#poor fuchsia :/

[tep-the-conjurer]

[mischeviousmew]

A special flower for @metalmewtwo-kxb author

[maryasmorevna]

fuchsia really said "it doesn't make sense..... compels me tho" about steerpike lmao

[phantomslament]

Say it ain’t so…

[savage-rhi]

Fuchsia 😭💀

[moonlit-trolls]

oh yeah btw if u

A) Throw food away in front of caldea she is going to beat the shit out of you

and

B) Don't say thank you to whomever cooked said food she will beat the shit out you

And

C) Say that her goals are stupid and yours are better or say your life is tough when you're standing a solid several cuts above her, she will beat the shit out of you

[tggardens]

More before pics.

[thehoneybeestings]

𝐯𝐢 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐯𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Word Count: 545 Content/Warnings: sfw, gn reader (no pronouns used), a little bit of angst just bc poor Vi has never caught a break in her life A/N: so while i finish up the dancer!vi x dancer! reader smut... i wrote this up super quick last night in bed while my girlfriend was genuinely sprawled on top of me pushing me off of it but awwww my shayla ANYWAY, here is a short headcanon about what I think it's like to share a bed with Vi! enjoy!

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

୨ৎ Vi, who feels the safest when she's as small as she can get while she sleeps

୨ৎ Before you two began sleeping in the same bed, she'd try to go to sleep with her limbs outstretched- be it on her side, her back, or her stomach- but every morning, without fail, she'd wake up with her knees tucked into her chest and her arms wrapped around her own waist

୨ৎ After the two of you began sharing a bed, she'd start out curled into herself, cradled in your arms, and wake up starfished across the entire fucking bed

୨ৎ Vi, who I fully and wholeheartedly believe sucks at being the big spoon

୨ৎ As much as she'd like to feign that she's all big and tough- that she's supposed to be the one holding you- she sleeps the best tucked against your back, covers pulled up to her nose

୨ৎ (When she does try to big spoon, she burrows her head so far into your back that you end up turning around to hold her anyway)

୨ৎ Vi, who-despite pulling it right up to her nose before she falls asleep- always manages to kick the damn comforter off the bed in the middle of the night

୨ৎ She runs so hot at night that it doesn't matter; anything more than the top sheet and you'd sweat through your pajamas

୨ৎ Vi, who sleeps naked apart from her underwear (plain cotton hipsters; there's no way boxers are fitting underneath the tight ass jeans she wears like i’m sorry)

୨ৎ Vi, who hates waking up alone; in fact, she's terrified of it

୨ৎ You learned your lesson about leaving bed unannounced when one morning, you woke up before she did and decided to sneak off to the kitchen to make her a surprise breakfast

୨ৎ You're busy scrambling eggs when you hear her call your name from the hallway leading to your bedroom 

୨ৎ She rounds the corner to the kitchen, eyes wide and wild until they land on you, and she finally exhales

୨ৎ “Hey baby! I thought I’d surprise you with breakfast in bed; you like your eggs scrambled, right?”

୨ৎ “Yeah,” she'd breathe out. She still looked like she'd seen a ghost. 

୨ৎ You'd furrow your brow, worry creeping up on you. “You okay?” 

୨ৎ “Y-yeah, sorry. I’m good,” she'd reply, unconvincingly.

୨ৎ Your eyes wouldn't leave her as you moved the eggs off of the heat and made your way to where she stood with a hand on the wall to support herself

୨ৎ “Baby,” you'd coax, reaching out to tame a stray tendril of fuchsia; and she'd envelop you in her arms, holding on like you'd disappear if she let go

୨ৎ “Please don't leave without waking me first, okay?” She’d plead, her voice breaking.

୨ৎ And your heart would shatter as you realized just how terrified she was of losing someone else

୨ৎ From that point on, you'd never leave bed without a gentle shake to her shoulder and a quick kiss on her forehead as you alerted her that you were leaving, but that you'd be back

୨ৎ Vi, who still has a hard time comprehending that she has a soft bed to sleep in at night, a fluffy comforter to abandon when she gets too hot, full nights of sleep without nightmares, and most of all, you to share it with

──˚₊ 𝐄𝐍𝐃 ‧₊˚──

[odileeclipse]

I feel like hollyberry is the mom of the group and if y/n is part of their group and is weak...like just an ordinary cookie who joined them...she'd mother them so much lmao! She has that energy!

You had barely managed to escape becoming a cake hound’s midday snack when she appeared. HollyBerry cookie, in all her might had bodied the cake count with one swing of her shield. You would say that was more terrifying than the cake hound itself, but she had decided you were hers now. "Look at you! Fragile as a sugar petal!" she bellowed, giving you a hearty slap on the back that nearly sent you face-first into the dirt. "No way I’m letting you wander around like this! You need strength, food, and a proper family! And lucky you, you just found one!" Before you could even protest, she had hoisted you onto her shoulder like a sack of flour and was marching forward with the enthusiasm of a general leading an army. That’s when the others arrived. Pure Vanilla Cookie was the first to step forward, looking utterly bewildered. "Hollyberry… who is this?" "A new friend!" she announced proudly. "Found them running from a cake hound! Poor thing doesn’t have a lick of battle in them." You wanted to get a word out but were cut off by Pure Vanilla’s kindness. Pure Vanilla’s concern instantly turned into sympathy. "Oh, you poor dear… Are you hurt?" His serene face was full of warmth as he reached up, carefully fixing your slightly askew hat. "Don’t worry, you’re safe now." "Safe?" Dark Cacao Cookie’s deep voice cut in, his sharp gaze sweeping over you. "They are weak. They would not last a day in our company." You stiffened. Ouch. Hollyberry shot him a glare. "And that’s why I’m keeping them! We’ll toughen them up!" Golden Cheese Cookie scoffed. . "Oh, please! Look at them—frail, small, utterly ordinary! If we bring them along, they’ll just slow us down!" "Then we train them," Hollyberry countered. "Besides, look at this little face!" She held you up like a prized trophy. "Tell me this isn’t the face of a future warrior!" You gave a very unconvincing, awkward smile. Golden Cheese squinted at you. "…Hmph. I suppose they have a certain charm." Dark Cacao crossed his arms. "A burden." "A friend," Pure Vanilla corrected, already using healing magic on the minor scratches you had from running. "And if they need guidance, we will provide it." White Lily Cookie, who had been quiet this whole time, finally stepped forward. She crouched slightly to meet your gaze, her dark fuchsia eyes studying you with interest. "You must be quite clever to have escaped a cake hound for as long as you did," she mused. "Do you wish to stay with us?"

…Did you have a choice? Hollyberry was still holding you. You nodded hesitantly. "I-I mean… if it’s not too much trouble…" "No trouble at all!" Hollyberry declared, setting you down—only to immediately pull you into a rib-crushing side hug. "Welcome to the family!" Pure Vanilla smiled warmly. "I’ll make sure they’re well cared for." White Lily nodded. "And I can teach them a thing or two about survival." Golden Cheese tossed her hair. "I suppose I could help them get some speed in those legs. Can’t be running like a lost chick forever!" Dark Cacao sighed. "If they must stay, they will learn discipline. I will see to that." You gulped. That sounded… intense. Hollyberry just laughed, giving you another hearty pat on the back. "See? You’re in good hands! Now, first order of business, FOOD! You need to eat! I’m sure running away from that cake hound has you beat!"

I really feel that she would have taken you in whether you had said yes or no LOL

[starryhutcherson]

━━ A NEW FAMILIAR

author's note: crawled out of my hole for this one guys. sorry for being so ghost mode im working on putting out more stuff, apologies if this isn't of the highest quality as i'm running on sugar free redbull and three hours of sleep ! love my life hahahahaAHHHH

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: best friend!mike schmidt x reader warnings: 18+ sexual content! oral sex (f!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, swearing word count: 4600+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

Mike’s expression always glooms when you bring up the next date you’ve arranged. He knows how this story plays out; he knows the truth behind the men you’ve matched with on whatever sketchy website you’ve wasted your time on. They’ve molded themselves into the embodiment of perfection, through falsified photos and fabrications buried in their bios. His patience crumbles like fireplace ash as you skip around his living room and drone on about whatever dickhead you’ve set your poor, precious heart on.

He knows, always, the the outcome is running makeup and salty cheeks, sobbing on the floor of his living room in a creasing satin dress and his welcoming arms, a bitter exclamation of “you were right Mike” leaving your lips in the knowing silence and him gritting his jaw and pretending that it doesn’t bother him the the only habits you ever find yourself falling back into are the bad ones. 

