#sorry this took so long to write lol

[valeriianz]

I really liked your facial hair! Dream, if u wanted, could there be a part 2?

part 1!

While Hob was in a losing battle when it came to Dream’s facial hair, the Nightmare King-turned-human didn’t appear to have any qualms over the accumulated hair… elsewhere, on his person.

Not to say that Dream was completely hairless, before. He always had a thatch of hair on his pelvis, perhaps understanding that’s what Hob preferred? Or maybe Dream liked it? Hob never questioned it. But that would explain why Dream appeared so nonchalant about the additional hair currently growing on his body.

For starters, Dream seemed to enjoy the leg hair, curling up with Hob in bed and tangling their limbs, wrapping his ankle around Hob’s and sliding their bodies together, enjoying the friction.

The chest hair had been fun– Hob combing his fingers in wiry black strands in blind fascination– he’d never seen anything but smooth, pore-free skin on Dream before and didn’t know what to do with it. (He’d broken out of that trance real fast to nuzzle into it like a cat before fucking Dream and then coming all over his newly furred chest).

It was the stripe of hair, below Dream’s belly button, that was currently giving Hob pause.

Hob sat at his kitchen island, sipping on his morning coffee, and listening to Dream speak. 

Or, trying to. 

Dream wore a black tank top and a stolen pair of Hob’s flannel pajama bottoms, which were fighting for their life to stay on Dream’s narrow hips. Slunk low and exposing Dream’s Adonis belt and sharp hip bones that Hob loved tracing with his fingers and teeth.

Dream was saying something about the show they were seeing tonight as he stretched up on tiptoes to reach a box of cereal on the top shelf. Hob’s eyes traveled up from Dream’s gloriously firm abdomen to the tension in his bicep, resting his gaze on the flash of jet black armpit hair. Hob remembers how he’d been stunned silent, as always, by the underarm hair. Perhaps it was the transformation of Dream’s physical form, however minuscule, that got Hob all riled up. Hob was a strange person in that, he liked change. Reveled in it. If everything had stayed the same forever, he’s not sure he’d enjoy his immortal life. But that’s what made humanity so fun and fascinating… things were constantly changing.

And now Dream was, too.

Hob’s gaze shamelessly followed Dream as he moved, setting the box down on the counter and reaching up now for a bowl. Hob felt heat simmering in his belly as he took in his fill, the familiar coil of arousal beginning. He knew how Dream’s skin would taste; salty from sweat, but alkaline somehow, like seawater. It’s sweet too, cloyingly, like Dream was a delicacy to be sipped and nibbled upon, savored slowly and mulled over.

“Hob? Did you hear me?”

Hob hums distractedly as he blinks up at Dream from under his lashes.

The blue of Dream’s eyes seem to sparkle as he takes in Hob, gaze falling to the mug of coffee Hob still has his hand around, stuck to the countertop.

After a moment where Hob forgets that Dream asked him a question, he speaks up again, a knowing smile pulling up the corner of his lips.

“What are you so preoccupied with?”

“You,” Hob spoke at once, honestly. “I know I’ve said this before but humanity really does become you.”

Dream looked down at the bowl cupped in his hands and huffed quietly.

“How so?”

“Do you want me to tell you?” Hob managed to remember he had legs and hopped out of his chair, stepping around the island and into Dream’s personal space, grinning at the surprised, pleasant gasp that he made. He took the bowl out of Dream’s hands and set it on the counter. 

“Or, I could show you.” Hob finished, settling his hands on Dream’s waist, swiping his thumbs up and under the tank top, pulling him forward slightly.

“Mm…” Dream hummed, his eyes lowering in consideration. His own hands came up and set them on Hob’s– unfortunately– clothed chest, fingers twitching like he was making his mind up about something.

“Perhaps after breakfast.”

Hob swallowed a groan, pressing their foreheads together. He took another step forward, selfishly bringing attention to the semi in his pants and delighting in the sharp intake of breath from Dream.

“You love making me wait,” Hob grumbled, feeling a little pathetic but enjoying it nonetheless; how Dream seemed to preen under Hob’s impatience.

“I need sustenance, Hob.” Dream slipped his hands slowly up Hob’s shoulders and around, tangling his fingers lightly in his hair. He leaned in, lips brushing Hob’s ear as he spoke again, his low voice coupled with the words spoken making Hob’s spine vibrate. 

“My body is ravenous after the events of last night.”

“Christ, Dream–” Hob’s hips jerked forward of their own accord, viciously trying to hold himself back from crushing Dream against the counter and kissing him stupid. “You really do test my patience.”

Dream pulled back and smiled, sly, like a cat, before tilting his head and speaking again, tone light.

“I’m also quite sore.”

Something dark and possessive creeps up Hob’s spine at the words, spoken so casually with an air of pleasure. Because Hob knew Dream enjoyed it, liked the evidence of their love-making, being able to feel it the next day. He’d said so early on, when he was still Endless… that he would make it so Hob’s presence, his touch, would last, until Dream had Hob again. 

“I’ll go nice and slow then,” Hob murmured, sliding his hands around to Dream’s front and feeling that trail of hair below his belly button, following it up his sternum and combing his fingers through chest hair. 

Dream purred under the attention, lolling his head back and arching toward Hob’s touch.

“I’ll be so gentle…” Hob mouthed along Dream’s throat, peppering kisses along the line of his jaw– the stubble there scratching Hob’s chin and making him smirk, wondering when indeed Dream would allow the hair there to grow fully.

“I’ll open you up and take my time. I’ll be so careful…” Hob nipped Dream’s earlobe and felt the other man shudder, his very human heart thrumming under his skin. “You’ll be begging for it.”

That seemed to bring Dream back. Hob felt him swallow and chuckle lightly.

“Beg…” Dream said the word with a sour expression, getting his hands back on Hob’s chest and pushing gently, enough for Hob to lean back, but not enough to take his hands out from under Dream’s shirt. “You’re the one who can’t stop looking at me.”

Hob smiled so wide his teeth showed. He loved getting caught.

“You know, if you’re hungry–”

“Don’t say it–”

“-- I got something you could eat,” Hob finished anyway, laughing at the way Dream rolled his eyes, hard enough to take his head with it.

After a moment, Dream took Hob’s wrists and pulled his hands down, tangling their fingers together. 

“Will it pacify you for 10 minutes so I can resume breaking my fast?”

Hob hummed in mock consideration, biting down the all too satisfied grin spreading across his face.

“Perhaps.”

“Ah…” Dream grinned, and there was a sharp edge to it.

“Perhaps then,” he continued, turning away from Hob and back to his mission that was cereal. “... you can wait.”

Hob lowered his head to the nape of Dream’s neck in defeat, laughing.

“Tease,” he said without venom, nuzzling his nose briefly in the smattering of wiry hairs there as well.

“You love it.”

Hob hummed, winding his arms around Dream’s waist and nudged his crotch comfortably into his ass, smirking in victory as Dream accepted it, pushing back to meet him.

Hob exhaled a content sigh into Dream’s hair, lazily rolling his hips while Dream fixed his breakfast, pouring cereal into the bowl and following it up with milk.

“I do.” Hob conceded, watching and waiting until Dream ate the last bite of cereal before grabbing his arm and pulling him back into bed.

[ohbo-ohno]

merry christmas @luminousbeings-crudematter, here's the ghoap x reader purge au! (a week and a half after you posted about it... im so sorry)

5.7k, mind the tags <3

cw: ROUGH NONCONSENUAL SEX in all caps, pwp, under-prepared/painful anal sex, some pretty intense fear stuff, people covered in blood and referenced violence (it's a purge au lol)

Your hands tremble where they’re tucked close to your chest, blood sticky and thick between each finger. You feel coated in it, like someone has taken a brush and gone over every inch of your skin, painted you in red.

It’s in your mouth. You can feel the warmth of it on your tongue, the taste of iron sickening. You tell yourself that maybe you bit your tongue, that it’s not really your ex Phil’s blood coating your teeth.

Your thin pajamas are hardly any protection against the chill of the night air, less so with how soaked they are. The stench of piss is heavy in the air, a mixture of yours and his, but you don’t have time to go back inside and change.

You’re running on pure instinct, an animal urge deep in your mind insisting you run. You’d always thought you’d have more of a flight instinct than fight. Despite how you feel now, how your legs itch to carry you as far away as possible, the cooling corpse left behind tells you the truth. 

You stumble into the wall, a wave of nausea knocking you off balance. There’s a trail of red left behind as you use one hand to balance yourself, the other held protectively over your heart. 

Your security system - cheap, but usually enough to let you sleep through the Purge - is completely destroyed. There’s no chance of it protecting you, and the bust in windows will let anyone on the streets see your vulnerability. You’ll never feel safe there, and you can’t shake the need to run.

There’s no chance of any of your neighbors helping you. There’s some neighborly camaraderie between your floor-mates, but that all disappears on Purge night. It’s every man for himself, every year, without fail. You know that. You even think the same as them, pretend no one else exists when that siren goes off every year. 

But now, shaking and terrified, you wish you could knock on a door and see it open. Hear the security system disengage and see a familiar face, beg for help and thank them on your knees.

It’s a nice fantasy. Reality is less kind, seeing you shake with a dawning chill as you manage to shoulder open the door to the stairwell, cringing when it slams behind you.

The cold cement is rough on your feet, and a distant part of yourself worries about slipping - your feet are slick with blood, and you can hear yourself leaving a trail of footsteps. You don’t try to slow down, holding tight to the metal railing and shuffling down the stairs.

You’re halfway down the first of four flights when the door on the next floor opens, a large figure stepping into the stairwell. Your stumble to a stop before you even register that you’re not alone anymore, and you’re backpedaling before you even fully realize.

He’s big, his face covered in a red skull mask. From your vantage point you can see his hair is shaved into a mohawk, and he’s shirtless with only a pair of gray sweatpants on.

He’s drenched in blood. Even more than you, and you feel like you’re drowning in it. If you’re painted in blood, someone took a bucket and dumped it on this man. You can hardly see any unmarked skin, and you wonder for a split-second if the skull was once white.

There’s an audible grin in his voice when he calls up to you. “Look’it you, bonnie thing. You tryin’ to run?” He steps to the side, leaving a wide open space for you to pass him to the next staircase. You’re frozen where you’re leant against the railing, hardly able to breathe. “C’mon, give it a shot.” 

You listen, scrabbling further back and all but throwing yourself up the stairs on all fours. You’re only the need to get away, an innate fear that tells you to get as far from the blood-soaked man as quickly as possible. You swear you hear him laugh as you launch yourself up the next flight, panting already.

There’s no safety found in going up though, as hardly two flights later you’re tugged to a stop by your instincts alone.

Standing above you, hardly six feet away and blocking the door he must’ve just come from, is another giant. This one fully clothed and with a white skull mask, somehow bigger and more intimidating than the man you can hear coming up the stairs behind you. You can’t see even an inch of skin, black gloves on his hands and mean black combat boots reaching nearly his knees.

