#needle & bubble my beloved

[orbmanson7]

So uhh

I bought the reanimator cup

[kpopskrungle]

hi, can you please draw aaron from nu'est?

[ethereal-pie]

bullfrog head cannons

I have seen no fics of this beautiful French man so I have done it myself

just a ramble of my thoughts in bullet point form

he is an american bullfrog, he not only looks like one but also there are tons in France

He enjoys warmth and gets grumpy if he is too cold

I feel like he doesn’t touch you all that much but adores cuddling 

If given the opportunity he will burry himself in pillows and blankets ( bonus if they are weighted) especially during winter cuz of his hibernation instinct

He will insist you join him and promise it’s very comfortable 

He isn’t slimy like his real world counterpart but his skin feels very moisturized 

He gets cold super easy and shove himself under your shirt or jacket to soak up your natural body heat 

You also don’t have to worry about it being too hot to cuddle as he is cool to the touch 

He will insist you let him put his cold ass hands on your bare back to warm them up , he will pout if you don’t let him 

Letting him do this will more then likely result in him having his head under your shirt and his face pressed into your back and his hands on your upper stomach 

He usually avoids conventional touch based pda, the most normal pda you’ll get out of under normal circumstances is a peck on the cheek 

Instead the way he shows touch based pda is by sitting on your shoulders

Although if he is super cold he won’t care all that much

 And  Unless your in a situation where being partners with him would put you in danger, he will be  fairly vocaly affectionate

He will call you his beloved and other pet names 

As well as praise, flirt and compliment you

Some of His pet names  involve your name 

He seems like a darling, my dear, love type of person

He will jokingly call you stupid ones as well 

He has a lot of running jokes with you and will tease and joke around with you all the time, he just likes laughing with you in general 

Some of your jokes might take a second to land with him in the beginning but as your relationship continues he will pick up almost immediately 

He tries really hard to be cool cuz he wants to make friends but everyone being stuck on him being a frog annoys him a lil 

He will complain about this to you at least once 

He is trying to be cool and Poetic!

When he is mad he will begin to speak in a mix of French and English but he doesn’t really yell at all, he does talk faster tho 

He will bath for hours but doesn’t like to shower 

He cannot use certain soaps or he will get sick because he will absorb the chemicals through his skin 

He likes the look of bubble baths but if he sits in them he gets sick cuz of the soap In the water 

Given his accent I assume he speaks French but I think he can speak multiple European language, due to his job 

He is very adverse to the idea of eating bugs, he isn’t scared of them but if someone offers him a bug he will be grossed out.

He is the kind of person to not only catch and release bugs he finds inside but he will have little convos with them too

You’ll hear in the other room “hello there my miniature friend.’’ And as he takes them outside “ I’m very sorry but you cannot stay here.” 

His approach to flying bugs is far different, he will take NO PRISONERS

He is very efficient with a fly swatter and knows all the concoctions to lure and kill flys fruit or other wise 

He avoids using his hands cuz of the bug guts 

If you are afraid of bugs he will find it amusing but he won’t tease or torment you, he will just chuckle at how ridiculous you look up on the counter while he captures the invader.

He is very polite and kind to everyone he interacts with unless they have done something to warrant other wise 

He will use French sayings in English  instead of the English one because he is convinced that “ they are far superior” 

Pins and needles are now ants, it’s raining ropes not animals, forget apples and trees, dogs don’t make cats.

If you use the English versions he will argue the French version is better 

“ bolt of lightning explans the felling of it, love at first sight is so bland.’’

Please convert he will find it unendingly adorable every time 

He does get cuteness aggression and will randomly shove his face into your chest and aggressively nuzzle into you whist squeezing you and violently kicking his legs and making a happy humming 

He will be embarrassed the first few times he does this 

He will get cuteness aggression from your cuteness aggression 

If you bite him he will be very confused but won’t care all that much so long as you aren’t hurting him

You will probably be taller then him and honestly he likes it that way because when you hug him he feels like momentarily  he is a totally encased by you 

You can carry him but only certain ways

No toddler hold, with one arm and him on your hip 

Piggy backs, shoulder sitting and standing are encouraged 

You can only sling him over your shoulder in emergency’s 

Same with under your arm 

He doesn’t like princess carry’s cuz he can’t hold on to much and he wants to touch with  max surface area

Carrying him by his armpits away from you has the same problem, he will struggle 

He does enjoy if you hug carry him with both arms, either his face in on your chest or resting on your shoulder 

I have made a helpful diagram ( I can draw but it’s just stick me cuz I’m lazy)

He will randomly start monologueing if given the opportunity 

He will tell you about being an assassin but only if you ask 

I think he is more likely to be with Someone who has prior experience with fighting

He feels nauseous after producing bubbles 

He will lean on or try to be touching you while he recovers 

You cannot truly surprise him, he will know something is up the moment you even begin to plan 

He knows because you act slightly different 

And hiding  or sneaking something past him is also impossible 

He has to actively try to avoid finding out what your doing 

You’ve snuck something into the garage, I guess he isn’t going In There for a while 

Hiding something behind your back, he isn’t even gonna face your direction while you hide it 

You cannot sneak up on him either 

When you try he will scare you by suddenly turning around and grabbing you 

On the other hand he has  scared and surprised you accidentally many times 

hope you enjoy and this inspires more fic to be written of bullfrog

[angelic-dew]

Hiya!! Can I please get some Sekido smut please? If you can, can it be a bit short (i know some of your fics are long) with an afab reader!

PRETTY PLEASE. I will get on my knees. 😍

˚₊‧꒰ wanting desire.☆꒱‧₊˚.!

✧༉‧₊˚୨ 🍓 ୧・author note :: way to expose me anon,, i tried to keep it short, still ended up being long so you do have a point ;-;

✧༉‧₊˚୨ 🍷 ୧・pairing :: sekido x afab reader — {you/your pronouns}

✧༉‧₊˚୨ 💌 ୧・summary + word count :: after going so long without feeling eachother's touch, your beloved demon lost control and took you right then and there for a pleasurable night. + [1327] words. smut.

✧༉‧₊˚୨ ⚡ ୧・trigger warnings :: smut. degradation. sex in the wilderness. rough intercourse. edging. marking. biting. hickeys. grammatical errors || children please leave, 18+ content. proofread.

“A-ahh~! Sekido! Be gentler, please darling!” That’s all that was heard, the high pitch wail that stretched far throughout the quiet, serene atmosphere. A cry of pure pleasure that was, one that captivated such content and dispersed such need, desire, such utter thirst for the pleasure to have more. Your words were nothing but veritable lies.

 Falsity. It was evident in the lewd expression that only remained permanently on your face, never leaving for even the smallest fraction of a second for the sheer lust you felt was too much to simply even emit from under those filthy lips of yours. Your face only crinkled as a wide grin plastered itself along your face; the feeling only grew increasingly and at a rapid rate. 

You weren’t even sure if you were able to properly function at all at this rate. Your words were almost utter mush and gibberish rolled up together to form a stuttered mess filled with moans of passion and heavy, sharp breaths.

By the grace of God, you managed to utter a few words here or there but nothing one could truly make out at this rate. You didn’t like this feeling, it was all too much pleasure to be indulged in! But you can’t even deny it even if your entire existence honestly depended on it, it felt amazing. 

Was this like a guilty pleasure to you at this point? Surely it had to be. 

You could only wonder what lead you to this predicament. Was it your needs that became too much to bare? Was it the fact you haven’t felt in touch in which was absolute eons now? Truthfully, it just happened. But how could you complain about this sensation, it felt almost surreal yet so nostalgic again, your hot-tempered lover finally making the time to have one’s pleasure with his beloved human was surely a dream come true, to be frank. 

Well, he had pent-up rage for how long now? I would assume those numbers wouldn’t matter nor did it need to, all that mattered was what was happening at present.

Sexual tension and so much anger that has been built up? Could you dream of anything better? His touch was so rough, like needles and so coarse yet you felt a sense of ease. Was it the endless amount of delight being washed over you tenfold by the moment?

So many questions, so few answers; but why would these questions need answers? You needed him and he needed you more than you could ever imagine. That's all the answers you needed. 

“Fuck yeah, you damn whore- Take all my cock the fucking little slut you are for me,” the demon of anger deeply bellowed under his breath, his voice laced with lascivious and of course an animalistic nature as it snapped you back to reality instantly; your little mind bubble popped. 

Your vision was a complete mess as everything became hazy and blurred as warm tears of pleasure welled up in your eyes like a little waterfall getting ready to pour down warm, salty tears at any moment.

The blush that deeply resembled your lover’s eyes tinted your cheeks with the rosy pigment rather nicely, complimenting your skin tone; the warmth of it being almost sickening as it could barely be controlled.

You felt the soft yet spikey grass underneath your body jab at your back once more like little fern-green needles from the earth. The glacier gust of the gale was almost chilling as it passed through the air aimlessly, almost as if it caressed your sweaty body, your nipples became chafed. Only pleasing the crimson eyes of the demon looming over you. 

“Could you be any more slutty? What did I even get myself into? Do you even know what you are to me? A fucking cockslut that wants my dick, that’s what you are,” Sekido spoke once more this time, more arousal shrouding his words as he gripped your thighs that messily rested upon his mocha shoulders.

His sharp, serrated nails sink into your flesh as the further he tightens his grip, the mad man-like grin which permanently stained his face grew just a tad bit. He had stamina for days at this point, it felt like you two were at it for ages. 

Your slimy walls just squeezed tightly around his meaty, fat length. “So sensitive..” that was more of a murmur from under his breath, however, utter excitement was laced through the words.

His thrusts we repetitive and had some sort of a rhythm to them, deep and consistent yet rough to the very last T. A perfect combination. Nor was he anything from slow and gentle, fast and filled with desire, but it felt passionate in some form or another.

Your cunt felt itself tightening further, more and more around his thick member that eagerly slammed into you continuously, not breaking rhythm for even the slightest second. “Mm- I’m gonna cum s-soon!” that's all you could muster to say, that wasn’t all gibberish controlled by satisfaction. Your body trembled by his every touch, and that's what he liked, what he loved, what he craved. Like a glutton, he was for your reactions and smutty little expressions. 

“You fucking lil bitch, you like what daddy’s giving you, hm? Could you get any more dirty?” he teased you but more degradation was hinted. He was right, maybe you were but just for him, what’s the harm in it then? Really, what’s the harm in indulging in the bliss he provides for his darling slut?

Your obscured gaze didn’t help at all, the tears only continue to make this worse. However, you can make out a vague yet pleasant sight before you, the lovely form of your lover pounding deeply into your cunt, each thrust in an honest attempt to loosen your walls up.

His upper body was muscular but not over the top with muscles; his pecs were laced with various hickeys and bite marks so were his neck and collarbone, almost as if they were matching, but who’s to say you didn't look like you weren’t just attacked by an octopus.

Love bites were scattered along your entire figure, from your stomach to your neck. Peppered to perfection with many bites which marked what was his, you belong to him and him alone. 

“Fuck- such a naughty whore, aren’t you?” he said playfully as salty sweat cascaded ever so slowly down his body. He felt himself getting closer and closer with each slam into your wet cunt he did. The throbbing became unbearable for him at this rate but you had to make a mess first. 

Your nails seeped deeply into his mocha flesh, leaving behind little crescents implanted in his skin in their way. Your walls clamped harder in anticipation and so did your thighs tighten. The burning pool of heat and excitement built up steadily in the pit of your stomach as he whispered such filthy words into your ear. Words of such lust yet they were shaming you. 

His thrusts were fierce and rough, no trace of him slowing down could be accounted for was detected as well. The immense pleasure was edging you so much to reach your final climax; it was all just too much. How could you not give him what he wanted when he was giving you more than enough? 

It wasn’t long after you came all over him he that stuffed your wet, stretched-out centre completely. The thick but oozy consistency was to die for as it gradually spilt away from your poor hole. He was most certainly pleased as well, more or less proud as a matter of fact. He made you tremble beneath him and want his touch, pride definitely shot up in him at the sight of your abused cunt. 

As the soft prattle of the stream close by filled the atmosphere, you knew, the night had only just begun for you.

© angelic-dew :: please don't translate or reclaim without permission! Reblogs will be appreciated though! <3

[sciderman]

Checked out Deadpool 3's trailer and outside of not being happy that they're putting in the time police, who's tactics seem just as forceful and violent as ever (buncha fashists is what they are, leťs be real), but also feeling like most of the jokes fall flat. (Not to mention my general distaste for the multiverse after being forcefed that shit for the 7th year now, and it not being any better because studios suck and use it for fanservice only.) Maybe i'll be proved wrong tho, fuck i hope.

the thing is with deadpool 3 is though - if this one fails, it could be the death of the mcu proper, I think. if they can’t get a deadpool movie to work (which, let’s be real, should be the easiest thing in the world. the previous movies are no milestones of cinema but they’re beloved by audiences for being stupid) if they can’t make a stupid DEADPOOL movie please audiences then… mcu is literally dead in the water (or should I say… dead in the pool…)

I think disney even knows it - with the “im your jesus” crack - I think they’re genuinely hoping deadpool is going to be the thing that might save the mcu. and what I’m banking on, is deadpool is going to be the thing that will take down the mcu once and for all, killing himself in the process. sorry for the morbid analogy, but from where im standing, wade looks something like a kamikaze pilot. he’s going to destroy the mcu, and take down himself in the process. nobody is going to respect wade wilson after this. this could be spider-man 3 x 1000.

