#specifically his room into a fire hazard

[solxamber]

On my hands and knees sobbing throwing up combusting into dust signs my soul away to you THAT WAS SO SO SOOOOO CUTEEEEEE GUAYAYYAYYUUUUUAUAGAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! Poor Rollo thinks hes just being nice meanwhile poor yuu is so used to people digging underneath the bar that he's literally prince charming incarnate. Rollo clearly needs to adjust their standards and do what the villains could not by kissing yuu softly while they take a nap. And also threaten crowley to give them money for food. ANYWAYS!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR FEEDING ME AND THE 5 OTHER ROLLO FANS THAT SURVIVED THE FAMINE (/j) I OWE YOU MY LIFE!!!!! This message is getting so long, but you deserve to know how awesome your writing is and that I look forward to whatever you post for real. I slide over a crisp 5 maddol and ask for when you feel like it (and if you even want to ofc!!) A part 3 where maybe they're deeper in the relationship and are doing heinous things like m*king out and grimm thinks they should be executed for making him walk into this horror. (He didn't knock. Bc he's grimm. He claimed to be scarred for life until Rollo busted out the premium tuna suddenly we should get married asap) . ANYWAYS SORRY FOR THE LONG RAMBLE. IM BARKING AND CRYING AND EXPLODING AND PROPOSING TO YOU. Signed with love, rollo anon 💗💝💖

Rollo Flamme x reader

i just saw this and this almost made me cry 🫶 also sorry for the very long wait

Part 1 ; Part 2

Rollo was nothing if not diligent. Whether it was reorganizing the shelves at the library, fixing the perpetually squeaky door in Ramshackle, or chastising Grim for yet another snack-induced fire hazard, he was always helping in his quietly intense way. It wasn’t just duty—he genuinely seemed to enjoy making your life easier, which both baffled and warmed you to your core.

You, of course, did what you could to return the favor. Helping him clean up after unruly magic festival events, proofreading his endless notes about anti-magic policies, and gently reminding him to relax when he got that telltale furrow in his brow.

And you were in love.

Like, grossly in love. The kind of love where you found his huffy rants about magical irresponsibility charming and he tolerated Grim's chaos just to spend more time with you. It was a weird, wonderful balance you’d somehow managed to strike.

Which led to this particular evening: you and Rollo, tangled on the old, creaky couch in your room at Ramshackle.

It had started innocently enough. You’d been reviewing a new book he'd brought for you—something philosophical, of course, but he’d chosen it specifically because he thought you’d enjoy it. You were teasing him about his insistence on leaving a handwritten note inside the front cover (“Who even does this, Rollo? It’s adorable, but—seriously?”), and he had flushed in that way that made you want to pinch his cheeks.

Then one thing led to another.

Now, his lips were on yours, one hand cradling your face with the kind of reverence that made your heart twist. His other arm was around your waist, anchoring you against him. Rollo might not have been an experienced romantic, but he made up for it in sheer, focused intensity. When he kissed you, it felt like you were the only thing in the world that mattered to him.

“You’re—mmph—very distracting,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and tinged with amusement.

You grinned, tugging him closer. “Says the guy who started this.”

His only response was to kiss you again, deeper this time, until your brain was reduced to a pleasant, fizzy blur. The world outside the room ceased to exist. It was just you, him, and the creak of the couch as you shifted closer—

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY?! MY EYES! THEY’RE RUINED!”

Grim’s shrill scream shattered the moment like glass.

You froze, pulling back to see Grim standing in the doorway, paws dramatically covering his eyes. “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME? ON MY COUCH?”

“Grim, it’s my couch,” you said, face burning.

“You’re the henchhuman; it’s ours by default!” Grim wailed. “And now it’s a place of SIN!”

Rollo, to his credit, had already straightened up, his expression transitioning from flustered to composed in record time. “Grim,” he said, voice calm yet firm, “surely you’ve barged in enough times to anticipate that privacy should be respected.”

“Oh, I respected it,” Grim sniffed. “But my henchhuman clearly has no shame. And you!” He pointed an accusatory paw at Rollo. “I thought you were better than this! But no, you’re—”

Rollo, completely unbothered by the tirade, reached into his bag and produced a can of… premium tuna?

Grim’s rant ground to a halt. His ears perked up as he sniffed the air. “Wait. Is that—?”

“Indeed,” Rollo said smoothly, holding it up like a peace offering. “A gift I intended to give later, but it seems circumstances call for a different approach.”

Grim’s eyes lit up with unrestrained glee. “You know what? I’ve never doubted you for a second, Rollo!” He scurried forward, practically salivating as he swiped the can. “You’re clearly the best thing that’s ever happened to my henchhuman. You two should get married. Tomorrow. I’ll get a priest. I’m sure Crowley owes me a favor.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as Grim popped the can open with zero regard for decorum. “Grim, you are the worst.”

“Correction: I’m the best,” Grim said, already devouring the tuna with gusto. Between bites, he added, “This guy’s a keeper. Don’t mess it up, henchhuman.”

Rollo’s lips twitched, a hint of amusement breaking through his otherwise composed demeanor. He leaned closer, whispering just loud enough for you to hear, “Shall we take his advice?”

You gave him a playful shove, laughing despite yourself. “Not helping, Rollo.”

But deep down, as Grim devoured his bribe and Rollo sat beside you with that quietly pleased look, you couldn’t deny that the idea didn’t sound all that bad.

The exhaustion of the day had finally caught up to you, and you’d collapsed onto your bed with a sigh of relief. “Wake me up for class, okay?” you mumbled to Rollo, who was sitting at your desk, meticulously organizing the scattered notes you’d left behind.

“I’ll make sure you’re on time,” he replied, his voice carrying that steady assurance you found oddly comforting.

You barely managed a hum of acknowledgment before sleep claimed you, leaving the world behind in a haze of warm, peaceful quiet.

When you stirred again, it wasn’t the sound of your alarm or the creak of the floorboards that woke you. It was something far gentler.

A warm, featherlight pressure on your forehead.

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, and the first thing you saw was Rollo leaning over you, his expression soft in a way that made your heart do an Olympic-level somersault. He was close enough that you could see the slight flush on his cheeks, though his composure never wavered.

“Good morning,” he said softly, his voice a gentle murmur. “It’s time to get ready for class.”

You blinked at him, your still-sleepy brain struggling to process what had just happened. “Did you… just kiss me awake?”

His blush deepened, but he stood his ground, meeting your gaze with quiet confidence. “You looked so peaceful. I thought it would be a more pleasant way to wake you than simply shaking your shoulder.”

Your heart melted on the spot. If there was a scale for romantic gestures, this one had just broken it.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, though your voice betrayed how utterly smitten you were.

“Perhaps,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But you didn’t seem to mind.”

You didn’t bother arguing because he was absolutely right. Instead, you reached out, tugging him down for a proper kiss this time.

When you finally pulled away, you smirked at his flustered expression. “If you keep this up, I’m going to start napping more often.”

He chuckled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “If that’s the case, I’ll have to be even more diligent about ensuring you don’t oversleep.”

You laughed, warmth blooming in your chest as you sat up and stretched. “Thanks for waking me, Rollo. Really.”

“Of course,” he said, his tone earnest as ever. “It’s the least I can do.”

The man was going to ruin you with how thoughtful he was. And as you got ready for class with a lingering smile on your face, you couldn’t help but think that waking up like this every day wouldn’t be so bad.

It started with something simple. You were both sitting in the courtyard of the chapel, enjoying a quiet moment together. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over everything, and Rollo was, as usual, the picture of composure. He was reading a book—some historical text you’d never have the patience for—but his attention drifted when he noticed you staring at the horizon, lost in thought.

“Are you cold?” he asked, setting his book aside and leaning slightly closer.

You blinked out of your reverie, shaking your head with a soft smile. “No, I’m fine.”

He studied you for a moment, then pulled his scarf from around his neck and gently draped it over your shoulders anyway. “Just in case,” he murmured.

It wasn’t anything extraordinary—just a scarf—but the gesture made your heart swell. The scarf smelled faintly of lavender, and the warmth of it felt like an extension of Rollo himself.

“Thanks, Rollo,” you said, voice soft.

He nodded, but when he saw the way your smile lingered, something shifted in his expression. His usual composed demeanor softened into something… almost reverent.

“You deserve this,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically tender.

“Huh?” You tilted your head at him, confused.

“You deserve to be cared for,” he clarified, meeting your gaze with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “You give so much of yourself to others. It’s only natural that someone should do the same for you.”

You stared at him, heart racing. “Rollo, I… That’s really sweet.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, though not at you. “It’s concerning that such basic decency stands out to you,” he muttered, almost to himself. “What kind of environment is this school fostering?”

The thought of Rollo, grimacing at the thought of NRC’s questionable population, made you burst into laughter. “I mean, you’ve met Grim, right? The standards here are subterranean.”

Rollo’s expression softened again when he saw how amused you were. “Even so,” he said, taking your hands in his with surprising gentleness, “you should never feel as though you’re asking for too much when you expect kindness or respect. It’s what you’re owed.”

Your heart did a little somersault, and you couldn’t help but giggle, ridiculously touched. “Stop, you’re going to make me cry,” you teased, though the slight quiver in your voice betrayed how close you were to actually tearing up.

He smiled faintly, leaning closer until his forehead nearly touched yours. “If you cry, I’ll simply have to dry your tears,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “Though I’d rather see you smiling.”

You let out another helpless laugh, pulling your hands free so you could lightly swat at his arm. “Stop being so romantic! I can’t handle this!”

Rollo chuckled softly, pleased with your reaction. “If it makes you happy, then I’ll consider it a worthwhile effort.”

And he meant it. He was genuinely, utterly content to see you so touched, so happy. Yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, a quiet but fierce determination grew. The villains and miscreants of NRC may not have treated you with the respect you deserved, but he would make it his mission to ensure you never doubted your worth again.

Masterlist

[vulpisnocturna]

Binding Vow

This is purely self-indulgent because I was consumed with the idea of Chrollo and specifically, Yandere!Chrollo. So here it goes. This is filthy and Chrollo is unhinged. Nothing new.

Read on AO3

Part II

Part III

I do not condone this behaviour in real life. This is purely fictional. Please read warnings and avoid if any of them are triggering to you.

Warnings: Yandere Chrollo, dom Chrollo, coercion, dub con (I mean it), psychological manipulation, kidnapping, captivity, possessiveness, obsession, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), vaginal sex, creampie, praise, slight humiliation kink

Summary: Abducted because Chrollo could not steal your Nen ability, you are ready to give in and trade your power for your freedom. But the choices Chrollo decides to lay in front of you are wholly different. One would say, the illusion of choice. You make him swear a vow to let you go as you make your choice. But one should pay close attention to the words used in a binding vow...

Word count: 7k

One would think so many candles would be a fire hazard, to be frank. They were everywhere, on every wooden surface, on every shelf that wasn’t overcome with books of all sizes with leather spines, on the nightstands and even on the ground. It was as though the leader of the Phantom Troupe had an obsession with a certain type of aesthetic, and would not refrain from littering his surroundings with candles every time he found a new place where his gang could crash. Perhaps, he had a candle for every person he had ever killed.

Though you supposed one would lose count after a while.

If you were to ingratiate him, you knew what he would appreciate having as a gift; although who needed gifts when your profession was stealing whatever you wanted, whatever thing you had a passing whim for?

As far as you were aware, you were the last passing whim Chrollo Lucilfer had stolen. You had known of his power to steal abilities, and even though you had tried to escape when the Troupe had come to abduct you, it seemed he hadn’t been successful in stealing your power. Yet.

Your Nen power wasn’t meant to fight, really, so the possibility of forcing your way through the Troupe had been preposterous. Your ability was that of having regenerative power, to the point where you could heal fatal wounds to yourself and others. He obviously must have wanted it for himself, and you hadn’t exactly had any way of escaping his wishes.

After a month of captivity, though, you weren’t sure you could bear it for much longer. If all he wanted was your power, why not let him “borrow” it, as he so nonchalantly put it? So you could go back to your own life, so you didn’t have to be locked up in that house, so that he would let you go? Would he even let you go, if you gave him the ability? Or would he want to tie loose ends and get rid of you? You shuddered in the cold air of the bedroom you had been confined to in his absence. 

He had left you to your own devices that day for the entirety of the morning, whilst he had spent all his time with you previously. Studying you, asking you questions, letting you know between the lines that he knew who you were, who your loved ones were, where they lived. He had called you a “treasured guest” in the same sentence, with such audacity that you had been left stunned at the complete lack of morals that man had.

But then again, he also seemed to have some twisted attraction to you. They did say the forbidden fruit was always the sweetest, and because you knew of his power, he couldn’t get to your Nen ability if you did not reveal how it worked and fulfilled his conditions. In the last two weeks, he had taken to something you could only define as an attempt at seduction.

He would sit with you in the living room, inviting you to get closer to him, reassuring you he had no intentions of harming you. He would stare at you with those stormy eyes of his that seemed to burn through you like electricity, and his gaze would rake over your body like he was appraising some kind of rare, expensive object he planned to take for himself. Which he probably was.

Despite knowing who he was, despite knowing how sticky with blood his hands were, you were only a fallible human. And he was... a murderer, a manipulator, a thief; and he was also cunning, intuitive, soft-spoken, caring with you in a sick way, and the most handsome man you had ever met. Despite all of your efforts, it was not possible to deny the effect he had on you. And it was not possible to hide it from him. Observant as he was, obsessed as he was with watching your every reaction, every little twitch of your body, every time your breath faltered when he was too close, every time he commented casually how your pupils were dilating, every time his long, willowy fingers grazed your skin, he could see all of it. And all of it was a twisted game of cat and mouse to him.

Another heist, another plot to strategise and accomplish. He was always composed, always neutral, if not for his sly looks, wily smirks and piercing eyes. He always seemed to have the upper hand. It did not matter that he did not have your power, he seemed to be a patient man.

Until that day.

You had assumed he was waiting for you to break by keeping you captive, although treated with enough civility and never physically harmed, because he had not mentioned wanting your Nen power since the one time he had told you he wished to borrow it. In your mind, he was simply determined to stir the pot and then leave you to stew in it for a while, knowing at some point, your desire for freedom would overcome your attachment to your ability. Letting you run your mind wild with suppositions and conjectures that led nowhere as you tried to analyse his reasons and predict his behaviour. And it was working. You were almost done with it. If he asked you to choose between your power and your freedom, you knew what you would pick.