There’s a moment, before the chase ends, where you contemplate jumping over the railing. There’s no going up, there’s no going back, and you can’t even begin to imagine what these two men want with you. The only thing that keeps you from throwing yourself over is the fear that you wouldn’t die on impact, that you’d be left injured and even more vulnerable to these men.

You’re not sure you could’ve tried that plan had you even wanted to, because the moment it forms fully in your mind a pair of thick arms wraps around you, and a heavy weight forces you to the ground.

You cry out at the sudden shove, palms scraped raw against the cement. The man behind you covers your body completely - his knees bracket yours, his hands rest on either side of your head, and there’s no part of the back of you that isn’t cloaked in him.

He doesn’t say anything as he ruts against you, the blood from his chest soaking through your tank top and making you cringe further away. You can’t stop the quiet stream of whimpers as you try to shrink into the stairs, try to get away from the beast behind you. He doesn’t care, only drops more of his weight onto you and pantomines fucking you.

You can feel the outline of his cock through his pants, as thin as the clothes both of you are wearing are. If you weren’t wearing your shorts, if he tugged the waistband of his pants down, he’d be inside of you.

The thought makes you tear up, makes you want to slam your head back and try to knee him in the balls, makes you want to fight.

But all your fight is gone. It died with Phil and your security system, and you’re left only with a weight in your bones that makes you wish you could sink through the floor. 

The hard plastic of the skull mask presses to the sensitive skin of your cheek, biting into the fat there. You can see the gleam of bright blue eyes in the sockets, the creases at the edges that tell you he’s smiling.

“You gonna fuck her here for the first time?” The white skull asks, voice deep enough that you hardly register the words. Your eyes are jerked to his form and it makes you shiver to see him sitting on the top of the staircase you’re pinned to, legs spread wide as he stares down at you with a cigarette between lips exposed by the tilted mask. You feel like a sacrifice, thrown to the stairs of a temple for a god.

“Can I?” The man over your shoulder pants, accent roughened from his own movements. You can’t tell if the wetness between your thighs is piss, blood, or an even worse option. You bite your tongue to hold back a whine, wince at the burst of iron in your mouth.

The man above you tilts his head, smoking blown into the air. “You fuck her here, you won’t get to go again on the roof. Don’t need you gettin’ spoiled.”

Your nails dig into the concrete, folding beneath the pressure as you shake beneath the red skulled man. He whines over you, like a petulant kid being told no for the first time, but goes still against you. That alone has you blinking open damp eyelashes, watching him from the corner of your eyes.

“Alright, I’ll wait,” he pants, chin resting on your soldier. “Give ye some time to get ready, huh lass? It’ll be easier for ye then. Just think about what we’ll do to ye, how good it’ll feel to get properly fucked, yeah?”

You sob when he grinds one final time against you, your hips pushed into the harsh edge of the stairs. 

He’s dragging you up after that, hardly letting either of you stand fully before shoving you up the stairs. You can’t catch your balance and let out a small cry as you fall back to your knees, mouth twisting in pain at the unforgiving surface against your naked knees.

You flinch when a gloved hand grasps your chin, tugging up until you’re forced to look towards the white skull above you.

You’ve landed between his feet, a boot on either side of your body, and if you’d moved forward even another half foot, you’d have face planted into his lap. 

Your heart skips a beat when you realize you’re making eye contact with him. The dark brown of his pupils blends almost seamlessly with what must be black paint smeared around his eye sockets, and the only reason you even realize you’re locked in a staring contest is the way the light reflects off the whites of his eyes.

You don’t have time to try and move away from him on your own (or, more accurately, to throw yourself backwards and pray you didn’t break something falling down the stairs) before a pair of bare hands are shoving you up from beneath the armpits, making you almost squeal as you jerk in the direction you’re forced.

“Up, c’mon,” red skull grunts, hands flitting from one part of your exposed skin to the next as he herds you upstairs. “Need to get inside ye, kitty, fuckin’ walk.”

You sob as you stumble up the stairs, the top of your foot scraping painfully against the concrete. You glance over your shoulder just in time to see White stand to follow you two, but you’re nearly sent sprawling again when Red only shoves you all the more harshly.

“Pl-please,” you manage to gasp, shoulder roughly bouncing off the wall. A glance up tells you you’re two full flights away from the rooftop. “Please, I don’t know what you want, b-but…” You can hardly talk around the sobs floating in your throat, choking you. “Please, please don’t hurt me.”

Red groans as he tugs you nearly off balance, the sound echoing off the walls and full of what you can only describe as hunger.

“Fuck, haven’t even gotten ye naked yet ‘n yer already beggin. Knew ye’d be perfect for us.”

You can hardly see through the tears in your eyes, the rest of the trip up to the roof all gray with streaks of red and black. You can’t focus enough to try and get away again, can’t get enough of your panic under control to fucking think.

The red skull catches you when you almost go careening over the rails, one broad hand catching you by the chest and gripping.

He groans, you flinch. “Fuck, cannae wait to get my mouth on these.” He pinches with his whole hand, your breast going sharp with pain on every fingertip. You whine, flinching further against his chest and trying to shrink away.

“Keep movin’, Soap.”

“Aye,” Red - Soap - pants, and you can practically hear the saliva gathered in his mouth when he swallows. “C’mon, kitty, only a little further.”

The blood on your hands has dried by the time White is shouldering open the door to the roof, your hands itching and the red flaking away every time your fingers twitch. The night air is a cold shock, just jarring enough to tug some reason back into your brain.

Soap doesn’t stop his herding until you’re far enough from the door for his partner to block it with an old metal chair, the back tucked under the door handle. You tuck your hands beneath your arms, shoulders curled in in an attempt to preserve warmth.

You wouldn’t have expected the night to be so cold. Half of the street is burning - flames painting the sky, giving you the exact opposite impression of the biting chill you feel. There are dozens of people in the streets, carrying guns and axes and chainsaws and all sorts of other weapons you can’t see. You feel bile rise in your throat when you realize the dark pools reflecting flames in the street are blood, not water.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Soap grumbles, and you don’t have any time to think before his mouth is pressed forcefully against yours, tongue shoving at your lips.

Your eyes are wide open, unlike his, and you make a shocked sound high in your throat at the sight of his maskless face. You can’t really see what he looks like with the way he’s pressed against you, but it’s a shock nonetheless.

You keep your lips pressed tightly together, no matter how much his tongue prods and tries to force its way into your mouth. You feel more than hear him laugh against you after a few long seconds, and one of his massive paws comes up to cradle your jaw pointer finger against your temple and thumb under your chin.

He stops trying to force himself between your lips after almost a minute, instead shifting to just… licking your lips. His tongue paints wide across your mouth, soaking you in his saliva. He’s almost scarily determined in the way he accosts you, his grip tight on your face as his other hand shifts to bruise your hip, covering what feels like the entire bottom-half of your face in his spit. You can’t help but grimace, trying to pull away from him, but he’s pressed too close.

“Can’t fuckin’ wait to be in ye,” he pants, breath warm and wet against your cheeks. “I know yer gonna squeeze me just right, bonnie, can tell already.”

“Please,” you say, voice weak. “Please, don’t, I don’t want you to-”

His groan is guttural. “Ye wanna know a secret, bonnie?” His voice is quiet between the two of you, bright blue eyes boring deep into yours when he pulls back. To your endless frustration, he’s handsome.

He leans close, whispering so low that you almost have to strain to hear hum. “That’s what makes you fun. Wouldnae be draggin’ you up here if ye wanted it, could get you any other night of the year for that. But it’s Purge night, lass… so you go ahead and fight as much as ye want, yeah? Just makes it more fun for me.”

You can’t help but sob at that, fat tears streaming down your face as he maneuvers you. You feel disconnected from your body as he forces you down to the ground, your soft belly left exposed when he pushes up your tank-top to cup one of your breasts, a whimper crawling out of your throat at the way the gravel presses into you.

You feel his breathing grow heavier as his hands move down to your shorts, shoving them off your hips and leaving them loose around your calves, completely disregarding your pitiful attempts at crawling away.

“Poor thing, been stuck in these the whole time? They fuckin’ reek, bonnie, no offense. That his piss or yours?”

You shake your head against the ground, face twisted up in acute humiliation. For some stupid reason you don’t want to even begin exploring, you find it necessary to whisper, “H-his.”

Soap hums, and you curse yourself inwardly when the humiliation is slightly alleviated.

“Get ‘em off her,” the white mask says, and you can’t help but jump at the sound of his voice. He’s sat on a large box only a few feet away, leaning back and relaxing, looking for all the world like he’s settled in for his favorite show. “Don’t want anythin’ of his touching her now.”

The sound Soap makes at that is animalistic, a snarl coming from deep in his chest that makes you flinch as he all but tears the shorts from your body. You wince at the wet splat of them landing several feet away.

You force your forehead into the gravel when your knees are forced wide, a rough hand and another pair of knees spreading you.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no…” you can’t help but beg, voice trembling. “Please- god, please don’t-”

“Fuck,” he moans over your shoulder. “Yeah, keep goin’, lass.”

You sob at the feeling of warm skin against your bared behind, his thick length slotting itself smoothly between the slightly spread lips of your pussy. Your eyes squeeze shut and it takes all your willpower not to keep begging.

He slides himself back and forth against you for a few long breaths, using online the slight slickness from a mixture of piss and blood to get some friction. But to your immense horror, it only takes a few moments for the sensual movement against your clit to have your body preparing itself.

The slight wetness at your hole might be a betrayal, but it’s not nearly enough to ease the way when he pushes inside of you with no warning.

You nearly scream, a high sound of pure panic and pain when it feels like you’re being split in two. Somewhere off in the distance, you hear someone laugh. Right above you, Soap groans.

He’s buried himself to the hilt inside you before the pain has had any time at all to fade, and he’s fucking into you hardly a second after that.

Every thrust forces a grunt from your throat, the entire weight of him slammed into your back each time his balls smack against your clit. Your face is twisted up in a grimace, your whole body racked with pain that your assaulter couldn’t care less about.

“Fuck, kitty. Yer squeezin’ me so good, such a good girl, shit-! Knew you’d be ti-tight as a vice, fuck, but didn’t know you’d be squeezin’ me so tight I can hardly move.”

Your whine is plaintive, his moan is filled with pleasure.

“Yer gettin’ so wet for me, bonnie. Ye like this, huh? Bet you like it just as much as I do, gettin’ thrown around and takin’ advantage of. That it, kitty? Ye like being forced?”

You sob and shake your head against the ground, crying all the more when sharp pebbles dig into your cheeks.

“Naw, I think ye do. Why else’d you be- fuck, squeezin’ me like that?” 

“Cause- because-” you try, but you can’t get the breath in to get more than a single word out.

“Huh? Cause- cause-?” Soap mocks, his voice pitching up to mimic you as he plants himself deep inside you, grinding his hips against the meat of your ass. “C’mon, kitty, tell me why. Go on.”

“Cause I want you to stop!” You cry, balled up fist slamming into the gravel. You can’t help but whine ow when the sharp rocks poke into your skin, and Soap’s laugh shakes your entire body.