I don’t think Disney fully knows what power they’re trifling with here, but I, personally, cannot wait to see the mcu bubble finally explode, once and for all (it’s been a long time coming) deadpool will show up with his little needle, and POP!

🪡 💥

I hate the tva stuff too. if anyone should be up wade’s ass for fucking the timestream it should be cable. tva get out of here.

[pondslime]

liminal spaces

bo sinclar x afab!reader

rating: explicit

word count: 6.3k

Bo POV. It’s been a long day. Crackin’ open a cold one (and then another, and another) in a town the world forgot. 

Crossposted on AO3 here. 

⚠️ Established codependent toxic murder couple relationship. Reader’s pretty far gone and is ACTIVELY complicit in the wax murder fuckery. Nothing about this is healthy, lmao! Very dubious consent due to Stockholm Syndrome. References to violence/murders the reader has participated in.

Alcohol consumption and intoxication. Weird affection and drunken banter. Soft but in a VERY strange way because this is the worst situation imaginable, and the reader is clearly Not Doing Well. Childhood abuse/trauma is discussed. Light sprinkling of humor. Lots of kissing. 69ing. 

Both parties are varying levels of drunk when the aforementioned making out and 69ing takes place. Bruises/rough sex are briefly mentioned, but the actual smut is very........not rough??? Daddy kink. Light orgasm control/denial and general smug asshole dialogue from Bo. Occasional degrading language. Unfortunately, this is still him we’re dealing with. ⚠️

💭💖@visceravalentines​​​ MEG MY BELOVED, thank you so much for this request!! I had a TON of fun working on it. I hope you enjoy it!! it’s kinda goofy, kinda creepy, kinda soft in the worst way possible! 

It was messy, doing it in the house like that.

Bo stands and surveys the damage, a thrum of anxious excitement humming under his skin. The shattered remnants of one of the plates you’d prepared litter the floor, an explosion of potatoes and peas smearing the baseboard. All of this was a waste of damn good food—but then again, you never could expect the out-of-towners to have any respect for that kind of thing. Whistling, he picks up the biggest pieces of ceramic, sweeping up the rest and dumping it into the trash.

His eyes land on the knife you left on the counter. There’s blood coating the blade, dripping onto the laminate. He sets it in a glass in the sink, watching red bloom slowly in the soapy water. Glancing down at his hand, he finds his palm slick with blood. His mouth pulls into a smile as he gives the handle a stir. The blood swirls in stringy curls, metal clinking against the glass.

He runs a sponge under the tap and wipes the counter off. Washing the blood from his hand, he looks over at the glass. The bubbles on the surface are pale pink, the glint of the blade faintly visible through the cloudy red water. 

He leaves that for later, for you.

He chews absentmindedly at the inside of his mouth as he dries his hands off, staring out the window. The texture of the dishtowel is all wrong—your skin is softer, and that’s what he wants right now. He thinks of the way you’d held the knife, your knuckles blooming white with the pressure.

Kid had been young too. Twenty-something.

God, he’s itching to get his hands on you.

He calls out for you, twisting his head to listen for a response. The only sound that answers him is a low crackle from out in the living room. A record spins on the dusty old turntable, the needle scratching away at the vinyl as it skips. He picks it up and the house falls into silence.

Walking over to the stairs, he calls for you again. Still, no answer. He lets out a frustrated exhale, squinting up at the second floor. He knows that you’re gone before he reaches the top step, but he checks anyway. The rooms are all empty. You must have slipped out when they were moving the bodies.

The needling edge of want in his belly is twisting unpleasantly. The killing was only as fun as what came after it. You couldn’t leave things like that unfulfilled.

Back downstairs, he opens the fridge and pulls out a case of beer.

“Always makin’ me chase you, girl.” He mutters to himself.

He finds you on the back porch of one of Ambrose’s many empty houses, hugging your knees to your chin. The screen door whines against its hinges as he pushes it open. If you hear him, you don’t move.

You startle when he nudges your shoulder with his knee, swiveling your head up to look at him. He offers you one of the beers with a grunt. Setting the case on the wood, he lowers himself down beside you. 

“You can’t be runnin’ off like that.”

You make a small noncommittal noise, turning your face back to the dessicated yard. It’s an overgrown tangle of weeds and dirt. An explosion of honeysuckle hangs over the fence, the weather-beaten pickets bending underneath the weight. He follows your gaze across the lawn. A kiddie pool sits in a dense patch of crabgrass, the plastic cracked and sagging. Years of being baked by the sun have left the print nearly indistinguishable, vague splatters of cartoon flowers scattering the sun-baked surface.

He cracks a beer open, watching as you look out at all that nothing.

He was always spooning you out of yourself on days like this. Every time was the first time for you. Eventually, he was sure this would get old. You’d get tired of being tired and you’d stay put.

You haven’t made a move to open your bottle yet, your fingers scratching aimlessly at the label.  

If you decide it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. That’s all there is to it. Pa had told him that once. Old man had never been one for good advice, but Bo figured there was something to that. He’d tried to pass that lesson on to you—once with words, once with his hands, once with a screwdriver jammed into the fleshy neck of another tourist.

That was before he figured things out about you. Before he’d realized that telling you things was pointless. So was showing you things. It could be right in front of you and it wouldn’t matter. You could watch him kill, clean up the mess, but you weren’t learning anything. You had to do things yourself. You had to have your hands on the blade.

“Need some help with that?” He reaches for the bottle, and you give it over wordlessly. Opening it easily, he tosses the cap off into the yard.  

“Thanks.” Your voice is soft.

“Yup.” He hands the bottle back to you.

You sit there for a bit, sipping on your beers. 

“Who used to live here?” Your voice breaks the silence, low and quiet at the back of your throat.

He peers around, glancing up at the rusty old wind chimes. They hang statically overhead, a wooden angel dangling dejectedly from the center string. There’s hardly a breeze today.

“A couple, I think. Had a kid. They didn’t last.”

You pivot your head towards him, a hardness to your stare.

“They moved.” He raises a brow. “Christ, girl. Lookin’ at me like I’m some kinda animal.”

The silence resumes. This time, he’s the one to break it, clearing his throat.

“Whatchu doin’ out here, anyway?”

“I like it here.” You mumble. “It’s peaceful.”

He’s always thought that was a strange way to describe dead things, but he’ll indulge you today.

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Sinclair.”

You let out a humorless laugh.

“Thought you’d like that.” You raise the bottle to your lips. When you speak again, there’s a sharp edge to your voice. “People trust a family man a lot more than a bachelor.”

“Got me a little actress.” He chuckles. “How many kids you say we have?”

“Twins.” You sigh, pinching at the bridge of your nose.

“Runs in the family.”

“Which side?” You murmur.

“Father’s.” He leans forward, trying to catch your eye.

“Mmm.” You say tonelessly, staring off into the yard.

“You kept those folks occupied for a while.” He states, his voice tinged with begrudging pride. “How you swing that? Thought all that noise would set ‘em off.”

“It almost did.” You take a deep swig of the beer, wincing a bit at the taste. “I just…told them I had two boys running around, so they shouldn’t mind any noises they heard. Said they're fine when they're loud. It's when they get all quiet that you have to worry."

“They buy that?” He arches a brow.

“I guess.” You shrug. “Said they were grounded and pissed.”

“Grounded for what?”

“Oh, uh—”   You rub at your temple, squeezing your eyes shut. “I caught them in your shop, messing around. All covered in grease, digging through daddy’s tools.”

“Breakin' shit?”

“I was thinking finger painting in motor oil, but yeah, that works.”

“Little shits.” He lets out a low whistle.

The flicker of a smile teases at the corner of your mouth. It’s gone as fast as it comes. Figures that you don’t want to give it to him yet. You’re a selfish little thing. He takes another pull of the beer, remembering the sound you made when you plunged the knife in.

He’d faltered a bit on purpose back there. Let one of them get the upper hand, just long enough for you to notice. He’d gone down on the floor, hands wrapped around his throat. It wasn’t tight enough to hold him, but you didn’t need to know that. Your eyes were wide and glassy with panic when you’d picked up the knife. It was the same one you’d used to carve the meat out and portion it onto the plates.

When it came down to it, there were two men in the kitchen that afternoon.

One rack of knives and you picked the sharpest one.

He was always giving you choices.

If something loves you, let it go. If it comes back, it comes back with blood on its hands. Somebody had said that once. Probably.

“Pot roast was a nice touch.” He remarks. “Had some of it. Shame most of it ended up on the ground.”

“Can’t believe you could eat after that.” You breathe out.

“Works up an appetite.”

You go quiet next to him. He glances over to find you staring intently down at your shoes, your brow furrowed. There’s blood speckling the toe of your sneakers. He watches as you lean down and begin undoing the laces, pulling them off. Tugging your socks off with a tight exhale, you stuff them into your shoes. With a sigh, you toss them unceremoniously off the porch steps, letting them land messily in the grass.

“You gonna make it?” He knocks his knee against yours.

“Don’t know. Are you?” You reply back tartly. “Mr. Sinclair?”

“Well.” He deliberates for a second, pursing his lips. “That depends on you, baby.”

“What are you talking about?” Your voice is brittle.

“You either know or you don’t.” He shrugs.

You let out a breathy laugh, your mouth working into an open-mouthed grimace. For the first time this afternoon, he sees the shimmer of tears in your eyes. Throwing your head back, you down the rest of your beer. A bit of it spills out of your mouth. You swipe your hand across your lips, rubbing at them for too long, too hard.

When you turn your head to look at him, the tears are gone. They’re just another thing you aren’t giving him today.

“Guess so.” You place the empty bottle down on the stoop with a pointed thud. “Can I get another one of these?”

“Yes ma’am.”

A small collection of bottles has gathered on the porch, brown glass glinting in the warm afternoon light. Out in the yard, you’re standing with your back to him. Hands on your hips, you peer into the kiddie pool. He leans back on his elbows, his eyes tracing up your figure.

“There’s water in this.” You announce, your voice oddly serious.

“Oh yeah?” He calls over. “You gonna jump in?”

You spin on your heel, wobbling a bit. He watches you steady yourself, straightening your neck to fix him with a incredulous expression.

“No. Way.”

“Look at’chu, bein’ all smart.” He smirks. “You a little drunk, girl?”

“Nope.” The word lengthens in your mouth, pops.

“Uh-huh.” He nods, letting his eyes fall closed.

“Bo?” He opens his eyes to find you beckoning him forward excitedly. “Come see!”

He shakes his head. You shoot him a pleading expression. Frowning, he drums his fingers on the wood. Despite his better judgment, he raises himself off the stoop. He’s a bit drunker than he thought he was. Slowly, he makes his way across the yard. You beam up at him when he reaches you, pointing at the pool.

The two of you stand in silence next to each other, peering down into the grimy swill of water. Clumps of scraggly vegetation burst out from the sludge. A gum wrapper bobs dejectedly on the surface, its cheerful neon wrapper covered in muck.

“What am I lookin’ at?” He asks dryly.

“The water.” You exclaim. “There’s…organisms…growing in it.”

“Organisms, huh?” He chews at the inside of his mouth, biting back a laugh.

“Yeah.” You bat your lashes up at him. “I dare you to go in.”

“Don’t know ‘bout that, girl. That water’s lookin’ mighty deep.”

“It’s not deep at all.” You scoff, not registering the sarcasm in his tone. “It’s like…the shallows at a beach.”

“That don’t mean anythin’ too me. Never been to a beach.”

“Never?!” You gape at him, blinking.

“You see any beaches ‘round here, girl?”

“Wait.” He watches as you tilt your head, your eyes narrowing. A flash of realization steals over your face. “Can you swim?”

He debates lying to you, but the liquor in his system answers for him.

“No.”

Your eyes go wide, your mouth curving into a surprised grin.

“You done makin’ fun of me?” He grumbles.

“I’m not. Promise.” Your eyes twinkle. Drunk, you’re not very convincing. “Hey. You know what? I’ll teach you.”

“Oh yeah?” He gestures at the kiddie pool. “In that?”

You snort out an inelegant laugh, your nose crinkling. Grabbing onto his arm for support, you wheeze out a string of jittery cackles.