It’s no different today. 

Mark or Matt or Mitch – you really were killing him, because it should be Mike. It should be him. Him that you’re getting ready for, him that you’re daydreaming about. And it’s an odd feeling, like a movie where your favorite character dies and then movie finishes and you have to accept that they aren’t coming back, no matter how long you sit glued to the reclinable chair, popcorn crunched beneath your sneakers and the credit-scene reflected in your shrinking pupils. 

Mike’s not the type to be happier with the hope – he’d let the truth swallow him up, sink into his creaking bones, he’d live with the loss. But he still has hope for you. He has hope that your eyes will open and you’ll seep into his brain and his breath and his bed. He hopes you’ll start seeing him instead of just looking. Maybe it's wishful thinking. Ignorant optimism.

It feels like it. 

It feels like it, right now, when he’s leaning against the doorframe of his bathroom and watching you get ready, your animated chatter reverberating around the small space between coats of mascara. He offered to give you a ride before you’d even asked, and he’ll tolerate the sting of watching you get out of the car looking all pretty for someone who isn’t him, just to make sure you get there safely. It’s the type of sacrifice he’ll make for you. 

“I can’t even feel my face, I’ve been smiling so hard all day!” You squeal, powdering your cheeks with more purposeless product – he thinks it’s all pointless. You’re radiant, even in the harsh lighting of his bathroom. 

He offers a low grunt. What is he supposed to say? He’s not happy. And he’s not gonna pretend he is. 

You either don’t notice or choose to ignore, continuing to doll yourself up to whatever standards you have for yourself. “I mean, he says he’s been skiing since he was 6. He’s practically an olympian.” 

Mike scoffs. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” he grumbles, shaking his head. “Can you hurry up?”

“Alright, grumpy. Calm down. I gotta do my lips and then I’m ready. Plus, nobody told you that you gotta stand here.” 

A fleeting flush of fuchsia permeates his cheeks, but he looks down at his worn shoes to hide it. It’s true. He didn’t have to stand here. But if an angel was populating your bathroom you’d want to take a peek, would you not? That’s how he thinks you look. Angelic. Glowing from your soul, a content smile knitted on your lips. You might as well have a halo and wings – that heaven-sent aura is reinforced when you douse yourself in lingering washes of that sweet perfume that’s branded itself to you. He’d recognise that floral aroma anywhere, the way a shark detects a drop of blood amongst saline scattered seas. 

“Okay, I’m ready. How do I look?”

Cruelest question of them all. “You look… fine. Good.”

A knot forms in your brow. “All this effort for that terrible answer?” Playful, but with a truthful undertone. Why do you value his opinion so much? He doesn’t want to assume anything. 

“Well I’m not the person you’re dressing up for.” I wish I was. He doesn’t say the other words, but he thinks them so hard he’s half convinced if you were listening in the right spot, or looking into his eyes for long enough that you’d hear it anyway. 

“Okay, okay, whatever. Let’s just get going, don’t wanna keep Mack waiting.” 

Two letters. That’s all it would take. That’s all he’d have to swap to make it him.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

✩‧₊˚

Even if you aren’t aware, even if he did offer, he drives begrudgingly. He focuses as much as he can, on the road ahead and not your glistening figure beside him in the passenger seat, the very definition of temptation. 

The mall parking lot is barren, a few gleaming cars scattered amongst the otherwise desolate area. He pulls into a space, sets the car in park, rakes in a greedy sigh of air. 

“If anything happens, call me.” 

You sneer teasingly. “Don’t be so pessimistic. It’s gonna be great, he could be my future husband, y’know.”

Yep. Mack, the 35 year old you've met online, who’s only notable talent seems to be skiing and his greatest life achievement to date is shooting a deer, whose head is mounted to the wall in his bedroom, typically visible in the background of his many instagram posts which involved his shirtless figure straining to flex his overly pronounced bulk. A match made in heaven. He wants to scream. 

And how can you even tell him to not be pessimistic? How can you look him in the eyes and act like this moment hasn’t happened time after time, the point of no return before an evening spent crying in his arms as he reassures you that your failed dates are never your fault, even though by now it seems like you must be seeking out the same genre of shitty man if you’re this good at getting your heart broken. He’s sick of picking up the fragile little pieces of his bathroom floor, cutting himself on the shards of a heart that’ll never be his. You deserve more than these half-baked, single night romances. He could show you that. 

“Yeah, sure,” he grits. “Future husband. Just call me, seriously.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you.” 

And with that, you’re off, disappearing into the gaping mouth of the mall’s entrance, and he watches with an alkaline feeling growing in his stomach. Your hair is caught up in the wind like clothing on a washline and he thinks his hope is all drained out. 

✩‧₊˚

Mike spends a good two hours back at his house. His movements feel vacuous, staring ahead at the screen, barely processing the raging garbage that masquerades as reality TV. The rain has picked up outside, licking at the window panes with a growing intensity. 

He’s not happy about the jean skirt and tiny little tank top you’d clad yourself in prior to leaving, you’re probably frigid by now in the cold. You did however reassure him that Mack was gonna drive you home, or even worse, take you back to his place, so his stupid fucking elk head trophie could watch with it’s empty eyes while the pair of you fuck on the bed that his mom still has to make for him because he never can quite manage those fitted sheets, can he? Fucking manchild. 

Shit. Mike’s feeling so so bitter. Maybe it’s because he’s finally realized that this is the dreaded pattern he’s going to have to endure with you until death. Or until he braves up and actually tells you that he’s been in love with you since the fifth day of second grade, when you mouthily confronted Jerry Murdoch and told him to give Mike his crayons back.  

With a weak sigh, he turns the TV off with a click of the remote still encaptured in the loose hold of his fist, and decides to see if he can melt into any form of sleep – but the knock on his door prevents him from doing so. 

He arises lethargically, not having much on his mind but the denial of his slumber as he shuffles over and turns the handle, but then, it’s you. 

Fluttery lashes melted to black smudges beneath your eyes, a mixture of rainwater and tears, completely drenched and dripping all over his doormat, your body is trembling and you’re wracked with tiny little cries and he’s feeling so many emotions he believes he might implode. 

He pulls you inside and into his arms, stroking your back in gentle, soothing motions, and it kills him that this has become routine. He’s angry. He’s sick of this. 

“What happened this time?” He grunts softly. 

“He didn’t even show up. He couldn’t even send a message as to why, Mike,” you sniffle into his warm chest, drunk off the even echo of his heartbeat. 

A moment’s silence rots like aged fruit. He draws a breath in, then out, then in again. 

“Why didn’t you call me?”

You crane your face upwards to meet him, instantly bathed in a nervous shiver when you see how serious he looks. 

“My phone was dead.” Is all you can manage to mumble. 

“What?” He’s pissed. “Why didn’t you charge it? You could have charged it there, they have outlets at the mall. Or you could’ve used someone else’s, so you didn’t have to walk home in the rain, because you’re drenched.” 

“I don’t–”

“Y’know how dangerous it is to walk around alone in this shitty neighborhood? Half the street lights don’t even work, and I don’t even know any of my neighbors, or what kinda people walk around here at night.” He grumbles. “I shouldn’t have to tell you all this, I’m sick of explaining all this to you.”

You roll your eyes irritably, releasing yourself from his arms and crossing your own across your dripping wet torso. “How was I supposed to know he was gonna stand me up? You’re telling me I should just expect it?”

He blinks like a deer in headlights, silence settles into his flesh.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

You scoff. “It’s what you implied.” 

“It’s not what I—” He grumbles weakly under his breath, cutting himself off, deciding reasoning with you is somewhat of a useless attempt. “Why can’t you just listen to me?”

“What, charge my phone next time? Bring a raincoat? Yeah, great help, seriously, don’t know where I’d be without you,” your sarcasm hits like gunshot wounds to the teeth. 

“Or maybe you should try to meet actual people, instead of fake ones from some stupid website.” 

After a cold shiver bites up your spine, your expression deepens with defense. What is his fucking problem? “At least I try to get out of the house! At least I don’t spend every hour of every day moping around and feeling sorry for myself!” 

The pair of you fight, sure, every good relationship, friend or romance or family or whatever should, but nothing like this. This is stone-set, it’s been coming for a while, the wild gesticulations and the pacing and the raised voices. It shakes the bones of the weakened house. 