When he came back from whatever the hell he’d been doing that morning, his appearance was pristine. He was wearing his hair down, no headband in sight, a white shirt with the first two buttons undone and smart black trousers. All in all, he was the picture of what you could only define as sex appeal and sophistication mixed together in a heady blur of sharp eyes, chiselled, angular features and a mellow voice that still managed to sting.

He unlocked your door using a Nen ability he’d probably also stolen and closed it behind him, smiling softly at you as he appraised you.

‘Hello, darling. I hope you did not feel too lonely without my company’ he said easily, conversationally. You disliked the pet names he had started to throw at you in the last two weeks. They made it seem like there was more to this relationship than a prisoner and their warden. More he wanted. But not your ability. No. You. And it made your stomach churn every time. 

You decided to ignore him, because what else could you do? You were locked in a room with him, with no escape, and you had been held captive for a month now. What could possibly make it worse than it already was?

But you were so very naïve. You should have paid heed to his shrewd grey eyes, to the way his lips twitched as though he delighted in knowing something you didn’t, in watching you rack your brains in trying to figure him out.

You had been so naïve in thinking that he had kidnapped you and held you captive to steal your ability. After all, he could torture it out of you. 

Did he just enjoy the game? What did he want? Was there another condition that needed you to be willing to share it with him? That must have been it. He needed you to give it to him willingly, that was why he was going after your mental sanity instead of torturing it out of you.

‘You seem quite tense. Sit with me. I have a proposition for you’ he said, gracefully stepping to your side, brushing his fingers on your lower back, sending shivers down your spine just as your nose caught a whiff of his expensive cologne. His scent was just as intoxicating as he was, something masculine yet refined, a blend that made your lower stomach hot. You fought to keep eye contact as he sat on the plush loveseat by the fireplace, tapping the empty space right next to him, his eyes boring into you with curious amusement. 

You grimaced, feeling weak and dizzy as you sat down on the armchair, the only other surface available to you aside from the bed and the loveseat, which was out of the question. Chrollo’s lips twitched in amusement, his eyes glinting with interest as he rested his cheek against his fist. 

‘I have a few choices for you. I assume you are quite unsatisfied with your current predicament, therefore, I am giving you the chance to escape all the doubt that must be swarming your mind by now’ he said calmly, that little smirk still on his lips. You did not give way to hope. You did not lower your guard. Thieves did not return goods. If they got rid of them, it was after getting something else in return. So what was he playing at? What was his angle?

‘Your distrust is quite strong, dearest. You should learn to hide your emotions more, if you plan to attempt to play me. Though I must admit the thought of it is quite thrilling. So feel free to try it. Your first choice is to give me your Nen ability in exchange for the end of this predicament. Your second choice is to give yourself to me now. I trust you understand the meaning behind my words. If that is your choice, you can start by getting up and walking over here’ he said, smoothly, easily, seductively, his eyes mischievous. 

You blinked, swallowing heavily, your lips parting. He… was making you choose between your Nen ability or having sex with him in exchange for your freedom? The choice was not really that. It was an illusion of it. Perhaps he merely sought to humiliate you, because of course, the reasonable choice would be to get it over and done with, have sex with him just that once and walk away with your life and your ability intact. Who in their right mind would pick the first choice? 

He was hot, charming, attractive. So long as you could separate the part of you that knew what he was, what he did, and the shame that came with prostituting yourself to your captor, it would not be that bad. It would be over quickly, you only had to focus on his physical attributes, shut out his horrid persona.

‘You want me to prostitute myself to you’ you said, your cheeks burning with humiliation. He let out a wilful sigh. 

‘That is an uncouth appraisal of it. It is quite clear from your reactions to me that you desire me, too. Is that prostitution? More of a mutual desire, I’d wager. Rather a small price to pay to retain your power, is it not?’ he asked, smiling sweetly, smugly. You ground your jaw, your whole face feeling hot, your eyes stinging with the embarrassment of your current predicament, as he loved to call your captivity.

‘Why would I want to... have sex with someone like you? A... murderer- a thief, a kidnapper?’ you spat, repulsed, sitting rigidly in the armchair, quite the opposite picture to his nonchalant lounging. He let out a soft laugh.

‘Oh, darling. Are you pretending to have steadfast morals now?’ he crooned, voice soft and mellow. Completely unbothered by your accusations.

‘What are you trying to imply?’ you chewed on the corner of your bottom lip, a movement he followed with a hint of ravenousness in his silvery eyes.

‘Your morals seem somewhat flexible to me. You have been eating food paid with stolen money for a month, sleeping in a stolen mansion, wearing stolen clothes. I trust you were clever enough to know this from the beginning of your sojourn here’ he said casually, seeming almost enthusiastic about debunking every argument you could bring to the table. It was as though he found pleasure in discrediting your beliefs and making you vacillate. Perhaps it stroked his ego.

 ‘I had no choice about sleeping here. Should I have starved? Should I have wandered around naked for a month?’ you snapped, regretting your words immediately when you saw him look at you so intensely. As though he was undressing you himself with his eyes.

‘Well, you certainly could have tried to starve yourself. I would have admired your efforts to cling to your pride and ethical dilemma, and you would not be in this moral conundrum now if you had. You would be able to blame me for it. As to your last point, that would have certainly been a sight. Again, the choice was there. I would not have stopped you’ he said slyly, his voice getting lower and more seductive, like a caress on your spine. You bristled.

‘Those are not choices. Like these aren’t’ you pressed, and he sighed, still smiling like nothing could make him waver.

‘Are they not? You have two paths before you. Every human being is offered choices. Now, be a darling and make one. What will you choose?’ he mused. You closed your eyes, your fingers curling on the fabric of your skirt.

‘You will not steal my power if I- give my body to you now. Right?’ you asked slowly, trying to find a loophole in his words.

‘I will not. If you choose to indulge me now, I will not steal your power’ he said. You gulped. You did not want him to lose his patience and take away your opportunity. You also wanted his word that you would be let out alive and unharmed.

‘And this- this predicament will be done once I do that too. You will not kill me- nor harm me after that. I will be allowed to leave this place alive’ you said cautiously, weighing your words. He smiled.

‘Of course. In order to ease your worries, why don’t I make a vow with you? A condition, if you will. And if I break it, I will die. If this is your choice, and you want reassurance before you continue with it, I will of course be willing to ease your worries. Stand up and come closer’ he said, and you tried not to show your relief. If he was promising, there was nothing to worry about. You could do this, keep your life and your well-being, leave with your power. It was not a bad deal. Not a bad deal at all. You should be happy that he seemed to be attracted to you. That he was even giving you a choice in the matter.

You slowly got up, and your legs felt weak as you stepped closer to him, feeling like his gaze was burning through you. You stopped in front of him, tense like a violin string as a grimoire appeared in his hand.

‘Sit on my lap, darling’ he murmured, and you found yourself feeling all kinds of things in your body, from nerve-wracking anxiety to butterflies in your stomach to warmth in your gut and weakness in your legs. You inched closer to him, gingerly sitting sideways on his lap.

You were immediately engulfed by his enthralling cologne, and his arm wrapped around you, fingers curling on your waist to keep you in place. You squirmed, gulping when he dipped his head to breathe against your neck, making goosebumps appear on your exposed skin.

‘Your scent is intoxicating, dearest’ he breathed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear to expose the side of your face to him. You could not deny how seductive he could be, how tantalising his touch felt. But you would not be swayed from the promise he’d made.

‘The vow first’ you said somewhat nervously, and he smiled, nodding and keeping an arm around your torso as he picked up his book of stolen abilities and flicked through it, stopping in front of a binding vow.

‘Now, I vow that I will not make your Nen ability mine and steal it from you. It will remain yours. I vow I will not kill you, nor will I ask anyone else to do so for me. Should you respect the terms I have presented to you, you will leave this place unscathed within a day, with your power still in your hands. Should I fail to respect these terms, I will die on the spot. Do you accept?’ he said, and you tried to find any loophole that would allow him to kill you or steal your ability in his words, even though his fingers stroking your ribcage were distracting, but you could not find anything. You nodded.

‘I accept’ you said, and he picked up a small dagger from his pocket, shushing you when you gasped and tried to get away. He pricked his thumb, showing you the small droplet of blood that was forming on the surface of his skin.

‘I won’t hurt you. I just need a drop of your blood. Your hand, if you will, darling. Or the vow won’t work’ he said, and you gingerly let him lift one of your hands and prick your thumb. He pressed yours against his, and you could see the aura surrounding your fingers working. You relaxed a little when he threw the dagger away, supposedly letting it pierce the wood of the highest bookshelf so you could not reach it in an attempt to attack him.

He wiped your thumb and his with a handkerchief, tossing it on the table and letting the grimoire disappear.

‘I hope I was successful in easing your worries. Now, where were we?’ he murmured, round, pretty eyes heavy-lidded, lust-laden as they scanned your face. You felt as though you were in the lion’s den for the first time, or more fittingly, a small butterfly trapped in a spider web. Just waiting to be devoured.

He cupped your jaw, stroking your cheek with the pad of his thumb, leisurely taking his time in savouring you. Part of you wished he would just get it over and done with, another part of you, a shameful one, burnt at every action he took, at his stifling seduction. You might as well enjoy it and hope he was good at the very least, right? No one could blame you for it. Your survival was at stake, after all.

You stopped thinking altogether when his lips grazed your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your lips. He was slow and sensual in all of his movements, but there was something that slipped through the façade, something possessive about the way his fingers curled around your throat, trapping you in place as his lips pressed against yours.

They were soft. Soft and smooth, warm and demanding. You could not deny the pull they had. You were coaxed into seeking them out whenever he pulled away slightly, pressing them against you again, more and more passionately each time, almost manipulating you into wanting him to get rougher.

And he did. His teeth sank into the pliant flesh of your bottom lip, pulling lightly, and his tongue was quick to soothe the sting, taking advantage of your little gasp to slip in your mouth and lay siege on your tongue. It was all akin to a game of pull and push with him. He wheedled you into letting go more and more with each time he gave you something only to take it away and revel in how you sought it again. Just as he had presented the illusion of you wanting this from him, he was now making you act on it as though you had always desired nothing more.

Until your fingers were tangled in his soft raven hair, pulling lightly at it, and you were seeking his soft lips and their taste reminiscent of rich red wine to suck on his bottom lip languidly. Until his teeth nipping at your bottom lip had you mewl in his mouth.

‘Eager, are we? How sweet’ he breathed, and you felt the trap snap, the mechanism trapping you like a helpless doe caught by pincers. All of his teasing had led to this, to making you see that you wanted him, wanted this to happen. And as much as you could deny it, your actions spoke loudly, and your body’s reaction did too. The knowledge that you were already turned on and that if he decided to reach between your thighs he would see just how responsive you were to him made the mortification burn in your chest.

You had wanted to keep your dignity and show your distaste for what was happening, but he had managed to reduce you to a docile doll just by kissing your lips. And his sardonic smile and eyes told you that you were right in that assumption.

And before you could hope to collect yourself, his mouth was on your throat, hungry but still slow, leaving you wanting more. He licked a long stripe along your pulse, making it shoot up as his fingers curled around the roots of your hair and pulled, exposing your vulnerable neck to him. You could not restrain the whimper that escaped you as he kissed and started sucking a sensitive spot between your neck and your shoulder, sure to leave a mark to remind you of what you had done, of your flexible morals, as he’d called them.

His fingers clutched your side, wandered down to your hip and the swell of your ass, grazed your thigh and snaked under your skirt to grope at the plump flesh of your backside. You were too lost in the pleasure of his mouth and tongue on your throat to truly consider your situation and who it was that was touching you so possessively, so greedily. If anything, it only stoked the fire within you.

‘Good girl’ he crooned, sending a jolt to your clit with the dirty praise. You squirmed on his lap, eliciting a soft chuckle from him and a graze of his thumb over your stiff nipple. You were wearing a simple satin shirt with a flimsy bralette, and the friction of the material was torturous against your nipples.

Chrollo pulled the shirt out of your skirt, making quick work of the buttons with one hand whilst the other was still kneading your ass and his mouth was still on your throat. He slipped the garment off you, pulling away to observe you. You gulped, averting your eyes at the sight of his hungry stare, quivering as his fingers ghosted your sternum, your ribcage, the swell of your breasts.

‘You are so beautiful, darling’ he murmured, his lips softly pressing against your collarbone, his fingers deftly lowering the straps of your bralette and unhooking it. He tossed it aside, groaning softly as his hand cupped your breast, kneading it in his fingers, pinching your nipple and rolling it between thumb and index finger.

You tried to stifle a moan, to which he seemed to take offense, because he stopped and bit down hard on your shoulder, making you whine in the process.

‘I want to hear you. The more you stifle your voice, the longer I will tease you. Understood?’ he said, and you meekly nodded, only to speak up when he gave you a meaningful glance.

‘Yes’ you hissed, and he seemed pleased, because he hummed and made you arch your back so that his tongue could lick your stiff nipple and flick it. You were careful not to stifle the small whine that left your lips, and he rewarded you by sucking your nipple in his mouth, scraping it with his teeth and making you cling onto his shoulders.

He bunched up your skirt up to your waist, leaving you exposed as he trailed his fingers to your inner thighs, in a silent request to spread your legs. You were not wholly aware of how swiftly you complied, you only knew that when he first cupped you through your panties, your eyelids fluttered and a soft moan poured out of you.

‘You are soaked for me, pet. Your morals do not seem to extend to your body. Try as you might, you want this, and you cannot lie to me’ he purred, dragging his fingers and pressing against your clit, holding you still when you squirmed away from his touch. You let out a loud moan, your hips jerking. He pulled your panties to the side, rubbing your clit and dipping two fingers inside you, curling them, making your head drop on his shoulder as you moaned against his neck, enveloped by the scent of his cologne.

‘That’s it. That’s my good girl. If I knew how much you liked being fingered on my lap, I would have done this much sooner. No matter. I’ll make it up to you, darling’ he breathed, voice slightly strained as though he was holding back something much more primal from taking over, but you were too dazed to take much notice of all the filth he was spewing and how he sought to humiliate you further, because his touch admittedly felt like heaven. His willowy fingers inside you kept pressing against all the right places, and you could not help but clench around them, your hips twitching into his hand every time his palm rubbed against your sensitive clit.

You were lost in the motion of his fingers as you rutted against his hand, shamelessly chasing your own high as he continued to praise you and kiss you, rewarding every sound you made with a curl of his fingers that had you melting in his arms. Until you could not take it anymore.

‘Can’t- ‘m close’ you huffed out, breathing erratic, chest heaving as his fingers pumped inside you, and he hummed, licking your neck and sucking on it again.