“Good,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear. “Squirm all ye want, lass. I love it when you fight.”

You can do nothing but go limp beneath him as he begins fucking you again, his pace somehow faster and even more relentless. It’s a small mercy that there’s no fight left in you, that you can’t give him any more pleasure. 

It certainly doesn’t stop him, though. Despite the fact that you’re doing your best impression of a dead fish, Soap pants and moans against your shoulder like you’re the single best thing he’s ever slept with. His cock is painfully hard inside of you, and his pace never once slows.

He’s loud when he finally comes, the sound of his orgasm clear enough that you know he’s thrown his head back to the sky. You can only whimper as he rolls his hips against you, working the last spurts of cum out of his cock and into your unwilling body. 

“Fuck,” he sighs in your ear, sounding far more satisfied than he has any right to. “Good girl, kitty. You were perfect.”

You sniffle beneath him when he slowly pulls out, both of you groaning at the sensation. He gives you an almost perfunctory pat on the ass, and stands to walk away. You manage to open your eyes and focus just in time to see him slide to the ground in front of his partner, leaning against the wall.

“Yer turn,” he sighs. “Warmed her up good for you, Lt.”

Despite the hatred boiling in your gut, you can do nothing but lay limp on the ground and watch as his partner stands, cracking his neck and moving towards your prone form. 

You want to run, you want to fight, but you can only watch the executioner come closer and wait for the metaphorical axe to fall.

He crouches by your head first, grasping your chin and pulling up until your torso tries to follow to alleviate the tension. He stares deep into your eyes for a long moment, and you find that it’s impossible to even tell where his pupils are with no real lighting. You feel like you’re truly looking into the empty eye sockets of a skull, no man and no mercy to be found.

“You’ll call me Ghost when I fuck you,” he rumbles, thumb stroking over the scrapes on your cheek. He doesn’t wait for a response, simply hauls you up by the shoulder and turns you onto your back. 

He’s rough with your limbs as he shoves your legs together and up, his forearm banding across the backs of both of your knees and holding them to your chest. You whimper and wiggles as best you can, but the bruising blow against your thigh is enough to have you gasping and stilling.

“Don’t fight,” he warns, and you feel his gloved fingers running up the crack of you. “You’re hurtin’ enough as it is, and I’m not gonna help. You wanna make it worse too?”

You shake your head, unsure if he can even see you through your legs. He doesn’t respond, and hums when he swipes two fingers through the liquid gathered between your lips.

You whine when those fingers move further down, a fresh panic creeping in when he presses around your back hole.

“You should be glad Soap fucked you so good,” Ghost drawls. “He gave you all the lube you’re gonna get.”

You feel like an animal when you whine again, unsure of how to even begin trying to speak. You yelp when a thick finger slides into your hole, completely disregarding any resistance and forcing its way in until it’s buried to the knuckle. Your cries go ignored.

“Quit squirmin’,” Ghost scolds, pulling his finger out to smack your ass before shoving two back in. “You’re fine.”

You’re not, you’re terrified and hurting and upset, but none of those things matter when Ghost only coaxes more of your slick and Soap’s spend to your unused whole so there’s less resistance. 

The only blessing you have is the fact that you can’t see more than the outline of Ghost’s figure with the way he’s got you positioned. You try your best to close your eyes and float into disassociation, and while you can’t fully manage it, the fact that you can’t see his face - his mask - helps you distance yourself from what’s happening.

The moment you realize this is of course the moment it stops being true. 

He seems to decide you’re ready after scissoring three fingers inside of you, hefting himself up so that he looms more fully over you. You can only whine as you feel the movements of him unbuckling his belt, feel the weight of him slap against your slightly spread cheeks.

Fresh tears fall past your lashes as you stare up into the fathomless darkness that are Ghost’s eyes. There’s nothing there, just a cold empty skull prepared to ruin you.

You don’t even have the energy to beg.

The stretch of him inside your ass is five times worse than Soap was. There’s no natural lubrication, and nowhere near enough synthetic lube either. Your hole feels like it’s on fire, the stretch white hot as he gives you no mercy.

You’re not even fully sure what you’re babbling as he slowly sinks to the root, only aware of the pain and fear and panic sitting heavy in your heart. You fear you’ll choke on your tears, head jerking back and forth.

He sighs when he bottoms out, heavy barrel chest forcing your knees past your shoulders. Your hips strain, just another pain from the endless abuse.

“There,” he grunts, patting your thigh when you go limp from it all. “Stay nice and still now, just need a place to dump my cum.”

Upsettingly enough, that hurts. The idea that you could mean nothing to this man is somehow worse than the thought of him having some other twisted feelings for you, your hormone-addled mind deeply insulted. 

His thrusts are long and slow, each one pulling nearly completely out before slamming back in. The sound of your skin slapping together is embarrassingly sexual, and a distant part of you is aware enough to pray that no one nearby had heard your screams and cries.

Ghost is near silent as he fucks you, the opposite of Soap. You can only hear the occasional grunt when you squeeze him because he’s inches away from your face - you can even feel the occasional gusts of breath when his hips start working a little faster. 

There’s nothing you can do but lay limply beneath him and take it, just a vehicle for his pleasure. You almost manage to float away, to pretend none of this is happening or has ever happened, when his free hand moves from your thigh to the top of your cunt.

You nearly squeal when he rubs your clit, the smooth leath gliding over your slick bud. Your eyes fly wide open, back arching as much as you can with three hundred pounds of man holding you down. The loud laugh from several feet away only makes you writhe more.

“Make her squirt, Lt!” Soap shouts, his voice carefree.

“Shut it, Johnny,” Ghost grunts, voice roughened with pleasure. You don’t even have time to focus on the fact that he’s just told you Johnny’s name, far too preoccupied with the tidal wave of pleasure rushing towards you.

You have no idea why it happens. You’re never quick to come - almost every single partner of yours has complained about you taking so long to get off, it’s been an Issue in several relationships. 

So it makes absolutely no sense that after hardly a minute of rough circles against your clit, you’re clenching down on the cock in your ass and moaning loudly as your orgasm overtakes you.

The natural clench of your body only makes the pain worse, a sharp spike of it running up your cunt and making your moan shift into more pained sounds. Ghost only moans in tandem above you, his thrusts becoming slightly less even as he lets your orgasm coax out his own.

You sob when you feel his cum paint your insides.

Unlike Johnny, Ghost doesn’t pull out after he comes. He lets your legs fall limp on either side of him, just barely managing to catch them for you before you slam your ankles to the ground. He leans his torso over yours, elbows resting on either side of your shoulders while you do nothing but wait beneath him.

He’s sweat off some of the makeup. This close, you can see hints of pale skin in the sockets of the mask. There’s nothing to read in his eyes, but that flash of skin tells you he’s still a man.

You swallow, trying to work moisture back into your dry mouth, and whisper, “Will… will you let me go now?”

You know it’s more likely he’ll kill you. It’s what you can only imagine happened to all those bodies in the streets, what you know happens to tens of thousands of women every year. 

So it’s not a surprise when he doesn’t answer you verbally, instead covering your mouth with his palm and pinching your nose shut with his fingers. 

Your eyes flutter shut after a moment, lungs tightening already, and all you can hope is that suffocation is a quick death.

———————————————————————

You wake, gasping, in a dark room. 

You’re lurching forward before you’re even fully aware that you’re awake, coughing loudly and gasping when it feels like your throat is bleeding.

“Oh, poor thing,” you hear a familiar accented voice coo, and a moment later there’s a warm hand patting your back. “Yer alright, deep breaths.”

You jerk back from Soap - Johnny - as soon as your coughing is under control, scrambling back on your palms and staring at him with wide eyes. He only grins at you, looking for all the world like any other normal man in his sweater and sweatpants.

He got changed at some point - these pants are clean. He’s not wearing his mask either, and you’re struck dumb by how non threatening he manages to look.

He also changed your clothes - or Ghost did, maybe. You try to cover your chest with one hand, but there’s no hiding the fact that you’re completely naked. 

Johnny only laughs at your attempted modesty. “Been starin’ at them for hours, lass. Ye’ve got nothin’ to hide.”

That’s… horrifying, and does absolutely nothing to calm you down.

It’s then that Ghost rises from a chair, stepping forward and making you aware of his presence. “Calm down, Johnny. We don’t want her panickin’ this early.”

Soap fully pouts, tilting his head at you before glancing up at his partner. “I haven’t even done anythin’, Ghost. Was just sayin’ hi, tha’s all.”

Ghost snorts, gripping Johnny’s mohawk and tugging back until the other man sprawls back on his ass. “You know how you are, pup. Give your kitty some space.”

Johnny listens, crossing one leg beneath him and bending the other close to his chest, looking casual as can be. Meanwhile your heartbeat only gets faster, and you wince when you happen to lean too far one direction and feel a throbbing reminder of what these men did to you.

Ghost steps forward again, crouching just out of arm's reach. You realize he’s not wearing the same skull mask as before, but a balaclava with a printed skull pattern instead. His eye sockets are unpainted, and you’re shocked by how such little things make him look so much more human. 

“You can calm down. Long as you behave, nothin’ much worse’ll happen to you.”

You find yourself almost comically not-comforted by that, and can do nothing more than stare at him with wide eyes. 

“Where…” Your voice cracks, so you swallow and start again. “Where am I?”

It’s Johnny who speaks up. “Our place. We finally brought ye home with us, kitty.”

The world feels like it’s slowed around you, and your eyes drag from one kidnapper to the other. You have to swallow again to work any moisture into your bone-dry mouth.

“Is the Purge over?”

The creases at the corner of Ghost’s eyes are painfully obvious with how pale his skin is, and you shudder at the thought of him smiling.

“Been over for… what, five hours now? Somethin’ like that.”

You can’t fight the tremble in your voice now. “Then… then you have to let me go.”

Ghost’s head tilts, the creases get deeper. “Do I?”

You nod with as much conviction as you can - which is almost none. “You can’t keep me here. You’re breaking the law.”

Ghost leans closer on the balls of feet and you lean further back, your spine pressing into the wall behind you. “Are we now? And who do you think will stop us, pet?”

“The- the police. Someone will report me missing, they’ll come looking.”

“Oh? And you think they’ll come here?”

You nod as best you can, and jump when Ghost laughs. It’s low and quiet, only a few beats, but it’s like gasoline thrown on the small fire of panic in your mind.

“You have no idea where you even are, and you think they’ll find you? I hate to break it to you doll, but you’ll be lucky if they look for you for a week. You have any idea how many people go missin’ after the Purge?”

Your breath is quickening. “So that’s it? You’re just going to… going to keep me here, forever? What are you even going to do?”

His laugh is sharper, meaner this time. “We’re gonna do a whole lot more of what we did last night, pet. Keep you as a little cocksleeve, a pretty thing tucked in the basement just for our entertainment. Ain’t that right, Johnny?”