“Don’t,” Mike says with a furious edge, fists tightening and untightening like he’s about to take a swing at the wall, like this is going to end with bleeding knuckles nipped with shards of worn plaster. “Don’t throw that in my face, I do everything I can, for you and Abby. It’s not like I have a choice.”

“So what, you’re so fucking miserable in your own life that you have to try and control mine?”

“Control? You’re like my child! You don’t even know how to take care of yourself half the time, so yes, I try to help you not to make such shitty decisions!” 

You scowl. “You’re not obligated to do anything for me, y’know Mike. Why do you keep me around if I’m that much of a chore for you!”

He snaps, the tension in his fists bleeding up into his throat, his mouth, the words clot behind his gums and suddenly they tumble out in a fury-fueled shout. “Because you’ve got no one else!” 

You deflate, wilting like a flame without oxygen, and Mike deems the silence to be more cruel than anything else you’ve said to him tonight. He’s feeling everything and nothing all at once, the quiet crumbles around him like a burning building and he fears he’ll become rubble beneath the debris. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just… god, just–” His eyes flick to you, and then retreat back down to the faded living room carpet. He can’t swallow his guilt this time. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“It’s fine,” you say coldly, knuckling away an angry tear. The salt water is the trick of nostalgia, you’ve cried like this so many times. Your breakage of those promises to yourself. It’ll be different. And it never is. 

“No. It’s not – I’m a dick, I just… I hate watching other people ruin your life. You deserve better.”

Better. What is better? Some twisted fantasy that some people are indulged with and others are left longing for. That you’re left longing for. You know he’s tired of the same bullshit that you force yourself through, convincing yourself of change, painting yourself up to be fit for presentation, and hoping that whoever you’ve leeched onto likes what they see, so you don’t have to feel so alone anymore. You’re oblivious, painfully so. Because Mike could plaster together the cracks in your splintering psyche, if you’d just let him in. 

“Whatever, Mike. It’s true anyway.”

There’s a hole in his heart in the shape of your name. He begs you. Fill it. A part of him shatters at the defeat in your words — he’s crumbled you to the bone, to the marrow. He’ll build you back up. You deserve it. 

“No it isn't. No it isn’t. You have me. You’ll always have me.” 

A silence pervades; the look in his eyes is one of pleading, that you’ll stop and see what he’s offering you, that you’ll stop chasing your own tail, that you’ll stop the cycle. 

“Mike…”

“And Abby.”

You indulge him. 

“You have me. And you have Abby. And I know that’s… not much, but she loves you. So much. And I’m sorry, ‘cause I know I don’t say it enough, I don’t…. I don’t say how much you mean to me, but I just—”

“Mike.” 

He wallows in the waters of your rain kissed eyes, the way your pupils pulse and the words are falling before he can swallow them back down. 

“I love you.”

He gives you that stare. That stare that’s the color of black coffee, the look that you can feel, unearthing the graveyard of wilting feelings you’ve tried to bury, the heart that beats for him him him, lodged between the ivory bars of your ribcage. He maps you out with his eyes, he looks at you the way the sun hungers for daybreak. 

He’s waiting. He’d wait forever. 

“And… and seeing you with these… shitty people who don’t even care about you, it just…” He sighs exasperatedly, dragging a sweaty palm down his face. 

His sentences can’t seem to finish themselves. This is harder than it looks in the movies. Harder than when he’s practiced in the mirror, when Abby’s walked in and giggled at him and told him to just fess up. 

“You love me? Like…”

He looks up at you like a kicked puppy. “Yeah. I do.”

You’re beyond bewildered. He loves you. He loves you. 

“What– but… you—”

“You don’t have to… say anything. I just, I can’t… I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t do it.”

You reach for his hand. It’s a little clammy, a little trembly, but it’s a perfect fit. Just like you. 

“I love you too, Mike.”

What?

“You… do?”

He’s skeptical, but he’s also swooning. A stone man is slowly cracking. 

“I just didn’t… didn’t think I could have you. I mean, you’re so… you’re everything, y’know? You’re a good brother, and you work so hard, and you’re… I’m just… I don’t think I deserve you,” you whisper, confessing. With a newfound stroke of confidence, he approaches, one hand snaking around to the small of your back, another on your cheek. He’s gentle. In his eyes, you’re porcelain. Precious. Fragile. At least, at this moment. But you love him too and that’s all he needs. It’s all he’s ever needed. 

“You deserve everything.” He says it so quietly it’s barely audible. And then, nothing is audible because he’s carefully pulling your lips to his, linking you in every way, his hands tangle into your damp hair and he’s kissing you. 

His lips chase yours in messy, uncalculated movements. He’s starting small. It’s been a while. And he’s gonna take his time with you. He’s gonna show you what you deserve. Soft sounds squeak past his lips as they flutter against yours, and you’re closer and closer and closer still, impossibly so. 

Within moments he’s whisking you off to his bedroom, his hand tangled with yours, an interlace tight enough to cause ropeburn. His skin chafes with yours, and then he’s kissing you again atop his navy comforter. 

He’s gentle, respectful, but you understand what he’s trying to tell you, what he’s been trying to tell you. He speaks through silken drags of his tongue, through the hand that holds your cheek steady— he feels as though he’s gripping the very cusp of a constellation. You taste like stardust. You glow like the waning moon. 

He breathes heavily in the expanse of his throat, his pants have become tight and wet and filthy; he’s been subconsciously grinding down into your lap. You’re a little shaky and your pupils have darkened with lust and he is going to show you what you mean to him. What you’ve been missing. 

His hand falls lower, into the slope of torso that dips into your hips. His eyes travel back and forth, searching, hunting for the desire that he feels mirrored back at him. Do you want this, the way he does? Do you? His hardened stare doesn’t speak loud enough. He elaborates.

“Can I… uh… do you wanna…?”

Do you want to? You need to. 

“Shit, okay,” he croaks out, jaw tense and tight as he traces you beneath calloused fingers. You didn’t realize you said that out loud. 

He’s endearingly awkward – you know from languid late-night conversations that he hasn’t done this a lot. Maybe even at all. But he’s sweet, so sweet, like lapping up sugar and feeling it dissolve on your tongue, feeling him dissolve on your tongue, giving you comfort and cavities. 

“Can I take this off?” He asks nervously, fiddling with the hem of your camisole. A short nod, and he’s sliding it over your sweat-pricked figure, admiring your contours in the whisper of evening moonlight that bleeds through holes in his moth-eaten curtains. You’re perfect, and he knew you would be. 

He caresses your skin gently, drunk on the mellow feeling of your bare stomach beneath his fingertips. Your bra is black, a little lace peering along the straps, your breasts spilling into the fabric. He reaches around your back, fumbling at the clasp. When the garment drops, his hands are replacing it before you can even blink. 

“Beautiful,” he manages to get out, thumbing over your nipples. 

“Mngh, Mike—”

“Sh. Just let me… just let me. Let me make you feel good. Please?” He grunts out under his breathless voice, and how could you deny such a request?

The moment you agree, he’s grabbing you by the thighs and tugging you towards him slightly, so your back is nearly flat against his mattress and he’s settling himself in the gap that you create for him. 

Your skirt comes off first. Your panties are undeniably soused, his fingers trace the big wet spot that’s dripping all for him, teasing you through torturously thin cotton. 

“Mike,” you mewl gently, fingers settling in his nest of chocolate curls that are damp with sweat. A firm tweak and he’s groaning, his voice melting away into nothing like hot tar. 

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles to himself, like he’s never seen anything like it. Probably not in a while. His finger hooks beneath the waistband, pulls it out gently, and lets it go. It slaps against your hip bone and another fresh sound seeps from your lips.  

“Mike, shit, please just do something—”

“Okay,” he whispers, more to himself than you, carefully sliding your panties from your waist, down past your ankles, and he’s tossing them to join the pile of clothes that has begun to collect on his bedroom floor. 

You’re here, before him. The girl he waited for. Your soft flesh is glistening, clenching painfully around nothing, and he’s salivating at the sight of you. He pries your legs out further with his warm hands, leaving them to linger on your bare flesh for a few drawn out moments, before he claims what’s rightfully his. 

He presses a trialing kiss to your clit, and your back curves delicately, fingers tightening their grasp in his hair. He moans into you at this action, and you, in turn, moan as well. Confidence creates itself in him with each little whimper that he gets you to release, and he’s answering back, hearing your cries, your calls of his name with his own unabashed exclamations of pleasure. This is just as good for him, as it is for you. 