“Real hilarious.” He mutters, jutting his thumb back towards the porch. “You wanna go sit down ‘fore you hurt yourself?”

You let out an indignant huff, but you follow after him. With moderately more effort than usual, you make your way up the steps. Plopping down next to him on the porch, you reach over, tugging playfully at one of the buttons on his shirt.

“Don’t you get hot in this?”

“I’m used to it.” He picks up his beer. “Gives you grit.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” The liquor’s loosening his lips. “You wanna hear a funny story?”

You nod.

“So, gets real hot in the house. Sure you noticed. Always been like that. And I ‘member one day…had to be summer. Just like this. No breeze. And I…” He pinches his tongue between his teeth, searching back in his memory. “I broke this, uh, statue.”

“Why?” You rest your chin on his shoulder.

“Dunno. Ma had it in the hallway, right next to our room. Couldn’t tell ya’ what it was now. But it was an ugly fuckin’ thing.”

“Where’d she get it?”

“Made it, I reckon. She had a buncha that kinda shit, all ‘round the house.” He swirls the beer around in the bottle idly. “It’s not like I wanted to see it every day. And that’s why she put it there, I figure. She was always doin’ shit like that. Used to really piss me off.”

“So you broke it?”

“Not on purpose. I was just tryin’ to move it. But—” He shrugs, raising the bottle back to his lips. “That’s what happened.”

“Did you try to hide it?”

“Didn’t bother. It wasn’t the kinda break you can fix. There’s no gluin’ it back together.” He smiles a bit. “So you wanna know what I did?”

“What?” You pull back to look at him.

“Broke the rest of ‘em.” He breathes out an exasperated laugh. “Every. Single. Fuckin’. One. And Mama comes home, and oh, she’s mad. Bat outta hell.”

You’re quiet, watching his face.

“Downstairs, that’s Vinny’s now, but it wasn’t always.” He clears his throat, smacking his lips. “Used to be a root cellar. We added onto it, over time.”

“Yeah?”

“And she…” He laughs, leaning back on his elbows. “Stuck me down there for a bit. Put somethin’ on top of the hatch. Dunno what it was, but I couldn’t push it open. I was real scared. It’s dark down there and your eyes don’t—uh—they don’t adjust. Least mine didn’t. ‘Cuz there’s nothin’ down there to look at. It’s just those walls, and they’re just dirt.”

You don’t say anything in response. He continues.

“Dunno how many times I tried that door. And I kept feelin’ like there was somethin’ down there. Kept hearin’ things. But nothin’ ever came. Know why? It was just me down there.” His lips curve into a grin. “Wasn’t scared of the dark after that, I’ll tell ya’.”

“How old were you?”

“Eight. Nine.” He shakes his head dismissively. “Old enough to know better.”

You’re silent. When he looks over at you, your mouth has flattened into a thin line.

“What? Why you lookin’ at me like that?”

“That’s awful.”

“Says you, city girl.” He snaps. The concern on your face is making him feel oddly exposed, pinning him under the spotlight of your stare. “Shoulda known you wouldn’t know what the fuck I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”

“Hey—”

“You grew up soft.” He spits out. “Never had to grow a backbone.”

You open your mouth and he cuts you off.

“You gonna tell me I’m wrong?” He glares at you. “Gonna pretend like that ain’t the reason you’re still here?”

“Bo—”

“Leave it.” He nods towards your beer. “It’s gonna be flat by the time you get ‘round to drinkin’ it.”

He’s not sure why he told you that story. It’s not like it had much to do with heat, anyway. Underground, it was cool.

You slowly shift away from him, angling your body back towards the yard. The porch creeks as you move.

The longer the silence drags on, the more it feels as if he can hear it. It’s a shuffling, rustling thing. It’s the type of sound you hear in a dark room, surrounded by wet earth. A sound that isn’t really there. He wrinkles his nose a bit, pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth. Dimly, he can feel the slither of the noxious feeling that creeps over him from time to time. It comes on slow, starting as a insistent twitch in his eye. That’s before it begins to crowd around him, turning the taste on his tongue sour and flipping in his stomach.

You’re always tripping him back into old memories. Of course you are. You like dead places like that. You said it yourself. You find peace in all that nothingness.

He glares down at his hands. His goddamn wrists itch. There’s something wrong with you—wrong from the start, wrong in the way you just can’t fix. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.

Beside him, you clear you throat, raising your bottle up so you can peer at the label.

“Bottled in New Orleans.” You read out. “Have you ever been out there?”

He furrows his brow. Your question has sent his brain tunneling away from his thoughts. He wants to be irritated at you for that, but the soft buzz of alcohol is making that difficult.

“Yeah.” He grunts, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “Played football in high school. We had a game out there. Grew up, went back. Been there a couple times.”

“What’s it like?” You chirp.

“It’s a city.” He shrugs. The silence is loosening its hold around his stomach.

You sigh, displeased with his answer. Setting your beer down on the bottom step, you fidget with your hands. Tentatively, you bump your leg against his. He glances down at you. Grudgingly, he claps his hand down on your knee. Emboldened by his vague acceptance of your affection, you scoot closer. He stretches his legs out as you lower yourself down, laying your head on his lap.  

“Is it nice there?” You look up at him, your hair spilling over his thighs.

“If you like that kinda place, yeah. Sure.” He wraps his hand around your throat lazily, enjoying the even feel of your pulse against his skin. “Food’s good, music’s what you’d expect.”

“I heard it’s haunted.”

“Didn’t see no ghosts. Ya’ know what I did see? Bunch’a drunk idiots.” He narrows his eyes at you. “Was one for a couple weeks.”

“Really.” You giggle a bit. “Will you take me there?”

“Sure.” He huffs out a laugh. “Bring the kids, get the vows renewed.”

“Good.” You say, grinning up at him. “I want a beignet.”

Your blatant mispronunciation has a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I’ll getcha one.”

“You promise?” You fix him with a surprisingly earnest expression.

He can promise you something now, even if he doesn’t mean to keep it. Dulled under the haze of alcohol, his thoughts are dizzy, impossible things.

“Yeah.”

He runs his thumb along the column of your neck and your eyes flutter shut. There’s a bruise against your throat. Taking another sip of beer, he circles it with his finger.

“I give ya’ this?”

“Yeah?” Your eyes snap open and you stare up at him quizzically. “Who else would?”

“Dunno. Figured it was from one of your New Orleans boys.”

“Well, you haven’t taken me there yet, so…it can’t be.” You roll your eyes, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “I haven’t met any yet. It’s always just you.”

“Lots’a attitude today. Don’t think I deserve that, honey.”

He’s sobered up some by the time the two of you make it off the porch and into the house. Not by much, but enough that he’s steady on his feet. He can’t exactly say the same for you.

In the kitchen, you flip through a tattered telephone directory, gazing down at the faded print. He comes up behind you, resting his hand on the small of your back. Exterminators, landscaping, law offices. You turn another page and pause. The House of Wax looms in a full-page spread. Printed in black-and-white, it looks larger than life, its doors flung open in invitation.

Bring the whole family! Fun for all ages!

“There it is.” You say softly, tapping at the paper.

“Huh. Must’a been when they were still payin’ for ad-space. 80-somethin’—” He pats at his pockets, his brow scrunching. “Fuck.”

“What is it?”

“Didn’t bring any smokes.”

Your eyes widen and you jolt up.

“The fuck’s the matter with you?” He frowns.

“I, um, I got these off one of the guys from earlier.” You reach behind you. “They’re your favorite and I—”

Eyes alight, you brandish a box of cigarettes in front of him. They’re Marlboro’s, a bit crumpled from being sat on, but otherwise intact. He plucks them out of your palm, turning the box over in his hands. Flecks of dried blood speckle the label.

When he looks up at you, you’re shifting a bit back and forth on your feet, blinking up at him. He flips the lid open, taking a cigarette out.

“Well, ain’tchu all peaches and cream.” Walking over to a dusty table, he pulls a chair out. Dragging it along the tile, he angles it to face you. Sitting down, he fishes his lighter out of his pocket and offers it to you. “You wanna come light this for me?”

You nod, quickly bridging the gap between the two of you. He rests the cigarette between his lips, watching as you raise the lighter up. After a moment, the flame catches. He lifts his hand, inhaling a mouthful of smoke. Resting the cigarette between his fingers, he glances up at you.

“Put that on the table and c’mere.”

Pulling you down onto his lap, he takes another drag of the cigarette. He slips his hand under your tank top, pushing the hem up to wrap his fingers around your waist. Your skin feels softer today, warmer—he’s not sure if that’s the alcohol muddying his head, but he likes the way it feels under his hand. You hum in contentment, leaning forward to press your lips to his brow, trailing kisses down his nose.

“You wanna tell me what you want?” He asks.

“I don’t…want anything.” You pull back to look at him, tilting your head in confusion.

“Nothin’ at all?” He watches you intently.

“…No.”

“Gettin’ me shit. Kissin’ me like that.” He sighs. “You’re tryin’ to make me sweet on you. It ain’t gonna work.”

“I’m not!” You exclaim, eyes wide with surprise. You drop your voice to a hushed murmur, your eyes flickering down his face and landing on his lips. “Anyway, I don’t want you sweet.”

“You don’t?” He arches a brow, flashing you a bemused smile.

You shake your head slowly, humming out a low sound of dissent.

“Don’t want me treatin’ you nice, huh?” He teases. “Looks like we’re learnin’ all kinds of things about each other today. You wanna tell me what you do like?”

“You.” You don’t miss a beat.

“Uh-huh.” He smirks. “That so?”

“I would’ve gone to your football game.” You blurt out suddenly. “I wanna see you play. I bet you were good.”

“Depends who you ask.”

You play with the neckline of his shirt, dipping your fingers underneath it to stroke at his collarbone. He watches as you fiddle with the buttons on his overshirt, scrunching your brow up in concentration. Halfway down, your fingers worry uselessly at the fabric. You pinch your lips into a pursed frown, peering intently at the machinations of the button-down.

“Need some help there?”

You nod gratefully, dropping your hands from his shirt.

“Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you.” He laughs. “You don’t know which way’s up, angel.”

“I know a lot of things.” You announce.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like…I can’t be that drunk. Because you had the same amount as me.” You widen your eyes at him, your pupils blown out from the alcohol. “And you’re fine.”

“I had more.” He snorts. “Not my fault you can’t handle your liquor.”

“Is that bad?” Your lips twist into a frown.

“You tell me, baby. You feel good?”

You smile at him, giving a small bob of your head in reply.

“Hold this.” He extends the cigarette to you.

He leans back in the chair, unbuttoning the rest of his overshirt. Shrugging it off, he watches as you raise the cigarette to your lips. He indulges you for a minute, resting back in the chair as you blow out a wispy curl of smoke. Reaching forward, he snatches the cigarette out of your hand.

“I was gonna finish that.” You protest. Flicking it onto the floor, he crushes it under the heel of his boot.

“Ain’t lettin’ ya’.” He shakes his head. “It’s a bad habit, baby.”

You open your mouth to argue and he shushes you. Cupping his hand against the back of your neck, he pulls your face towards his. Your mouth tastes like smoke when he kisses you. You run your hands up his chest, resting them on his shoulders.

You’re bold in a way you never are when you’re sober, all hazy and loosened up in his lap. You tug at his bottom lip softly with your teeth when you pull back from the kiss, rocking your hips against him. He raises his hand to your lips, easing your mouth open with his thumb. You lick at the pad of his finger, curving your tongue around it. Reaching up, you wrap your hand around his wrist, swallowing your lips around the tip of his thumb.

“Could get you to do anythin’.” He mutters, watching your eyes fall closed as you suck on it. “Goddamnit, girl.”

He pulls you in again, kissing the side of your face. Your skin tastes like summer, the shimmer of sweat from the sun on your cheek. You’re warm and sweet and close and he’d like more of that on his tongue.

“Think you can make it upstairs?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You smile. “I’m really not that drunk.”

“Sure, baby.”

Up in the bedroom, you lean your back against the faded wallpaper.

Golden rays pierce through the smudged windows, casting long beams of light onto the hardwood floor. When he pulls at the latches, they crack open with a showering of dust. Throwing off the blanket that covers the bed, he tosses it to onto the ground. Sitting down on the edge of it, he undoes the laces of his boots. Setting them on the floor, he inclines his head toward your jeans.

“Take ‘em off.”

You give him a lopsided smile as you work the denim down your hips. He pushes himself back, tucking a stack of pillows behind his head. You step out of your pants, kicking them to the side.

“C’mere.”

If you were sober, he might have a harder time coaxing you onto the bed. As it stands, though, you climb on without protest. He watches as you undo his belt, fidgeting with the fly of his jeans.  He lets you pull him out of his boxers, trailing your fingers up his cock. It’s only when you move to dip your head down that he taps at your knee. 

“Up here, baby.” He motions at you.