You manage to tear your eyes away to look at Soap and see that he’s nearly salivating, having inched closer and closer and shifted so he’s knelt behind Ghost. There’s a feral spark in his eyes that has every hair on your body standing straight up.

“Yeah, tha’s right. Don’t worry, lass, we’ll make sure yer never lonely. Might even stay the night with you, cuddle up in the winter. Bet ye could keep our cocks nice and toasty in the cold, huh? Gonna let us use ye as a little heater?”

“A heater, a mattress, a fleshlight… your future’s lookin’ bright, sweetheart,” Ghost drawls, mockery dripping heavily from the cruel words.

Your eyes dart back and forth between the two men and their predatory stares, your heart racing against your ribcage.

It’s not a conscious choice for you to launch yourself towards them, reaching out and clawing your sharp nails down Soap’s face with a feral scream that tears your throat to shreds. 

Even as Ghost throws you off and forces you to the ground, you vow to fight these men to the end. You’ll kill them both if you have to, leave them dead and wander however many miles it is back to your apartment.

Ghost only laughs when you shout this in his face, and you scream as you lunge forward, just managing to catch his masked chin between your teeth and bite.

With your fight instinct back in full force, you’re ready to make their lives hell.

[mintypsii]

not a part 2, but here's a prequel to this sanuso comic I did last month !!! (takes place the night before ,, technically after the first three panels)

[toxintouch]

hii!! I just read cold spots and it was AMAZING!!! Im not sure if you wanted to continue the fic, but if you don’t mind could you continue with Veres part? I don’t know what you would write about but I just feel like that fic has so much potential to be a little 3 part series or something 🙏

<- Cold Spots TYSM ANON!! I put the Vere End at the beginning for ease of reading. For the sake of folks who would like to read this as a stand-alone... I think u can? With the knowledge that the premise of Cold Spots is that Mhin and MC/Sparrow went ghost hunting. Vere is said to have been responsible for a handful of local ghost stories, so…of course he makes some mischief.🦊 Also MC needs some Winter wear, stat.  A very light Possessive Vere warning in this btw, though perhaps in a roundabout way.  Plausible deniability is so important to him.

You putter around in your room at the Wet Wick as you go about your nightly routine. The occasional cheer or thud from below only accentuates your nervous energy, punctuating your reluctance to settle down and get into bed. You smooth the covers with your bandaged hands and fluff the pillow before extinguishing the lamplight. You tug the bedding up above your shoulders, fighting to get comfortable. As your eyelids finally start to droop, the flicker of a shadow catches your attention.   It dances and sways and bends and grows until suddenly it is right in front of you.  On top of you. Silken, blood red drips down onto your face, a knife gleam smile too close for comfort.  You breathe in a gasp, wondering if you should scream. “Vere, what–” “Shhh,” he coos, pressing a finger lightly to your lips.  His breath is hot against your skin. “I only came to keep you warm, pet.”

Heat Signature

“Poor thing.” Vere purrs.  “Your lips are so cold.”  He leans ever closer, his mouth hot over yours–hovering.  His other hand reaches for your face as well, nails trailing against your cheek in a teasing caress.

You feel even the thought of being cold leave your body, replaced instead by the unusual thrill he commands, that strange enthralling sway.

That heat you’ve come to associate with Vere; sweet tendrils of want that nestle in your bloodstream.

You squirm a little, though you can’t move much with him looming over you.

(You should probably do more to protest his intrusion into your room, you think to yourself, though, the majority of you is–curious, daresay even far too eager to–)

“Whatever trouble did you get up to that left you in such a state?”

At this you scoff, tilting your head back into the pillow and effectively knocking Vere’s finger from your lips.  

“As if you don’t know,” you accuse.

Vere looks entirely unperturbed by you shaking him off, his lithe fingers traveling freely along the newly displayed skin of your throat, making your pulse jump.

Vere chuckles at that, dark and silky.

“Being tight lipped about your adventures, hm?”  He angles your face just so, ensuring you meet his sharp eyes, his nose brushing up against yours.  “Not that it matters.  It so happens I do know what you’ve been up to.  Trespassing in places that don’t belong to you.”

“...It was an abandoned building.  I don’t think it really belonged to anyone.”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Vere says, “everything in this city belongs to someone, darling.  You just don’t know what belongs to who yet.”  He peers down at you with laughter in his expression, though there's a distinct edge to it that you can't quite place.

“So, you're here because that building belongs to you...?”

“Hmm, amongst other things.  However shall I make you apologize to me for this most egregious offense?”  He asks airily, shifting until he’s beside you rather than perched over you, resting his cheek in his hand and letting his eyes slip closed. He's the absolute picture of unbothered leisure.  

(You’re not fooled–he’s simply waiting for you to let your guard down before he pounces.)

You open your mouth to deny any debts on your part (though, if your ghost hunting spot was indeed Vere’s hideout, you really do feel guilty) but Vere cuts you off before you can speak.

“Alas, I suppose it’s not mine anymore.  Within a week it will reek of wet dogs and cheap booze. It's a lost cause now that those drooling reprobates know it's inhabitable.  A pity.  By Eridia's standards it really was divine in its heyday.  Good wine, music, dancing.  There was this portrait artist who would paint the performances…”

His tone remains light as he reminisces.  But the look he pins you with is dangerous: his eyes gleaming bright, his canines bared in an irreverent grin.

“I had such hopes and dreams of reviving the place myself.  Some of the dances were very scandalous.  You never did share with me your stance on dancing, did you?”

You stumble out an approximate answer.  It’s…harmless information to give, isn’t it?

Though, judging by how pleased Vere looks, you wonder if you should have refused to say.  He looks positively wicked as he ponders your answer aloud.  “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of talents to share.  In another life, perhaps I'd have put you on stage.  Though, I admit.  I find myself partial to a private show.”

And–as expected–the moment you let your guard down, he's in your space again, crowding you.  Heat and proximity and the softest brush of his lips against yours, light enough to send a thrill down your spine, curiosity and a want so deep it surprises you.

“Well?”  He purrs.  “Care to audition?”

You can't hide behind the excuse of supernatural sway or charm or the thrall of hypnotic sunglo eyes.  It's not Vere's power that controls you. It's your own gnawing desire; starvation and longing that draws you to him despite all sense.

Kissing Vere is heady.  Dizzying.  

Kissing Vere is like being in conversation with Vere–a constant of giving and taking, being chased after and running to keep up.  It’s enticing and alluring and decadent and never quite enough, over too soon even as you feel yourself losing air, the rush of blood and sensation threatening to overwhelm you.

He gives a parting nip to your bottom lip as he pulls away.

Then another one, playful, to your jaw.

When he presses his face into the side of your neck, you expect him to bite again.

What you don’t expect is for him to nuzzle into you, inhaling deeply before heaving a great sigh, his tail flopping lazily to land across you with a thump.

He’s officious as he rearranges the covers, ensuring your arms are tucked carefully away from him before he’s willing to fully settle into the bedding, pulling the blankets up around the both of you like a den.  He hums something low in his chest as he tucks himself up alongside you, long tail curled around your waist. 

It’s rhythmic–

purring.

And it’s…soothing, actually.

The weight of him, the warmth.  The incessant lamplight of the Amaryllis District, shining ever present through your window, is dim–tolerable, even, courtesy of Vere's magnificent shadow manipulations and the blankets sheltering you. 

The constant noise seems to fade away as well, obscured by the sound of purring. “Falling asleep when you have me in your bed, pet?  You really do try your luck…”

[c2-eh]

I just had a charlos thought (prompt maybe??) Charles writing things about Carlos in his note book, and then losing said notebook which results in a mini breakdown because he HAS to find it before anyone reads it and he’s freaking out but he can’t tell anyone why he’s freaking out either, everyone’s searching for the note book which causes him more stress, Carlos ends up finding it but doesn’t read it but Charles thinks he has

oh god this has been in my inbox for A YEAR and i randomly found it now... idek if you still follow me anon or if you even care about charlos (you should they are fruity and in love!), but i come with 2k as compensation <3 it was funnn to write this! enjoyyyy luvs! <3

Charles is freaking out. Rightfully, if he were to say so himself, as he just lost a very important thing in his life.

The whole garage of his is up and on their feet, trying their best to find an A4 blue notebook that is filled with details about Charles’ life – mostly racing, because Charles’ life is racing, racing and racing again, so it made sense to do that.

And well, that’s what he told everyone. Acted like the said notebook only holds the racing knowledge like data, strategies, technical stuff, Charles’ feelings about the car, possible improvements and such things. It is half true, however, not the full truth. Not in the slightest.

No one knows why he is freaking out so much. Only Andrea. And Joris. And Antoine. Because Charles can’t keep his fucking mouth shut about anything, ever.

The tell-tale rapid breathing of his was a hint Charles should calm down and not overthink this, but the fact he couldn’t reveal why the search was so urgent, made him lose a bit of sanity each time someone approached him a question about why it was so important.

Racing is important, was be his answer, but no one actually believed him, because everyone knows Charles holds all the information in his mind. The notebook is just a help. A boost if you may. He lives and breathes racing and he would think back to the imperfections (or the perfections, but there’s not many currently) on the whim.

Charles was surprised and wondered why no one seemed to be disturbed by the fact he insisted and nearly shouted at everyone that if they were to find the notebook, they could never ever open it, no matter what. He could blame it on wanting a privacy, but why would you need that big of a privacy from your team, if the things in the notebook were about the data the said team has?

“Nothing?” Charles asked in dejected voice after around 2 and half hours of searching. One look at his mechanics’ faces and he did not really need a vocal answer. He sighed and thanked everyone for their effort, sending them off in the process, retracting to his room with his head hung low.

It’s not like Charles was drawing his and Carlos’ initials in hearts into the notebook, no, but there were some things that would easily reveal his true feelings towards his teammate and he couldn’t allow it.

He wouldn’t be able to swallow down the rejection – Carlos’ big brown eyes so apologetic, feeling sorry for him and just because Carlos is such a good guy, he would try to force himself to like Charles just to make him happy.

Only if that was actually possible, Charles thinks and scoffs, the sound echoing around the hall.

Charles loves Carlos. It took him a long time to come into terms with it and it was honestly a big messy battle within him – one of his heart and brain and probably dick too – which in the end his heart won, no matter how much his brain tried (did it?) to resist the feelings.

Charles returned back to his driver’s room, his mood still sulky. He was slowly losing hope, but at the same time gaining it, because if his notebook got lost somewhere no one could find, then it meant Carlos couldn't either. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking, but Charles’ brain was determined to convince him that was the case (or maybe it was Charles himself trying so hard to not get his feeling revealed to avoid the hurting).

---

Back in his hotel room, Charles still feels a bit down and paranoid, but it quickly disappears once he settles deep into his bath. Hot water sooths his muscles and he sighs – for the hundredth time today.

The rest of his evening routine passes by quickly and just as he’s about to climb into his bed, his face moisturized and hair washed, someone knocks on his door.

It’s Carlos. Looking better than ever.