“Mike,” you whine gently, and he’s mumbling weak praise right into your cunt. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty. Wanted this for so long.”

It’s barely audible between his languid sucks; he’s lapping at your drooling entrance, fingers subtly creeping closer, up and along your thighs and settling right above your throbbing clit. He presses his thumb against it, tracing sinful circles against your bud— once, twice, and then you’re far too close to the edge. 

“Oh, Mike I’m gonna come,” you choke out between gasps. 

“Do it. Please.”

He’s begging you. 

And you oblige. With a trembling sob, your thighs tense around his head, keeping him locked in place, capturing him and making sure he finishes the job, and oh does he plan to. When you soar, he’s still holding you in place, soothing the electric sparks pulsating throughout your body. 

He savors your sounds, and when they stop coming, he presses a lingering peck on your inner thigh, stubble scraping at the sensitive dermis. He then raises his face to your level, the light coruscating off the filthy souvenir etched all over his face, your glittering arousal that he wears so proudly. 

He steals a proper kiss from you, rubbing your side as a gentle comfort. He’s completely hard now, tenting his sweats, leaking against the fabric. You gingerly reach out, tracing what you assume to be the head of his cock, and he sags, boneless, against your touch. 

“Fuck, baby I—”

“Baby?” You chuckle softly, still hazed from the candy-coated afterglow of your orgasm. The first of many, he hopes. 

“Mngh— g… got a problem?” He grumbles softly, almost quivering as you begin to palm him with purpose.

“It’s out of character,” you tell him gently. 

“Shit, can I be inside you?” He asks you, voice ripped raw. 

And once again, Mike Schmidt leaves you breathless. 

“Yeah. I need it. I need you.”

He groans, slipping off his pants and boxers without so much as another word from your swollen lips. He’s hard, angrily so, his cock pulses violently and a little whimper escapes through the crack in his bitten lips when it slaps against his stomach. 

He’s stroking himself slowly, base to tip and then back again, collecting the pearls of precum that dribble from his slit. He’s never been so ready for something. For you. It’s all for you. 

He’s holding you, thumbing your hip bones and gently nudging himself into your hole, cooing at every cry that crawls from the crevices of your throat. When he bottoms out, finally, it’s safe to say that he gets a little dumb. “Oh, shit, I’m not— not gonna last long, you’re so tight, shit…” He’s rambling a little. It’s cute. 

A few wandering kisses land on you the way dandelion spores decorate a skyline – your cheek and your chin and your jaw, as he waits for you to let him move. You’re squeezing him for all he’s got and he’s three seconds away from spilling before he’s even so much as thrusted. You do this to him. 

All those days, staring into your eyes and wondering if you’d ever see him the way you do, all those nights, stroking your hair and softening your saddened sobs after failed date after failed date. They’re all worth it. 

You’re clamping down on him, warm and wet and wavering, and you’re exhaling softly through your nose and telling him to move, begging him to move, to make you feel good, and it’s what he does. 

He pumps into you with passion, magnetized to your every movement. He’s satisfying a decade worth of insatiable craving, he’s chasing your hips with his. You end where he begins. 

The headboard creaks and slams against thin plastered walls, one hand grips onto it with alabaster knuckles and the other one holds your hips for better leverage. He doesn’t need to say it, but each knocked kiss of his pelvis to yours is a silent I love you I love you I love you. 

“Oh my god Mike,” you sob, and he slides himself deeper, hitting everywhere he wants to reach. Everywhere to make you quiver beneath him.

“You d—don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he moans lowly. “How many times I’ve imagined you like— like this.”

He’s blabbering, every stray thought that passes through his head is already blossoming on his tongue and out into the air before he can even think twice. Admittedly, you’re too blissed out in your own mind to really respond, but it’s arousing all the same. 

“You’re so… so beautiful,” he’s flushed and he’s faltering, and you know he’s close before he even announces it. 

“Shit, baby, I can’t— can’t last much longer,” he stammers, his bruising pace beginning to shake. 

“Do it in me, Mike, please, please,” shit, are you trying to kill him? Your word is the only law he knows, and he’s wrapping his arms around your torso and diving his head in the elegant slope of your collarbone, biting down into the skin and spasming somewhere deep in your welcoming walls. 

He tries to keep himself quiet, but it’s really a futile effort. His hips jut sporadically as he empties himself inside you, and the sudden flood of subtle heat is all it takes for you to topple over as well. 

Bliss teeters back into reality after a seemingly ceaseless moment. He peels his head from its previous position to admire you, to stroke a stray lock of hair from your forehead and nervously greet it with a kiss.

He doesn’t let go of you. Not now, not ever, he thinks to himself. His arms snake around you tighter, and somehow it’s even more intimate after the fact. His bare chest collides with your back, his nose rests comfortably against the crown of your head. The pair of you follow each other into a dreamless sleep, safe in the sanctuary of a warm bed and an even warmer embrace. 

He’s found his new familiar. 

masterlist

✩‧₊

[short-and-ugly]

Canon irken eye colors

All the time I see all these fancy ocs with really bright ass eye colors and a wide variety of them too!!! And it got me thinking...

Do we even actually see all of these colors in the show?

So I'm gonna compile a list of all the eye colors we actually do see in irkens :-)

Starting with four images:

1) Is all of the irken invaders lined up together! Look at all those eyes just ready for conquest. No. no not really ANYWAYS here you can really only see a few colors: Magenta, maroon, fuchsia, and surprisingly, a pale red, a dirty orange-red, dirty yellow, and a lavender from Zee! Honestly the magenta and fuchsia are kind of a stretch because. The show irkens eyes are all really dark and dim compared to the movie. They get super duper saturated there.

2) Redrick and Ourp themselves... self-explanatory. We actually see a shitton more purple irkens than we do red ones!! At least main-character-for-single-episodes irkens. Sizz-Lorr and Tak <3 then there's also the Tallest's advisor, who has muddied green eyes!!!

3) Very light blue/teal!!! I'm not attributing the brightness to shading at all because the skin looks normal-colored. I'm fairly certain this is the ONLY guy with this color of eyes.

4) All the navigators together because they're all beautiful <3 If you look at the green closely you'll notice that it's all actually leaning more towards blue than yellow.

Now, what do we do with this information?

Speculate :3 it's what I do best!!

Bear with me though for these poor edits. I'm on my phone at four AM making this post.

Here's a color wheel where I blotched out all the colors that I don't believe exist for irken eyes :-) We don't see a lot of dark shades of colors so even the dark reds or magentas might be a stretch but we also really don't see any bright yellows or oranges. They're all really muddied and shaded when we do see them! And we also don't see any saturated or dark blues -- opposite to yellows, we only see tinted blues!

This wheel is notably missing cyan but. I'll go out to say that that's probably not an irken eye color either. Or it is, but it's super duper rare for an irken to have that color.

It's also missing the really saturated fuchsias and magentas that we know are there because of the movie irkens... but shh......

Anyways. What did we get out of this ramble?? Idk. That having shit stain brown eyes is more common than having baby blue ones and that Miyuki probably didn't have cyan eyes.

I'm gonna go back to sleep now and contemplate changing my orange-eyed irken to be rust colored :) goodnight

Edit: ITS COME TO MY ATTENTION THAT THERE IS THIS GUY

His eyes are blue! But again, it's a very tinted/washed out blue.

(I'm on a computer now)

So... strong vibrant blues are still likely a no-go. But you could still make a cute little guy with what's available.

[suigetsusunny]

Temporary Whispers Of The Heart ⊹₊⟡⋆ | Sosuke Aizen X Reader Chapter 7 | Use Your Heart

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Fuchsia petals twirled and twisted in the breeze of spring, detaching from the sakura trees that lay outside the Karakura district office. A delightful marker of spring, or for the working, a more… unfavourable signal to begin the working year.

The elevator door chimes gleefully, hardly serving to uplift your fallen spirits as your heels slam against the floors of the hallway to the office. Your hand clasps around the office door’s handle, swinging it with force towards you as you proceed to barge in.

Who does she think she is? Claiming she’s your sister after so long. Sure, she might be wanting to fix things with you, but she's failing. Miserably. So hard that her good for nothing boyfriend has to step in and-

Caught up in your thoughts, you abruptly bump into a firm surface, wincing as a man’s chest clothed with fashion at prices you could only dream of greets your nose. Immediately reaching to cover your squashed nose, your eyes trail up to meet the stare of a stern yet charmed brunette.

“I see someone’s quite thrilled to see me.” Sosuke gives an amused smirk, and you give an unamused frown in return.