You look up at him in confusion. Scooting forward slowly, you watch his face.

“Turn around.”

You bite into your bottom lip and worry with the flesh there. Hesitantly, you turn. Without warning, he pulls you on top of him. You let out a muffled sound of surprise as he readjusts himself a bit, tugging your legs higher. You brace your hands on either side of his thighs, craning your head back to try to look at him.

“What are you—” He drops a kiss on your pussy through the cotton.

“Can taste you through these.” He rumbles out, his mouth pressed against the fabric. “Wet all the way through.”

Despite the warmth of the room, your skin prickles with goosebumps. You let out a shaky breath as he slides his hands up your thighs. You’re so still on top of him, hands flexing against his jeans. He reaches up and eases your panties off, letting them slip down your legs. His eyes slide down to your pussy, the shine of wetness obvious between your folds. He doesn’t touch you yet, pulling your legs further apart to get a better look.

“All this just from kissin’?” Raising his mouth up, he ghosts his breath along your sensitive flesh. “Oh, darlin’.”

He feels you shift slightly, your breath hitching in anticipation. He nudges at your clit with his bottom lip and you gasp.

“Hey, listen to me. I want you to do somethin’ for me.”

“Anything.” The word falls from your lips instantaneously.

“Don’t you cum til’ I say. You feel it, you hold it. You hear me, girl?”

“Yes.” Your voice wafts up to him, shaky and uneven.

“Yes, what?” He grunts when he feels your hand wrap around the base of his cock.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Get your mouth ‘round that dick.”

Your hand strokes up his cock as you lick a broad stripe along the side. Pulling you down onto his mouth, he grazes over your clit, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. Tipping his chin up, he rounds his lips around it in an open-mouthed kiss. You freeze, your hands stilling and your mouth going slack. Your breathing is uneven, your lips hovering over the head of his cock. 

“You forget how to suck dick?” He pulls back, flicking sharply at your thigh with his index finger. “Keep goin’.” 

You drag your tongue around the head of his cock in messy spirals, lapping at the slit with tiny, careful flicks. Bobbing your head, you work your tongue up and down the veins.  

You let out a yelp when he strokes his fingers between your legs, prodding at your entrance. He sinks a finger into you, and you give way easily around him. You arch back gratefully, your moan a dizzying vibration against his cock. When you swirl your tongue up his cock, he adds another finger, curling them inside you. He pumps his fingers into you, feeling your walls clench tightly around them. With a soft mewl, you raise your mouth off his cock. 

“You’re gettin’ distracted, darlin’.” He murmurs. “Stay focused.”

“I’m trying.” You whine against his skin.

“Not hard enough.” He smirks, squeezing at the soft flesh of your thighs.

“Daddy…”

“It’d be a real shame to leave you like this, baby.” He muses. “Figure you wanna cum, huh?”

You keen out your agreement, your breath hot against his skin.

“But you can’t get somethin’ for nothin’.” He sighs, pulling his fingers out of you. “You gotta put the work in, darlin’.”

He feels your body shake as you nod, taking him back into your mouth with a moan. Your lips close around him, and he lets out a sharp exhale through his nose. 

“Now there’s my girl.”

He flattens his tongue against you, licking up your pussy in long, lazy sweeps. Slowly, he drags his tongue onto your clit, lapping against the sensitive bundle of nerves. You tremble on top of him, bowing your head to take him deeper. All those little noises you’re making are vibrating back on his cock, making him pulse hungrily in the wet clasp of your mouth.

Once again, you lose the rhythm you’ve set, your lips falling open. He chuckles, clucking his tongue in disapproval.

“What am I gonna do with you, baby…” Leaning his head back, he reaches up to drag his thumb through your folds, playing with the wetness there. You gasp, your hand trembling around his cock. “Ya’ know, if I didn’t know better, I’d figure you were ‘bout to cum.”

You moan.

“But you wouldn’t, not when I told ya’ to hold it, right?”

“Daddy, please.” Your voice is strained. The desperate edge to your voice has his cock twitching, heat building in his belly.

“Always wantin’ somethin’.” He murmurs. “Little slut.”

You aren’t going anywhere, not with all that blood on your hands. He dips his tongue into you, running his hand up your thigh. You hate him half the time and you hate the killing more. But that’s what makes you like this, leaves you wet and begging and his. You rock back on his tongue, your moan garbled around his cock.

You only hate things that are part of you. You inhale enough smoke and it’ll catch up to you eventually. You can’t take that back.

With a choked sob, you raise your head off his cock, high-pitched, stilted cries falling out of your lips. You desperately try to take him back into your mouth, but your lips shake, panting hot and useless against his skin. Poor thing. Your desire to please him can’t ever match that needy hunger between your legs.

You whine when he withdraws his mouth, violent little tremors racking up your legs and making them shake.

“Gotta ask you somethin’.”  

You kiss up his cock, a broken cry tipping out of your mouth. It’s a sweet gesture, a pretty apology. He’ll forgive you, but he won’t tell you that—it’ll mean less if you know. He rubs at your clit with his thumb, watching you twitch helplessly under his finger.

“You like killin’ for me?” He asks. You tremble, whimpering against his thigh. “Like the way it feels? It make you wet?”

“Yes.” You whisper.

“Then you can cum, baby.” He says, tugging you close again. “You earned it.”

He seals his mouth around your clit and you’re thanking him for it, over and over again. You’re summer on his tongue, salt and skin and that edge of sweetness you only give him when you think he isn’t paying attention. You tense up on top of him, pressing back onto his mouth with a pitched sob. You shudder with a full-body shiver as you cum, the air filling with your moans.

Still shaking, you lean forward to wrap your lips around him with renewed fervor. He grits his teeth. He’s close, closer than he thought, the warmth of your mouth dragging him wildly towards the edge.

“Just like that.” He bites out, digging his fingers tightly into your thighs. “Don’t fuckin’ stop.”

You’re wet, you’re in his mouth, you’re stealing cigarettes off a dead man. He’ll take you to the city with a wallet full of bloodstained cash and you’ll sit on his lap in a bar.

“Goddamnit, girl.” He groans, his jaw tensing up. His hips buck up and you gag, spit dribbling down his cock. You take him deep as he spills in your mouth, swallowing your lips around the base. He grits his teeth as the pleasure rolls through him, dribbling out of him onto your tongue. 

Even as the sensation begins to ebb, you keep him in your mouth, gently sucking around his softening prick. Milking out the rest of his cum, your hands stroke up and down his thighs.

He swallows roughly, wetting his lips. They taste like you.

“That’s good, baby.” He breathes.

You lift your mouth off of him with a satisfied sigh, dropping kisses along his length. With shaky hands, you reach back and pull your panties back into place. Climbing off him gingerly, you turn to face him. You’re starry-eyed and weak, wiping drool off your chin. He opens his arms a bit and you lower yourself down into them.

The sun is slipping away now, hanging low in the sky. He watches the dust motes bounce in the pale gold light. You nuzzle into the crook of his arm, your breathing slow and rhythmic beside him. He’s almost sure you’ve fallen asleep when you raise your head off his chest.

“Did you mean it?” Your expression is pensive.

He could ask you the same thing.

“What?”

“About New Orleans.”

“Yeah.” He laughs, shaking his head. “You get in the truck, I’ll take you right now.”

“You’re not supposed to drink and drive.” You yawn.

"Course, ‘cuz we’re law abidin’ citizens. How’s tomorrow sound?”

Tomorrow, he’d take you back to the house and the days would begin again. There was work to do in the morning, wakes to visit, more glass to sweep up. Sometimes you ask him questions just to see what he’ll say. He never knows what you want him to tell you.

“I’d like that.” You shoot him a tired smile.

It was a nice dream. There wasn’t enough gas in the tank, though. Not enough to get much of anywhere.

“You got it, then.”

[restlesschilled]

Tmag 6 thoughts

Note: Im a backer so this was done on Tuesday the 13th and set to post on Thursday the 15

Credits

omg thats the sweetest thing im gonna cry

Pre "statemen

[insert caffine patch gag from meet the robbinsons]

as some one who worked overnights YES SAM GET THE BLACK OUT CURTAINS

"the sun is the enemy" Alice dark avatar confirmed? /hj

new guy??

turn over rate is also high in general for overnight jobs because its hell

also i know this is overnight in the script because spooky and also jonny and alex worked a job like this and thats hoe they met but WHY IN GODS NAME WOULD A JOB LIKE THIS BE OVERNIGHT?(fear and paranoia obviously)

WHY WAS ALEX AND JONNY'S REAL LIFE JOB OVERNIGHT?

can someone get Sam some vitamin D as well hes got melanin hes gonna absorb it slower

sleepy man

"Statement"

MICHAEL CODED

VERY MICHAEL CODED

NEW SPIRAL AVATAR?

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

(fun fact that's Giaus Octavius from Cry Havic!)

also looked at the cast (dont do it till you finish and HOLY FUCKING SHIT)

his name iss needles guys

Freaking out

porcupine man

pinhead

post statement

lol he was enjoying it

headcanon sam loves r/nosleep

also we've been called out

THIS IS WHY I WAS FREAKING OUT AT THE CAST LIST

HI CELIA

HI LOWRI

HERE SHE IS EVERYONE MY BIGGEST FUCKING QUESTION

also her last name is after Alex and Hannahs Dog which i love

"JUST ENSURE YOU EAT THEM ONSITE" LOL

CELIA WHAT A MOOD

LOWRI MY BELOVED

super weird interview

"and im both, the system work!"

love celia cant trust her but love her

"four weirdos in a basement reading scary stories" AFHGHLGSDALGELKRG

"AND I THOUGHT I HID IT BEHIND THE BUBBLY DEMEANOR" OMFG

HI IF YOU DONT REMBER CELIA FROM TMA GO BACK AND LISTEN TO MAG100 AND THEN MAG190 AND MAG194

freaking out

freaking the fuck out

GWEN REALLY JUST SAID DONT GET ATTACHED

shes already been to the break room?

hes got a crush on her

ALICE WHAT

“Would you like tea Celia? Coffee perchance? My heart carved from my chest and arranged on a little doily? Please, Celia, cut out my tongue so I can always be there to lick your stamps for you!”

"IF YOU KNEW ANYTHING ABOUT STAMPS" SAM YOU ABSOLUTE DWEEB.

the date on the statement is 3 days before the date it was accessed by Sam

CAT1RB4824-09022024-12022024

omfg

[rattycattyfanfic]

if you're still taking writing suggestions: t4t adamanda on a run 2 the grocery store? (i am so desperate for t4t adamanda crumbs though i would take anything at all LMAO)

t4t adamanda my beloved!!! what if we were 2 grotty smokers going jigsaw food shopping and we were both trans and traumatised. have this idk!!

737 words (woohoo!), brief mentions of canonical starving & trauma

She feels far away, swaddled in John’s too-big hoodie and hidden under the shadow of a baseball cap as she browses rows of gaudy plastic packaging. Her mind is abuzz with the logistics of the latest trap, counting down the seconds they have to do the weekly grocery run before she has to get back to him. She can barely focus on the snacks in front of her, the frosty soda cans, and so after a brief glance behind her, she snags a random packet with barely a glimpse at the label. John’s credit card is burning a hole through the pocket of her cargo pants, and yet she squirrels the mystery bag safely inside her hoodie – pure instinct, muscle memory. 

“Hurry it up, idiot,” she grunts, scuffing her boots against linoleum until she’s hovering at Adam’s shoulder. “We’ve gotta get back.” Her hip knocks into his, and the poor guy startles for half a second, freezing before rolling his eyes and shaking his head. His hair is getting longer, a little scruffy, but it looks good on him, somehow, in the same way that ugly JNCOs and his increasingly gaunt eye bags look good on him. 

“Yeah, right,” he mutters, “Whatever,” and pushes an armful of snacks into her hands. Amanda works her jaw slightly and resettles herself, struggles not to drop anything. It’s all shit, pure shit, Doritos and deli meats and snack cakes, and she smothers the laugh that threatens to bubble up, because it’s exactly what she’d pick too. She glances up, winces at the fluorescents, and Adam is already trailing towards the till. She follows absently, compelled to stay close as if he’s still her captive and not now one of them. There’s always the risk that he’ll run, crumble under the weight of their job and go straight to the cops laden with indisputable evidence, but somehow Amanda knows Adam wouldn’t. 

He’s too much like her. Too much like her, and people like them rarely get along well with the authorities. 

Adam has gathered even more snacks on the way to the till, a helpless kid picking up every vaguely appealing thing he sees. It makes her want to roll her eyes, and then it makes her feel sick. She remembers getting him out of that bathroom, keeping him on her couch – half-hostage, half-patient – and feeding him until his belly hurt, reminding him to eat slower, steadier as she’d nursed him back to health. Guilt wriggles in her gut, and she can’t bring herself to needle him about John’s poor credit card. Thing is probably fucking bottomless anyway. She’ll let Adam have this. 