Charles’ breath hitches when he opens the door, but he plays it off with a cough. He curses himself for not checking who it was before. His teammate looks sheepish, shy even, with how he’s looking at Charles with his big brown eyes. However, once Charles sees what Carlos is holding in his hand, he is done studying Carlos’ handsome face. His breath quickens and suddenly he feels like suffocating.

“What is that,” he says, voice flat. His eyes are zeroed on the A4 blue notebook filled with his handwriting talking about Carlos, his hands, hair, nose, eyes, and… Fuck.

How fucking stupid was he to write it into his work notebook? Charles needs to not be close to that thing during boring meetings ever again.

“Wow, I at least expected a simple ‘hello’,” Carlos chuckles and Charles can’t even appreciate the sound now. He only frowns and misses the way Carlos’ face drops.

“Carlos,” he warns firmly and then, without thinking, snatches the notebook from his hand, not caring it’s rude, nor that he still did not invite Carlos into his room. He immediately checks it, listing through the pages to make sure everything is intact.

Once he is sure, he takes a deep breath and turns back towards Carlos that is now standing in the middle of his room, the door behind him closed shut.

Carlos is looking at him – studying him, his expression scrutinizing – as if Charles turned into alien or something. His brows are slightly furrowed and his full pink lips are downturned. Oh no.

“Care to explain what the fuck was that?” Carlos asks, crossing his arms on his chest. And Charles is not the God’s strongest soldier. His eyes fly over Carlos’ whole body, eyes stopping on his bulging biceps, before he snaps out of it.

Out of nowhere, Charles’ blood starts to boil. Why is this man acting like Charles is stupid?

“Oh don’t act innocent, I know you did it,” Charles scoffs and clutches the notebook close to his chest. He’s never ever leaving it out there in the open.

Carlos looks confused and Charles is momentary startled. He shakes his head. No, he definitely did, he wouldn’t look so guilty other way.

“I am truly confused, Charles. Can you please talk to me and explain what’s going on?” oh and if Charles does not hate when Carlos is calm and rational, all while Charles is losing his mind.

He rolls his eyes – over exaggerating it.

“I know you read it. The notebook,” he says, his tone harsh, "everyone would, because that’s who we are. It is in our nature to be curious and do something we would perhaps regret later, but also never admit to. You read my notebook. Or maybe even took a peak.”

Charles chances a glance at Carlos and he doesn’t look confused anymore, no. More like a little hurt, but also amused, which Charles thinks is the worst combination ever. Partly because how the fuck is it possible to have 2 contradicting emotions battling on your face, but mostly because what is Carlos hurt for?

“The curiosity got the best of you, yeah yeah, do not even apologise, I know it all. We’ve all been there,” Charles waves his hand, but he can feel his throat tightening and he mentally curses himself.

“I didn’t-“ Carlos starts, but then shuts his mouth and waits. Charles finds it weird. Guess he gave up on the excuses.

Charles sighs, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat, but to no avail, “just leave it. I know you don’t love me back, so there is no need to feel bad for me. God knows I am fed up with that sentiment,” he says and throws the notebook on his bed, turning away from Carlos, “can you just forget it and go now?”

It’s quiet, eerily. Charles is not sure if it has been minutes or hours, nor if Carlos is still there.

“Charles,” Carlos’ voice suddenly sounds way closer than before, “Charles,” he repeats, firmer now and he has no choice, but to turn to face his teammate.

Looking up into those eyes should come with a warning.

“I did not read your notebook. I really didn’t. I found it under the counter where you keep your helmets, when I was tying my shoes. I did not give it to you, because you were not in the garage, so I took it into my room. I wanted to give it to you in person, in case someone would be a jerk enough to read someone’s personal stuff,” Carlos says, emphasising the last part of the sentence.

Great, it’s safe to say Charles feels like shit now.

“Oh,” he says, averting his eyes, “so you really didn’t read it,” it’s phrased like a declarative sentence, not a question.

Carlos shakes his head still, which Charles can only see from his peripheral vision.  He feels like dying because… because he just confessed without a need to do so. He's so stupid.

Big warm hands land on Charles’ cheeks and he has no choice, but to look back on Carlos’ handsome face, “can you tell me more about the love you mentioned?”

“No,” Charles whines automatically and Carlos has a nerve to chuckle. Charles’ head thunks against Carlos’ shoulder and he immediately feels Carlos’ hand in his hair.

“It’s okay,” Carlos whispers and Charles feels like crying, because here it is. The pity, the rejection he was so afraid of- “I love you too.”

Charles giggles and nuzzles his nose into Carlos’ neck. He stays there, breathing in Carlos’ scent when he suddenly realizes what the fuck he just said.

“What?” he abruptly moves away, almost shouting.

Carlos looks smug, with the slight smirk playing on his lips, but his eyes look soft. So soft and earnest Charles feels like his knees will give out from under him. It is all it takes to believe him, because he knows Carlos. He knows Carlos shows emotions through his eyes more than anyone else, because he’s seen it so many times it is integrated in his brain.

“You heard me,” he says and his smiles transforms from smug to soft and Charles launches.

Their lips crash and Charles puts every drop of his willpower into keeping himself on the ground and not climbing Carlos like a tree.

Kissing Carlos does not feel like anything he’s dreamed of, because nothing of sorts can compare to the real thing. Carlos starts slow, with careful closed mouth kisses that after a while start to frustrate Charles. He whines, to voice out his displeasure.

Carlos gets the memo and finally starts kissing him and Charles finds himself on cloud nine. He’s turned breathless as Carlos goes from slow, to vigorous open mouthed kisses, his tongue prodding at Charles’ lips to let him in. Charles moans, loudly, into Carlos’ mouth, sending a message of how much he’s loving it.

The tips of Carlos’ fingers run down Charles’ spine and a whimper falls from Charles’ mouth once Carlos grabs his ass, squeezing it. The action brings Charles closer. So close he can feel the outline of Carlos’ dick against his hip.

“Carlos,” he whimpers, his own hard dick rubbing against Carlos, “I need you.”

“Let’s take this to the bed, cariño,” Carlos breathes out, guiding Charles there before he was even done speaking.

Later, when they are lying in his bed, Charles’ head pillowed on Carlos’ shoulder, does Charles finally feel fully relaxed. Looking up at Carlos’ freckled face, his strong nose and big plump lips brings a strange sense of happiness and comfort to Charles.

(What doesn’t bring comfort, is the drying cum on his ass and thighs, but he is content enough to ignore it and stay in Carlos’ arms. For now).

“Why did you look so guilty on my doorstep?” Charles asks, not able to help himself. He needs to know, because the only explanation his brain could come up with back then was ‘Carlos is guilty’, which apparently was not true.

Carlos sighs, his fingertips slowing down their tracing on Charles’ back, “I know you were looking for your journal. Ricky messaged me.”

Charles is confused, “and?”

Charles giggles, the sound coming out of his mouth freely. Carlos kisses his forehead and Charles brings his hand up to Carlos’ jaw to caress it. He kisses his nose in return, then cheek and then finally his mouth.

“I could have given it to you back then or send it through someone. I was not back here yet,” he pauses and Charles says nothing. Leaving him space to continue whenever he wants, “but I was selfish. I wanted to give it back to you in private. I don’t really know why, “he resumes his stroking, his voice getting quieter, “perhaps I wanted an excuse to be with you alone.”

“I’m glad you did.”

[bumblebeehug]

That's a very good point! Although I guess you could argue that we already had Natsu thinking Lucy was dead in the Alvarez arc? (And in GMG he literally watches a version of Lucy die.) I suppose the responsibility part would be different as you mentioned (especially if it's Ignia. Or! Lucy could die in the process of saving Natsu). But I also wonder if the 'one wish' is a fakeout plot. And if we can truly trust Elefseria. I mean who is powerful enough to grant a wish? Any wish? That's some karmic justice Genie shit type beat. (Thank you btw, for answering these asks)

(In regards to this https://www.tumblr.com/bumblebeehug/763935002780172288/ive-been-thinking-about-that-too-or?source=share )

I'm a firm believer of the fact that natsu needed all the different stages of Lucy dying. First time around it was a "fake" Lucy, the one from the future. It's the fist time we reallsery see Natsu in that broken anger, but he doesn't go insane. He's still very Natsu, no END-mode or anything, because there's still hope in his mind that he can save his Lucy (plus another bunch of factors that makes it so he doesn't activate demon mode).

The second time is during their war against Alvarez. This time he's quite involved with the whole END thing, he knows he's riding a fragile wave and that he can succumb to the demon stuff soon, so losing Lucy tips him over. At the time, he's ready to die (see shiiro's suicidal-natsu post https://www.tumblr.com/shiiro-arts/764022215033389056/is-natsu-sucdal?source=share for better insight) and he doesn't really consider a life without Lucy. He didn't think he'd make it out of that war alive, because Lucy (in his mind) wouldn't.

He naturally didn't expect her to be alive, or for him to snap out of the demon-mode, so when they all somehow made it out the other side, I think a small, thin string of hope deveoped in Natsu's heart. The bad thing is that it completely relies on Lucy's life. He can't afford to lose her again, because as far as he's concerned, he can't blame his next strike of insanity on being a demon. But he'll go completely insane if Lucy dies. He'll turn into a demon, or at least a monster, stopping at nothing until he's burned everything. An earth where Lucy dies isn't an earth worth existing.

The one wish being a fakeout plot is absolutely something I could see being true. Maybe it isn't even on purpose, Elefseria could have a scewed idea of what he's capable of, hence the reward that should be amazing in theory. It's also possible that Elefseria won't make it out alive of the 100yq. Mashima is sadly not above taking the easy way out of the corners he writes himself into. I just hope that isn't the case, cus I also know that if Mashima puts some effort into his plots, they can end up as masterpieces (Tartarus for example)

[goldensunset]

so like. what is majora's mask about (is one of like 3 people who's dodged it on the internet somehow)

ohHO you’ve made a mistake

the basic gist of it is that the moon is about to crash into the earth and you have 3 days to stop it. nevermind being physically or cosmologically realistic that’s not important right now but Moon’s Haunted. not normal moon evil moon. it’s all the work of this like chaos deity or w/e named majora who’s working through this little imp kid known as skull kid bc of the haunted mask he’s wearing. how do you stop the moon from falling? easy. awaken four giants and get them to literally hold up the moon. push that thang back into the sky. did i mention it’s freaky and scary btw. not normal moon.

btw there’s a clock at the bottom of your screen perpetually ticking and at the start of each day you hear a bell tolling which is fun. it’s where these memes come from!

here’s the thing though. you cannot possibly realistically do all of this in 3 days. not unless you’re a hacker or speedrunner who’s built different. so what can you do? well as a matter of fact you can play a magic song on a magic instrument that resets time to the beginning of the 3-day cycle. and you can do so anytime! so yay you can just reset infinitely!!

except that comes with a price. only certain parts of your progress get saved through your time-meddling. you lose most things- money, common items, dungeon quest progress, npc questline progress- when you reset time. if you’ve completed a dungeon or earned a mask (collectibles which you put on to unlock special abilities) those remain in the new timeline but other than that a reset is a reset. so you have to be careful you’ve seen a quest all the way through before going back through time. if you find yourself running short on time but you aren’t done with something you’re either going to have to scrap that precious progress and play the song and try again orrrr let the moon fall and game over lol. so it’s really like. your time is simultaneously infinite and limited.