“Don’t humour me-”

You suddenly perceive the cut on his neck left by that night beginning to bleed once more, your eyebrows creasing in worry. The silver star hair clip you had on must have scraped against his neck when you bumped into him…

“It is only a scratch, you can halt your perturbed gaze. I won’t die.” A hint of softness flashes across Aizen’s usual stoic gaze, almost mocking to your worried demeanour. You scrunch up your nose in response to his assumption of your concern, scowling. “I don’t care whether you live or die. You can’t walk around the office with that. The new interns are arriving today. I had hoped you held some sort of shame and would have tried to not look like a monster…”

“Ah, but that is where you fail… And even if I wished to cover my terrifying gash that you presume will petrify the new interns, I cannot.” Almost humorously, Aizen lifts his cuffed wrists, giving them a slight shake to enunciate their jingles while grinning at you, like a child giddily bringing a dead bird to his mother in pride. You scoff, shaking your head in amusement and bewilderment. 

“Chained up again? My poor birdy. Did Icarus fly too close to the sun again?” You snicker, slightly groaning while meticulously observing the bleeding gash on his neck with your index. Considering his tightly bounded wrists, it was your responsibility to clean this up. You already had to host a special threat in the office to farm his spiritual energy, if that didn’t scare away the new employee’s, his bloodthirsty appearance definitely would.

“I prefer to compare myself to Lucifer, actually. A fallen angel. Considering my beauty and brawn, wouldn’t you agree?”

Rolling your eyes, you take his wrist and lead him to the office kitchen, his obedience and silence surprising you. A benign chuckle simply emitted from his slightly parted grin as you moistened your handkerchief under the sink. 

“Where did this gash come from, anyway?” You grumble as you tenderly caress the enigma’s adams apple with a damp cloth, dabbing the blood trickled unto his pale neck. 

“It’s of no importance. Worry about yourself.” Aizen responds by tucking a strand of loose hair from your neat bun behind your ear intimately, and you swat it away immediately.

“I don’t worry about you. I’m simply irritated at this unfortunate turn of events and the fact I have to mother you. Can you really not do this yourself?”

“Does it look like I can? You’re less smarter than you look, Miss Y/N.” Aizen raises a hazel eyebrow, his leer unentertained.  “Don’t call me by my first name.”

“Why? Does it make you hot and bothered?” “Oh absolutely, my panties immediately soaked at just the sound of your voice. A man of nothing but filth just called me by my common name. Is that what you want to hear?”

Aizen laughs contentedly in response, his head lightly rolling forward causing his cocoa locks to fall gracefully around his face, chuckling at your snappy attitude while his gaze transfixes on you. You could feel his hazel eyes burning through your face as you clean up his gash and search for a bandaid in the kitchen drawers. As you fail to find one, in desperation, you decide to fish around your own pockets for one, exhaling in relief as you feel one brush against your fingers. 

Sosuke’s eyebrow hooks upward, a complacent yet stunned look on his face as he discerns the bandaid you had decided to force onto him. You too, stare at the medical aid held between your fingers in disbelief, sighing sharply. No choice, I guess.

Aizen lets out a gruff exhale as you softly spread the baby pink hello kitty bandaid on his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows in humiliation. “May I be bold to suggest that your sense of style is too… cute for an office setting?” 

“I don’t have anything else. It’s my last resort.” You huff, looking into his eyes despondently. 

“Alright then. I will appreciate your thoughtful gift.”  

You purse your lips and feel a slight tinge of heat on your face as you watch his lips curve into a mischievous grin. A grin of satisfaction too, as you could tell he knew how your heart fluttered at his sight and decided to torture you with it. As you two lost your sanity locked in each other's eyes, the line drawing hate and love blurring further, a knock at the door snapped you both out of your daze. Slamming your handkerchief against his chest, you strut off before he could notice your blush and tease you further. Yet the feeling of a fervent gaze stabbing into your backside did not disappear as you left him alone in the kitchen. 

“Act as normal as you can, please.”

Another three melodious knocks done with rhythm on the door signalled the arrival of your General Commander, alongside the chatter of many new and jubilated employees. You smoothed out your black pencil skirt and the slight creases on your ironed white button up, your thin and tight, knitted dark grey sweater showing off your form in a sleek and stylish way. 

Shunsui gives a slight smile after you slide open the door, a strand of dark curled hair resting gracefully on his face as he gives you an approving nod.

“Good morning, Miss Y/N. I take it that I can entrust these in your care now?” You nod adamantly, grinning and displaying the most exultant form of yourself that you could manage at 9 in the morning. 

“Of course, please follow me.” Your cheerful voice reverberates throughout the building, as you notice a couple familiar faces present in the new intern intake. Karin, Ururu, Jinta… Most were high school students looking for work experience for a few weeks or Academy students looking for work in the human world. Regardless, you put on the most professional attitude you could whilst also ensuring they felt welcome and accepted. 

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

As you guide the interns through the office, assigning their duties and detailing where to find everything and who to look for help, you discern Sosuke leave his office. Most interns froze in bewilderment, albeit they had been informed of your humble guest, it must still be jarring to witness his existence in person.

“If you require help, my office is located at the back left. Ah, and this is… Sosuke Aizen. He is serving his sentence here as the Muken has been damaged so we can farm his spiritual energy. Don’t… worry about him. He is tightly bound and knows not to do any harm.” 

You flash the most exuberant and reassuring smile you can as you walk up to the smug brunette, taking his hands in yours and holding them up to jingle his tightly bound wrists in a similar fashion to how he did before to assure your new interns.

“Good morning.” Aizen gives a cunning yet honeyed smile at the new students, amusedly watching a tinge of heat rush to your cheeks. His gentle morning voice you could never get sick of, no matter how hard you begged your mind to loathe it. Swallowing and nodding anxiously, the interns return collegiate nods before being promptly dismissed by you to begin their new assignments. 

“I feel like a pet.” He abruptly states, grousing as he returns the same fervent stares back to the students eyeing him. “Thanks for being… Somewhat normal.” You scoff at him, looking up to see his eyes already locked on you through the strand of cocoa hair splayed on his face. 

“Why? Do you find me abnormal? Unique, even?” Sosuke jests, grinning deviously as he crossed his arms over his chest and over the expensive, dark navy blue blazer and white button up he had on. “No, I find you fake. Every interaction we have ever had was fake.” You rebut, dragging your eyes away from admiring his sharp and sleek jawline crossed with his sepia locks stylishly slicked back. He unfortunately looked like a Hollywood star even with all those seals bound to him and his murderous eyepatch enunciating his monster-like appearance. “And who told you that?” 

“Quite literally everything you do. You only care about yourself.” You tsk, rolling your eyes slightly as you turn away. “Self proclaimed God.”

“Isn’t it simplistic to assert that a God cannot care? If anything, compassion is the mere foundation of becoming one. The purity of being able to love and nurture.” He states back, ignited blood reigning his veins as he gazes at you.

“You really assume I haven’t loved and cared before?”

Perplexed by his metaphors, you shake your head and dismiss him with a wave of your hand. “Let's not get into it.” 

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

As you lean against the wall of your office, eyeing Aizen like a hawk attempting to pour himself a cup of tea in the kitchen outside, a buzz arising from his soul pager in his office goes off. You swiftly turn to grab the phone off of his oak desk, staring at the message in your grip.

EMERGENCY STABILISE THREAT WITH REIATSU: TAKESHITA RD. 108 092 NOVICE REAPERS INJURED: 4 YOU ARE THE CLOSEST IN THE AREA GO ALONE

DO NOT TRY ANYTHING ELSE OR SERIOUS PERSECUTION WILL FOLLOW

You look to your own soul pager, only to find that you had not been given the same message. What…?

Even after refreshing the screen, you hadn’t received it. You had only been given a measly message, instructing you to take care of the interns queries in the office whilst he was gone. There’s no way they’re trusting HIM to take this job alone. Without me. You couldn’t trust him to do this. Forget you, how could anyone trust him to do this job? How could the Shinigamis at the accident site trust him? They would surely attack him in fear. And you wouldn’t blame them.

Perhaps this message was given to the wrong device. Even if all they required was spiritual pressure to immobilise the threat before help arrived… You wouldn’t have minded draining yours. If it meant for that thing to not induce any potential harm. Whatever it was, you knew in your heart to not let him, a special threat, venture out alone into the night freely. Regardless of all of his new seals.