He’s pointing out a carton of cigarettes when she dumps the armful of so-called groceries at the till, mumbling and directing the cashier’s arm like a fucking claw machine. “No, not those – stop, yeah, that’s it,” he chirps, and snatches them up greedily before they even hit the counter. He gestures vaguely towards Amanda, a little sheepish, and the cashier looks at her expectantly. 

“John would have a conniption,” she says and hands the cashier John’s card, eying the cigarettes, the way Adam’s fingers edge along the packaging, already tearing at plastic and cardboard. He gives himself away in moments like this, aggravated movements over a cigarette carton, a frustrated edge that he tries to keep hidden under quick jokes and dopey grins. Their shared late-night cigarette breaks are probably the only thing keeping him together, some days.

“Probably,” Adam agrees with a shrug, and bounces on his toes a little, antsy. “I’ll bum you one,” he offers, and edges towards the automatic door. 

“Yeah, you will,” Amanda grumbles, and pushes one of the polythene bags full of his stupid snacks into his hands. Adam rolls his eyes, mutters something under his breath, but he takes the bag and quirks the very corner of his lips, and for a moment they are just two stupid people. Later, that stupid oaf of a detective will yell at them for buying absolutely nothing of nutritional value, and the two of them  will smoke a cigarette under the cover of that leaky tin roof outside the warehouse and talk about nothing. She’ll share her shoplifted snacks with him, whatever they turn out to be, and maybe someone will get the other off with hands and mouth, unabashed and hedonistic, and they’ll just be two people in this shitstorm of a life.

[sasster]

Here There Be Witches

Once again, we are moving things forward! With another brief trip to the past? Hm. [doc] tw: needles, the sewing kind but piercing skin/blood is involved —

As much as the Reverend enjoyed galavanting through the halls and grounds under his thumb, reveling in the fear that wafted off of his following in droves, he also enjoyed retiring to his quarters with the blinds pulled so tight that the sun itself couldn’t penetrate their security on a cloudless morning. He perhaps played too into the role he occupied on those nights, when he soaked in the magnitude of his power in total silence, in the deep brooding dark. It never bothered him much, how on the nose his behavior ended up being.

Despite that being common knowledge among his following, it must have been that someone never received that memo, for very quickly the door to his bedroom was opened and the light made even faster work of flooding out that darkness and infringe on his peace. Accompanying the disruption was a soft voice, one he could never muster anger toward, that replaced the silence just as effectively.

“Matere,” the intruder spoke gently, and her voice quelled the irritation that bubbled up within him instantly. There was a specific sort of exasperation that carried along to the tune of her voice. His beloved crossed the room and sat on the bed before she continued. “I have been searching for you all evening. We need to speak.”

“Weaver, my love, you always have my ear.”

This much was always true, there was never a time where he would leave her to feel as though she’d been ignored. He’d also, unfortunately, never been known to respond to criticism. Weaver pursed her lips while she considered her approach.

“What troubles you?”

“I need to know what you are doing to that poor boy. What is happening to him?”

Now it was his turn to chew on his thoughts, and as he did, he shifted to place gloved hands on her shoulders. Being made to answer for himself and his actions, as rare of an instance as it was, would surely have ended differently if the inquiry had fallen from another’s lips. She knew this as well as he.

“Ailzea is fine.” He finally responded, keenly aware of how much she cared for his disappointingly passive descendant. He gave her shoulders a firm squeeze. “There is nothing to worry about regarding him.”

Weaver pulled away slightly and turned to face him, disappointment of her own painted on what little of her features that could be seen by the light of the hall. “Favion. What have you done to Faivon?”

Almost as soon as the question left her mouth, the Reverend barked out a surprised laugh. One that was born both of shock and genuine humor. There wasn’t a soul in the whole wretched city that would use the word poor as a descriptor for that beast of a yellow blood. Not the young man that spent his evenings prowling after smaller and weaker willed trolls. It would be a delusion, a mistake, to consider that boy a poor thing by any stretch of the imagination.

Matere had a list of other, much more suitable descriptions: Repulsive, disgusting, vile— To name a few.

Weaver was clearly not as humored as he, signified by the way the witch fully pulled away from her partner to instead stand by his bedside, hands balled into fists at her sides.

“Matere, this is not a laughing matter.”

“I would hardly cast pity upon Favion Lefera, animal that he is.”

She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest, with a nasty scowl a clear indication to her mate that she well and truly meant business.

“What did you do to him? Why is he getting more aggressive? Especially if you find such animalistic behavior to be beneath you.”

Matere felt himself grin, gloved hands clapping together to get the attention of the attendant from the hall. He, of course, did not consider the aggression of his little pet project to be beneath him. He was, in fact, extremely happy with the results of tampering with the boy. He wouldn’t give it up for anything, not even the peace of his mate.

Her ambivalence would be missed, however.

“I will show you.” He said when the attendant appeared in the doorway. “Bring Favion to us, quickly,” he commanded and watched as they practically flew down the hall in compliance. “You will not like it, and I sincerely do not believe that it can be undone.”

Weaver frowned at the taunt, but the pair were both well aware that even if it could be, it would only happen over the Reverend’s dead body.

—

The Restorer was not one for rushing. He never so much as broke out into a brisk walk, regardless of what it was he was attending to. That being the case, it was a head turning spectacle when he made quick work of covering the distance between his chambers and the front doors of the church upon hearing of Weaver’s arrival. Not quite a run, but enough to get the attention of any of the followers that happened to be along his path.

It was the juxtaposition of his typical placid expression coupled with the urgency that piqued most of the curiosity.

She met him at the door, before his arrival, she was nearly a statue, his only rival in a competition for stoniest expression, but her doe-eyed apprentice more than made up for her lack of excitement. The smaller of the two purple bloods was flitting about the entrance, gaping at the high ceilings and marveling wordlessly at the stained glass.

When Weaver saw the incesed priest approach, she broke into a grin of her own. “Ailzea, please forgive me that I could not come sooner,” she offered her apology quickly and enveloped him in a hug in the same instant, stooping a bit so that the hug was not distorted by their difference in height.

“That you found the time to come at all means all the world.” He replied in his usual cadence, unchanged by his mad dash to meet her at the door. “I see you bring a friend.”

“Ah, yes. This is Spider, my apprentice. The experience will be invaluable for her.” While they spoke of her, the pair turned their gazes to the young troll to find her staring up at the priest with stars in her eyes, mouth wide open. “I hope that this is alright with you, Ailzea.”

Never one to mistreat the youth, Ailzea untangled himself from his elder and greeted the young witch with a wave. “Of course it is no trouble.”

Spider pumped a fist up in triumph, much to the amusement of her mentor.

“Please, follow me.” He instructed as he began to lead the way back to his study, “My children are already waiting on us.”

The walk back to the study was uneventful. Beyond Spider’s occasional asking after what corridors would lead to which rooms and the priest obliging her curiosity, it featured only the elder trolls catching up on their lost time. Occasionally, Spider ran ahead of them to get a better look at a stained glass piece or old painting, ghosting fingers around their edges in reverence, then waiting for the entourage to catch up.

“She has quite an eye for the arts.” The priest observed.

“It is all she talks about outside of her studies.”

When they arrived at the study, Ailzea led his guests to where they were met by his children as promised. The two young Roatus’ were seated at his work table, scrutinizing the project he’d left abandoned when Weaver was announced.

“I’m thinkin’ it’s another mantis.” Archie said after straightening up from inspecting it closely.

”It’s not always going to be a mantis,” Marrie argued, letting her fingers trail at the base of the figure.

“A man can’t dream? Need another one to display my collection.”

Marrie rolled her eyes.

“It is going to be a giraffe,” the priest announced their presence with the clarification. “I will happily make you another display piece afterwards.” He promised and Archie grinned in response.

“You spoil him, you know.” Marrie said and gave her brother a playful shove. “That’s why he’s like that.”

“It cannot be helped.”

Archie only returned her shove with a mischievous grin. “Who’sat with you, pops?” He indicated the witch and appearance with a small gesture.

“This is Weaver, an old friend that may be able to help us with Marrie’s arm.” As he spoke, he looked down to then introduce Spider, but found that she’d already made it her business to inspect his daughter with gusto.

Though she did not touch her, she openly marveled at the craftsmanship with which she was put together.

“Please forgive my curious Spider,” Weaver said softly, stern gaze on her apprentice. “She finds the magic in everything.”

Marrie only giggled. “That’s not something to apologize for! It’s a good thing. I’m Marrie, this is Archie.”

Her brother leaned back against the table, his attention now on the witch that stood near his father. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Whadya gonna do for Marrie?” His inquiry was a simple one, but he was only successful in hiding the anxiety behind it from the pair he’d just met.

“Straight to the point. He is certainly a Roatus.” Weaver could not contain her smile as she moved in closer to get a better look at Marrie and the arm that she had in a sling. “I’ve not had the pleasure of doing this on one of your father’s creations, but there is no reason it shouldn’t work — Spider, the supplies — May I?”

Spider began to dig into her messenger bag and pulled out all sorts of odds and ends that Archie eyed as she set them on the table. It was nothing that Ailzea’d never seen before, so he busied himself clearing the table to leave space for her to work.

Marrie leaned in toward Weaver and offered up her arm, Weaver delicately undid the sling.

On the table in place of the wooden figure and wood working tools, Spider placed two jars of pitch black liquids, two needles, and a spool of purple thread. Archie raised his brows at the collection, but said nothing. Weaver continued.

“It is a simple enough procedure. I will stitch life into the arm,” with a soft click, she popped it out of the socket. “Then I will sew that force into Marrie.”

“And that’ll work?”

“I should have no reason to think otherwise.”

Archie casted a worried glance to his big sister, who beamed back at him.

“Never heard of magic like that.”

“You have my word, there is nothing to worry about.”

—

The Reverend was not a patient man. Even his matesprit could not wiggle her way around the shortness of that fuse. He sighed behind her as she examined the yellow blood.

“Matere, you need not breathe over my shoulder while I work.”

When he made no indication that he’d be leaving, it was her turn to sigh, but she continued moving. First she dipped the needle into the jar of liquid before her. Then she raised it to her eyes for inspection.

The entire thing and long trail of thread tied to it glistened in the light of the Reverend’s study.

“Favion,” he addressed the boy that sat obediently in front of her with the back of his neck fully exposed. The boy responded with a grunt. “How do you feel?”

It was not genuine worry with which the Reverend asked the question, rather it was purely scientific interest.

“Dying.” Came the gruff response. “Then undying. All the time.”

Matere hummed, one that sounded closer to a purr. He had not expected the results to be what they were, but they were a delight either way.

Inside of Favion the Reverend’s decaying voodoos fought for dominance with his descendant’s life giving voodoos, both of which dampened by the boy's own nullifying psionic ability.

Neither power, much to the Reverend’s entertainment, would stop coursing through the lowblood until they finished the job. And his natural defense mechanism would see to it that this never came to be.

He eyed the blackened vein-like fissures that crackled out in all directions on the yellow blood’s neck with a smug sense of satisfaction.

“Does it hurt?”

“It throbs.”

“Matere, your hand.” Weaver interrupted, and he complied.

She wasted no time, plunging the liquid soaked needle into his exposed flesh. It began to sting and he swallowed a wince when she pulled it out the other side, coating it and the full length of the accompanying thread in a slick of his blood.

The witch waited until it started to glow before she turned her attention back to Favion.

“This will burn the entire time, and it is not a cure.”

Favion grunted.

“But it will help with the deterioration and aggression.” It took a lot of convincing for the Reverend to even allow this level of intervention. Love being as powerful as it is. “Temporarily.”

He grunted again, which she took as confirmation that he understood. With deft hands, she began to stitch along the rotting mark left behind by her lover.

—

“S’it have to be our old man?” Archie asked, watching the witch saturate the needles and their attached threads in their own jars of the unknown liquid. She mumbled something over the set, leading them to start bubbling in their containment, before responding.

“Not necessarily. It just needs to be very fresh blood, but I imagine there is something special about Roatus blood that will be better for your sister in the long run.”

He held his wrist up to her face, when her gaze traveled up to meet his, there was something of determination in his eyes.

“Let me, then.”

Weaver smiled, then she tossed a glance to Ailzea, who nodded his approval.

“You love your family a great deal, is that right Archie?”

“‘Course I do.”

“And who am I to deny a love so fierce?”

Marrie was all smiles, hand clasped in her brother’s free hand.

“Spider,” the apprentice popped up by her side. “See to Archie.” She instructed as she lifted up Marrie’s severed arm and one of the soaked needles.

Spider fist pumped once more and very carefully took the remaining needle from its solution with one hand and Archie’s exposed wrist with the other.

“You’ll feel a little pinch!” She announced.