^uh oh sisters!

you can help the people around you, all of whom have rich inner lives and great characters (in reference to both the main quests and the many incredible side quests which this game is known for), and you may get to keep the fruits of your labor from each endeavor (the magic masks you get, or weapon upgrades, or like. the giants being awakened), but then you reset time and their problems come right back to them. and you know that there’s nothing you can do for them because you simply do not have enough time to do all of this in 72 hours so one way or another you have to abandon almost everyone. you get all the material progress you need but in terms of the underlying story you just have to move on through life with the knowledge of all that suffering…

oh and did i mention the part where the moon is falling??? yeah that’s like. on top of the other personal problems people already have, some of which are related to skull kid’s other mischief and some of which aren’t. the moon. it is always hanging above you

yeah people around town aren’t ignorant of that. some people panic. others are in denial. some people are convinced that if they just do this and that it’ll all be fine. there’s a somewhat political aspect to the arguments in clock town (the heart of the game’s map) where some people are insisting they’re in danger and the mayor needs to order an evacuation and some people saying hey shut up don’t be silly! are you really gonna distract us from our super special carnival we’re about to host? you’re just trying to control people with your conspiracy theory! it feels a lot like a sociopolitical commentary on how different people react to crises. panic, acceptance, denial, trying to take control, drinking away your sorrows, embracing it, still holding onto hope, etc

but by day 3 nobody is denying it anymore. there’s just pure dread. not even evacuation is gonna save you because let’s be real the entire planet is done for. straight up it is the end of the world and there’s nothing anyone can do. you can’t fight the moon. the giants are the only hope and link is gonna fix everything but it’s not like the people of termina know that. so like the apocalyptic, despair-filled atmosphere is heavy. masterpiece of storytelling tbh

a few more things to mention:

-most of your masks are just optional quality of life upgrades or stuff for one very specific sidequest or just a trophy etc. but the main mechanics of the game involve transforming into the other races of hyrule- aka you can become a little tree guy, a fish guy, and a rock guy, by equipping the proper mask. as a matter of fact you start the game by having skull kid mug you and then like curse you into becoming the tree guy so you get to have a body dysmorphia moment for the entirety of the first 3-day cycle before you can break the curse and change freely. oh but fun fact about those masks. yeah those are inhibited by the souls of real actual people of those races who died tragically and their loved ones don’t know they’re dead and they’re convinced you are them. yeah.

oh btw if you get all the masks you can trade them in at the end to unlock a new transformation mask (implying you’re channeling some new mystery spirit. oh boy) called the fierce deity mask and it’s insanely powerful and makes short work of the final boss and we know nothing of the fierce deity’s lore which is a little scary. yippee!!!

-just in general both games (this is strictly speaking the second of a duology) very much have the recurring juxtaposition of childhood vs adulthood and the traumas of both. the plot of the first game involves being suddenly aged from 10 to 17 (you’re put to sleep for 7 years instead of being oh idk trained or something) and you just have to adjust to life as a child in an adult’s body. (and they’re like ‘wow cool congrats on being a grownup! :D’ as if that isn’t horrifying) then at the end just as you’re getting used to it you’re forcibly returned to being a child and now you’re an adult (kind of) in a child’s body. as a child you’re belittled and as an adult you have people making demands of you that you aren’t ready for and you’re both and neither. but now you’re definitively a child and get to have your childhood back right? yeah no. there’s no going back home anymore after everything that has happened. also one of your last remaining friends just left and now you’re trying to find her desperately. that’s the context going into majora’s mask.

-skull kid himself makes me sad because he’s not even evil he’s being controlled by majora. he is mischievous absolutely and it’s still partially his fault of course but the real him would never do all this. he ultimately just wanted friends and attention and fun and it manifested itself in a bad way (kinda reminds me of ventus in khux with about like 20% more culpability…). you get to be his friend afterward plus his two little fairy friends so yay! gotta say goodbye though.

-the two fairies are a brother sister duo. the sister (tatl) gets stuck as your companion bc she took the time to stay back and bully you extra hard at the beginning of the game and accidentally got separated from the others lol. by the time you catch up to them she wants to stay with you anyway. her brother (tael) stays with skull kid but like he isn’t evil he provides valuable intel to you but he’s just loyal to his friend. anyway tatl warms up to you which is nice and i adore her… but of course you have to say goodbye to her too :(

^child link and tatl the fairy (tatl and tael together sound like ‘tattletale’ referencing the theme of childishness)

^skull kid (wearing majora’s mask) and tael the fairy

so in short to summarize the vibes:

what if you were a terrified lonely child experiencing layers upon layers of dysmorphia and trauma searching for your last friend and a giant moon with a face was about to fall and crush the earth and you alone were the only person who can save everyone by reliving the same three days over and over again, racing against the clock each time, making new friends and solving problems only to have to toss most of it down the drain with each reset, witnessing the fear and dread around you, feeling the weight of the world on you… just. man. lemme share some music too

. x this is the clock town theme. bright and cheery on day one, kind of hollow on day two (it rains that day), by day three it sounds frantic with an ominous undertone. denial and panic etc

x this is the theme that plays between midnight and 6am on the last day (fourth day i guess? the cycle starts at 6am on the first day so the last 6 hours before the dawn of death are technically a fourth day). at this point there is no denial in the world and this track plays everywhere in the world at that time. the world is ending. this is such a masterpiece of a somber track i found the best version i could that included the clock tower bells

x theme that plays when you finally summon all four giants to epically stop the moon after heaven knows how many cycles. no more smug skull kid no more despair it’s time!! baby!!!!!!

x this is the song of healing, another magic song that helps undo corruption in various forms throughout the game (it’s taught to you by a shady weird fellow known only as the happy mask salesman. love him.) it’s such a beautiful track that really kind of symbolizes the heart of this game- yeah it’s dark and scary and chaotic but at its core it’s about healing and hope, recovering from trauma, learning to live again… link manages to do it!!! he saves the world! and while he doesn’t stay in clock town he has a good time with his friends while he’s there. he gets to breathe for a bit. not every problem can be fixed but there is a new tomorrow nonetheless. acknowledge the hurt and work through it. gorgeous

have i said enough words yet. (watch someone) play majora’s mask please

[the-slasher-files]

WORKING HARD OR HARDLY WORKING

JOHN "SOAP" MACTAVISH

A smutty fic totally inspired by a friend who said he was hungry and wanted to leave work so he could eat pussy lol... and Mr Soap is the man with that energy. Fem reader with female anatomy... enjoy🤍🔪

MASTERLIST

A typical rainy UK day had passed you by. Johnny was home from deployment, but he wasn't completely yours, and he never would be. It was something you had accepted in the early stages of a playful, blossoming relationship. The army was his North Star and had melted into the very fibre of his being. Mundane but beautiful, Johnny had risen before the songbirds, brushed his teeth, and swapped the sleep shorts for boxers and his fatigues. Lazily stumbling through the dim light of your bedroom, placing a soft kiss on your temple and headed out to the base.

You would be lying if you had said that the work and life balance did not frustrate you, but he made up for every little moment when Johnny was home. Today was no different.

The clicking of typing and shuffling of papers filled your small office room within your townhouse. Voices over patchy computer microphones faded in and out as your team went over the last quarter of reports and statistics.

"May through June was our best..."

Your manager's voice dragged on as you tapped your pen against the pages of your lined notebook, pursing your lips and watching your bored coworkers upon your screen. That was until you nearly screamed, catching movement behind you on your camera before whipping around with your heart in your throat and wide eyes. It was just your fucking handsome boyfriend making you almost have a heart attack.

"Jesus Christ, John!" You whisper yelled at the scot before quickly muting your mic and shutting your camera.

Normally, the warm and playful energy would be beaming within your space, however, Johnny seemed oddly preoccupied. "Lass, I just..." A frustrated sigh passed his lips, "Had to come home to ya,"

"Is—are you okay?" There was an instant pull of worry on your features, about to stand from your office chair, "Johnny, what's wrong?"

Large hands, gently kept you seated and knelt on the fluffy rug beneath you. Furrowing your brow in concern, the meeting was completely fallen on deaf ears as you cupped his strong jaw, searching for an answer on Johnny's tanned face.

"I needed you" He gruffed out, lust coating each word.

Finally, he gazed up at you with his signature smile and calloused hands smoothing up your thighs.

"Fuckin—" You breathlessly laughed, the worry and concern melting away in his azure eyes.

"I'm hungry" Johnny groaned, thick fingers needing your hips slowly and bowing to kiss each knee.

"Sweetheart, I'm in a meeting right now, but there are leftovers in—"

"No, baby." There was a deepness in his chest when he replied, a tingle sparking within your spine at it. Rough yet skillful fingers almost pulled off the button of your trousers. "I'm hungry for you,"

With a call of his name on your lips, you protested but lifted your hips anyway, allowing your pants to be pulled off and tossed across the floor. Exposed only in your black lace underwear and button-down blouse, your face flushed and breath caught. Each kiss the scot had placed on your soft skin from ankle to thigh lit you on fire. Wetness growing fast as you squirmed beneath his wildfire touch.

"Y/n? ... Y/n?"

You froze at your manager's voice and Johnny just chuckled between your legs, "Continue your meetin' darling"

Cursing under your breath, you turned on your camera and microphone, "Sorry... um, my connection went out for a few m-minutes"

"That's alright, let's review the new topics f—"

"Such pretty little lace" John muttered against your hot core, lips sucking and kisses on the sticky fabric.

Trying to desperately compose yourself, face red and a hand gripping your pen with white knuckles, you flinched once his hot tongue laved across the clinging lace. Nudging your clit softly, those sea blue eyes met yours seeing the struggle, want, need and anger swirling through. He couldn't get enough. Spanking your cunt lightly with a rapid succession, Johnny motioned his head to your computer as your coworker as you question about something you were lost on.

Flying your eyes to the screen, there were puzzling looks, some just zoned out and others awaiting your response. "Sorry, my, um, dog is annoying me," you placed emphasis on the word dog, glancing down quickly to see John's squinted expression. This earned you a gentle warning bite to your clit, wanting to jump back but his hands held you still.

"To answer your question, I have been working closely on this with..." You fought on against the assault of your partner down below, voice professional in placid answers.

Only he could notice the dips and croons within your voice, as he basically spoke directly to your pussy in hushes mumbles, "such a sweet, wet cunt... a needy girl... look how wet she's getting as she tries to focus.."

It was manageable with a steel, stubborn focus you had fortunately been born with, but those walls were crumbling fast. There was a click of a knife, cool metal faster than you could realize and your panties were gone. Hot swipes of his wide tongue made you grip the brown fluffy Mohawk on top of your man's head, fingers tangling within it, reminding you to cut his hair after he ate you alive. Catching your bottom lip to hide a whine, it only made Johnny work faster like a man starved.