“I’ll be back, I have to handle something… Take care of the office while I’m gone.”

Aizen gives you an unamused look, nodding and simply humming in response before returning to toss an empty sugar sachet in the bin.

Snatching your leather coat off of a hanger by the door and your Zanpakuto, you leave your Gigai and emerge as a new woman, draped in your signature shihakusho. 

Staring at the buzzing screen, you perceive that this emergency was gathering some attention as more Shinigami’s were falling suit to whatever hollow they were facing. You promptly unsheathe your Zanpakuto, utilising flash step to arrive at your destination faster. 

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

The gaze of the evening stars greets you as you perceive the eerily deserted street, a couple Soul Reapers lying on the ground, injured. A figure’s chains dragged disturbingly across the asphalt of the empty avenue, before its molten eyes fixate on you. 

Covered by the shadow of the night, you could not discern what sort of hollow the enemy was nor the origins of it. The only characteristic you register is the daunting black marks stained on its back and face.

A creature from Hell.

Your eyes widen and you immediately brought forth your Zanpakuto, its blade glimmering against the moonlight. With a precise flick of your blade, a crescent of reiatsu slices through the air, aimed at its behind facing you. The hollow promptly blocks you with a raise of its arm, the force pushing it back yet leaving it hardly scathed. You decide to stop holding back, releasing your spiritual pressure tenfold as you wait for others to handle the situation. Your mission wasn’t to overexert yourself yet, the nature of the monster sent familiar chills down your spine.

It retaliates, chains snapping forward like vipers hunting for desperate prey. You twist your body, narrowly avoiding the snakes as one whips past your face, slicing through the fabric of your sleeve. You begin to slightly heave, your slowly depleting spiritual pressure and physical exertion starting to toll on your body. For a second, you shut your eyes to focus on suppressing the monster ahead of you.

The hollow snarls and takes the chance to attempt to latch onto your Zanpakuto with its chain. You barely register the movement when a sudden sword greets the chain as it was about to slam into your chest.

Looking to your left, your eyes broaden at the sight of Sosuke Aizen, still dressed in his office attire and defending you effortlessly even with both hands bound. In an instant, the monster retreated into the portal in which it came from as a result of Aizen’s crushing reiatsu compressing its insides. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” You groan as you see him shoot daggers through his menacing leer. 

“What do you think you’re doing? You just ran off? I had to track your spiritual energy to try and find you.” Sosuke glares at you, spitting venom with his words. 

“Clearly I'm doing a mission.” The brunette rolls his eyes subtly, tsking at your incompetence. “With my Soul Pager? Are you aware that maybe your reiatsu capabilities exceed the demands of this situation?”

“I’m a Lieutenant. Don’t make me laugh.” You fire back, scoffing in amusement at his assumption of your abilities. “This job was forced onto me to do. Why did you take it?”

“I don't trust you? And anyways, I was not going to waste any time returning back. All you had to do was take care of the office for a little while.” You spew at him, grunting at his inability to understand your apprehension surrounding him.

“And what if something had happened to you? Had the thought not occurred to you that perhaps this was appointed for me and not you for a reason? You cannot exert your spiritual pressure with ease like mine without straining yourself.” He reprimands, an unfamiliar hint of concern present in his tone. “Mr. Aizen, I’m not a little girl. I don’t need you looking after me!” 

“Y/N. Sosuke.”

You both synchronise in turning to look behind you, your heart sinking as you perceive a cross Shunsui with both his hands in either pocket of his hakama glaring at you two.

“Come with me.”

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

A slight berating followed by dissatisfied grumbles ensued from Shunsui, as you stand in front of your company building while your commander chastises you in front of Aizen. 

“I was disappointed to be informed by an intern that neither of you were anywhere to be found.”

The brunette parts his lips to speak, yet shuts them promptly and instead returns an unamused stare to the commander. Kyoraku momentarily looks towards him leaning candidly against the building, sighing. As much as he wishes to berate him, the technicality of the situation deemed him as fairly innocent. 

“There is a reason why he received the message and not you. If you were to stand there and suppress the hollow with your spiritual pressure, it would have drained you and taken much longer than it would’ve for him.” “But why did you send him alone?” You rebuke, unwilling to accept this outcome. You would receive whatever punishment you were ordered with pride yet, you just wished for a simple explanation to who in their right mind decided to instruct him to go alone. “It was presumptuous of me to trust him alone, I know. But you had your duties in the office to look after the interns. You are to only stick to whatever duties are assigned to you. Do you know how difficult it was to quickly get Matsumoto to cover for you?” You hang your head in shame, sighing as you fumble with your fingers. It was a foolish act from you, but could anybody blame you? Trusting the enigma was like walking over a vat of tar on a thin piece of string. 

“I can't just stroll in here whenever you mess up, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” You state in a low voice, slightly bowing in shame to the bearded man. Softening up, Shunsui couldn’t help but walk up to you, patting your shoulder comfortingly. Over the years, he had grown to warm up to you and to think of you almost as a daughter.

“Fine, you don’t trust him, I understand that. Which is why I’m letting you go this time.” Your gaze slowly trails upwards with glistening and appreciative eyes, the tightness in your chest slightly relieving itself as you manage to drag your eyes to his neck. 

“You don’t have to trust him, but trust me. Trust the devices I have implemented myself to weaken him.” The raven haired man places his pointer on your chin, making your solemn gaze finally meet his. “Can you do that for me?” 

You melt at his words, warming up to a father figure you had so desperately searched for your whole life treating you with such kindness. A father figure you had been robbed of so viciously and mercilessly in the past. His tenderness always healed something in your heart he had never broken.

You nod sincerely yet avidly, keen to not disappoint him again. He gives a final scruff of your hair, before leisurely strolling towards the sleek black limousine that had arrived at your building. Kyoraku chuckles before shaking his head, allowing himself to be guided by the Shinigami serving as his body guard opening the door to the vehicle.

Adjusting his hat, he gives one last remark before stepping into the expensive car. “Ah... You and Nanao. You’re both so similar.”

As you silently watch your commander drive off, a loud and obvious clearing of someone's throat snapped you from your daze. You turn pensively to face an oddly sincere Sosuke, his sour scan of your being sending cold chills down your spine. 

“I believe thanks are in order.” He sneers, jesting at you. You chuckle in response, defeatedly suspiring. “Thank you. And… I’m sorry.” You mumble the last part, trudging past him to reach the entrance of the building. However, you were yanked slightly back by a slender hand clasping around your wrist.

“Apology not accepted.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, confused at what he was getting at. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of his sepia irises glimmering, reflecting the moon ever so beautifully in their wake. 

“What?”

“I can tell you assume I think you are weak.”

You look away in shame, a slight tinge of bashfulness present in your demeanour. “I know you do. I constantly mess up, it can only be described as undignified and weak…”

“You aren’t weak. I’ve hardly been able to witness your new power but you’ve flourished into a strong woman. My words did not mean to undermine your strength. I apologise if I’ve done so.” You raise an eyebrow to his sudden altruism, it was strange yet… Not unwelcome. He takes a step closer towards you, leaning his face closer to yours, causing heat to pulsate throughout your body in response. “Remember, the soil that is rained on strengthens.” Looking up at him with tender and shimmering doe eyes, you softly laugh as you unclasp his hand around your wrist and step away bashfully. “Thank you. Someone’s feeling nice today, huh?”

“I’m simply stating facts.” He grins, a sense of satisfaction overwhelming him as your pupils dilate jovially and a smile was brought to your face once more by his own work. You strut off, looking back endearingly at him as your hair flowed graciously in the wind.        

“Shall we?”

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Familiar strawberry blonde locks greet you two as you both emerge from the lift to the building, Rangiku’s booming voice calling out to you from across the hallway.

“Y/N! You silly girl!” Your best friend rushes up to you cheerfully, pinching your cheek teasingly as she envelops you in a loving hug. “Ugh, you don’t know how much these interns were pissing me off…” You look up at her, perplexed. “Really? They seemed quite shy and sweet in the morning...” Rangiku gives a slight wave of acknowledgement to Aizen before looping her arm in yours, facing you with crestfallen features. “Okay well, most are fine, it's just… Jinta and Ururu keep arguing with each other. It's truly such a bother trying to separate them. Oh, and did you see Kurosaki’s sister?” You nod, you did notice the young Shinigami’s sister join your branch. “Yeah… It was a pleasure to see a familiar face after so long.” “She looks just like him… Just with black hair. It's crazy, isn't it?” 