“Lay it on me.” He replied as his sister squeezed his hand tightly.

[dauntless-gothamite]

Master of Shadows [1/?]

Fandom: DC (Nolanverse; Batman Comics) Pairing: Bane x Fem! Reader Summary: You are a tailor that works for Oswald Cobblepot, also known as the Penguin, who tasks you with making clothes for the abnormally large man who has recently arrived in Gotham, Bane. While working with Bane, you see an opportunity to escape the Penguin, something you have wanted for years, and if you play your cards right, you may just gain your freedom and bond with the handsome man in the mask along the way.   A/N: working on another series before finishing Prove Them Wrong is a terrible idea, but I haven’t been able to get this story out of my head. In later chapters I may attempt to write smut for the first time (chapters will be marked as such if there is smut included and I may add *s so people can skip over it, but I’m still undecided on that at the moment).

“Shit,” you swear under your breath as blood pools in a bubble on your skin, painting the finger you’d just pricked with a needle a warm red. You weave the needle into the fabric and leave it dangling before standing up to search for a bandage and curse the Penguin for the millionth time that day. You walk across the room to where the first-aid kit hangs on the wall from an old, rusty nail, take it down, and rifle through the supplies, tossing aside painkillers, tweezers, a thermometer, and sterile gloves, heart sinking as you realize you didn’t replenish the gauze and band-aids after the last time you’d accidentally hurt yourself. With a groan and much internal dread, you exit the room and descend the creaky wooden stairs to search for a band-aid. 

At the bottom of the staircase, just as you’re about to dart into the bathroom down the hall to the right, the doorway to Oswald Cobblepot’s office swings open, revealing your boss, dwarfed as he stands beside someone you had never seen before. The first thing you notice about the unfamiliar person is how big they are; their arms are bulging with muscle and you could see his thigh muscles straining against his cargo pants. The second thing you notice about them was the mask covering the lower half of their face and the slight metallic hiss it seemed to make.

You’re about to tell your boss you’re only down here to get a band-aid, but he speaks first. “Aha! If it isn’t just the person I was hoping to see!” He beckons you over to his office and leads you to one of the plush velvet chairs in front of his desk before walking around to sit behind it. “Take a seat. You too, big man,” he says. The man he’d been standing with before you’d entered the room sat in the chair next to you, and the chair creaked with the effort of supporting him. “This is the tailor I was telling you about!” Cobblepot says, pointing to you with a wide smile. “She makes all my suits, which is why I’m the most dapper man around!” You immediately freeze in your seat. If Cobblepot is acting excited about anything other than a visit from his beloved Edward Nygma, it was most certainly bad news, and as much as you want to stay far away from whatever “it” is, it seems like you’re right in the middle of it. 

“Y/N, meet Bane,” Cobblepot says with grandeur. You look at the man sitting next to you warily. “Bane only just arrived in Gotham last week, and as the king of this city, I like to know who the big players are, and I think this man is going to bring something new to Gotham that can benefit my circle of friends and colleagues greatly…well I suppose it would be more accurate to say he is going to remove something from Gotham.” Bane nods curtly and crosses his arms, clearly growing tired of the Penguin’s little speech. “Alright, so now to the point of you, little tailor. Well you see, Bane here is a large guy, he has some trouble finding comfortable clothes. So I need you to take his measurements and make a few things for him; I’ll let him specify what they are exactly.” Cobblepot stands and makes for the door to escort you and Bane out of his office, but you don’t move. “Y/N, don’t keep me waiting!” Cobblepot snaps. 

Crossing your own arms as you rise from the chair, you take a step towards your boss. “Before I begin working on this…special project,” you start, eyes darting over to Bane before sliding back to Cobblepot. “I want to address the matter of compensation. Making clothes for Bane will require significantly more material as well as more time than your clothes do. With an increased cost of production, the pay should be higher, yes?” you ask, raising a brow as Cobblepot’s own eyebrows slant in anger. 

“You are in no position to be making demands, you little-” he snaps before cutting himself off, remembering he has company. 

“I also need more band-aids for the first aid kit,” you say, refusing to back down. Cobblepot nods and sends you a withering glare that tells you you’re going to regret opening your mouth before escorting you and Bane to the bottom of the stairwell you had descended not long ago. 

“Go take his measurements and compile a list of anything you need that you don’t already have; I’ll have it picked up this evening. And remember my navy and purple suit with the yellow accents needs to be done for tomorrow evening’s function!”

“Yes, boss,” you sigh as he makes his way back into his office and you lead Bane up the stairs. 

–

“Stand here please,” you direct Bane as you grab a stepstool, measuring tape, notebook, and pen from around the room. “So, what will I be making for you?” you ask as you flip to a clean page of the notebook. 

“The first thing I need is a coat,” he answers, and you take in the sound of his voice for the first time. It has a slight lilting quality but sounds menacing all the same, and the mask gives it a tinny undertone. 

You nod and step onto the stool to begin measuring his muscled back over the tight black shirt he wears. “Can you tell me more about the kind of coat you want while I measure?” you ask, using his back to support the notepad as you write down his measurements. He looks over his shoulder at you, glancing down to where you’re writing, but he doesn’t comment. 

“I care about functionality,” he starts. “It seems it can get quite cold here in the wintertime,” he continues, and you move around to his front side and ask him to hold his arms straight out to the sides and measure his chest. He looks down at you as you work, and you write down more measurements. Pulling the stool around, you kneel to measure his waist, listening as he finishes describing the coat he wants. You can’t help but notice his stomach is a bit softer than the rest of him, though there is still certainly muscle there, and it brings you a sense of comfort, reassuring you that the man you’re alone with is human. A very large, strong human who could probably kill you faster than you could blink, but human nonetheless. 

You stand on the stool to measure his height; he’d mentioned wanting a bit of a longer coat, and just as you’re about to write the measurement down–using his body for support, which he had continued to say nothing about–the door bursts open and a man with reddish-brown hair and a five o’clock shadow shouts “Bane!” Your head snaps up, and you’re about to reprimand him for storming in when your weight tips the stool and you fall. You brace for the impact of the hard floor, but it never comes. Instead, you find yourself in Bane’s arms.

“Thanks,” you blush, and he nods as he sets you down. 

“Barsad,” he says, turning to the man who had just stormed in. “I told you I would be out until after dark and not to disturb me. What is it?” Barsad looks between you and Bane, hesitating, but Bane waves him on. 

“We have a date problem back at…well, you know. The woman bribed one of the guards, I suspect Ollie, and he let her go.” Your ears perk up at that as you continue to wind the measuring tape back around the round track you keep it on. “And the event is in an hour and a half.”

“Do you still have the dress?” Bane asks, glancing over at you. 

“We do; it would be a bit difficult to transport,” Barsad explains. “What are you thinking, boss?”

“This one,” Bane says, nodding to you, is a tailor, so if we took her, she could make a few adjustments on the dress and she could stand in as the date.”

“Hold on,” you say, unable to stand by quietly despite your better judgement. “If I’m possibly going to some mystery event, I’d like to know what it is,” you say, crossing your arms. 

“That is none of your concern,” the man, Barsad, says dismissively, about to continue speaking, when Bane holds a hand up and silences him. 

“Under normal circumstances, I would agree with you, but this woman is someone we are doing business with, so we will play nice for the time being. And if she is to perform the part well, she should know what she will be doing.”

“I am right here!” you say, causing both men to look at you. 

With a deep exhale, Barsad says, “I need someone to take as a plus one to a party tonight, a fancy one.”

You hesitate, wheels spinning in your mind. You know getting involved with whatever these men have going on is a bad idea, but you’re already employed by one of Gotham’s most notorious criminals, so you doubt it can really get much worse. Decision made, you speak up once more. “You wouldn’t happen to be talking about the party at Wayne Manor, would you?” you ask. 

“Clever,” Bane says, but you get the feeling he is being condescending, so you send a glare his way. “But you are correct, that is the event.”

“Well…I have always wanted to see the inside of the place,” you admit. “And I’ve been dying to get out of this building for ages!” Bane looks at you in a way you can’t quite decipher, but you brush it aside. 

“So it is settled,” Barsad says. “Now, about this dress we-” he starts.

“I think I have something that might be better than whatever the hell it is you have planned,” you say, cutting him off. “No offense, of course,” you add, looking him up and down and noting that his fashion sense isn’t as bad as you’d expected. You stride over to a closet in the back corner of the room, put in the code for the lock you keep on it, and open it, revealing a small collection of couture dresses fit for the finest galas in Gotham. You slide the dresses around, scooting hangers left and right, until you find the dress you were looking for. It is a silk and tulle grey floor-length dress with a fitted bodice that has a plunging v-neck and sheer long sleeves. At the waist, the dress flares out slightly, and there are both white and black pearls sewn into the dress at the waist. “How’s this for a dress?” you ask with a smirk, satisfied when both mens’ eyebrows shoot up and Barsad gives you a wide smile. 

[dessertpanda]

Ash x Fem-Pokemon Trainer Mention of Abusive realtionship Sexual Assault mentioned )

"Charmander? where could that little bastard be?" Y/N questioned as she walked in search of the small orange lizard. "I say 1 thing and he gets mad" she sighed, feet hurting from walking for so long. "PIKACHU LOOK" The voice of a male brook the erry silence of the forest. "Hey buddy, are you a wild Charmander?" the boys voice rang through Y/N head. 'AHH HELL NAW SOME LITTLE BITCH AIN'T TAKING MY CHAMANDER' Y/N yelled into her mind. "CHARMANDER" She hollered as she stared to sprint in the direction the voice had come from. "CHARMANDER" she yelled again. "HELLO, IS SOMEONE LOOKING FOR A CHARMANDER?" the boys voice hollered back. Y/N was so turned around within the forest she couldn't pinpoint where the voice was coming from. "YES *pant* I AM, I"M A LITTLE LOST COULD YOU HELP GUIDE ME?" she questioned into what seemed like the obis. She waited for an answer, practically sitting on pins and needles. She was being to panic when she got no answer and the fact that she might actually be lost began to set in. "HEY YOU STILL THERE?" relief flooded over her. Never did she think that a strangers voice could be so calming. " IF YOU LOOK UP DO YOU SEE A NOIBAT?" She looked up into the bright blue sky and sure enough there was a small bat right over her head. " YEP, HE'S REALLY CUTE" She couldn't resist commenting on the indeed cute Pokemon. "YEAH... FOLLOW HIM, HE'LL LEAD YOU TO ME" 'okay follow the cute bat to the possible cute boy got' Y/N realized what she had said and formed a blush on her cheeks 'no no i have no idea who he is, for all i know he could be an old man' she smacked her cheeks a couple of time attempting to get rid of the redness. " Noi?" the small bat called from above "Ah I'm so sorry, please lead the way" She gently smiled up at the bat which caused a blush to form on the small Pokemon. "N-Noi" he then headed south and Y/N was quick to follow. 'Finally, I'll get to meet another trainer, MAYBE WE COULD BATTLE' she mentally conversed with her self ' maybe he's super cute... and we could get a drink and then go on a date, fall in love, have our first kiss, get married and maybe even kids' she began to fantasize all these random thoughts about this mysterious person shes about to meet. So lost in thought she didn't even realize that they where out of the forest until she was tacked into a hug "CHAR-CHARMANDER" the lizard cried. Making quick work to inhale the sent of his beloved owner. "Ch-charmander oh I'm so sorry, I didn't mean anything I said, I was so scared I had lost lost you" She was quick to return the hug. Their embrace was interrupted by the boys voice. " whoh glad we saved you, that forest get's really spooky after dark" he said his head turned towards the forest. " Yeah thank you so much, I was horrified.." Y/N slowly stood, keeping Charmander in her arms. She looked up towards the boy and as his head turned she let out a loud gasps "A-Ash as in Ash Katchum?!" She was shocked to see such a familiar face. "AH Y/N.. its been soo long" he quickly brought her into a huge hug. Y/N gladly returned it. Seeing her childhood best-friend looking well and healthy was such a relief for her.  "I- I haven't seen you since Valencia" Y/N pulled away quickly. "My have you grown" she giggle looking at his face. "I could say the same for you, I see you got a Charmander now" Ash smiled, He studied her face, taking in every change since the last time he had seen her " Man, have you grown" he repeated her own words back to her. Y/N couldn't help the giggles that bubbled up again. " You know.. I'll be here or a few days, Why don't we catch up, like old time" Y/N suggested. "I couldn't have come up with a better idea myself" Ash smiled at the idea. " Okay but camp or find a hotel?" She asked looking at her surroundings " well after the events I think we should find a hotel room, that way you don't get lost again" He teased her before running to grab his bag "Shut up, that was hella scary" she defended herself and readjusted Charmander in her arms. With everything set they began their journey into the town.