The hot magma licked inside the pit of your stomach, managing to reach foreward to mute your mic once the direction of the meeting was turned upon your coworkers, you couldn't help but give out the moan. Needy and wanton, leaning back in your chair, your hips rolled against against his face feeling rough stubble, hot saliva and your own juices now pooling underneath you.

"Fuck, hen... Christ you taste so good" Johnny hummed, the deep vibrations of his voice only made it harder to look normal on your Webcam. "Couldn't stop thinking about this pretty little cunt. Begging me to come home and fuck you..."

"John, J-John" Sweetly, you begged for it feeling so close yet so far in your pleasure.

Bringing the hand that held your pen up to your mouth, chewing on the plastic, hoping you didn't look too suspicious, but in the same breath your shits to give was dwindling. A deep rumble of a groan shot through him, lapping up every single drop of you as he plunged in a finger.

"Oh my god, baby, please" Johnny added a second finger quickly, making you gasp and twist. Your heel digging into the wide plans of muscle that was his back.

He pulled back with a string connecting you two, "Well would you look at this greedy little girl, huh?... Fucking needy angel,"

Flushed, hot cheeks were visible now to your team, along with the obvious wiggles, and you begged this fucking meeting to just be over. John's fingers curled inside you and his skilled lips sucked on your clit, feeling just how close you were it made him chuckle.

"Well, that concludes our meeting fo—"

Instantly, John slammed down your laptop, standing in front of you. Crashing his lips to yours, you grappled against him. Thick muscle flexing under your touch and his fingers pumped faster, noises of your slick, squelched sloppily as your end came strongly inside you. Moaning his name out as his tongue fucked your mouth, the effect of your orgasm splashed his large hand, bringing you slowly down from your high.

"Fucking missed you today" Johnny's accent was heavier with lust, drawing out his fingers to bring them to his own mouth and humming at the taste of you.

"I'm gonna need a good explanation in the next metting." You smiled, breathing heavy.

"It was just your dog" He beemed back, leaning down and laughing against your lips in bliss.

"I need to buy you a collar"

"I'm not opposed to that"

[arcadiii]

Like the gentle warmth of a morning’s sunrise, Marcy greets her on the horizon. Truthfully, she hadn’t expected to see Marcy anytime soon or, if she was completely honest, ever again. Of course, there’d been a sliver of hope that their paths would cross once more – it’s a small world after all – but after staying together in the mountain shelter for what felt like days, their bubbled moment of time alone had shattered. A sharp pop of stark reality with the world rushing back in, whisking them away, back into their own lives as though nothing had ever happened in the first place. --- Whilst working her job at the mountain park, Anne meets Marcy again after the storm and this time, she's the one who falls. Ranger AU.

so I maybe finished a fic for the amazing @goodartitude based on this incredible artwork as part of Ranger AU. if you like soft, silly marcanne moments, you'll love this one. enjoy!

[que3rduckling]

(For your jrwi pd x Batman crossover) hmmm do you think they’d confront William with the idea that he was in a lazarus pit??

OH MY FREAKING GODS YES

I love this idea sm

okay here's how i am imagining it would go:

William, who is very much trying to mind his own business and doing some more detectiving

Red Hood, emerging from the shadows beside him: How was the La-

William, who almost went intangible from the scare, screaming: AH- WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU COME FROM??

Red Hood: The Alley, duh. How was your little swim in that nice green pit?

William, confused asf: ... What?

Red Hood: Yk the Lazarus Pit. You look like, no offence, some who just came back from the dead. So how was your stay there?

William, who is even more confused now: I uh- I don’t know what you mean! I’m a normal alive human hahaha-

Red hood, raising an eye brow under his helmet: Game knows game. If you haven’t died before then I’m still in the fucking grave. So did you have fun?

William: I- I didn't go into any pit! I don’t even know what the hell that is! Can I please go back to my investigations-

Red Hood: bullshit

William: No- not bullshit!

Red Hood: Your telling me you didn’t get dunked in a green lake and then came back to life?

William: No I went to the spirit world and got thrusted back into the real world as a ghost like a normal person! Now what the FUCK is a Lazarus pit?

Red Hood:

William:

Red Hood: and I thought the Lazarus pit was a shit deal

William: I still don’t know what that is-

Red Hood: Doesn’t matter. You’ll probably learn soon

William: who-

Red Hood, who has now disappeared into the night

William: .. That was so ominous wtf

(also very side note i genuinely started shaking/pos when i got this ask bc A) you wanted to hear more about my silly lil crossover and B) i love your blog a lot lmao so tysm for sending this in!!!!!!!)

[frigateclan]

//Prologue - 3//

[the-broken-pen]

could you write a snippet where hero and villain both show up at the same time to rescue civilian from supervillain please?

The hero’s pulse pounded in their ears, panicked and so loud–there was so much blood, oh god, they couldn’t tell where it was coming from–that they didn’t hear the villain behind them until they were slamming their elbow back into their ribcage. The villain caught it with one hand, running their gaze over the hero and their blood slicked hands as if assessing for injuries. When they did the same to the civilian, the villain went so still the hero wasn’t sure they were breathing.

The hero felt a little dizzy, actually, and they were trying incredibly hard not to cry, because that was their friend on the floor and they were never supposed to be involved in this–

“Hero,” the villain’s voice was stern, but not unkind. “Breathe.”

They choked on their next inhale, and the villain pressed against their chest with one hand until they breathed out again. There was something about the villain’s face, smooth and unyielding like stone, that pulled the hero into focus enough for them to suck in another breath.

“They need help,” they managed to gasp. The villain gave them a singular nod in confirmation.

“Yes. They do.”

“We need to–”

“You,” the villain interrupted, “need to calm down.”

“They’re dying.”

“And that’s not going to change if you’re too panicked to see straight. So take. A deep. Breath.”

Miraculously, the hero did. It was easier on the next breath, and the next, until their vision was clear and they could see the horror in front of them with all too much clarity.

The civilian was still breathing.

The villain released the hero’s elbow as soon as they realized the hero wasn’t about to panic again, grazing their fingers over the civilian’s tattered clothing in search of the worst wounds. They prodded something and the civilian winced, face bruised and entirely, blessedly, unconscious. “Pressure,” the villain gestured, and the hero. complied.

The hero knew better than to let up when the civilian, abruptly half-lucid from pain, tried to bat their hand away, but bile still rose in their throat.

“How are you so calm,” they said, and even they could tell their voice was slightly too close to hysterical. The villain glanced over at them, eyes dark, before ripping a makeshift tourniquet to tie around the civilian’s leg.

“I panicked once,” some memory, deep and dark and full of pain, flashed through the villain’s eyes. “I promised I wouldn’t do it again.”

The hero took the wad of cloth the villain handed to them, pressing it back down over the civilian’s stomach. It turned red under the hero’s fingers far faster than they would ever have wanted it to. Not that they would ever want it to, but if someone was bleeding they would at least want it to be slow–

“Oh,” they managed, voice strangled, and the villain took a moment to assess them once more. 

“Breathe,” the villain reminded. “They’re not dying. They’re beat up, but they’re stable. Emergency services are already on their way.”

The hero watched more blood well up around their hands. Pressed harder.

They would be digging red flakes out from under their nails for weeks.

“You’re normally calmer,” the villain remarked casually. If the hero’s brain wasn’t so stuck on the image of their friend bleeding below them, they would have recognized this for the distraction that it was.

“They didn’t choose this,” they whispered, throat raw. The civilian didn’t have powers, and they hadn’t chosen to use them for good or evil. They just lived, so kind and so normal.

“Neither does any other bystander,” the villain said.

“They’re my friend,” the hero willed the villain to understand, somehow, the enormity of this. The pain of knowing that it should have been them on the floor, that supervillain had done this because the civilian had been there and the hero had not.

A mistake of epic proportions. The biggest failure of their life. Not being there.

“So?”

“So it's my fault,” the hero’s voice broke, and they ducked their head down to hide the tears as they welled in their eyes. Distantly, they could pick up the barest trace of sirens, almost out of reach of their enhanced senses.

“Hero,” the villain said, voice gentle. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

The hero shook their head–

“No, listen to me,” the villain’s voice gained an edge to it. “It’s not your fault. I pissed supervillain off this week. They know the civilian is my friend. This was deliberate to hurt me, and I need you to get it through your thick skull that there was nothing you could have done to stop this.”

The hero wasn’t sure who the villain was truly saying this to–the hero, themself, or the version of the villain that had panicked so long ago, and suffered for it.

“I could have–”

“You couldn’t.” The villain’s stare was all encompassing. The hero wanted to believe them. “Stop blaming yourself for the pain other people are causing.”

“That’s kind of my whole thing,” the hero tried for something light, airy. The both of them watched it fall flat off their tongue.

“No, it’s not. Your thing is saving people, not beating yourself up over everything you think you could have done better.”

The hero didn’t have a response to that. Just stayed staring at the villain as the ambulance skidded to a stop, the red lights flashing off the villain’s hair and eyes.

Someone reached for the hero’s hands, still pressed tightly to the wound, and they flinched away, gritting their teeth. 

The paramedic raised their gloved hands as if comforting an animal. “I’m here to help,” they said slowly. 

It felt terrible unclenching their hands, letting the paramedic take their place, sliding the civilian onto a stretcher an unending minute later.

The hero swallowed hard, knees numb against the pavement, and let the villain hook their arms under the hero’s armpits to haul the upright.

“Alright, there we go,” the villain murmured easily. The hero tracked the paramedics as they closed the doors of the ambulance. 

“I should–”

“No,” the villain interrupted. They seemed to be doing that more often than usual, the hero thought slowly. “You need to get cleaned up, and eat something.”

“I need to go to the hospital, I can’t just leave them alone,” the hero argued. They tried to jerk themself from the villain’s steadying hold, and failed.

“Trust me, they’ve got a whole team keeping them alive. They’re in good company.”

“I’m failing them.” It was an entirely irrational thought, but it stung in the hero’s chest, burning its way into their ribs as an ‘almost’ truth.

“You’re taking care of yourself so that you are able to take care of them. You can’t pour from an empty cup, and you're at empty. So, we’re going to get you some clothes that aren’t covered in blood, a sandwich, and go from there.”

The hero realized between one blink and the next that they were exhausted–bones aching and made of stone, dragging them down further with every second. By the time they reached the villain’s car, the only thing that was holding them up was the villain; the weight of panic and a too long day spent trying to save the entire city pressing down on them.

They were dumped into the passenger seat without fanfare, and if they weren’t so tired, they would have protested about the blood, or question how the villain had gotten their car here.

The villain slammed the door, settling themself into the driver’s seat a moment later. They dug through the center console, too dark for the hero to make out what they were grabbing, before they scrubbed the hero’s hands with a baby wipe. 

They had the engine started before the hero had a chance to look down at their own–now clean–hands.

“It’s not your fault,” the villain said again. Their tone left no room for argument.

“You keep saying that,” they watched as the city lights flickered through the car windows. “Why?”