‘Cum for me, pet’ he urged, and your eyes scrunched up, a lewd moan ripping through you as you tensed up on his thigh, sound fading away as you came undone.

You slumped on him, breathing heavily, your cunt throbbing around his fingers as he lazily fucked you through your aftershocks, your hair clinging to the back of your neck from the light sheen of sweat that had formed there.

‘Suck’ you heard, and dazed as you were, you obediently opened your mouth when he presented his fingers, sucking and licking the pads of his fingers, tasting yourself. You had to cling to him as he stood up and walked over to the bed, lowering you on it and observing you as he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off.

There was no denying it, he was attractive. Lean but toned, with graceful abs adorning his flat stomach, jutting collarbones and well-defined biceps; with the way the candlelight danced on his pale skin, making it glow with soft orange hues, he truly looked like he might be a fantasy of sorts.

You supposed he looked like a fallen angel, as his name suggested. Like the Alexandre Cabanel painting of the fallen angel, dangerous but so tempting. It was unfair that he should also be able to make you come undone so easily, when you had vowed to not give him the satisfaction.

He smirked at you, undoing his belt, slipping it through the hooks, catching you staring first at the clear dampness on his thigh, then at the evident bulge of his erection.

You supposed he would fuck you now. If you were being honest, you had thought he wouldn’t have taken such interest in your pleasure, but now, it seemed only fitting: it was all to aid his game, to stroke his ego in humiliating you by showing you how you could not abide by your morals, how you’d moaned and whined to be touched by those blood-stained hands.

Instead, he kept his trousers on, only going so far as to unbutton them to give himself more space. He seemed... quite gifted in that area too, you thought with a grimace. Was there anything that did not favour him? It seemed that fortune graced the wicked in that nonsensical world, because he had it all.

He caged you underneath him, his hair tickling your face as he drew you into a heated kiss, his hands roving down your body, fingertips digging into your hips, tongue pressing against yours.

He was quick to unzip your skirt and slide it off you along with your panties, leaving you completely exposed whilst he still retained his power by not undressing completely.

‘You were so precious squirming on my lap, so good for me. You deserve a reward’ he crooned against your ear in that soft, melodious voice of his, making you swallow heavily as you wondered what he might do to you now.

He did not leave you guessing for long. His mouth traced your collarbone, his head lowering as he licked your sternum and left a dark lovebite above your nipple, another reminder that would bring you back to this room, to what he was doing to you for the following week. He seemed intent on marking you whenever he could, and until he had littered your chest with purple brushstrokes, until you were but a moaning mess, he refused to move on, no matter how much you tried to squirm away and whimper at some of the harshest ones on your ribcage.

He continued to kiss down your stomach, massaging your thighs, cupping your ass and lowering his head to kiss your thighs. You were rendered breathless and unable to stop thrashing and moaning as he sucked another lovebite on your inner thigh, keeping you pinned down and at his mercy. You just wanted him to bury his head between your thighs, you were close, close to begging for it, were it not for your pride. Were it not for who he was.

Fortunately, you did not need to stoop that low. His tongue flattened and dragged up your cunt, tensing and flicking your clit from underneath as he got to the top, tearing a breathless moan from you.

‘You taste so sweet’ he huffed out against your skin, blowing cold air on your clit and making you whine and scoot away. He dragged you back, a wicked light in his stormy eyes as he glanced at you and licked your clit, rolling it on his tongue.

‘F-fuck’ you breathed, your hands shooting to his hair, pulling lightly, trying to ground yourself as he continued to toy with your clit, sucking it and licking it fervently. You could not hold yourself. If he was amazing with his fingers, he was incredible with his tongue. Judging by how he seemed to have a way with words, you should not have been surprised that he was so maddeningly good at pleasuring with his tongue. It was making you lose your mind.

Even if you had tried, you would not have been able to restrain the need to keen, whine and moan every time he sucked your clit, dipped his tongue inside you or drew figures around your clit.

He was insatiable as he flung your thighs on his shoulders, seemingly unbothered with the way you trapped his head and rutted against his face. In fact, he seemed thrilled to follow the movement of your hips, giving you more and more until you were babbling and keening incoherently, unable to even speak.

‘Fuck- Ch- Chrollo...’ you whined longingly, unable to realise your slip of moaning his name in the throes of pleasure. But he heard you loud and clear, because he groaned, and his name on your lips only seemed to spur him on. In a few seconds, he was sucking on your clit, giving you more pleasure than you’d ever thought was even possible, until the torturous knot in your stomach snapped and released and you came with a cry, tears prickling the corners of your eyes, your hair tousled and messy on the pillow, your muscles tensing, toes curling and fingers clawing at the sheets.

You kept your eyes closed for a while, easing into your breathing, feeling as though your body had completely melted, feeling as though you couldn’t even move.

‘You can still take my cock, can’t you, darling? After all, I have made you feel so good. It’s only fair. Do not worry, you will not mind. You seem to love being fucked by the one you spoke of with such revulsion. It’s quite endearing, watching you struggle with your morals’ he crooned, and you opened your eyes, watching him stroke his cock a few times. It was quite long and fairly thick, slightly tilted upwards.

You were too fucked out to consider his taunting, but you knew he was right. Both mindsets could not peacefully coexist in your mind: how could you be so willing and find so much pleasure in someone like him? How could you hate him and love what he was doing to you? It might have been an involuntary physical reaction, but you should have had more resolve, more restraint. Otherwise, what did that say about you?

Chrollo lined himself between your legs, rubbing his cock along your labia, on your clit, instantly making those thoughts fade in the haze of pleasure as you let out a soft sigh and automatically tried to hook your legs around his slender hips.

He gripped your thigh, pushing the tip of his cock inside you, easily slipping inside inch by inch with how shamefully wet you were, and yet, you already felt so full, like he was stretching you to the limit. You clawed at his back, raking your nails across his shoulder blades, gasping and whimpering along with his soft moan.

‘Fuck. So tight... so wet. Such a perfect little cunt’ he huffed out, his lips parting in pleasure, dark eyebrows furrowing. You tried to steady your breathing, tried to relax your muscles to accommodate his size, clung to his shoulders for support.

He wiped a tear from the corner of your eye, continuing to push inside you, albeit slowly, until he was buried to the hilt. You clenched around him, and the soft groan he let out made your stomach drop with a surge of pleasure. He bottomed out and slammed back in, tearing a broken moan from you as he set a ruthless pace, his eyes darkening with lust and the slip of his mask, hunger palpable in his every movement and the way he sought to fully claim you.

He lifted your legs higher up around his waist, his fingers tightening around your throat, not pressing on the front, leaving you room to breathe but making you even more dizzy than you already were.

His pelvis kept slapping against your clit, drawing out whines and pants from you, and with every thrust, he seemed to grow more accustomed to where you liked to be touched, because as soon as his cock pressed against your g-spot, your back arched and your head thrashed from side to side, a lewd moan echoing in the room as you clamped around him.

‘There, huh? Let me do it again, darling’ he breathed, one hand lifting both your legs and bending them at the knees, letting you rest them against his chest as he rammed into you, hitting the same spot again and again, relentlessly building the pressure inside you, making you see stars.

‘Mhh- too much... Chrollo’ you whined, trapped underneath him, feeling as though you might implode if he didn’t stop- or if he stopped, for what it was worth.

‘Moan my name again, pet. Let me hear how filthy it sounds on your lips’ he grunted, the sound of skin slapping against skin both enticing and dirty as he continued to fuck you into the mattress.

When you didn’t reply, suddenly aware of how you were moaning his name, reinforcing how you knew- wanted it to be him to fuck you at that moment, he let out a breathless laugh.

‘Looks as though you might need some convincing’ he said, slowing down and eventually slipping out of you, letting your legs down. You whimpered, desire clawing at your gut, your cunt clenching around nothing as you opened your bleary eyes and set them on him. He gave you a smirk, flipping you on your stomach and lifting your hips, spreading your knees with his and pushing on your lower back to make you arch into him. You lifted yourself on your elbows and heard his tongue click against his teeth condescendingly before he pushed your head against the mattress and smacked your ass with a resounding slap.

You yelped, biting down on your lower lip, mortification once again mingling with pleasure as he pushed his cock back inside you, letting out a soft groan.

‘Use your hands one more time and I will tie them up behind your back. It will feel better like this. For me- and for you’ he said, fisting your hair and gripping your hip, starting to pound into you from behind once again.

It did feel better like this. Deeper. Unbearable. He stimulated your clit with every thrust, the tip of his cock kept pressing against your cervix, and you did not know if you could bear it much longer.

You found the bridge of your nose damp with tears, and struggled to recognise your own voice in the filthy moans you were letting out. It was humiliating and it was impossibly pleasurable, and the mix was somewhat addicting, tainting. It was ruining every shred of sanity left in your brain.

Until he got what he wanted. Because it seemed as though he always did. He could steal anything, including his name from your lips said with such want and bliss that had you not been fucked stupid, you would have wanted to die.

‘Ahh- Chr- Chrollo! Fuck. Gonna cum’ you screamed, sobbing, clenching around him, getting even closer to a mind-shattering orgasm with every moan and groan he graced you with.

‘Good girl. My girl. Mine. You love this, mh? Tell me how much you love this. Tell me how badly you want to cum all over my cock’ he urged, voice possessive and low, and you could not stop yourself, could not do anything but acquiesce, because you needed- needed to cum.

‘Yes! Please. Please let me cum. Please. Need it so bad’ you whined, sobbed even, desperate for reprieve, hoping he would have mercy on you, hoping he would let you finish. His fingers reached under you to rub at your clit, and you could hardly contain a sob of wild pleasure and the jolt of your hips.

‘Since you asked so nicely. Go on, pet, cum for me’ he huffed out, still thrusting inside you at that unrelenting pace, and as though he had power over your own body, you felt the release hit you like a wave of overwhelming pleasure that made your vision white and your ears fill with static.

He was quick to cum with a breathy moan as you squeezed his cock through your orgasm, holding you tightly as he spilled inside you. He continued to push in and out slowly, until you stopped throbbing and squeezing around him.

‘Fuck’ he breathed, letting you collapse on the bed and doing the same next to you. You both stayed silent for a minute or two, catching your breath, feeling the cool air on your feverish skin.

‘Let me clean you up, darling’ he said, and you didn’t have the strength to object as he got up and walked away, the sound of his footsteps quiet as you kept your eyes closed until he came back with a glass of water and a wet towel, his trousers back on, but still shirtless. He wiped your inner thighs gently, with more care than you wanted to admit someone like him could be capable of, and carefully lifted you up so you could drink the water he’d brought you.

You took small gulps, finding it felt amazing trickling down your dry, raw throat after all that crying and screaming. He only put the glass on the nightstand when you had finished it all.

‘Thanks’ you said absent-mindedly, your mind slowly coming back to you in coherent thoughts as you attempted to cover yourself with the duvet. He gave you a languid smile, tucking your hair away from your face and lying next to you.

But it was finally over now. You could leave. Your deal had revealed itself to be better than you wanted to admit, but now, you were finally free. You could put this all behind you.

You tried to get up and gather your clothes, but your body felt like a ragdoll. He had really done a number on you.

‘Careful, dearest. You should wait a little’ he said, smiling at you, his eyes soft, his expression unreadable. You let out a shuddering breath.

‘Want to get... my clothes, and leave’ you said, getting up and hastily putting on your clothes, feeling a little dizzy. You walked back towards the bed, retrieving your underwear and your skirt, putting them on, almost falling were it not for his arms catching you and holding you still.

You felt weird. It had surely been intense, but so intense that your vision was slowly darkening around the edges and your arms and legs felt as heavy as lead?

He pulled you on his lap, and you protested weakly when he started to stroke your hair and kissed your forehead.

‘No- you said I would be free after this. Let me leave’ you slurred, and he shushed you, tenderly stroking your back in soothing gestures.

‘Oh, darling, I never said you would be free’ he said softly, still holding you. You blinked, confused, his face blurry as you stared at him.

‘You said- I’d be leaving this place- with my power... un...scathed within... a day. What d’you do to me?’ your words were garbled together, slurred like you were drunk. And you felt so heavy and tired.

‘I put a few sleeping pills in the water I gave you. Nothing that will harm you, so don’t worry your pretty little head. I don’t need to steal your power if I keep you. You will leave unscathed, but I never said you would leave alone. You should really pay more attention to the words of a vow, my love’ he said, stroking your hair, his soft voice lulling you into sleep despite how horrified you were in your mind. He had tricked you. Had no plans of freeing you. You hadn’t considered he might keep you. Hadn’t considered the depth of his obsession with you. Hadn’t considered there was more than one reason why he had kept you captive.

‘I cannot be parted from you, my love. Your place is by my side. Now close your eyes. Sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us’ he said gently, soothingly. And you could not help but do as he said, your eyelids growing heavier and heavier, your thoughts muddying and fading away along with your consciousness.

Part II here

Part III here

[postcrashcurly]

A short list of Jimmy headcanons I've been tinkering with for a bit. CW: OCD and Hoarding Behavior, Trichophagia, Body Image, and a lot of other triggers tbh it's far too long to list just prepare for anything.

One. On earth, Jimmy has a hoarding problem that stems from not having a lot as a kid. His dad was physically abusive and his mom was emotionally absent, so he wasn't allowed any privacy, personal belongings, or comfort objects. So as an adult he keeps EVERYTHING. Every single birthday card, every receipt, boxes, old clothes, certain food wrapping items and empty cans. It's chaos but it's somewhat organized, and piles move around here and there. It's not necessarily *gross* in the traditional sense. There is no rats or roaches or anything like that- its just overwhelming to the outside observer. It has the potential to be much worse depending.

He compulsively reorganizes his belongings but he'll be sent into a blind rage if he feels he's lost something. Piles move back and forth from the living room and bed room. Certain objects of interest are always within eye-shot, specifically things like gifts or photos. He has a particular affinity towards gift-cards and enjoys the elaborate designs (even though he pretends he doesn't).

Jimmy gets incredibly defensive when anyone offers to help him clean up or move things around and worries greatly that someone may steal from him. The only person who's ever seen the inside of his place is Curly, and he's also the only person Jimmy has ever left unattended in his home. Every so often Curly is able to nudge him to pack things in different areas so it isn't such a fire hazard (because of the hoarding, Jimmy has a massive fear of house fires and losing his things), and so he can have better access to rooms.

The only "clean" areas are the kitchen and bathroom, and they are remarkably clean. This is something Curly doesn't understand but doesn't really bother to question because he knows Jimmy needs to have things a certain way.