(MINNY TIME SKIP

It was about a 30 minute walk into town, They whole way they where telling story's of one an others adventures. "No way... SHE KISSED YOU?" Y/N was slightly heart broken that Ash had found a girl but glad at the same time. "Yeah, but, I didn't feel anything. I mean at the moment I was so surprised but yet there was no spark" He confessed with a sigh. Y/N smile dropped slight ' But she seemed so perfect' she couldn't help but think. "AH LOOK its an Inn" Ash pointed to the lights up ahead. Soon he took off sprinting "HEY WAIT" Y/N quickly followed after, trying to catch him. Soon they where at the front desk, checked in, and made their way up to the room. As soon as they got in Y/N fell onto one of the beds. "Man it;s been weeks since ive slept in a bed" she sighed attempting to sink deeper into it "Really, why so long?" Ash question while he sat on the other bed, Allowing Pikachu to craw up onto the pillows. "Well" she began, tucking Charmander into bed. " Charmander had gotten into a battle and he was pretty hurt," she gently petted her Pokemon's head " We spent 1 week in the hospital just trying to keep him stable. and after that another 2 days just to keep watch over him" She felt so upset with herself " How, how did he get so hurt?" Ash question taking off his jacket and hat, setting them to the side. Y/N remover her own gear and continued " T-The man had insisted on battling, I- I wasn't sure because he was rather strong looking and my guess was right... Even after he had knocked Charmander out his kept beating him" She gently ran a hand over her stitched stomach. " I had to step in to stop it and well his Scyther ended up cutting me to" " Damn, how could someone be so cruel?" Ash questioned "I-I don't know but I'm gonna get some sleep. Lots to do tomorrow" She ended the conversation rather quickly " ah yeah.. night" Ash said covering him self. "Night" she replied trying to stop the sobs. What Ash didn't know was who the man truly was and that the 'Pokemon battle' wasn't a normal one at all.

A few days had passed since the friends where reunited. The day where spent hanging out and battling. There was even a carnival coming to town and Ash surprised Y/N with tickets. "A Carnival? I love carnivals" she did little happy feet. "I remember that whats I got them" Ash explained adjusting his hat. "YOU ARE THE BEST" she jumped into his arms giving him a large hug and a small kiss on the cheek before picking up Chamander and chanting about how much fun it'll be. However she failed to notice the blush that formed on Ashes face 'that's the spark, the one that been missing' he thought to himself, a large smile forming. " Yeah, and the tickets for tonight so we better get ready" Ash said watching the girl dance around. "Right, I gotta get Charmander a Jacket, I'll meet you there at say 5:00pm?" she questioned, "Yeah that works, give me time to train a little more" Ash happy to agree. "Okkay SEE YOU" she then took off into a sprint into the town. "Pikachu, I think I found the missing spark" Ash smiled giddily " PiiiKa" Pikachu rolled his eyes as if he knew that already.  "Come on, I wanna look nice, make an attempt to match her" he ran back towards the hotel, planning out his out fit. 

Y/N sat in-front of the entrance in dark blue jeans, Charmander sneakers, and a Pikachu sweater. Charmander sat huddle to her side in Charizard hoodie. "I wonder what's taking him so long" Y/N talked to Charmander, checking her watch to see that it was already 5:20. She looked back up and scanned the walk way in serch of the familiar hat. "I hope he shows up soon" she signed "Don't worry Darling I'm already here" a rugged voice came from behind her. She stilled and continued looking forward hoping the voice belonged to anyone else.  "Thomas" she whispered under her breath as if it was a sin to say his name. "in the flesh darling" He leaned into her, inhaling deeply "And you smell sweet as ever" "NO NO GET THE FUCK AWAY" she screamed getting the attention of people passing. However a hand quickly covered her mouth "That was a mistake darling" he tightened grip on her arm " I've been hunting for you " he mimed while kissing her cheek. 'Ash please you bastard' She glanced to her side to see that Charmander had Scyther holding him. "Lets get out of here Yeah" he then attempted to drag her. Y/N did the only thing, she bit him hard, Drawing blood "AH BITCH" he cried releasing her. She then went to grab a ball from her belt to call her Houndoom but then she remembered she left her belt at the hotel 'fuck' she cussed to her self. She got into a fighting stance. "What honey got balls now?" Thomas taunted. "No but I have more than you" with that she threw a quick left hook, successfully knocking him back, and charmander used Flame thrower scaring the Scyther back. She threw all she could, fending him off for a good amount a time. But he played dirty, he called Scyther to cut her. She prepared for another blow but she was ready arms up. She felt no sting, no burn, but she saw a genja standing over her successfully deflecting the block. "A-Ash" She silently cried tears of relief. "Look buddy, I don't appreciate you hurting my best friend now scram, before I kick your ass" Ash looked a little less than intimating with his light blue jeans, Pikachu shoes and Charmander hoodie.But Thomas knew who he was, he was a champion and in reality he was lucky you had forgotten your belt for he would have lost if you had it. "FUCKEN BITCH, JUST WANTED TO REMIND HER OF WHAT SHE IS" Thomas spat "NO YOU ARE SO WRONG, Y/N IS KIND AND CARING, BEAUTIFUL AND I'M IN LOVE WITH HER" Ash was attempting to defend you honor but he ended up confessing instead. " You love me?" Y/N questioned from ground. "Yeah?" Ash said with a bright blush. "Dis-akg" and before Thomas could comment a very plush Snoorlax punched him away. "Yes, I'm in love with you, I have been" Ash said helping her up. "You where the spark I was missing" he confessed holding her face "Oh Ash, you where the spark I never knew I needed" Y/N said bring him closer. "Can I kiss you" He asked, wanting to make sure she wanted this "Please" she whispered scared to speak any louder. With that their lips collided into a sweet and perfect kiss. As they separated they couldn't help the smiles forming. "I'm a champion and got the girl of my dreams in the same year" Ash smiled and pulled her closer. "Now all thats left is to chatch'em all" she said holding his face "nah," Ash said "I think I've caught more than enough" he said bringing there lips back together.

(THATS ALL FOR NOW LOVE YOU ALL AND REMEMBER TO EAT,DRINK, AND LOVE YOURSELF BYEEEE)

[petaltexturedskies]

I will mix me a drink of stars, —large stars with polychrome needles, small stars jetting maroon and crimson, cool, quiet, green stars. I will tear them out of the sky, and squeeze them over an old silver cup, and I will pour the cold scorn of my beloved into it, so that my drink shall be bubbled with ice.

Amy Lowell, Sword Blades and Poppy Seed

[dridersgeorg]

He loved with a love that would eclipse the moons. His heart burned hotter than the forge of ruin, threatening to engulf his sternum with the feeling. His lungs trembled with the staccato of his heartbeat. This was his gift, this was his private piece of divinity. In the absence of Marika's grace, he had taken all the love he could muster within himself.

And he gave it away.

Sandoval watched Callar's shoulders move inward, its tail held low as it moved forward with an uneven momentum. This was not unusual - its body had become its own iron maiden, pain turned inward and tamped down like hardened earth. Though the needle had stilled the rot, it walked on legs that were not meant for its body, it moved upright with a spine not designed to support its structures. Existence was a protracted agony to it. Like any extended burden, some days were harder.

What was unusual, was its taciturn response to a quip he'd made about the fog.

"Ah, I can't see my own feet! Reminds me of my childhood." He grinned, glancing down at his own prosthetic leg. He'd expected a soft exhale in response - what Callar would pass for a note of bemusement.

He was met with silence.

He fished in his satchel, producing a weathered compass as they trudged forward. "Still heading East, though. So we should be on track as long as we stick to the road."

He waited patiently. There was no response beside the slow clink of its metal feet dragging through the dirt.

Sandoval stopped abruptly, and laid his pack down, glancing quickly around them. He listened, deeply, hearing his own heartbeat, and the labored breath of his companion.

"May we stop here for a moment?" he said gently, kneeling and opening a small satchel on his belt.

"What? Why." Callar did not inflect it as a question.

Sandoval began building a small fire with the twigs in the vicinity. "Would you sit?" he asked, working on the kindling.

Callar narrowed its eye, remaining upright.

The meagre fire sputtered to life, and Sandoval suspended a bowl above it, filling it with water from a jar in his belongings. He watches it closely, waiting for it to boil.

"It's okay," he says softly, a patient smile on his lips. "You don't have to. I just thought you'd be more comfortable."

Sandoval was making a suggestion, not a directive. He made space for Callar's volition. Sit if you want to. Do what you want to. It was learning, slowly, that Sandoval never told anyone anything. He asked.

It slowly, with a wince, lowered to the dirt, crossing its legs, resting a segmented hand on its knee.

Sandoval pressed the bowl into the sputtering flame as the water roiled and bubbled, smothering it. He carefully measured herbs and reagents from his pack, dropping them into the boiling water. It smelled absolutely atrocious, and Callar wrinkled its nose instinctually. Sandoval seemed utterly unaffected.

"It's not quite the tonic I could mix up with something fresher, but this will deaden your nerves somewhat. It's a high concentration neurotoxin, but with your resistances, it'll work as a painkiller in a pinch. We'll need to rest a while, though, as it'll slow you down quite a bit." He pours it into a weathered tankard, and holds it out to Callar with a soft smile.

Callar grips the tankard, raising an eyebrow. Its little poisoner, its beloved physician.

It reeked of spoiled earth, and it tasted like it could bite, but it swallowed regardless. On contact with its tongue, its mouth went numb, and then its throat. The heavy, cotton feeling spread like tendrils through its capillaries, and it felt its arms go slack, almost immediately. It felt like being swaddled, only the embrace was cool, like deep water, a soft pressure and a complete suspension. The aches were gone. The firing synapses telling it, You are dying. Your body is crushing inward. Your sickness is taking you. They all slowed to a crawl, and then silence. There was no pain, no twitch, no spasm. Just the gentle cradling of a poison, turned from a weapon to an instrument of healing.

Sandoval unclasped his hooded cape, and tucked it around Callar's torso like a throw blanket. It was still warm from his skin.

"I'm sorry it's worse today. I wish I had my garden with me, so I could make something a little more specific, but we can rest here a while." His right hand, a dented, golden thing, with ball joints for knuckles, gently clasped the limp palm of his knight's, and he sat down beside him, glancing at the thick mist enclosing them.

"..." Callar couldn't quite get its mouth to work, and it wasn't sure if it wanted to. What would it even say? But the silence between them wasn't thick, it wasn't full of tension. It was comfortable. And though Callar could only tenuously feel Sandoval's hand clasping its own, it was clasped nonetheless.

Sandoval often spoke hundreds of words and said nothing at all. But in that moment, with his soft eyes, with the gentle squeeze of his hand, with the slight, easy curl of his lips, he said everything that mattered with the quiet.

An I Love You, spelled out in fingertips and balms.

[starsasunder]

bold what applies to your muse. italicize what sometimes applies. ( repost, don’t reblog! )

for ms. inanna issar, my beloved ♥

                            𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄

cloudless sky / ocean waves / winter dusk / deserted rest stops / dust filled book jackets / sea salt in your lungs / open space lofts / mountainside meditation / empty ski lodges / calm before storms / electric charged air / lighthouses / road trips with no destination / desert skies / summer breeze through a cottage window / cool air against water soaked skin / seaside towns during off season / wind-chimes / big bed with lots of blankets / coming home after a long time away / a wolf howling in the distance / fingers dancing along spine / a hug from an old friend / afternoon tea / wild flowers off abandoned highways

                            𝐑𝐄𝐃

wine soaked lips / internalized rage / blood on knuckles / four poster beds / barefoot on marble floor / velvet drapes / lipstick marks / murder mysteries / old barns with hay lofts / mouth full of weapons / possessive love / dark chocolate / apple orchard visits / handwritten letters / fresh strawberry fields / cherry flavored chapstick / soft candlelight / vintage pumps / tingles over your body / strong but gentle hand around your throat / scarf tied over your eyes / fog on a rainy night / intimate bar settings / complete destruction / kiss swollen lips / scratches against flesh / sitting by a fireplace / blood orange sunsets

                          𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖

community gardens / sunflower seeds / open fields / blowing dandelion fluffs / bubbles in spring / warm champagne / drafty cottages opened after winter / soft buzzing near your ear / loose braids / flaxen sundresses / handmade straw hats / warm butter on fresh toast / daisy chains / drum circles / sun on your face / maypoles / outdoor festivals / street food / car shows / pop art drawings / fruity flavors / mist on produce / running through sprinklers / cucumber water / wrap around porches / worn pages of a book / honey in tea / yard sales / freckled skin / tarnished gold lockets / angel food cake / windmills / flashlight beams

                           𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍

marshy swamps / cajun recipes / haunted graveyards / old road signs / the house people tell stories about / lights flickering / jazz music / twig snapping / campfires / ghost stories / urban exploration / vines creeping up brick / wooden flutes / quiet forests / labored breaths / hiking trails / rain on leaves / bonfires / fresh smoothies / water logged grottos / painful whispers from jealous lovers / successful business ventures / leaky cellars / park theater productions / mint scented lotions / ambitious promises / pine needle covered floors / oil lanterns / aloe on warmed skin / crushing floral foam / forgotten towns

                          𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊

crinkle of leather jacket / midnight walks / bulbs burning out / black lacquered nails / the sound of bats screeching / distant marching band music / noises when you’re home alone / blood soaked knife / dark lipstick on pale skin / scent of sulfur / soot on boots / slasher movies / glint of cat eyes in the dark / oil slicks on dark asphalt / basement bedrooms / investigating a noise / grainy camera footage / black and white photos / dust filled attics / empty theaters / whistling in the middle of the night / scratches at your window / wrought iron gates / lace neck ruffles / long floor sweeping skirts / broken music boxes / needle scratching on vinyl / lost memories / disembodied voices / forgotten faces

                          𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄

crisp scents / laundry on a line / fleece blankets / brightly lit hospital rooms / empty train stations / genuine laughter / feathers against skin / new life / cotton dresses / log cabins in winter / swan gliding through water / harp music floating through the air / plane rides for fun / mountain tops / ice sculptures / first snowflake of winter / linen freshly pressed / the scent of a running dryer / vanilla and cinnamon milk / a smile from a stranger / letters in the mail / a longing finally satiated / kiss of moonlight on skin / fresh canvas / snow glittering like diamonds / paint strokes / pretty lie told from a kind mouth / sparklers / coffee foam art

Tagged by: @crystalmarred— thank you very much for the tag ♥

Tagging: @seatedsacrifice, @abstractmage, & you !

