, she just really likes them.

Her intrest in phycology is spurred on by this, as reading phycology books makes her start to wonder about villian's reasonings. Jimmy would have been an interesting case for her if he hadn't been who he was.

If asked about any of her interests she will start to excitingly info dump, only to get embarrassed and stop, and refusing to continue when told it's fine.

Caffeine addict. She gets ungodly amounts of extra esspresso in any coffee she drinks.

She would read Warrior Cats.

Daisuke:

Pansexual trans guy. You see that Hawaiian shirt? That's peak t-boy swag right there. Lost his mind when he learned Curly was trans too.

Most likely either 20 or 21, making him the baby of the crew. Swansea balks at him every time Daisuke mentions it cause he's the same age as Swansea's kids.

He is autistic, one of the biggest reasons he has trouble figuring out what he wants to do with his life as he physically is not capable of imagining what his life will be like a few months from the present.

He would have been a DeviantArt kid, and an Animal Jam kid.

He gave the whole crew fursonas within the first week of working there. He also gave them ponysonas, but then he threw away Jimmy's after hearing what he said about Polle.

I feel like he has an affinity for small bugs. He loves saving them from being stuck in rooms, and get actually really angry when someone kills one for no reason. He snapped at Jimmy once for smushing an ant that had somehow gotten onto the ship. Reasonably there was no way to save it but Daisuke was still pissed about it.

He has a pretty strained relationship with his mother, even though he is still actively trying to gain her approval. His dad is pretty removed from his life, his dad is there, but anytime Daisuke asks his dad to stand up for him or anything his dad just shrugs and tells him to just talk it out with his mom. His mom doesn't want to talk it out. That's why he tries to get Swansea's approval, and especially feels bad when he gets injured in the vents Swansea specifically told him not to touch. (His cousins are the ones to hold the funeral for him, his mother says she wishes he would have at least done something productive before dying like that. [she's half an asshole, half going through immense guilt])

He is an only child. He had always wanted to be a big brother, and had asked for a little sibling so many times but his parents kept refusing, eventually he stopped asking but he still wished he could have been an older brother.

He has a really weird addiction to root beer.

I can't explain it but I feel like he'd be a big SCP Foundation nerd.

Swansea:

CisHet ally. Everyone is scared he is homophobic when they first meet him, but he knew his kids were gay before they did.

He was a veteran. Ended up getting medically discharged which was one of the things leading him into his alcoholic days.

He has three kids; two daughters and one son.

He has been working on the Tuplar almost as long as Curly. He joined the original original crew about 5 years into Curly being captain.

If Curly wasn't the only one allowed to use the food synthesizer and if they had actual food on the ship he would have been cooking meals for the crew every night to feel like he was at home again.

He pretends to hate it, but his music taste is 90% white girl pop. He also listens to like metal and rock, but still.

A girl dad through and through. His daughters are the world to him. Extra why he was so pissed and passive aggressive with Jimmy after Anya told him what he did to her.

Had a punk 'phase' during his teens. Still punk in beliefs, just not apparencies.

He's one of those old Brexit geezer types.

He and Curly keep betting on football (soccer) whenever not on hauls. Spoiler; Curly keeps losing.

His family and Curly's are actually surprisingly close. Whenever their respective family members are off on hauls during the holidays the two families spend them together.

I like to imagine his wife's name is Ophelia. I can't explain why, I just feel like she has some ethereal real pretty name.

His wife and Curly's moms have girls nights every week. Eventually Anya got roped into them when the ladies learned of her (to Curly's dismay).

He won't admit it, but he acted like a dad even before Daisuke joined the crew. He found himself often looking out for Curly when he thought the younger wasn't taking care of himself.

He has hand made bracelets from all his kids in his dorm. He hides them to keep up the tough guy act.

Jimmy: (cw; mentions of obsession, codependency and referenced suicide)

He thought he was bisexual, but it actually is just a really bad obsession with Curly. Otherwise I chose not to think about his sexuality.

He is the same age as Curly, 37, but maybe a few months younger than him (which is another thing he holds against Curly for some reason).

He joined the Tuplar crew a few years before Anya did, but wasn't promoted to co-pilot until the year Anya joined the crew.

He unironically uses Reddit and 4chan

One of his only hobbies includes doxing kids online.

He is like, the worst kind of brony you could have the misfortune of meeting.

He is an orphan and has been since his pre-teen years. It's what left him with nothing and did horrible things to his mental perception of his life.

He met Curly when they were both about high school age. He instantly became attached to him and would get extremely jealous when Curly would seem to have any other friends beside him.

Because of this he became very manipulative to Curly, constantly playing the victim card and then acting like Curly not believing him meant Curly hated him. This got to Curly pretty bad, and is one of the only reasons they stayed friends for so long.

The only reason he got into weight lifting is because he knew Curly worked out regularly, but it never really entertained him so he barley did it.

He thought he held power over Curly, unbeknownst to him he had actually made himself quite co-dependent on him.

The only reason he started working for Pony Express was because Curly had. He became quite angry though when they were not originally put onto the same crew, and weren't until Curly was promoted to a captain and given his own ship.

This is when he started the "Curly gets whatever he wants and was handed his life" thought, trying to find any way to reason why Curly was promoted so young and fast but he wasn't.

Even with his obsession with Curly, he doesn't spend a lot of time with him outside of hauls. His feelings would filp flop between obsession and disgust towards him. It doesn't help that Curly's family doesn't like him anymore.

He calls Curly 'Grant' because he knows Curly hates it and only ever does it to piss him off and then call him an asshole for getting mad at him, cause they are supposed to be friends, aren't they?

In his mind, if he isn't in some way better than Curly then he is nothing.

It wouldn't be till before he takes his own life that he realizes Curly is his life and has been since they were teens, and that without Curly he felt like he was nothing.

#mouthwashing game #mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #mouthwashing hc #mouthwashing headcanon #tw jimmy #tw suicide #tw sui implied

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