Two. As a child Jimmy developed really poor coping mechanisms to deal with his home life. He used to eat his own hair, and because of this his parents always had his hair cut as short as possible. This is why he keeps it long as an adult, and even though he doesn't eat/swallow it anymore he likes to suck and bite on the ends sometimes when he's self-soothing.

Three. Jimmy struggles with his body image and isn't quite sure what he looks like. If you asked him to draw a picture of himself, it wouldn't resemble him well. He feels that he looks much smaller, weaker, and uglier than he really is, for which he overcompensates. This also means he is a lot rougher when making physical contact with people.

It is also why a lot of his clothes are ill fitting.

Four. Jimmy loved cats when he was younger. When he was a kid he used sneak around his parents to feed them dinner leftovers. He was particularly close with a little tabby that cried at his bedroom window every night and he'd always sneak out to pet her. His father grew sick of the strays hanging around the property and put out poisoned food, which unfortunately took out his tabby. To this day, he blames himself for making the cats comfortable enough to take food from his house.

Five. Jimmy has experimented with many drugs and had mostly positive experiences with them. He's particularly fond of Kratom.

Six. Jimmy doesn't try to understand people, he only learns what they expect of him and changes his approach depending on the person. Everyone is so vastly different that he struggles to keep up appearances with most people, so he often latches onto one person (Curly) and puts most of his energy into that.

Seven. Jimmy is the type to give up a hobby if he isn't good at it right off the bat.

Eight. Jimmy can't swim, he doesn't want to swim, and you cannot make him swim. It stems from having a fear of water, specifically fully submerging his head/face.

Nine. Jimmy has food sensory issues. Sometimes he even needs to spit out things he likes because his body refuses to swallow it. To avoid this in public spaces, he takes very small bites and eats very slowly. He orders comfort meals and if he wants to try something new, he'll just pick of the plate of who he's with.

Ten. Jimmy is a Red Bull guy, specifically the Coconut Berry one. This is very oddly specific but it just feels right to me.

Y'all should send me asks with some of your Jimmy headcanons (if you want) because I love to hear other peoples opinions and perceptions of his character, especially if you don't agree with mine I'd love to hear why!

[toxictigertonic]

Alright, I've been cursed with new blorbos (don't worry DJ will always be my number one). Outlast trials has me in a chokehold, specifically Franco, but all the prime assets are running around in my brain causing problems. I'm subjecting you to my stupid food headcanons as a result:

COYLE

- This mother fucker drinks hot sauce. Like. Chugs the shit. You can't take him anywhere without him bringing a bottle of Tabasco.

- Takes his coffee black, but will add a little sugar if no one is looking. Can't let people know that he doesn't like plain black coffee.

- He feels like a big breakfast kinda guy, with all the fixings. If you took him to a diner that'd be what he'd get, no matter the time of day.

- Would he disgusted by energy drinks EXCEPT classic redbull. Now imagine this man hyped up on caffeine.

- Would still eat his scrambled eggs if he got shells in them. Would say some shit like "the shells put hair on your chest"

- Trusting this man to bake anything is a fire hazard, it doesn't matter if it's those pre cut cookie rolls, they're catching fire.

- Says he hates desserts then stares down a slice of pecan pie from across the room like it owes him money.

MOTHER GOOSEBERRY

- The only one I trust to cook tbh, and that's not saying much.

- If you took her to get coffee she'd get the sweetest thing on the menu (and Futterman would bitch and moan about it the whole time) or she'd get a chai latte. Futterman would demand a black coffee.

- I would trust her to make me an apple pie and then she'd put the drill in it bc the crust came out wrong.

- She feels like a woman who really likes jam. Maybe I am projecting but jam is cool.

- She will not touch an energy drink bc they taste bad to her, and bc Futterman would throw a fit about how bad they are for your teeth. No caffeine fueled death sprint for her, but based on her singing and the whole angel dust thing I don't think she needs it.

- I would make her pancakes she seems pretty cool.

- Likes the batter for desserts more than the finished products.

FRANCO

- God help us where do I begin

- On one hand I wanna say he makes some bomb ass Italian food. On the other hand I wanna say he burns cereal.

- Speaking of cereal, he's the kinda guy who let's his cereal turn to paste in the bowl before he eats it.

- Considering what we know about the wolf's milk drink, I'm frightened by this man's palette. Genuinely terrified.

- I think he would die if he tasted hot sauce. I think Coyle is aware of this fact and has plans.

- Give him an energy drink if you wanna see him start doing flips. He thinks they're gross but he's also like "fuck yeah pure sugar I love these"

- Likes his cookies so underdone that they're basically raw (me too chief)

- If you cooked him a homemade meal he'd cry while eating it. Then he'd get pissed because you made him cry.

- He's my little skrunkly doo so I'm feeding him wet plaster ❤️

If I'm wrong about anything bc it's actually stated in the lore I do not care tell Red Barrels to get their facts straight (/J I SWEAR)

I haven't had time to look at Gooseberry's or Coyle's lore so I don't know if they have some super important amazing cooking skills that I'm missing out on. Feel free to tell me if you think I'm wrong or have your own ideas about these idiots.

[yallthemwitches]

A soft silence falls over them, strangely comfortable given the circumstances. She can feel his heartbeat against her forearm, a defiant thump thump thump that serves as a reminder that yes, you are in his bed with his hand over your body and his face unreasonably close to yours.

Been reading 'The Last Enemy' by CH_Darling ( if you haven't read it go NOW) and it has put me in a severe 'mutual pining but make it teenage idiocy' mood so I cranked out this little 1.2k word piece. Please enjoy pure unadulterated fluff (rated T for teenage obliviousness)

Read on AO3 or Under the cut!

Sunlight pours through the gap between the curtains, spilling a line of heat into the otherwise frigid air. Lily grumbles and turns her face to the light, simultaneously enjoying the sensation while hating its reminder of reality. Shifting slightly, she feels another stretch of heat on her lower half accompanied by a particular pressure–a fleshy, bony, human one. 

She blinks her eyes open and two golden brown orbs peer back, the sunlight catching on his long eyelashes. 

Oh god. 

“How long have you been staring at me?”

It comes out as a whine, hovering somewhere between embarrassed and exasperated. Now fully awake, she recognizes that the heated pressure on her lower hip is in fact related to the aforementioned pair of eyes—more specifically a rather toned arm in which the accompanied hand drapes idly onto her back so the fingers press into her skin. 

“M’not staring,” he murmurs back, eyes darting to some other part of the room as proof, “Don’t have my glasses on–can’t see even if I wanted to.”

“You aren’t blind,” she huffs. “Obviously you can see that I am in front of you, laying here…uh–”

Suddenly, that line of thought feels hazardous. 

“Yes, ok. You caught me,” he admits, the mischievous glint in his eye more pronounced without his glasses, “--but only because I’ve awoken to find a red, human-shaped blob taking up half of my pillow and assumed Sirius stuffed a pack of fire slugs next to me.”

“So I resemble fire slugs then—you really know how to woo a lady, don’t you?”

James grins and a twinge of red blankets his cheeks. “Evidently it comes natural.”

She knows she should move, gently push his arm off her midsection and pick herself out of bed, James’ bed, but the room is so cold and the pillow so soft, and her body perfectly relaxed with no rush….

“I guess I should apologize now, while you are still too groggy to be angry at me,” James says, pulling her mind back. Lily crinkles her forehead.

“Apologize for what, you actually did me a favor. The common room couches are deceitfully uncomfortable to sleep on, and god knows I wasn’t going to try to enter my room after—-you know.”

He does know, because the whole bloody school probably did by this point: the quidditch party devolving into a loud screaming match between Sophia McCloud and Marlene Mckinnon, the throwing of drinks, the loud slamming of doors and locking charms barring anyone (dorm mates  included) from entering the sixth year girls’ room. 

“Yeah well,” James starts, his batting eyelashes making him look sheepish—but not cute, and certainly not attractive in an endearing, sweet sort of way. “I had truly meant to transfigure one of the pillows into a cot for you but I guess the firewhiskey and perpetual sleep deprivation caught up to me quicker than I expected.”

His eyes shift again, this time down her neck before snapping back to her face, cheeks blazing harder than before. Can’t see, my ass. But the action gives a sudden pang to the gut, reminding her that she also had let the firewhiskey get away from her and maybe she was in less form than she thought. 

Peering down, she gives an audible sigh of relief to see she is still in her clothes from the night before–Thank merlin, christ almighty. But just the same, her dress for the evening had been a little muggle number that gave less to the imagination than her stuffy school uniform– and judging by James’ vantage point he probably was able to get a decent view down the V in the neckline. 

“Well anyways,” she says, shifting to fold a hand across her chest between them. “It was nice of you. I’m sorry for any pillow stealing that might have occurred in my slumber.”

A soft silence falls over them, strangely comfortable given the circumstances. She can feel his heartbeat against her forearm, a defiant thump thump thump that serves as a reminder that yes, you are in his bed with his hand over your body and his face unreasonably close to yours.

“So, what do we do now?” She doesn’t know why she whispers it—maybe, if she is being honest with herself, because a deep dark part of her wishes she didn’t say anything and could fall back asleep with him just a little bit longer. 

“Well,” he clears his throat, eyelashes doing that thing again that makes her definitely not want to lean in and press her lips to his eyelids, “Don’t quote me on this, but I think the general idea is: you wake up, lift yourself off the mattress, place both feet on the floor, force yourself into a standing position, then—”

“Nevermind, forget I asked,” Lily groans, trying and failing to suppress a giggle. Her head leans forward and taps into his collarbone, just as warm and stable as the arm still still! wrapped around her. 

“Any chance we will be able to walk away from this without an avalanche of gossip?” She feels him stiffen against her. 

“Er–unfortunately not. Though I’ll do my duty to say nothing happened if you do—because that’s what happened—nothing. Just helping a friend, nothing more.”

The ever increasing clang in his chest makes the repetition of the word nothing feel wildly unconvincing despite it being the truth. 

“Ok, so how about we don’t talk about it instead—it’s none of their business anyway,” she says, a flush crawling onto her face.

James goes quiet again and the heat from his chest starts to lull her eyes shut. She can feel a small indent in the mattress where he must usually lay and lets the image of him splayed out in his bed swirl in her head: his hair sticking in all directions, night shirt riding up, mouth slightly agape—

Nope. Bad idea. 

“Hey Evans?” His voice travels as though coming out of a vast tunnel. The smell of sweat and spice willing her to nuzzle deeper—definitely not a smell she wishes she could bottle forever.

A tiny, more coherent part of her waits for him to call again, but she is greeted with only silence. The arm around her waist trembles, making a hesitant decision before pulling in tighter, pressing strong, stable finger pads into the bit of exposed skin found there. Being between the weight of his hand and the cocoon of his chest feels safe and only as the dancing images behind her eyelids fade and sleep takes her again does she have the epiphany that what she is experiencing is the sensation of being held. 

Under the depths of sleep, her hand uncurls into the front of his shirt, a reciprocation in the smallest of senses. Another pressure appears against the top of her head as his lips linger there, sweet and soft and over sooner than she would like.

 For a moment her coherent side rears up, urging her to tilt upwards enough to catch his lips before they drift away, but it's already too late. Another missed opportunity in their shared comedy of errors. 

Later they will step out of bed into the sunlight, face the day and the questions of berating friends and gossip. They will say it was nothing—a favor among friends, an act of necessity. But for now, she lets her walls crumble, grow flimsy and crack with years of service.

 Free of obtrusion she basks in the afterglow, the rise and fall of his chest now the rhythm of the universe; a constant beat in which she hopes to never lose time. 

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

reader pronouns: she/her warnings: allusions to past trauma (no specific details)

”Might as well settle in,” Daryl drawled, dropping his pack and testing the stiffness of the dusty couch. “We ain’t goin’ anywhere ‘til it’s light out tomorrow.”

You hummed your agreement and turned away from the boarded up window just as Daryl was flopping back. You gave him a surprised look. “Are you actually gonna sleep?” you asked him.

”Me? Hell no,” he growled. “But might as well be comfortable anyway.” He considered you for a moment. “You wanna sleep? I’ll get up. Ya can have this couch.”

You shook your head and sank down in an arm chair next to him. “No. I won’t be able to sleep...”

”Mmm,” he hummed. “Well—could be worse. Could just be one of us stuck here alone. Ain’t ya glad I didn’t let ya go by yerself?”

You smiled at him and he glanced over and met your eyes. “Yeah. I am.”

He nodded his agreement and settled in more deeply to the couch, one hand resting on his chest and the other tugging at the frayed edge of a patch on his pants. He could feel your eyes on him still and eventually met them again. “What?” he asked.

”Nothing,” you said.

Daryl rolled his eyes at you. “I know that look. It ain’t nothin’.”

You laughed lightly and his heart jumped at the sound. “Tell me something I don’t know about you,” you said, leaning forward. Daryl swung his legs off the couch and planted them on the floor, sitting up again and peering at you. 

”Why?”

”Come on! It’ll help pass the time.”

He ran a hand back through his hair and sighed. “I dunno...”

”Sure you do,” you encouraged him. “I’ll tell you something about me after!”

For some reason this made Daryl smile and now your heart skipped a beat. God, you loved his smile. It was so rare. “ ‘M pretty sure I already know everythin’ about ya,” he quipped. “Ya talk a lot when yer drunk...”

"Excuse me! You’ve seen me drunk once,” you shot back. “I’m sure I didn’t talk that much.”

He laughed again. “ S’alrigh’. I didn’t mind,” he drawled.”

”Quit dodging the question, Daryl!”

He sighed again and shook his hair out of his eyes. “Mmm. Alrigh’, fine... uhh—” He chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip. He gulped. This felt strangely intimate. “When I was a kid, we had this big tree in the front yard—the house, ya know, before the fire... and there was a storm that blew down a squirrel nest. Had three kits in it. The mom must’a died, so me and Merle—we hid ‘em in the garage and bottle fed ‘em kitten formula he shoplifted until they were big enough to be on their own. For the rest of the time we lived there, they’d come down and eat peanuts outta our hands, hang out on our shoulders...” When he hazarded a glance up at you again, your expression was so soft his whole body felt warm. 

“That’s so sweet... That might literally be the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” you said fondly. Your eyes seemed to be smiling at him.

“Yeah, it was—was nothin’. Wasn’t like I was just gonna let ‘em die, ya know?” You nodded, your eyes bright and fixed on him. He cleared his throat nervously. “Alrigh’, what ‘bout you?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” you said, waving him off. “You already know everything about me,” you said sarcastically. “Tell you what; why don’t you tell me something about me that only you would know? Since you’re such a smartass...”