[steele-soulmate]

Tattooed Wings, CHAPTER 609, Peter Steele & OFC, Soulmate AU

SUMMARY: Mary Claire Bradley meets her soulmate- literally- the famous Peter Steele of metal group Type O Negative. But will obstacles including trauma, stalkers, and toxic family members get in the way of their life?

WARNING: mentions of child rape (nothing graphic) PTSD, milk kink, soft smut, grinding, assault, fingering, hand jobs, blow jobs, 69, P in V sex, blood, noncon rape, violence, death, vandalism, graffiti, attempted kidnapping, break-ins, wild animal attacks, terrorist attack (sabotage) consensual impregnation, bareback, impregnation kink, creampies, terrorist attacks (shootings) hit and run pedestrian accident, precipitous labor, neonatal death, abandoned baby, child intoxication, death of a minor character, injured baby, kidnapped child

WORDS: 1101

“Let me guess- Baby Teddy’s baby nosie is broken again?” Ryley asked as she entered the exam room. Little girl and Baby Teddy were both up on the examination table, the five year old’s fingers clamped firmly around the now cranky little man’s nose. “Oh my goodness- good job little girl!”

“I know,” grumbled little girl, not budging as Ryley began to peal her away. “Nonono!”

“Little girl, you’ve done a good job with Baby Tommy,” Ryley acknowledged her in a gentle voice. “Now, you need to move aside and let the doctor work on you little brother, yeah?”

Little girl then promptly let go and made grabby hands at her beloved Papa Pete.

“Uppie uppie uppie!” she demanded to know, breaking out into a beaming grin when he obeyed her whims, giving me her hands to wipe away the blood. “I love you, Papa Pete!”

“And I love you too, little girl!” Peter bubbled out, pressing whiskery kisses onto her chubby little face.

“Kissy kissy kissy kissy kissy kissy kissy kissy!” giggled the tiny child, exposing her cheeks as an offering in exchange for more kisses from her favorite person. “Papa Pete, kissy kissy kissy kissy kissy kissy kissy kissy!”

“Kiss kiss kiss!” Peter cooed, pausing in his assault of kisses to turn to Ryley as she excused herself to go grab a bag of blood and some tools. She had stuffed Baby Teddy’s still trickling nose with some cotton swabs before leaving.

Little girl made grabby hands over towards Baby Teddy and a loud whine slipped out past her lips.

Peter handed her back over to her little brother after a quick cuddle, where she sat next to him and tugged him in for a hug.

“Baby Teddy, Baby Teddy, Baby Teddy, Baby Teddy,” she sang quietly, pressing a sweet little kiss to his baby brow. “Baby Teddy, Baby Teddy, Baby Teddy, Baby Teddy.”

“Knock knock!” Ryley called out just then, entering the exam room with a blood bag in one hand and equipment in her other hand. “Okay now, are you ready sweet Baby Teddy?”

“No,” he meeped nervously, feeding little girl his hand to hold. “Mesies no likesies pokey pokes.”

“I know you don’t like needles,” Ryley told him, showing him an arm Band-Aid with a cheerful bumblebee. “But look at what I found- you can wear this and you won’t see or feel the needle going in!”

Baby Teddy’s face morphed from scared to excited, and so he offered her his right arm. Ryley hung up the bag of type O negative blood and quickly go to work in cauterizing his still bleeding nose.

“Alrighty now!” Ryley cooed, removing the tool and sitting backwards to grab at a tissue. “Can you please puff air into the tissue from your nose for me?”

Baby Tommy took in a heavy breath of air.

HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK

Peter broke out into laughter at the amusing sound of Baby Teddy loudly blowing his little man nose.

“Alright now, it does in fact appear that fixed it!” Ryley announced. “Would you like me to put a note into his file so that his pediatrician would know to look into increasing his medication?”

“The blood clot stuff?” I asked with a quiet hum. “Yeah, will Baby Teddy need to go in for an appointment with Dr. Marshall?”

“I don’t believe so, but Dr. Marshall will give you a phone call surely,” she answered diplomatically before signing off on the little man’s online portal.

“Alrighty then, is that everything?” I asked, breaking out into laughter when little girl removed her blindingly pink T-shirt and began to try and wrestle Baby Teddy out of his blood stained T-shirt. “Oh my goodness- nonono now little girl, can you please wear your T-shirt for mommy now?”

“Yes Mama Wen Wen.” And with that, she redressed herself once more and allowed for my big, bad, extremely beefy soulmate to pick both her and her little brother up before we left the exam room.

When we reemerged out into the waiting room once more, we found the rest of the kids, trying to copy a woman who was on the floor, teaching them gentle contortionist yoga.

Little girl threw her head backwards and let out a crow like “WHOOT WHOOT,” which very quickly gained everyone’s attention, giving way to happy applause and cheers.

“Baby Tommy was very adamant that Baby Teddy was getting the best possible care in the whole wide world for his broken baby nose!” explained a passing by nurse.

“He did!” Baby Tommy looked at the man as though he were fifty shades of crazy. “Ryley is the bestest doctor!”

“Yeah, Ryley is kind of the family doctor,” Peter chuckled as all the tiny little babies swarmed together at his feet with their tiny baby arms stretched upwards.

“Here daddy!” Katie chirped, lifting up Baby Tommy and having his latched onto his daddy with a gleeful cackle.

I giggled as I watched the girls helping load the babies onto my husband, wondering how on earth I massively lucked out with having such an amazing, sweet, kind, gentle, caring, loving, passionate man as my soulmate. I must have some ancient god favoring major time on little old me.

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE It only costs $3!!!

PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@rock-a-noodle

@elianafilthyrose

@ch3rry-c01a

@rockstarslutt

@angelxfuckk

[dollkichi]

HELL YEAH I CAN!! There are at least 3 or 4 MC (or at least in their own stories) Danganronpa OCs I have! Mainly for V3 cause its my favorite -w-

Roselyn Monet (Sandasu)

Ultimate Actress or Ultimate Pediatrician it depends honestly..-

Black and French, moved to Japan for business

One of the Chpt. 3 victims (found in the infirmary) (I made one appear out of thin air I'm so talented/silly)

Shes shy and jumpy, very Mikan coded pre and post-game, but in-game she's a bitch/aff!!! She's very cold and distances herself from people but if you persist enough she miight open up~ (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Had two ships with two guys I've selfshipped with- Stage Play (Kokichi x Rose), Detective's Script/Black Rose (Shuichi x Rose) I end up using the former for videos more, but I do have quite a lot of Stage Play ones!! >w<

She actually is a part of a longgg story on her own!!

And I couldn't mention Rose without mentioning another part of her story!

Hayase Miya (Sandasu)

Lil' Ultimate Seamstress

Youngest (Has two older siblings who are twins!!)

Ultra Despair Girls!!!! Would have been a part of the WOH but I scrapped it!!

7 (But 8 now!!! Her birthday is on July 20th!!!)

While her biological family is (somewhat) alive, her adoptive ones are dead ( • ᴖ • ｡)

Her adoptive parents died at her brother's hands, and she killed him out of fear and self defense technically-?

Traumatized little girl with a specialty handling needles, she's very shy and proper!!

Rose's cousin, i guess???

She miiight get adopted <3

This one isn't well known unfortunately!!!! But I still love her!!!

Sukoshi Shizukana

Ultimate Social Outcast

Specifically pops up Post-V3!!! She knows nothing and is only thrown into the loop because she's married to one of the participants tbh

Me and my platonic wife usually roleplay her and (her) Post-game Kokichi!! The married couple ever pt 1 because he loves her and she's kinda like "wtf??!?!?/pos"

They also have two sons!! Akihiko and one I haven't named yet (っ- ‸ - ς)

She's gone through...a lot.

Recovering Alcoholic and drug addict because she wants to get better for her son (her parents weren't great before they died

She's a very scared yet sweet girl underneath her rude and passive aggressive front, her talent pushes people away

She has two D.I.C.E members who are parental figures to her because she deserves it!!!! Give her good role models!!!!

And THIS is perhaps my most well-known and beloved DR OC!!!!

Ai Kegareta

Ultimate Succubus, and is a literal Succubus!!!<33

Her past, In-game and Post-game was not kind to her

Princess of the Lust Ring in hell, and the youngest of 16!!! (๑•̀ㅁ•́๑)✧

She's Kaede's half sister, but they look so alike the only things telling them apart is Ai's demonic features and her natural pink-blonde hair (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

She's a very innocent and bubbly girl!! She makes friends with everyone (or at least tries to) and believes there's good in even the worst people!!

She had a very sweet mom before she died, and was left with a shitty stepmom who hated her and abused her (¬⤙¬ ) After killing her mom since they were twins!!! (๑•̀ᗝ•́)૭

She's British this isn't important just though to drop it /silly

Ai is very shippable (my mootie and one of the lomls even selfships with her!!) But AiOuma has burrowed itself deep into my brain and nested there I cannot escape it because they're so. Fucking. Cute. But also really angsty I have way less AiOuma videos for how much this ship circles in my brain

GONTA AND AI ARE BESTIES!!

Rantaro was also her first crush~ ♡

Ai's worst fears are losing loved ones and being replaced in any manner. So you can imagine how bad it was losing Rantaro, Kaede, Kokichi and Gonta was and having to live up to be like Kaede or up to her image (╥‸╥) Being mistaken for her sometimes also stings, she was part of the cast, yes, but she also felt like Kaede overshadowed her in a way, but never resented her for it outwardly, at least...

She's the light in any room, but the darkest shadow in her own mind.

AND THATS ALL!!!<33 Fun fact, I was listening to Kokichi x Listener ASMRs in the middle of my teacher yelling at us because Angel doesn't care about a whiny adult~ (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

– 🩷🎮

THIS WAS A DELIGHTFUL READ!! Their talents are all pretty unique. I don’t think I’ve seen an ultimate pediatrician, social outcast, or succubus before. I wonder what your post game is like, definitely sounds intriguing.

What does being either the ultimate actress or ultimate pediatrician depend on? Did you just like both talents or is there another reason? Was she originally one or the other before you thought of another talent you liked? ALSO NOO RIP TO HER… making stuff appear out of thin air for ocs though is so real. Also, videos? It’s always so cool to see people creating stuff with their ocs :0

UDG OC LETS GOOO ‼️ The lil ultimate oc was such a surprise, but a good one. Poor thing, I hope she does get adopted. If no one adopts her, then I will!! (/silly)

She’s been through so much omg :(

I haven’t seen many lil ultimate ocs… probably only like three total if I count yours. People should make more lil ultimate ocs.

How did Sukoshi get the talent ultimate social outcast? Why does she only pop up Post V3?

Super curious to see how hell and demons would work in the Danganronpa universe if you ever wanna talk about that. It’s interesting how Ai is so innocent when she literally comes from hell. She’s see the worst of the worst there and yet she still thinks like that? Perhaps it’s because she’s from there that she does because she’s able to see the worst do good. I am all for the Gonta and Ai besties, Gonta deserves a friend‼️

Giggling, how did you not get in trouble for that?? Also, considering how many times that he’s been brought up in this ask, you seem to really like Kokichi. Is he one of your favorite characters?