The villain’s jaw clenched in the periphery of their vision. When they answered, it was so soft and quiet the hero almost didn’t catch it.

“Because nobody said it to me.”

The hero let their head slump against the window, half-asleep as they watched the roads vanish behind them.

“Hey,” they said quietly. They didn’t have to look up to know the villain’s attention was solely on them.

Sleep pulled on them until their voice was little more than an exhaled breath. 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

The villain sucked in a shuddering breath.

“It isn’t your fault.”

Before sleep managed to swallow them whole, the hero swore they caught a single tear streaking down the villain’s cheek.

[soranker]

hi….! any chance we can see your art process ? it’s fine if not! i was wondering if u do a sketch before your lines or you just skip directly to lineart? your art is very beautiful!

HI!!! AUGGHHHJHH THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH T__T my art style is kinda simple imo so my process is pretty bare-bones ^^;; there's not rly much too it!! it also kinda changes depending on how uhhhh lazy im feeling in the moment HAHA

probably around half of my drawings are straight to line art bc they're rly just doodles or things i decide to draw without any planning (but also im kinda impatient so i try to skip the sketching step if i can LOL...). but if i DO have a specific pose in mind for a drawing, i'll start with a sort of mannequin sketch or loose pass, then depending on how messy it is, ill either do the lineart pass on the layer on top or duplicate the sketch and then clean it up.

and then my coloring process is not sophisticated at all i just create a new layer and then paint bucket tool away LMAOOOO

here's an example of a drawing where i did sketch first ^_^

[bookishjules]

HIII please talk more Clace as parents 💕

well if you insist <3

i think their home is very bright. in color and light and just general atmosphere. even if it's just the institute, i think it's warmer than it was when robert and maryse headed the conclave. (i know this isn't strictly about their parenting but it felt important to set the stage)

they're 'treat your kids like people' parents. they're communicative, providing reasons for rules, making them part of the conversation. and they give their kids space to be themselves. "oh you wanna try out xyz? let's give it a go!" walls can be repainted, bruises can be healed. hair will grow back and messes can be cleaned up. they'd rather give their kids the opportunity to become whoever they want to be than place too many restrictions out of fear for their safety etc.

not that they don't worry ofc, but i think they really try hard to respect their children, and hold their hands more to guide and steady them than to pull or protect beyond what is necessary. it's about being shadowhunters and training them to fight and hold their own, but it goes beyond that.

the whole explaining rules etc. thing ends up being especially important because of how likely the kids are to break them. i mean these are clary and jace's kids we're talking about. they like adventure and excitement and sometimes things get a little out of control. it's helpful for the kids to understand where their parents are coming from, and that there's enough mutual respect for them to abide by the few very important rules etc. clary and jace give them.

and yes, i did say adventure. i feel like their kids are going to end up becoming a little team, getting into shenanigans, making up stories to play out or tell under the blankets late at night. it's the kind of thing jace and clary are both really happy to see develop, having been raised as only children, so they let their kids get into their chaotic games etc. and just make sure they've cleaned up their mess by the end of the day.

in addition to spending time together as a family, i think they also place importance on those one-on-one relationships. especially given how busy clary and jace must be, it does a lot for making each kid feel valued and also giving them the space to just. hang out. and maybe talk about hard things or maybe just joke around in a way that feels personal. jace is teaching one piano and clary sits and fingerpants with their youngest. jace helps each kid pick out their signature weapon and loves spending time in the training room with them.

speaking of jokes.. i think that goes along with the brightness. there's a levity that always feels accessible, even when things get heavy. and i think that's something that, while not unique to the clace household, does sit at a level that feels a bit exceptional just because of how natural it is, and how hard they fought to be able to live like that, to maintain such a life. it's not always easy, but it is always full of love.

[bitchthefuck1]

👀 i am now curious about ur kaz w chickens HCs. cluck cluck

Okay you literally sent me this like a year ago and I kept meaning to go back to it and write this all out and then never did 😔

These also fall under my "Kaz's dad has two sweet sons who are great kids that he loves very much but oh my god they are such well-meaning little terrors" headcanons:

Their dad lets them take turns naming new chicks when they hatch, but since they're literally children the names always end up being kind of bizarre and random, and sometimes they insist on just one name for several at once. Jordie grows out of it pretty fast since he's The Oldest and A Big Kid, but Kaz names at least 3 "Cornhusk" and refuses to even consider changing his mind.

Since Kaz was too young/small to really work the field, and he likes and works well with animals, he does a lot of the work taking care of the chickens and has a bad habit of keeping chicks in his pockets, walking around with one on his shoulder, and/or sneaking them into the house. It's pretty harmless all things considered, but his dad is a little worried he might accidentally squish one someday, and he doesn't appreciate him trailing feathers everywhere. or chicken poop. He'll see Kaz acting suspicious when coming into the house in the some evenings and ask him if he's trying to sneak baby chicks in again, which his 6-year-old son will very fervently deny while the suspicious lumps in his pockets and under his hat let out noises that sound an awful lot like chirping.

The boys even decide to bring all of them in and keep them in the tub one time because Jordie saw a snake and they were convinced they'd all get eaten.

Kaz decides at a certain point he wants to train them properly and gets really into it. They already come when he calls them, but he teaches a few to fly onto his shoulder when he whistles and even sets up an obstacle course for them until his dad makes him put all the stuff he used to make it back where it belongs.

When their dad dies and they have to sell the farm, Kaz sneaks a few chicks into his pockets to try and keep them but Jordie spots them and makes him put them back with the rest to be auctioned off. They won't have room for them in Ketterdam, and they won't need livestock anyway once they're rich.

[luinhealthcare]

Does Hyrule mind teaching how to assess a patient??👉👈

"You... want to learn how to assess patients?" Hyrule asked hesitantly.

Wild shrugged. "What if I want to be an EMT?"

"You also said you wanted to be a chef in the hospital."

"I can do both, you know."

Hyrule laughed. "I suppose so. Well... we'll need a patient for this to work."

Wild immediately snatched Sky, who yelped as his friend snaked a hand around his wrist. "Sky's the patient, heaven knows he needs to be looked over anyway."

"Look who's talking, Mr. I-Have-Seizures-and-Don't-Tell-Anybody," Sky grumbled as he was manhandled to sit between the other two.

"Well, everyone knows now."

Hyrule and Sky gave Wild a scalding look. Adequately apologetic, Wild shrugged sheepishly.

"Anyway," Hyrule sighed, shifting his focus to Sky. "Assessments come in different forms. You've got a primary and a secondary assessment. Primary is kind of a general overview and checking for life threatening stuff, secondary is in-depth on what the issue actually is. Make sense?"

Wild nodded.

"Great!" Hyrule continued with a smile. "Okay. Sky's our patient. Sky, you got shot once, right?"

Sky nodded, and Wild balked. "He what?!"

"It was a long time ago," Sky waved a dismissive hand.

"Okay, so that's our scenario," Hyrule said, standing. "We're dispatched for a 21-year-old male with a GSW--"

"That means gunshot wound, right?"

"Yeah. GSW, conscious patient. That's all we've got. So, you get on scene, and the very first thing you do is check for scene safety. If the scene isn't safe, we're not going in. First thing you're taught in EMS - your own safety comes first, because if you're shot you can't help the patient. It's you, your partner, then the patient."

"How often do you actually listen to that rule?" Sky asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That's not what we're learning today," Hyrule waved off easily. It was pretty common knowledge that while he would never put his partner's life at risk, he'd gotten himself into dicey situations before. But he knew how to get himself out of those situations too. "So, we determine the scene is safe. Next, is our primary assessment. The purpose of this assessment is to check for life threatening things, and an overview of major body systems. Neuro status, bleeding, and your ABCs: Airway, Breathing, Circulation.

"The situation is pretty dynamic, like sometimes you walk up and somebody's got an arterial bleed and spurting blood everywhere, your assessment stops right there and you go fix that bleed. But generally you'll have time to do the entire primary assessment."

"Okay, so neuro and ABCs?"

"Yeah. And the good thing is that most of it happens all at once, you know? You walk up to Sky and he looks at you, then boom, you've got a good neuro - he's awake, he's alert. He may not be oriented, but you can figure that out by just talking to him. And by this point you can tell if there's life threatening bleeding. Then it's ABCs - is his airway patent, or open? Is he breathing, and is he doing so normally? Is his skin warm, dry, and normal tone for him? You can literally do al these things by just walking into the room and looking at him for five seconds. The primary assessment is done really fast and, the more times you do it, basically automatically."

"What would be an example of something being wrong?" Wild askd.

Hyrule glanced at him. "When I got on scene for your crash, you were unconscious and unresponsive--in other words, you were not only unconscious, but nothing would wake you up--and your breathing was gurgling sounding because you had blood in your airway."

Glancing at Sky, Hyrule said, "Sky can give us an example of a not great primary assessment, I'm sure."

Helpfully, Sky immediately flopped off the chair he was sitting on, collapsing to the ground with a crash. Wild laughed, and footsteps rushed from upstairs into the living room.

Twilight immediately froze in the entranceway, eyes wide and fixed on Sky. "Sky, what the--guys what the hell is hap--"

Sky perked up immediately. "Oh, sorry! I'm just helping Hyrule teach Wild!"

Twilight froze a moment and then sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose and grumbling under his breath.

Hyrule smiled, pointing at Twilight. "He just perfectly showed a good primary assessment looks like! He walked in and saw the patient down on the ground, tried to figure out a neuro by calling out to him, and when Sky woke up he immediately could tell he was fine. Neuro intact, not bleeding, had a patent airway because he's talking, breathing normally, and skin looks normal."

"I hate all of you," Twilight groaned, walking out of the room.

"Okay, but by skin looking normal... what does it mean when it doesn't?" Wild asked.

"Your skin can tell a story," Hyrule explained. "If you're diaphoretic, which means sweating, something is likely wrong. Though it depends on context - if your patient's sweaty but they were just exercising, it makes sense. If Sky's sweaty on the ground after being shot, he's in shock. If the skin is cool, the body isn't circulating well - that can sap the color right out of your skin - the lighter your skin tone the more notable it is, but darker skin tones can become paler too. A lot of times with darker skin tones you'll want to look at their palms or their lips, that'll help you determine it. Another color is grey - that usually means cardiac and it's bad. So skin can tell you a lot!"

"How did my skin look?" Wild questioned, curious.

"Pale," Hyrule immediately answered. "Anyway. Sky's your patient. Look him over."

"Okay," Wild blew out a breath, approaching Sky and kneeling beside him. "So he's unconscious, that's my neuro so far."

"Can you arouse him at all?"

Wild poked Sky in the neck. Sky flinched. Wild poked again and Sky giggled. Wild's eyes widened in realization, and a mischievous smile crossed his face.

"Wild, wait--"

Sky started laughing hysterically as his friend tickled him, wiggling and trying to shove him away.

"Get--off of m--Wild you jerk--"

Hyrule chuckled. "Well, we're not taught to tickle our patients, but that works."