Daryl chuckled a little. “Fine.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck thoughtfully. “Ya used to be scared of motorcycles.”

”It’s not like that was hard to figure out!” you laughed.

”I ain’t done—Blueberries are yer favorite food. When ya were like ten, ya had to get stitches in yer right knee from a bicycle accident. Ya never learned how to swim—”

You were staring at him in surprise. “Okay, but all these are things I could have told anyone when I was drunk. I said tell me something only you would know.”

”Mmm,” he hummed. There was another long thoughtful pause before he spoke again and suddenly the room felt thick and heavy. “I dunno what exactly happened for this to be true but... ya dun trust men easy. I’ve—I’ve seen it. Even Rick, ya weren’t sure about at first. Ya saw the real Shane from a mile away...” 

You gulped at the sudden tightness that had materialized in your throat. You thought you were better at hiding it. But of course Daryl would notice. Of course he would. 

“‘S’part of why I feel so lucky I guess—that ya—that ya trust me.”

You nodded and managed to unlock yourself from your frozen state. “I do. I do trust you.”

“Good. ‘Cuz I would never, never do anythin’ to hurt ya. And if anybody else tries to—if anybody else does, well, I’ll deal with ‘em.”

Your fun little game to pass the time had suddenly turned wholly serious. You nodded. “I know.”

Daryl nodded again. “Good.”

You ducked his gaze, feeling suddenly overwhelmed at what he’d inferred from simply watching your behavior thoughtfully, but also from his protectiveness and his goodness. “I’m lucky to have you, Daryl. I mean that.”

He mumbled some vague response and flopped back down on the couch. “Oh, and yer slightly dyslexic.”

You laughed a little and sat back in your own chair. “You win.”

Prompt: “Tell me something about me that only you would know.”

[glitteringcrab]

Frying his backups

I'm wondering if various stuff was taking place during this scene that went right over our heads:

(First of all, I'd like to say that I absolutely love the composition of this scene. Rick Prime is bathed in light, yet is almost indistinguishable from the machinery in which he's confined. Evil Morty, on the other hand, is standing on the dark side of the room, yet he's clearly visible; a bright figure among the darkness. Simply a manner of color balance and scene composition?? Symbolism ??? Symbolism of what????)

(Rick C-137, on the other hand, is almost as dark as Rick Prime; his color scheme shifting towards red from all the blood, his body as much machinery and tubes as the chair Rick Prime is currently confined in. Symbolism of their lost humanity? Accidental symbolism?)

A) What exactly happened before Rick Prime came to? This room is clearly wrecked. These metal panels are cracked or broken.

Did Evil Morty break them or did another battle, with some other enemy of Rick Prime's, take place soon before Rick C-137's battle?

Did Evil Morty accidentally wreck the whole room while attempting to extract/insert those thick cables from/into the metal panels in the wall?

Were the thick cables originally part of Prime's chair, or part of the machinery in the wall?

If they were part of the chair, what was their original function? Where were they supposed to connect to?

There are no empty sockets visible on the control panel to accommodate them, and wouldn't they be a trip hazard unless they were to go into the floor, which doesn't appear wrecked?

If they were part of the wall, how did Evil Morty connect them with the chair?

Admitedly, this doesn't look like a chair-oriented chair: it's a piece of machinery. Like, it seems to have served a specific function and not just Prime's butt. It has lights, and the thinner cables that are connected to Prime's brain via fingergun seem to emerge directly from the chair, with in-built openings to accommodate them. The thinner cables emerging from the bottom of the chair and to the tablet seem to be in their normal position, too...

The chair doesn't seem wrecked, either; just the walls, which points towards the thicker cables being part of the chair as well (but then what were they supposed to connect toooo?? And did Evil Morty stuck himself in the wall panels to connect the thick tables to whatever system was hidden in the wall lol?)

And, shouldn't the chair be facing the control panel?? No wheels are visible, can it even rotate?

What was the actual purpose of machinery of the chair?? We've seen Rick Prime fire the Omega Device while standing, using only a tablet. Why did he need his chair to be so sci-fi? What purpose did it serve??

Am I overthinking this?

B) What "picture" are you getting????

You are being murdered. This isn't complicated. This isn't something for you to "get".

Is he surprised that he found himself tied in his own chair in stead of, I dunno, not waking up at all?

...Could he tell from the cables stuck on his head that Evil Morty was messing with his brain? Was this the picture he "got"? In a "ooh, you are reading my mind" fashion? (But Evil Morty did not start stealing his secrets until the end...)

C) Notice that whenever the ends on the mini implanted cables from Eyepatch Morty's fingerguns go bright red, the thin black cables attached to Prime's forehead become visibly overloaded or something, and he always grimaces in pain...

But the mini implanted cables going red and Rick Prime being painfully electrocuted don't seem to coincide with Prime's clones getting fried...!

I'm counting 4 times Prime's clones getting visibly fried that weren't accompanied by a painful electrocution and the mini fingergun cables going red.

It seems to me like two separate things going on: (1) Evil Morty frying Prime's clones and (2) Evil Morty's fingergun weapon doing... something. Interacting with Prime in some fashion.

Either punishing him whenever Evil Morty got slightly mad (but this seems unlikely, Prime did not get electrocuted neither when he offered Evil Morty a job, nor when he insulted Evil Morty's murdering abilities) or... I'm leaning towards the theory that Prime was stealthily trying to override the fingeguns by using his own implants, and his attempts were halted? (whew) And, maybe, he was trying to distract Evil Morty from these attempts by talking to him...?

D) Why was Prime criticizing Evil Morty's murdering technique????

What do you think it is???

Was Prime simply confused that getting tied on a chair preceded getting murdered? In a "why take an unnecessary step" fashion?

Did he think that Evil Morty planned to torture him?

Is this the torture lol?

Cause this insult doesn't really make sense... Sure, it's kinda funny, but it doesn't make particular sense. Prime had just witnessed Evil Morty shooting him, attacking him physically and having a buttload of weapons implanted on his person. Did he think Evil Morty was incapable of finishing him off for some reason? I mean, I wouldn't say "ooh, what are you gonna do to me, huh???" to a guy armed to his teeth lol

Did his own hidden implants interacting with Evil Morty's fingerguns grant him some insight on the nature of Evil Morty's own brain implant and whatever limitations it might have?

Was it just an insult? In a "oh, you like to play tough but you're just a kid" fashion?

Was he confused that the murder wasn't concluded already?

Now you get it??

(I have to give it to Rick Prime for not fearing death, though. He looks slightly worried when Evil Morty drags Rick C-137 into the room, but he gets over it pretty soon. He also looked slightly nervous while Rick C-137 was disconnecting the cables from his head, but he got over it very fast, too. He's a horrible jerk but he ain't a coward)

E) Am I obsessed and do I need to find another hobby?

(Why, yes. Definitely.)

(Part 2 here)

[questionableratatouille00]

ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ (ᴍɪɴᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪɴᴇ)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bath time with Bucky? On Valentine’s Day? Hell yeah.

Warnings: Handjobs (B receiving), bath sex, fluff, slight allusion to HYDRA trash party/non-con.

[Collection M. List]

“You did this?” You gasp, looking into the bathroom. There’s rose petals in the tub, which is filled with hot water. There’s candles placed around the room in specific spots so that there’s no fire hazards.

Your boyfriend nods, smiling gently. “All for you, doll.”

You press a kiss to his lips, smiling. “You’re awesome, Buck. I love you.”

He smiles, feeling absolutely proud of himself.

“C’mon, aren’t you gonna get in with me?” You chuckled, quickly stripping your clothes off of your body.

He nods, quietly doing the same. “You want me to sit in front of you or behind you?”

“Mmm…in front of me.” You smile. “So I can hug you.”

“Alright.” He nods, watching as you get in the tub. You spread your legs to the sides of the tub as he settles in between them.

You gently rest your back against the back of the tub, and Bucky rests against your chest. You wrap your hands around his waist, setting your chin against his shoulder.

“I love you.” He says after a moment.

“Aww, babe, I love you too. I think this is one of the best Valentine’s Days I’ve ever had.” You murmured. “Me too.” He sighed happily. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to go to the party. I know you wanted to see everybody.” He said after a moment.

Every year Tony had a Valentines party. You loved the damn things, but Bucky did not. And he was so willing to just bear it for you, but you could tell that deep down he wanted nothing to do with the event—or parties in general.

Loud noises, drunk people, large crowds? Yeah right.

So you didn’t go. And you were perfectly fine with that.

“Baby, it’s okay. I’d much rather be here in the bath with you.” You said.

“Are you sure? I..you were so excited to go. You love those parties.” He frowned.

“Yeah. But I love you more. I have no regrets. Period.” You expressed. You pressed a kiss to his left shoulder, where flesh meets metal.

“I love you too. With all my heart, dollface.” He confessed.

“You set up the little iPad in here. You wanna watch a movie?” You offered.

“Sure. What do you wanna watch?”

“How about the rom-com Valentine’s Day?”

“Sure, hon.” He set it up and the movie began.

You rested your hands on his thighs, rubbing circles into them with your thumbs.

You were distracted from the movie by a hitch in his breath.

“Babe?” You looked at him, adjusting do you could see his face better. And then your eyes trailed down and…oh.

“Shit, did I—my bad.” You moved your hands off his thighs, but he grabbed them, moving them back into place.

“No—it’s, it’s okay. I uh, I like it.” He murmured.

There was a complicated history with Bucky and getting an erection, one of which you knew most of.

Sometimes you’d be in ‘sexy’ situations and he’d get hard, sometimes he wouldn’t. You never minded.

Normally him getting hard without the explicit intention to have sex would make him uncomfortable, and he’d try and get out of whatever situation he was in. But not now.

“You sure?” You raise a brow. You want him to feel as safe and comfortable as possible.

He nodded quickly. “Mhm.”

You weren’t entirely sure what the vibe was here. “Do you want..do you want me to—“

“Touch me.” He said suddenly. “Yes. I want you to touch me. If you want to,” he added.

“I do.” You murmured against his shoulder. “Let me know if you need me to stop, yeah?” You breathed.

“Got it.” He hummed.

You trailed your hand down his abs, resting at his base. You gave his hard cock a slow, steady stroke as you rested your forehead against his shoulder.

You rubbed your thumb over his tip, and he sucks in a breath. You glide your hand back up his shaft, slowly settling into a rhythm he seems to like the best.

Slow and gentle touches turn into satisfying pumps at his aching cock. He even bucks his hips once or twice, and you revel in the soft sounds he makes.

“Fuck—I’m close.” He warns, his brows furrowed and his cheeks a gentle pink.

“It’s alright, baby. Just let go; I’ve got you.” You whisper gently.

And he does, letting out the most beautiful noise you’ve ever heard.

“Fuck, doll.” He whispers out into the air. “I love you. So fucking much.”

You press a kiss to his neck. “I love you too. But we’re not done yet.” You grinned.

A/n: choices were made. Uhhhhhhhhh ok bye

graphics by @saradika-graphics

[sneakyfordethklok]

Murderface Headcanons

Appearance, backstory, and other related hcs for my favorite stinky scrimblo.

He's 5'11", surprisingly tall. He's about a quarter of an inch short of 6 feet. Though, honestly he would look taller if he wasn't around Skwisgaar and Nathan all the time.

He's quite heavy, over 200 lbs. However, despite his physique, there's an surprising strength to him, especially in his arms. He worked outside for most of his life before joining Dethklok, and he retains some of that muscle to this day. However, he lacks the stamina and determination to ever really defend himself, and can't fight worth a damn.

He's around 28 years old.

He deals with eczema, specifically atopic dermatitis. He is unfortunately very bad about genuinely taking care of it, even though he has creams for it. He's just very stubborn.

How I draw his hair is more closely inspired by Geezer Butler, the bassist of Black Sabbath, whom Murderface is based off of. Dense dark brown curls, but Murderface as usual takes poor care of himself. His hair is dry, his scalp oily and rife with dandruff, and he rarely brushes it. As a result, its quite matted and frizzy, with lots of dead ends and uncontrolled curls.

Speaking of taking poor care of himself... He's a bit stinky.

Seriously. He doesn't shower enough. And rarely wears cologne or deodorant. Though, rather than necessarily being a gross slob, it comes from him never being taught to look after himself as a child. He was quite neglected, and so he never even was taught how to properly wash his hair or himself.

He grew up in the deep south, but his parents were living in Jersey before their demise. His grandparents' house is a simple one-story property, with white siding and a green roof. The windows were always covered with thick blinds, and the porch had a ramp up the three steps for Stella and Thunderbolt. An ancient porch swing that didn't exactly look safe anymore sat on their porch for as long as he could remember.

Stella and Thunderbolt Murderface were terrible hoarders. Really, the whole house was a maze of trash and rot. The second you stepped inside, you could smell the piss and shit from Stella's yappy little dogs that William always despised. How much of a fire hazard and generally unsafe environment it was influenced his interest in fire safety as an adult.

His grandparents abused and neglected him frequently. Murderface was never given affection, positive reinforcement, encouragement of any kind really, and not an ounce of acceptance or interest in who he was. It was always expected that he do whatever they say without question.. else his grandfather would get The Belt.

Murderface lived in the basement of the home, which was surprisingly one of the least cluttered parts of the house. He had his own bathroom and living area down there, on top of his room, and he spent most of his youth in that cellar. He picked up his first guitar, acoustic, at age 13, and bought a bass at 15. He's been playing ever since.

His internalized homophobia was heavily fueled by his abusive upbringing, and generally unaccepting environment. Murderface knew there was something different about him, but he always overcompensated for his bisexuality by fixating on perving on women. His childhood room's walls and ceilings were plastered with cut outs from nudie mags and the Victoria Secret and Sear's catalogues by the time he was 15.

He was a chronic bedwetter until he was almost 10 years old, and the ridicule and beatings as punishment didn't exactly help him improve. Part of his fixation on urinating in inappropriate places may be fueled by this trauma.. not to mention the cause of the bedwetting itself stemmed from the abuse he suffered at their hands to begin with.

He joined Dethklok a few months after he turned 18, and was almost 19 when Toki joined af 16. They've been close friends since Toki joined, being the two youngest members of the band. Despite their arguing, it's a beneficial relationship.

Personally, I like to think the band is in a big polycule, but Murderface and Toki (Warface) is one of my main pairings.

NSFW BELOW THIS

LAST WARNING

His main kinks are BDSM, degradation, humiliation, impact-play, pet-play, bondage, edging, masochism, and body worship.