Ah, and speak of the devil, as the very young and sweet girl you were chatting about had walked up to you three. “I’ve finished my assignment and colour coded every training schedule for you, Miss Shihoin.” She gleams at you, and you raise an eyebrow, impressed as you take the file in your hands and return a grateful beam.

“Oh wow, really? Thanks so much…” 

“And Mr… Aizen… I ordered your … New Zanpakuto sheath…” Karin apprehensively states, bowing slightly to Sosuke as she hands him a picture of the new sleek black leather sheath she had bought. The enigma slightly grins in amusement, a heartfelt smile was the last of what you had expected his reaction to be.

“I appreciate your efforts. And, no need to act so reserved, I won’t bite. At least, I’ll try not to.” He beams jestingly, and you slap his shoulder promptly. “Shush! Don’t scare her away.” He sneers, chuckling as he slid his hands back into his pant pockets. “I’m simply humouring you, don't fret.” 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. A/N

as always, comments and criticisms are always appreciated !! :p

happy reading!

- sumi <3 @noirfan12 @hon3ysun @muzansfangs

[savage-rhi]

Sorry for all the pink variations, guys!

[kitkat-the-muffin]

KNOCK KNOCK *kicks down your door* time to talk about Cloutchase Vol 5!

Be sure to check out the previous installments: [1][2][3][4]

Good evening Tumblr! It took two days to play through Volume 5 this time because my friends and I also read through Discord's Holiday Party and the bonus room. I'll make a separate post about the former soon, and I will link it here once it's done. BUT LETS LOOK AT THE MAIN GAME FIRST!

Here are your usual two screenshots for enticement:

Remember to play the game yourself before clicking the Read More!

I, of course, played this with my usual friend, who I will simply refer to as Ams. I play through all the routes with her and it's been a genuine delight. I was also joined by my other friend, who I will call Knight. I have posted about him in the Cloutchase tag before, as I have used two of his messages as meme material for both Ao3 and Wikipedia. Thus, he has voiced both of them in this week's playthrough hahah

I immediately noticed right off the bat that Ao3's books are stacked in the colors of the Homestuck troll blood colors. Rust, Bronze, Gold, Lime, Olive, Jade, Teal, Cerulean, Indigo, Purple, Violet, and Fuchsia. There's probably a Candy Red beneath his palms as well. I understood that reference. Anyway, I absolutely love his gimmick of having tropes follow him around, that feels like both a dream and a nightmare. We all love reading fic but we never wanna live it

I wanted to include this photo cause I just love the art. Angst angst angst angst angst! But also dang User got some sick canines wtf-

This line made me have to explain Troll Jegus to my non-homestuck friends, how freaking dare you. Ams got it faster than Knight though, he's very slow on the uptake-

I know I put this image in the post already but I just have to say, Ams and I saw this and were like "oh noooooooooooooooooooooo" and Knight was a clueless bystander who has never read fanfic in his life and sat there like "E for Everyone :3" the poor soul

I absolutely love how eloquent Ao3 speaks and writes. I know not all fics are as fancy as this, but I greatly relate to writing with all my LA class lessons in mind. Also, I think this is Imgur's first actual sprite appearance, so that's neat! I could be wrong though, I don't remember if User has even properly met her before. Ao3's writing sprite is so cute btw

Love the new Kik characterization too. This may be fic, but I bet it's canon (delusional). WAIT IS THAT HATSUNE MIKU-

By far the best introduction of any character so far. If you've seen any of my posts with Knight in them, you know he was DELIGHTED to see this (his username on the Cloutchase Discord server is literally "Wikipedia Firearms Broker"). He did however complain that this gun does not have a scope, or something idr

Hahah uh how did he know the grid is my laptop wallpaper- (it's been my wallpaper for like two years now lol, or whenever this screenshot was made available to me)

Very ominous Fandom, love to see it. I will admit, I used both Wiki and Fandom to find resources for my final essay this past semester. I just used them to find sources not as sources I promise- uh anyway this character design slaps and I love evil old women

When Knight read out Wiki's dialogue, he actually said the full name of the gun out loud instead of just "AR-15." I'd type it here but I don't remember it, I was not blessed with the firearm hyperfixation like he. Anyway when Quotev asked what our favorite emoticon was all of us said colon three. Quotev is amazing here btw, she was a highlight of the route for me

WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT I'VE SEEN THIS BEFORE-

ON AJ'S BLOG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

@applejuiceyjuice-art get clocked /j (lmk if u want me to remove the @)

AM I MS. BLOG RUNNER'S SECRET LOVE CHILD??????

Okay so after getting all of Wiki's endings I went back to see if the board changed AND IT DID and that was by far the FUNNIEST thing of the entire route. Makes me wonder if all the other route bad ends are also supposed to be here or not

Last thing I wanna put here, AJ you gotta show me ur sims cloutchase house I would like to witness the chaos. Also, there's a lot more devs in the dev room! That's so nice to see, I'm glad ur team is growing!

Sorry that I haven't been very active in the community, college has been kicking my butt and all that, but you guys are genuinely doing a great job and I love playing this game with my friends! Heck, this game even saved my friend's life because she agreed to play Instagram's route with me the day she was considering ending herself, so thank you for that, too

I'm super interested in how the Admin lore is going to play out in future volumes, as well as being able to meet more sites! I'd say Wiki's was my favorite of this volume because of the ARG-type vibes (well, not really an ARG, more like conspiracy hunting iykwim), but I loved Ao3's fanfiction writing activity and read through all 8 stories with my friends together :3

Like I said at the top of the post, we also played Discord's holiday party, so I'll make a smaller post about that later. It'll be linked at the top when it's done, but if I remember I'll put it down here too

The bonus room heavily implied that 4Chan's route is being replaced with Pinterest, and I can only assume it's because of the recent website crash. I still hope to get a 4Chan route in the future, though, but that's all for now!

Thanks for reading, and I'll see you all in the next one!

[oldxenomorph]

pink_sludge.pages <- I love sludge and I love pink so I need to know what this is immediately

WIP FILE NAME MEME

you've activated my wrestling ot3: rhea ripley x stephanie vaquer x alexa bliss 💜❤️🩷

the file name came to me as i staring at my screen and felt that it best matched the addition of alexa's vibe to this dynamic. especially when i listen to her theme music, the beginning sound is so sludgy and thick coupled with her saying "PAIN" and "PLAY."

but anyway. the tag team match on smackdown just before money in the bank was good that it altered my brain chemistry, especially the dynamic between rhea, stephanie, and alexa. they all has such great chemistry and synergy. and then the interactions between rhea and alexa during money in the bank? its been eating away at my brain for a while. so of course i've been writing something with rhea being sandwiched in between stephanie and alexa.

“Poor Rhea. Your past is always coming back to haunt you. It makes you angry.” Alexa’s voice is laced with concern and full of a syrupy, intoxicating sweetness thick and red like strawberries that have been fermenting in the dark. She is right; Rhea’s past metastasizes within her. Each person leaving behind cells she has yet to fully cut out, cells she wants and needs to cut out. “You need to let me take care of these things that continue to cling to you, Dearest Eradicator.” Rhea feels the warm hands of the Dark Angel slip beneath the tight straps and leather that holds her chest together, hands that lay claim to her beating heart, a hand that holds her in place while another tucks strands of her jet black hair behind her ear. She feels the other woman’s body against her own, her softness and power sinking into the sculpted structure of her back, cushioning her spine, red sinking into the space between each vertebrae disc. “Remember how good it felt to ruin them,” Stephanie says, her voice sliding into the darkness of Rhea’s gut. “We will make sure that joy is all you feel. You belong to us, only us.” “Only us,” Alexa repeats, drawing out the last sound until it becomes sharp like a needle with pink thread at the ready to sew all of their bodies together until they are one being. In between the two older women, Rhea is throughly kissed and marked with flesh and red. Her mouth is claimed again and again, time melting away, the world opening like gaping wounds that reveal pulsing red, seeping fuchsia, the colors contracting around her brain. Her black lips become smeared as they each kiss her hard, to remind her of what deep pleasures awaits her whenever she looks at them both while her body thrums from the warmth of violence and domination. She feels their hands on her thighs, slipping beneath straps, pulling her powerful flesh and muscles towards each of them, pulling her apart, opening her to fill her with blood and sludge harvested in the squared circle.

[nyxnightshade7656]

Hooked

I'm not dead, I swear, things have been insane irl. Here's what I guess would be the first chapter of something that was NOT meant to be a multichapter thing. But, ya know. I have no self control and here we are.