He can get overly excited from the smallest things. Just a gentle touch on his arm, looking at him a certain way— it all gets him going. He's big on physical touch, though he would never admit it, and not only desires affection but gives it constantly. He caresses, touches, and kisses at any chance given. In general, he's very needy. Especially during sex, he wants all of your attention and affection and gets very upset when he's denied.

Mostly the submissive type, but he can get in a mood sometimes where he just needs to fuck. And he can be very aggressive about it. Because he's likely much bigger than most partners he'd have, he can overpower easily and be pretty rough if he's in the mood for it. Spanking, choking, hitting, biting, etc are all on the table with him.

When he's in a subby mood (which is usually), he's a total brat until he's pushed to the edge. Defiant, snarky, and mouthy. He'll disobey orders, talk back, and generally be a disobedient slut. That is, until he's edged, teased, and overstimulated enough. He'll go from complaining to begging pretty damn quickly.

When it comes to his downstairs... William is excessively hairy everywhere, but especially in his pubic area. There's a thick nest of hair above the base of his dick, so dark brown its almost black. He's about 6 or so inches in length, but he has a pretty.. well, girthy one for lack of a better word. It has to be big enough to play bass with, after all.

Yea. He has calluses. On his cock. Its Murderface idk what you expected.

He won't admit it, but he loves being on bottom with male partners.

[ninyard]

Hey! Do you have specifics for your prompts? Do you want just one person or is a couple ok? If just one person could you do something with Seth? Maybe a what if he didn't die and got his shit together?

And if a couple Kevin and Seth getting along?

(I'm in my loving Seth era...)

Thank you for sharing your writing, you are awesome!

THANK YOU okay so here’s what I offer you: Seth survives and nobody believes him when he says he didn’t do it (but Kevin can’t live with himself if he doesn’t tell him he knows who did) TW: drugs, suicide mention, overdose

-

It was Halloween, and Seth was not stupid enough to think that the bar would be quiet. Wall to wall bodies in costumes, a fire hazard waiting to happen, he wasn’t even sure they would get in, but when the bouncer noticed him and Allison at the back of the line, he waved them up and let them go ahead. He was a decent guy like that. A larger man with a buzz cut, tattoos creeping up his neck, donning a pair of devil horns on his head for the night that was in it. He smiled at Seth when he entered the building.

It was his third drink in when he started to feel wrong. He chalked it up to too many sweaty people in one room, each ones body heat raising the temperature a few degrees. Only a minute after he noticed something felt wrong, did he really start to know that something was really wrong.

Allison had asked him if he was okay. He didn’t remember answering. One minute they were there, stood by a table they’d managed to squeeze their way over to, and the next he was sat on the cold and dusty sidewalk out the front, not enough cool air in the world enough to ease the growing nausea that grew from the pit in his stomach. “I feel like I’m coming up off a real fuckin’ bad pill.” At least, that’s what he thought he said, what he meant to say. He could barely hear his own voice, his neck not strong enough to hold up his head.

“Look at me, open your eyes.” Allison held his head in her hands. “Oh, your- what the fuck?” Seth wasn’t sure what she’d seen in his eyes, but her phone was in her hands, and then by her head, and then he woke up in the hospital two days later. For some reason he was surprised that Allison was still by his side, her hand wrapped so tightly around his, as if letting go would mean she would never hold it again. She didn’t look like she’d slept, or taken a break from crying, either, hair unkempt and out of her face, makeup non-existent. She was wearing his sweats with a hospital blanket across her lap, and she cried and kissed around the medical equipment when she finally got the courage to touch him. She was so gentle, like he would break; It felt like he would, more fragile than he’d been in a very, very long time.

Allison told him that he’d overdosed. His heart sank at that, disappointed in himself before he remembered that he hadn’t taken anything. Then he noticed the nurse sitting in the corner, who smiled his way. The psychiatric team came up not long after they were informed that he was awake. He was confused, but given his history, he wasn’t that surprised. He was surprised, however, when they told him what the concoction was that he’d overdosed on.

The blood test showed a toxic level of his anti-depressants, alongside traces of both heroin and painkillers that had been an opiate he favoured when he was actively using back in the day. He should’ve died. It was a miracle that somebody in the queue had naloxone in their bag, and they’d saved his life by administering it. He would never find out who they were, or why they’d helped him, but the consequences of surviving were much more painful that the death he would’ve never remembered anyway.

He wanted to die when Allison looked at him with tears in her eyes and whispered, “how could you do this to me?”, or when the psychiatry team asked him for the tenth time in an hour if he had plans of ending his life. He wanted to die when the nurses who had him on 24/7 suicide watch had to accompany him to the toilet, and when Dr. Dobson accompanied David to the hospital the day he was allowed to leave. They’d proposed an involuntary stay in a psych ward, but Betsy had managed to convince them to let him go.

Nobody wanted to hear it; somehow he’d overdosed on his own medication, and even when he counted out the pills and tried to prove that he hadn’t done it, nobody seemed to believe him. They only sent him this look of pity, as if a failed attempt was worse than a successful one, as if he was simply trying to cover for the fact it hadn’t worked. Allison tried her best to support him, but it was hard for her. She’d watched him seizing outside the bar, foaming at the mouth and choking on his own vomit. She’d sat in the ambulance as the paramedics resuscitated him the whole way to the hospital. Betsy told him she hadn’t left his side since he was admitted; and it was really difficult for her to watch him lying there with tubes and wires blocking her view. She’d broke down two days after they returned to campus, and begged him to just be honest, that there was no way he’d been coincidentally spiked with his own medication, one that had seizures at the top of the list of warnings. Even just doubling the dose of his meds had the potential to be fatal, and he knew that. He hadn’t been depressed for a long time. His meds worked, so much better than any of the others that he’d tried, and he wouldn’t have risked being taken off them by doing something so stupid for no reason at all. It felt as though he was being gaslit into believing he had in fact taken too many pills before leaving, but none of it made sense. He took his pills in the mornings. He had been clean from hard drugs for months. Even on the off-chance that he had taken a handful of the little circular pills, how did the heroin get there, the opiates he hadn’t touched in years?

He’d been curled up in a ball in the corner of the couch, alone in the dorm when a knock came at the door. It was no more than two weeks after the incident, and he’d just returned from a session with Betsy. He didn’t respond to the knock, but kept his eye on the door as it creaked open. The last person he expected to see peeking around it was Kevin, but there he was. He shut the door behind him and sat on the opposite side of the couch. If he tried to sit any further away, he would’ve fallen off.

“I’m not interested, man.” Seth glared at him. “Fuck your game, and fuck you if you’ve really just come in here to ask me to come back to practice.”

Kevin sighed and looked away. “That’s not why I’m here.” His hands were clasped together on his lap, thumb running over the opposite hands knuckles. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Seth snorted and threw his head back. “Yeah, right, asshole. You don’t give a shit.”

“Did you do it?” Kevin had paused for a second before blurting out the question. His eyes searched Seth’s for the truth, with his shoulders practically touching his ears and hands locked together as he stopped himself from fidgeting.

He laughed again, shifting positions so he was better facing him. His voice turned serious, and he pointed towards the door. “Leave my room.”

“I’ll believe whatever you say, I just have to know.”

“Oh, you have to, do you?” He said. He was angry, and after a draining session with Betsy, he couldn’t handle another person insinuating he was lying. “You don’t deserve a fucking thing. None of you do. Stop looking at me like that. Tell them all to stop fucking looking at me like that.”

“We’ve not friends, Seth, and I don’t give a shit about your history. But I know you didn’t do this.” Kevin considered his words. “Because I think that… If you didn’t do this to yourself, man, I think I know who did.”

Seth froze and sat up, far more alert than he’d been in days. “How dare you, you pretentious piece of shit? How fuckin’ dare you? Are you going to give a status report back to your little toddler squad, is that what this is? Finally your fucking…” He mimicked dangling something in front of his face. “Ammo? Something you have over me?”

“I get it.” Kevin didn’t look back to him. “I don’t blame you for not trusting me.”

“I haven’t trusted your crippled ass since the day we met.” Seth leaned forward. “But humour me, then. Who somehow knows exactly what meds my crazy ass is on, and tried to murder me in a packed bar, busiest night of the week? Because your explanation is bound to be better than mine.”

“I owe it to you to let you know.” Kevin lowered his voice. “But I can’t explain it. I just have to tell you that I think it was Riko.”

“Fuck off, now, or I’ll start screaming.” Seth was frustrated, feeling like the butt of a joke, feeling like Kevin was just trying to stab another dart into a board that was already full. “This is not a fucking joke. Al has to give me my pills because nobody trusts me with them right now. The shrink calls me twice a day. Everyone is so fuckin’ disappointed in me, man, I could’ve died, and you’re telling me your little bestie over there did it? You’re a coward, Kevin. You’re a fucking liar and a fucking coward.”

Kevin held up his scarred hand as if that was explanatation enough. “Neil humiliated him on live TV. He wouldn’t think twice about killing someone to get back at him. You’re an easy target.”

In all the chaos that had ensued, he’d forgotten about what Neil had said on Kathy’s show. None of it made sense to him, why he would be an easy target out of all of them, why, if Riko was capable of such a thing, he would go after him and not Neil himself. As if reading his mind, Kevin continued. “Neil’s too public now. He couldn’t have done it to him.”

“Who else believes this shit?”

Kevin held back on whatever he really knew, and settled for, “Anyone who understands it, agrees with me.”

“Explain it to me like I’m a helpless little kid.” Seth said, straight faced and seething. “Tell me how it could have possibly been him.”

“Did they check you for track marks?” Seth shook his head, but in all honesty, he wasn’t sure. They’d seen the evidence of his pills in his system, and his charts said he was a past user. They didn’t have to, really. Everything they needed to know was right there in his blood work. “If you have a prescription out there, it’s not that hard to find out your meds. You wouldn’t even feel a needle through your clothes with so many people around you. Mix it with your drugs of choice and nobody is going to believe that you didn’t do it yourself.”

“You’re joking.” Seth repeated again, disbelief at how serious Kevin was, at how his face sunk as he spoke, how his eyes trailed off somewhere into the distance while he explained. “And you really believe that?” Kevin nodded. It was infuriating to Seth to finally hear something so outlandish still that actually made a little bit of sense. He knew himself he hadn’t done it, so why was it so hard to believe it had actually been someone else? It hadn’t happened by the grace of God. Somehow the drugs had gotten into his system, and by the amount they’d found, they hadn’t been there long before he’d lost consciousness. So he’d been spiked in the bar. It also made an annoying amount of sense that he’d been poked by a needle and not had something sprinkled into his drink, because Allison had been across from him the whole time they were there. She was smart with her drinks in that way, and she was always aware of wandering hands near their beverages. She would’ve noticed. “So he fuckin’ failed, then. What happens next? He’s gonna just, what, try again?”

“I don’t know.” He said. “I just had to let you know. You’ve been going crazy in here trying to understand it.”

“If I mention your theory to anyone other than your little gang, they’ll fuckin’ have me committed. They’re just waiting for an excuse.” Seth rested his head on his knees, his feet up on the couch. “Nobody is going to actually believe this other than you, you know that, right?”

“I’m sorry.” Kevin’s voice was small. “And for what it’s worth, I know what Riko is like, and you’re just a meaningless pawn in his game. I don’t see you that way. I don’t hate you like you think I do.”

“Don’t push it.” Seth grimaced. “You only tolerate me because your lineup can’t handle the loss of another body.”

“Maybe.” Kevin admitted, and Seth laughed, because he didn’t even try to hide that it was the truth. He didn’t say much else before nodding at Seth and leaving the room, and suddenly Seth felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulder and quickly replaced by another, heavier tonne of bricks. He hated Neil, he hated Kevin, he hated Riko. If it was the truth, if it really was him who’d orchestrated this whole thing, he’d fucked with his life in ways he didn’t even understand. He had people he cared about in his life, people he wanted to live for, but Riko was happy to ruin it all, all for the sake of petty revenge. For a week he’d been in some sort of state between withdrawals and a heavy craving to fall back into a hole he’d assumed he’d crawled out of for good. Nobody trusted him, and everyone looked at him differently, no matter how much they tried to hide it. He looked at himself differently, a brush with death an untimely reminder that his life was finite. He’d avoided death too many times, and his chances had to have finally been depleted. Riko didn’t know what he’d done to Seth’s bare minimum instinct of survival by fucking up and letting him live.

He had looked Kevin in the eye, as the only one who seemed to understand him when he felt like screaming from the rooftops it wasn’t fucking me! Kevin who he’d despised since the first time he opened his mouth, Kevin who was too good for them all, full of himself, in love with himself; he’d felt so alone since waking up in that hospital, and God, did it feel terrible that Kevin Day was the one person who seemed to understand.

[vixendoesstuff]

So. Transformers.

AAAAAAAAA-

So I got some OC ideas for this godforsaken fandom yipee. Not sure which continuity these guys will be in since I haven't got into them yet (I've only been exposed to the Bayverse, Earthspark and Prime (not the entire Alligned continuity)). But I think, with the ideas I have for them right now, they lean more towards Prime specifically. But as I get deeper into this robot rabbit hole, I'll make them more flexible so that they can exist in other incarnations. Probably.

But anyway, I'll be putting them in bullet points 'cause these plans aren't concrete yet. So here goes:

H-055/Hurricane/Horizon

Name is undecided, but it starts with an H

I'll probably change it if I somehow find a character with the exact same names, I know the series has loads of 'em

But anyway

He's a Decepticon turned rouge then turned Autobot once he meets the gang

Due to some events happening with the 'Cons, he ran away, declaring himself a deserter

He's based on a helicopter vehicle

Probably some fancy space lookin' helicopter before he got a makeover when he visits Earth (this is important)

I'm not sure yet on what his Alt-Mode's exact model will be, but it's either something like this (Sikorsky X2):

Or this (Sikorsky UH-60 Blackhawk):

Either way he's a helicopter boi

And he's moderately fast. Not as fast as the jet planes, but he's somewhat speedy

His role in the army was mostly cargo lifting, he's not much involved in the fight unless absolutely necessary

So in terms of personality, he's definitely textbook introvert

He'd rather stick to the sidelines than lead, so when it comes to task he's somewhat reliable

At the start, he can be kind of aloof and cold, but it's not intentional; he just doesn't know how to set up a proper conversation

In other words he's socially awkward

And he's somewhat infamous for looking one second away from falling to sleep; guy got eyebags (can robots have eyebags? Or is it optic-bags?) and moves kinda slow when not in combat, and and talks very softly

He takes a lot of naps, but the feeling of lethargy remains

Probably why his role in the army is not one of combat

But he's hella loyal, and very caring to those who earned his affections

Just try to remind him to take a break before he falls into pieces lol

Now, moving on to the next OC idea:

V-V0X/Velocity/Boombox

Name is also undecided, but it's one of those two

But anyway

He's an Autobot who specializes in support, where he essentially acts as a debuffer for the front liners, stunning enemies and creating hazards to make an opening for the army

That's the best way I can explain it

Anyway

For what vehicle he's based on, I'm still deciding on what kind; initially I wanted him to be a sports car, but then I was thinking of a pickup truck or a tow truck of some kind

Maybe something like this (Chevrolet Silverado):

Just like before, his Alt-Mode is possibly some futuristic looking car similiar to the picture above until he got a new make over

Anyway, onto personality

Hmmm

Best way I can describe him is that he's basically Pandreo from Fire Emblem, but more subdued

He's not as cheery as, say, Bumblebee or Jazz or Hot Rod or any other energetic character in their many incarnations, he's still noticeably lively

He has difficulties reading the room, especially when he's excited, so maybe that's why he's called rude

But nah man, he just wanna have fun

But he's also kinda scared of authority? In a way? I don't know how to describe it, but he'll get kind of scared when in the presence of someone like Optimus Prime and even Megatron

Just basically people with a noticeable air of authority around them

Heck, maybe he'll even be scared of someone like Ratchet or Bumblebee, even

Even with that, he cares alot for his friends, he'll try and comfort them in whatever ways he can, like music

This guy really loves music, especially when he encounters Earth music

He's definitely the type of guy to jam to some rock music with an air guitar all obnoxiously lol

Conclusion; he babey

Alright, that's all I have. For each of their lore, I'm still trying to work the kinks out, 'cause WOW Transformers has so many things I didn't even know about. Like, Velocitron, Praxus, Kaon, and all that jazz (heh)? Titans? Predacons? Eukarians? I don't even know at this point lol.

But anyway.

So like I mentioned before, these 2 guys' story will primarily take place in the Prime universe (or the Alligned universe, I guess) since that's what I'm most familiar with for now. The gist of it is;

Hurricane runs away from the 'Cons, Velocity gives chase, they both crash landed onto Earth at different times with Hurricane being the first to enter, when they found each other they got damaged badly by an intense hurricane (which is where Hurricane got his name from), they got found by their designated human partner and got fixed up, some plot happens, they all bond, Hurricane decides to join the Autobots, and he and Velocity leaves their human to keep them safe and to explore the world as they search for more Autobots together.

And also they fell in love and became Conjux's together, I don't make the rules.

Also also they landed in Florida. Just because.

That's all I got for now, I'll make another post once I got more stuff for them, like their lore and all tht stuff. Until then, take care!

[speedlimit15]

my mom and uncle spent time unhoarding my grandparents’ garage in preparation for my arrival/putting the house on the market and my mom kept telling me i wouldn’t believe how bad it was

but she forgets that when i was growing up, we’d at least spend a few weeks every year (and she sent me to live permanently as a teen) in their original house, which had all the living spaces hoarded that way for decades, no walking room fire hazard can’t see the walls or floor at a time. they had 15+ cats at any given moment and some of them lived in their own specific rooms. like i’m realizing my mom had no idea how bad it was maybe? because they didn’t start really hoarding until she’d gone to college. i lived in an upstairs room with just a pullout couch and floor to ceiling stacks of books and magazines and a huge whirring pc somewhere with a singular footpath to access it and it smelled like cat piss and litter and that was my summer fun and junior year. maybe they really didn’t know how bad it was bc they only ever used an intercom system to talk to me (the stairs were too steep for my grandmother to climb safely and my granddad did not acknowledge his mess and collection as an issue). okay well typing this out makes me feel like i was a zoo animal anywayayyyyyayayay DONT tell me i wouldn’t believe something i’ve seen a million times

[misty-lake101]

Live and Learn AU - Headcanons

Hey guys! I haven't updated Live and Learn for moment cause life has been so busy and now I have COVID which absolutely sucks! But I am trying to work on the next few chapters. I'm not sure how long it will be, but until then, I thought I'd give y'all some headcanons in the meantime! They mainly pertain to everyone's career choices and house habits so you'll get an idea of their dynamic.

Sonic - Major: Sports Communication

Sonic cannot cook. Period. All of his roommates agree that leaving him unsupervised in the kitchen is a fire hazard. He tends to order takeout more and microwaves leftovers. But as he got older and was forced to manage his money a little more, he did learn a few basic things at least. The fact that he’s on a meal plan with the college helps as there are some places that serve decent food. Given how athletic he is, It’s a wonder he’s managed to stay healthy this whole time.

He’s also a huge slob. His room is a disaster and he’s the type to just throw his clothes on the floor when he gets back, and then toss it in the laundry at the last minute. He's also that person who can easily find items in a messy room, but feels lost when the place is sparkling clean.

Sonic and Shadow were on rival sports teams in high school. They didn’t see each other for awhile after graduation, but then meet again when Shadow transfers to GMU and becomes their roommate.

Silver - Major: Pre-medicine

Grew up in foster care, and therefore not used to treating a place like his own home. He used to always have a mindset of ‘I'm in someone else’s house and have to follow their rules’. Moving in with Sonic changed that for the better, of course. But of all the inhabitants, he is the most flexible as far as habits go. Like Sonic, his own room can get pretty messy, but he's more conscious of others and therefore a little better at keeping common spaces clean.

He mostly relies on his college’s meal plan but over time, is trying to learn how to cook. He's pretty bad at it too, but it's more because no one taught him anything. Espio uses his restaurant job to his advantage to help him in this area.

His sleep cycle can be a mess since he works night shift for his job. Keeping days of the week and dates straight is often a challenge and he often has to be reminded that no, it's Saturday morning - not Friday night. His daily routine depends on his class/work schedule or what he feels like doing that day. Without that as some kind of structure, he can have almost no concept of time

Shadow - Forensics, but at some point, Undecided

Being in military school and having a strict guardian as well as a chronically ill and severely immunocompromised sister resulted in some extreme habits for Shadow.

He is the epitome of a neat freak. Every nook and corner of the house will be subject to a good vacuuming and mopping if he can help it. He’s an early riser and has a specific morning routine. Comically, these things end up being a source of conflict between him and Sonic when he first moves in.

Unlike Sonic and Silver, Shadow is very good at cooking and becomes the de-facto chef of the house. He's very adept at everything from basic to gourmet meals and knows how to tailor in dietary restrictions of all kinds. He also won't allow anyone but Amy to help him out in the kitchen.

Amy - Nursing, but is thinking of changing her career

At the start of the story, Amy's life was a bit of a mess before she moved in with Sonic and Silver. She lived with three girls in another house and they were generally pretty awful to her, as was her boyfriend. After thirteen months of that, she moved out early when the stress reached a boiling point.

Yet in terms of house habits, she (and to a certain extent, Silver too) is the obligatory "how am I the most normal one here???"

She generally gets along with everyone. Though she and Sonic dated briefly in school, there's no bad blood between them and they're good friends. She bonds very quickly with Silver since they're both in the medical field and can understand each other's struggles that are unique to that career. Silver also looks to her a lot for dating advice. Amy has a pretty civil relationship with Shadow and they gradually become very good friends as well.

Her house habits don't really have anything too extraordinary about them. She's pretty good with cleaning up after her self and is flexible with others. Amy's expectations aren't very high beyond, "please clean up after yourself" and "don't do the nasty in shared spaces and leave 'evidence' of it".

When Shadow first moved in, he and Sonic would bicker a lot. Amy did her best to stay out of it, but there were times she had to intervene. When this happened, she and Silver would take turns deciding who would be the one to break them up.

[avernusfuries]

The really fun thing about being friends with @spiderwarden is that the things we spoke about before, can be used for meta. Thank you, Melody, for being gracious enough to allow me to use the tags of this post.

Now, we all know Karlach as our happy-go-lucky, kind and caring friend / lover who we would destroy entire worlds for, but I think something that gets briefly looked over on occasion is the fact that she is used to being in danger. Constantly. It shows in her eyes, most of all, when we look past some of her body language. Everyone's eyes move because they are taking in their surroundings, and being able to assess the dangers / people around her based on what's in front of her and in her peripherals. This is something of second nature to her because she spent ten years being in constant peril.

This has given her a somewhat predatory nature when it comes to her environment, and how she can almost immediately assess what's where in a room from sight and sound alone. This goes hand-in-hand, also with the danger sense feature that is offered by barbarians as they level. She can quite literally pick out when something is a little off just from stepping into a room. Threat assessment is as natural as breathing and she doesn't need to specifically look around to know when something is fishy or where people / creatures are.

After all, despite how friendly and open she is, she was used as a weapon and old habits are trecherously hard to kick, especially when you've done all you can to survive.

While Karlach spent a good portion of her young adult years in service of Enver as his bodyguard, she did not develop these skills as his bodyguard. While I personally headcanon that she excelled at that (he's alive, ain't he), there was actually very little outside of thugs and the occasional assassin (probably, this notion may change when I'm done researching), they were very easily disposed of in comparison to what Avernus threw at her. Avernus was an experience all on her own. While no stranger to the occasional scar, the most notable of which, before she was sold to Zariel, is seen in the gifset about.

Trivial, minor scars that come from the life she led before the hells. Hazards of the job, really.

Karlach's most notable scars are the burn marks over her shoulders and upper torso. While I like the idea of them being from the actual fighting, in actuality it was likely from the initial installation of the infernal engine that replaced her heart. Chances are, they did not quite realise that that much heat needed somewhere to go, and I mention this because that particular burn scar is localised around where they've littered the vents to let out steam.

Literal trial and error (maybe trial by fire huehuehue). The infernal engine scorching her like that is what led to her not only having vents installed, but the eventual inclusion of a similarly crafted slot where they would have given her soul coins to juice her up.

We can also see that the vents are on both shoulders, and the backs of them. This was likely their notion of protecting their "investment" with a little more of a careful hand. A dead champion is not a good champion.

This, she thought at the time, is all her life would be. A series of upgrades that would sculpt her into what Zariel wanted her to be as her hard-bought champion.

Now, if we look carefully at her arms and stomach, those are scars I think she got when she was actually fighting. The endlessness of the war does come with its price, and the fact that she has no fresh ones? Shows that not only did she do what she did to survive, but the fact that she was good at what she did.

[baelpenrose]

Project Praetorian 35: After the Battle

The kids recover from their first major battle, cuddling, recovering from wounds, and talking in the dorms after the fight. It also features discussions of where, specifically, they want to go, what they want to do with their magnificent hazard pay. Beta-read by @canyouhearthelight.

Molly 

She clutched the steaming cup of hot cocoa as she shuddered under the blanket on the battered couch in the dorm. The team hadn’t really “debriefed” after combat - or more accurately, Mark, Echo and Xavier had, and had staggered off to go do an in-person debrief while Jonathan physically carried the other, more exhausted kids back to the dorm, where Casey had thrown a kettle on for tea and cocoa, changed into her customary ‘at home’ long skirt, and grabbed blankets out of the sleeping quarters, with Shiloh and Jonathan helping her.

They’d shared a fuller decontam shower than they’d all had in the field, before that started, but those not forced to attend a meeting were now huddled together, shivering in their sweats, in the dorm. The TV wasn’t on - no one could remember, through the brain fog, where the remote was.

Molly was still looking at her hands - her fingers were calloused from pulling the trigger of her weapon, and for just a moment she thought she could still see blood on them from when Shiloh had asked her to put pressure on something - a wounded trooper who was wounded by shrapnel from an exploding rock, which had allowed that man to be saved without Shiloh exhausting themself.

How long had she been here? The spa day had been last Tuesday, maybe, her fingernails were back to their normal…Then, she saw her feet, and realized that her toenails were still painted, and it abruptly clicked for her that the spa day had been this Tuesday.

The battle had been Friday.

Casey tried to force herself to her feet as the kettle started whistling, but Vergil stopped her, standing up, shakily, to walk over to the tiny kitchen of the dorms, with Jonathan joining him, ever the steadiest of the bunch. They retrieved the tea, Vergil quietly asking who wanted what, and then refilling the kettle and setting it back on for when Mark, Xavier, and Echo got back from their officer’s briefing. 

It wasn’t long before they did, and Mark slumped down on the couch, holding Casey’s unwounded side. She shifted her legs to make room for him, leaning her head against his shoulder as he took deep breaths to try to steady himself. The doctor on the base had determined he’d be under observation and bedrest for a few days, since it turned out he’d caused himself several cardiac microevents during the fighting when he’d cut loose. One of his hands was burned - he apparently hadn’t noticed, and wasn’t having it healed. Something to do with the fact that his heart wasn’t in good enough condition to undergo surgery to get skin grafts yet, and he was willing to wait for Shiloh to recover enough to heal him - the healer was still exhausted, bags under their pale eyes.

“Anyone want to watch a…?” Echo started, her eyes practically crossed. “Where’s the remote? I can’t…I can’t turn it on for us. Brain’s too scrambled from fucking around with the alien computer…”

Molly glanced around, feeling helpless, useless. “What…what are we supposed to do?”

Echo put a hand out. “Mostly just supporting each other, but I don’t really…”

Mark grunted. “We all kicked ass…” He started uncertainly. “And hey, we proved we could survive a head on battle. That’s…pretty hardcore.”

Casey made an unenthusiastic “yay’ sound but didn’t move her head off Mark’s shoulder. 

Xavier took a breath. “We proved that Shiloh can in fact keep us all alive under fire? That Molly can breach their shields? Actually that’s something worth noting - Molly can’t blow up their guns in their hands but she can make their shields stop working. That’s pretty spectacular to know.”

There was a long quiet and Molly squirmed. She couldn’t actually protect - just make them able to kill their enemies faster. Echo groaned. “No more talking about war, right now. Can we…look. Uh…Okay. Ask something else, anything else?” 

“If we could blackmail them into letting us have a pet on base, what would we want?” Vergil made the suggestion, sounding uncertain. 

“I love dogs,” Casey replied, quietly. “I miss my golden retriever. It’s just nice, having something big and friendly, super excited to see you come home.”

Jonathan shook his head. “Nah. Too many bad memories of big dogs. And the little ones are way too loud. Maybe a cat though. They’re quiet, soft, sweet…”

Mark nodded. “Yeah, cats are really good. They’re smart, too, lot of personality.”

Molly shook her head. “I want to like cats so badly but I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to them. Every time I went over to a friend’s house who had one I kept getting hives.”

“Yeah that pretty much adds up to allergy. What about a rat?” Everyone turned to look at Vergil.

“Say what?”

“No, really! One of the homes I was in had one, it was named Marshmallow and it was super cute.”