She looked around the hallway to make sure she was alone and would have ample time to accomplish her goal. When she saw that the coast was clear, she made a mad dash for her target. She very carefully shut the door behind her before she spotted her target. Storm’s bed. With no fanfare, she placed a handmade, crocheted, stuffed kitten on Storm’s bed. The yarn it was made out of was soft and fluffy, as well as easily washable and durable. She had picked out colors to reflect Storm’s X-Man uniform but had given the stuffed kitten bright blue eyes to match Storm’s.

Once the precious cargo was delivered, she darted from the scene of the crime. She hid in the library for a while, before she made her way to the common area. As she crossed the threshold from the hallway into the room proper, she paused.

“It seems I have been graced by our reverse thief as well.” Storm’s voice was full of warmth and amusement. It made her heart flutter with joy and a smidge of pride.

“Oh? What did you get?” Instead of answering, Storm held up the little kitten that had been stealthily delivered.

“Someone is puttin’ an awful lotta effort into this, ain’t they? Jean gets a phoenix, Logan got a wolf, Cyclops got a labrador, Hank got an owl, Kurt got a racoon, I got a tiger, and the professor got an elephant. Why ain’t they tryin’ ta take credit for this?” Rogue’s voice sounded both appreciative and annoyed. Clearly, Rogue didn’t like not knowing who was sneaking the handmade gifts into their rooms.

She was just starting to think that she should make herself scarce; not trusting herself to not give away her little secret, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She nearly jumped out of her skin in surprise, a startled squawk escaping her without her permission. She whirled around, only to be greeted by fuchsia and blue chest armor. She gulped and looked up, up, up to see the mirth-filled red-on-black-eyes of one “Gambit”, or Remy LeBeau.

“Whatchu up ta, Chere? Sneakin’ ‘round like ya t’ink y’a’int ‘sposed to be here.” His tone was teasing, but his question, she could tell by the emotions rolling off him, was very genuine. She flailed, hands flying as she tried to deny, without words, that she was sneaking around. In her enthusiastic pantomiming, that could best be described as ‘frantic, spastic vertical seizing’, she tripped over her own feet in a spectacular display of clumsiness. There was a cacophony of noise, she didn’t see what was happening since she had closed her eyes the instant she’d started to fall; and then suddenly she felt something warm wrap around her wrist. Then she was yanked into something hard and warm.

“Woah dere, Petit, wassamattah, ol’ Gambit scare ya? Didn’ mean to, ya know ol’ Gambit’s harmless.”

Harmless. Yeah, sure. Tell that to her rapidly beating heart and her near full-body blush that had to be redder than Jean’s hair. Just as she was about to try and charade her way out of an explanation, Storm came to her rescue, “Now, Gambit, stop teasing the poor child.” Gambit gently released her, but not before making sure her feet were solidly planted on the ground. As soon as she was released, she squeaked, and bolted. She could hear the others calling for her, but she just ran to her room.

She all but slammed into the door of her room, stumbling across the threshold, and kicked  the door shut in her haste to just disappear. She had the stupidest crush on the card-slinging mutant, and it seemed like everyone but Gambit himself knew it. Kurt was relentless in his teasing of her about it, even Rogue poked at her a bit. Logan had brought it to her attention, asking her ‘Of all the mutants here, the Cajun? Really? I guess it could be worse. You could have a crush on Scott.’ To which she had thrown about twenty stuffed animals at her father in retaliation. Logan had been nice enough not to use his claws on the fluffy projectiles, though he had grumbled at her about it.

She flopped onto her bed, which honestly was more of a nest of the softest blankets she could find, a mass of about ten pillows of varying sizes, and more stuffed animals than should be able to fit in one space. Most of which were hand made. She had a guilty little secret that only her adoptive father, Logan, knew. She loved to crochet. And she loved to give gifts to people she cared about. As evidenced by the mass of stuffies on her bed and flung around her room. She also had an entire wall in her room dedicated to bookshelves. But those shelves were not filled with books. Instead, they housed her yarn collection. Logan liked to joke, privately, that she had two hobbies. Crocheting, and collecting yarn.

Originally, she had been kept away from the life of the X-Men in an effort to try and keep her safe and unknown. But being kept away from the school did not mean she was not watched. Logan had learned she’d been attacked by both anti-mutant extremists and some not so nice mutants on more than one occasion and just about lost his mind. He had single-handedly packed up her entire life and moved her into the mansion. The X-Men, to their credit, hadn’t even batted an eye and had taken her in without a second thought. Kurt, Rogue, Jean and Scott were almost like siblings, and Storm was the mother that she never had. As such, she had set about learning what animals were their favorites, or if she couldn’t figure that out, she made something that she felt represented them. Like the wise owl for Hank whom she looked up to like an Uncle. But the one person that she was struggling the most with what to make, was Remy.

She groaned into her pillow. One of them anyway, and flopped over to stare at ceiling, “I am SUCH an idiot.” She mumbled, her voice hoarse from lack of use. Her room, when no one was there, was the only time she spoke, and even then that was rare for fear of someone walking by her door. The last thing she wanted to do was accidentally charm someone with her power. The fear was very real, and had an iron grip on her. That fear was what drove her to be silent. Not even Logan got to hear her voice. She shook her head and looked around her room, before she heaved a sigh.

Nothing was going to really help in here, she knew. Thankfully, she was mostly left to her own devices, not being an ‘official’ member of the X-Men, she didn’t have to participate in the Danger Room sessions, though she had snuck in to watch a couple with the Professor. It was easy to interact with Xavier, since he was a telepath, she didn’t have to speak, or resort to her phone’s text-to-speech app. But she tried to keep even that to a minimum since she didn’t want her other mutation to potentially affect anyone hanging around in her head. She struggled living there most days as it was, no need to torture others with it.

She grabbed her phone and earbuds, threw on some flipflops, and then, in an ill-advised move, she opened her window and vaulted over the sill and onto the ground about five feet below. She put her earbuds in, turned on her Spotify to a random saved playlist, and went walking, hands in her pocket. Being raised by Logan, she knew how to track. She was shit with directions, but she could navigate fairly well with landmarks or distinct features. She had been grumpy and annoyed with the lessons growing up, but now she was grateful for them. It helped her find places to hide away from the overly loud and overwhelming mansion.

Once she was far enough away from the mansion that she couldn’t feel the oppressive feelings of the other inhabitants pressing in on her, she let out a deep sigh of relief. She loved her dad, she did; and she knew that he meant well. But she had lived alone, or only with him, for a reason. Too many people were overwhelming for her. She had learned that she and Rogue were similar, in that neither of them could turn their power off like most mutants could.

The difference between them was that Rogue’s power centered around touch. Hers affected the mind. As an Empath, she could feel other people’s emotions as if they were her own; or push her emotions into someone else and make them feel what she wanted them to. The trade off to that was that too many emotions coming from too many people could overwhelm her. Or, the more concerning option, someone’s emotions could influence her into behaving completely differently than what she normally would, because she couldn’t always tell the difference between what she was actually feeling, and what someone else’s feelings were causing her to feel.

Combine her Empathy with her secondary mutation, the Siren’s Song, and she was a walking disaster waiting to happen. Her Empathy she had been born with, but the Siren’s Song she had developed when she hit puberty. Just like her Empathy, she was unable to turn it off; as long as she made sound that required her vocal chords, her Song was active. Like the Siren’s in Greek mythology, she could charm with her voice, be it just speaking or singing, anyone and anything with the ability to hear her, or with even base instincts, would fall under her thrall. She despised it.

She rubbed her throat in remembered pain as she finally came to a stop somewhere deep in the woods surrounding the mansion. She had found this place shortly after she had been moved into the mansion, desperate to get away from the swirling chaos of emotions. This also was one of the few places that she felt that she could let her voice free. It affected the animals around her, but animals she could make sure not to hurt. Humans were considerably harder since their minds and emotions were more like webs, instead of the simple little creaks and streams that belonged to creatures that operated more on instinct than ‘intelligent’ thought processes.

She spent hours out in the forest. So long, in fact, that the sun had set and her phone and ear buds had ended up dying. She began to make her way back to the mansion, hoping that the majority of the inhabitants were sleeping. She had learned that the emotions of people sleeping were far easier to deal with. When the building came into sight, she could instantly feel the emotions coming off of everyone inside. A few seemed to still be awake, if the intensity of the emotions were to be believed.