Echo started laughing. “That’s wild, but…Eh, my little sister was always saying she wanted a snake or something so I can’t judge. Wait, though. I think weird pets are probably harder here.”

That brought everyone down for a moment. “Yeah,” Casey said, darkly. “If we got something weird, there’s no way it wouldn’t be used against us. I don’t know that a cat or a dog wouldn’t.”

“Easier or at least cheaper to threaten an animal than our families all the time. Rather not give them the leverage.” Mark’s voice was bleak. “Change the topic again. We’re getting a ton of money - like, actually, a ton. So much. Yeah, it’s sorta a hush money deal but we’re gonna be set if we survive. What do you guys want to do with your money after the war? Like, that plus hero status, we’ve got, ‘go anywhere, do anything’ kinds of access.”

Jonathan thought about it. “I want a big house. Built big and heavy enough that I can’t break it by accident. Plenty of room if I ever have kids. A pool in the backyard - and a big backyard so I have plenty of space. Some form of fences, though. So I can keep out people who want to take pictures of me. If we’re gonna be famous I don’t want to deal with people taking pictures or wondering when I’m getting spied on, like I did back when my family lived out of a van. Maybe…Oh, I’d want a fast car. I’m…” He trailed off. “Honestly, I haven’t…really thought about it. I’ll…probably have to talk about that with Leon, won’t I?” He trailed off, anxiously.

Shiloh shook their head and signed. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I want something similar. I thought maybe I wanted to travel, but we’re gonna see most of the world with or without a passport because of this. Maybe I want to go to college for something I pick rather than to be a better medic, but I don’t know what I want to study yet - or, maybe I’d rather just fuck off. Get some rig, go on the road, travel wherever I felt like and pay the way with free medical care provided via my powers. Or maybe build myself some big ass fortress in the middle of nowhere where there isn’t so much overstimulating shit and I don’t have to deal with anyone but you guys ever again.” 

Molly waited til that was rendered to her via translation - she was still learning ASL, and was surprised by how quickly everyone else around here had apparently picked it up. “I mean…doesn’t anyone want to…see the world when it isn’t in flames? We’re only going to tour it as part of a military unit, wouldn’t it be nice to see it after the war?”

There was a long pause, then Molly added on. “I mean. I want to travel. I want to keep being a musician, after the war. Maybe go on tour, or…I don’t know, build some big memorial concert hall for Tanglewood?” Molly thought about the fires, thought about Annette. She’d seen the news footage - how the fires had raged hard enough to destroy the evidence, and she was fairly sure that Imperator had disposed of the evidence of the clash.

“Tanglewood - that was the place that…oh, wait, right, happy thoughts. Uh…” Mark was thinking. “Honestly, I don’t know what I want? I do want a house big enough for kids, but I think that I’d…after the war is over, I probably want to spend time figuring myself out first. Maybe traveling for a while, with whoever I’m with, and trying to push on our postwar vision, before I settle down. College, probably, maybe buy my way to a seat in office…” He shook his head. “Wait, no. I think…I think a lot of my wealth will probably go into helping impacted communities, and I can get into office by fame alone, at that point. I…”  Molly saw him break off again, though whether it was from exhaustion or because he was thinking she couldn’t tell. “I don’t know how long I’d want to stay in office. I think after all this, I’d probably…I mean, real talk, who am I going to be able to be with but another Praetorian? Who else is going to understand what we’ve been through? I don’t necessarily want to leave that person watching the kids or facing anything alone, not after all this, because I want kids, I think, and I don’t want to be shut up in an office. Oh, and buy my family a nicer place.”

Echo shrugged. “I want to go get my sister. Maybe teach people, but if we’re all going with what we want just for us…Big house, like Jonathan - probably out in the countryside. I don’t want to be so close to a million computers after all this shit - want appliances that don’t try to talk to me now. Probably could stand to live pretty close to the big guy, though - help him out if he needed some techie shit done, get him to help me if I needed my oil changed and I didn’t want to go to a mechanic for a car jack. Set us both up with some nice network for surround sound. I don’t know, I feel like my little sister always felt safer when we had friends or cousins around, so I’d want to be close to at least one of you, and it seems like he’s going for the closest to what I want. Have you guys over for barbecue or drinks, have all your little kids over to swim if I could handle the noise, stay up swapping war stories when I could stand it and doing anything else when I couldn’t. I don’t know, maybe a fashion tour or two, but with the kind of screening keeps people the fuck out of the parts of my life that I don’t want them in.”

Molly could see Jonathan blush crimson, and she glanced between Mark and Casey, then Xavier…she wondered who else made plans to stick close after the war. Vergil clearly had it on his mind too, since he blurted, “Wait. Aren’t we all sticking together after the war?”

“I mean, are we all gonna live together, probably not. Are we all going to stay in contact for the rest of our lives, and probably charter private planes, or just captured alien craft we seized as personal war trophies to go visit each other? Yes. Actually,” Mark said, exhausted. “Fuck it, I draw officer pay. Add ‘giant ass mansion we can paint the Praetorian insignia on that is free to use for any of us and we can all stay in’ to my shopping list.”

Vergil blinked. “Heh. I mean…somewhere quiet, maybe? But I…Yeah, I want a big family. I want somewhere close. And while I’m at it, I need to get myself a fast car, and maybe hurry up and seize an alien speeder so I can visit you guys, and make sure you don’t go anywhere on me.”

“Alright, Verg gets first dibs on the first alien speeder we capture and are allowed to claim! Everyone got that?” Everyone chuckled. 

Then Vergil kept going, and Molly realized what crowd she was in. “But…I actually do want to have somewhere I can settle down. Not necessarily somewhere fancy, but somewhere permanent. I mean, I’m a sniper, so odds are I’ll be bagging a lot of what Curtis calls ‘high-value targets’ so maybe a few bonuses here and there. I’ll chip in on the big Casa Praetorian.”

Casey shifted. “What about college? Think you’ll go?”

Vergil paused. “Yeah, sure. Now that I’ll have the option, why not?”

Xavier shrugged. “I dunno, man, college isn’t for everyone. I figure…big car, probably don’t want a big house, actually. Given this powerset, don’t want somewhere with huge acoustics. Or…actually, yeah, big house, but in the city. One for my family, and a few for my cousins, too. I want speakers, I want a slick car, and I’m keeping you all on speed dial. Visits, bringing you all in for cookouts, and oh, yeah, a rack full of hardware I take home from the war. Because after the way I got here, I feel like that much money just appearing is gonna require some explaining to the police. Or maybe it won’t, by then.” He grinned. “Maybe we’ll be so famous no one questions it.” Waving that thought away, he continued, “Pool, gamer pad, home theater, quiet room for if certain people want to visit,” this was with a glance at Shiloh and Vergil. “That kind of scene. I do want to travel though - I really want to check out the world, after we’re done with it. Probably going to go to college, study. If we’re taking over, we gotta know how to do it.” 

Molly wondered nervously why so many of her new friends were chuckling at the idea of a fight with the police - but admitted that Xavier’s set up sounded really nice. 

Casey

Casey shifted. “Uh…I want a place big enough for you guys to come over, and for…I want kids. I probably want to give a lot of the money to charity, or to making sure I can manage things for my family…”

“No, come on,” said Mark. “We already agreed this is what each of us wants just for ourselves. You can say you’re going to use the money for charity if what you want is something you can get out of just being famous.” 

Casey blushed. She wanted something for herself, didn’t she? “A…place for my family. I want to make sure me and my siblings can all go to college.” 

“What’s your place going to look like, aside from just…big? What’s it going to have in it?” 

“Uh…Bunch of bedrooms. Huge kitchen - I know you guys are gonna make fun but I actually like cooking - um….” What did she want?

“Wait, what are you going to go to college for?” Echo asked.

“I think I already said, social work, back when we were on the camping trip.” 

“No, you said you were gonna parley your influence to make the system better for kids like Vergil, you didn’t say you were gonna go to college to study it. Big difference. Is that actually what you wanna do?” 

Casey felt trapped. “Why didn’t you guys drill Mark or Xavier when they said they wanted to go into politics?” 

Shiloh started signing. “Because Mark visibly loves the game, and he’s good at it. Him wanting to do something he’s passionate about, even for a little while, doesn’t change that he’s doing it for him. Xavier, same deal. You’re not really saying anything that seems like you love it all that much.” 

“What do you mean? I love doing…” She froze. She liked helping. Right? She was really good at it. She’d been doing it forever. 

“If you want kids and need to help at the same time you could adopt,” Vergil started to say before an offhand cuff from Echo stopped him.

“Good idea, not the time. Casey, what is it you actually want? Like for yourself? You actually want kids?” 

She nodded. She did want that, some day - but probably not a bunch, not like her parents had had. Too many kids meant not enough attention for each of them. 

“Okay, what about a house - city, country, where?” 

“Either - but I want room for the kids to run around, and I want them to be able to go to a friends’ house, without necessarily needing to be driven. Uh…I don’t want to be bugged by guys with cameras all the time.”

Mark added in, “You said you wanted a big kitchen. What other kinds of things did you want in the house? Pool? Garden?”

“Yes, both. Den - maybe a real fireplace. I don’t know, I kinda like the old school fireplaces. They look so cozy.”

“And…what kind of big kitchen?”

“Honestly? Uh…Six burner gas stove, built in griddle. Double fridge. Top-of-the-line appliances. Good oven, like professional quality.” 

“Damn. Okay, you really like cooking.” 

“I do, yeah.” She flushed. “Uh…”

“For the amount of time you spend trying to fit some kind of femininity into your wardrobe, guessing a big closet?” Echo probed. 

“Yes! With lots of soft dresses, pretty ones. Pockets. Uhm. Sandals and flats or heels, or like, decorative boots rather than the brutal stompy combat ones.”

“See, now you’re getting there. What kind of car?” Mark pushed, just a little.

“Hm…Honestly, for day to day I’d want something practical, maybe an SUV for family stuff, but at this point,” she added, “maybe I want something fast for me, or maybe I want a captured speeder. I don’t know yet. Something fast that lets me visit you guys, or just lets me travel wherever I want and be back in time to do what I need.” 

“Camry for the family, war loot speeder for Casey.” Xavier grinned. “Sounds about right, okay.” 

Casey blushed. “Alright, point taken.” She leaned back into Mark. He suddenly whispered, “Ever thought about a firepit in your backyard? Not like there’s anyone safer to have one?”

She grinned, then winced - her wounded arm was aching again. “Yeah, that’d be good. Hey, could you move your hand just a little - thanks.”

Shiloh started standing up and Casey shook her head. “No need,” she signed - “you told me after you healed it it’d ache for a bit. It’s just doing that, is all.” 

“Hey, so once we’re healed up a little bit,” Casey said, “Like, Mark’s not on bedrest, and all that. Anyone want to cook a meal together? Big group dinner, just us?”

“Wait until your arm stops burning,” Shiloh signed. “Seriously. But yeah, sounds good.” 

[pjunicornart]

Rainbow Milo

Sooooo I lied. Bubblegum isn't the last Scout. :P In fact Rainbow here isn't even the last Scout, he's second to last!

Bio: Rainbow - along with Pajama - was created by Rosey on a whim. He's the youngest out of all the Scouts, and he's certainly treated like it. His family means well, but they mostly forget that he's 18 now, and can hold his own. "His own" is a disaster child with magic that's coded by colors. His family's just gotta let him do his own thing.

Basic Info Nicknames: Rain, Bow, BB, Shorty (by Rosey only) Age: 18 Height: 5'3" Gender Identity: Transgender (FTM, he/him) Sexual Orientation: Homosexual Medical Issues: Autism, Allergies (dust and pollen), Anxiety Can't Leave the House Without: Backpack, phone, snacks, fidget toys, hand sanitizer, tissues

Relationships Rosey - Mother, very good Candy - Sibling, doesn't treat him like a kid Studio - Sibling, distant Cupcake - Sibling, jealous of his rainbow ability Bubblegum - Sibling, finds him annoying Pajama - Sibling, still trying to break the habit of babying him

Powers Red - Summons a small fire tornado to burn what's in his way. Orange - Allows him to shrink himself down for a limited amount of time. Can be used to make quick escapes. Yellow - Short circuit. This ability only works on cybernetic enemies, and it's not practical to use in most settings. It causes enemies to malfunction. Green - Scope. It allows him to basically zoom in and out with his vision, and it helps him eye fair away targets. This also lets him see heat signatures if prompted. Blue - Icy tips. Anything he touches will immediately become encased in ice. Purple - Allows him to spit out sticks of dynamite. Don't question it... Pink - Creates arrows that can be used as projectiles. Black - Teleportation. Only works for a few feet. White - Causes him to sprout a pair of angel-like wings, which he can either use as a shield or to fly. This ability doesn't last long. Rainbow - Cake for everybody!

Miscellaneous Little Facts - His design is inspired by many Weirdcore/Kidcore looks that I've stumbled upon. - His chaotic color coded magic is inspired by the TF2 Freak named Weaselcake. - If I had to choose one specific song for him to be inspired by, it would be "Still Time 4 Jammin'" by General Mumble ft. 4lung. - He's had meltdowns because he didn't know where his backpack was before. - Speaking of, his backpack is magical. Whatever he needs, he can pull it out of there. - Rainbow loves more hardcore music. Like Breakcore. - You'll know what color magic he's about to use by the color of his fingertips. Too bad he keeps those covered... oh well. - He hates parties, and by extension surprises. - Rainbow is a huge crybaby. - His design was also designed to be a contrast of light and bright colors. - When he's really excited, he'll stamp his feet in place. - He wants a pet. He's not sure what type of pet, though... - He doesn't have much control over his powers yet... so in battle it's not uncommon for him to use the completely wrong attack. - His love language is very much physical. He loves snuggles. - His odd obsession is collecting interesting hazard signs from various universes. He likes to hang them up in his room. - Cold or hot, he'll wear a onesie if he fucking wants to, damn it! - He prefers tortilla chips over potato chips. - Rainbow watches all types of TV, but he especially loves cartoons. - He doesn't leave the house often. He likes to stay at home, chilling out on the couch in comfy clothes watching TV. - Rainbow feels touch starved after a period of time, and so will seek out hugs from his family. Mostly from his mother. - Rainbow has a deathly fear of bugs, and he will scream if he sees one. - The hearts on his cheeks are just stickers, and he has a lot of colors to choose from. - He doesn't like adventuring. When he's asked to go out on a mission it'll be met with an "Ugh" from him.

Hey! Go check out Rainbow's family, too! Candy... Studio... Cupcake... Bubblegum... Pajama... Rosey...