#that’s so fucked up. how does tack not bring that up ever

[tackrusso]

every so often i am plagued by the question of tack’s mother

[bi-writes]

the new baby you take care of is the cutest baby you've ever met. (a lil dubcon, baby trapping, 18+)

he has a big head with a tuff of little blond waves, and he has the brightest brown eyes in the entire world. he smiles at every face you make at him, and he takes a bottle like a champ and will nap for hours as long as you're quiet.

his father has a strict schedule set for him. when you met that big man for the very first time, you were speechless. your teeth had clacked together with how fast you tried to close your gawking mouth, but it was impossible not to with how much he towered over you, nearly touching the top of the doorway.

he is methodical, down to every minute. tacked onto the fridge, he had shown you his son's current schedule, which he emphasized with a dead glare must be followed to a T.

two feedings in the morning followed by a nap. another feeding. a longer nap. another feeding. another nap. all separated in increments of 45 minutes, with instructions on how to use the bottle warmer and how to measure the formula.

his son does not cry. his father had told you, if he cries, y'r doin' somethin' wrong. and he was right. the baby only cried when he was hungry, and he would fall into a dead sleep as soon as you gave him a bottle.

it's odd, to take care of someone else's baby. especially this man's. there's no woman in the house, as far as you can tell. the whole house is decorated very minimally, cozy and in shades of warm greens and cool blues and browns. there are no heeled boots by the door or pretty fur coats, and whenever you pass by his bedroom, only one side of his bed ever looks lived-in. there are no pictures on the walls, no makeup in the bathroom drawers, and no pads or tampons under the sink.

just a big, unfeeling man and his big, adorable baby.

but you think that your actions to get this big, unfeeling man to like you are starting to have the wrong kind of implications.

it starts with dinner. you start to make it, using the ingredients from his fridge to make stews and buttery mashed potatoes and roasted veggies. the image of you stirring a pot with his baby on your hip has not left him, and whenever you don't have some kind of meal cooking when he gets home, you answer to someone curt, annoyed, and cold, even to the touch.

then it's the decorating. you thought his couch was a little bare, so now there's a few throw blankets laying across the back of it. there's a vase of pretty tulips on the coffee table. you're growing herbs on the windowsill, little pots of thyme and rosemary and basil. you leave house shoes by the door now, and even when you're not there, he sees those fuzzy pink slippers in the foyer, and he can't help the way he chubs up just seeing them when you're not around.

you start to bring some extra changes of clothes. after the baby spit up on you more than once in a day, you bring a duffel bag with you once a week with extra changes of clothes. he snarls when he sees your clothes in one of his drawers; pretty black panties and matching bras, all laid out under your lounge wear right next to his fucking socks.

the toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. the multi-colored chapsticks in the drawers. tampons and pads organized in the cabinet, your moisturizer next to his shaving cream. he smacks his fist against the wall when he sees the finished package of your birth control in the trash because wot the fuck are y'doing taking those things when y'know i want another--

he can see you in the baby monitor. swaying in the dark of his son's room, the baby's head on your chest as you rock him softly. you're singing a little, a gentle hum to soothe him enough that his eyes start closing. he groans a little when he sees your eyes shut as you kiss his son on the forehead, cooing at him as you pat his little back and tell him to have sweet dreams.

you're making brownies when he comes home that night. his son is seated in his high chair, clapping his hands, and you're smiling at him and cooing in that baby voice you do as you take the warm brownies out of the oven. when you see him emerge from the darkness of his living room, you smile at him, taking off the oven mitts.

"hi, simon," you say softly, and his pupils dilate when you slip a hand over his son's head to soothe him. "i made some dessert, hope that's okay. thought you might wanna try my new recipe."

simon comes into the kitchen as you take his baby out of his high chair. you hoist him up against your hip, and when simon comes closer, you giggle as tilts his head to the side and stares down at you both. you tilt your head back a little, blinking up at him, and the flutter of your lashes is enough to have him rock hard in his cargos as his hands curl into frustrated fists at his sides.

"i'm gonna put him down for bed, it's a little late," you tell him. you hoist his son up a little higher on your hip, picking up his little chubby arm and waving up at simon. "say goodnight, daddy."

simon grins under his mask at the soft lilt of your voice. you try not to squeak when one of his big hands slides around your waist to hold you at your back, and he bends down to kiss his son's forehead through his mask.

"goodnight, my boy."

you try not to linger on the idea that he may have grabbed your ass as you walked away. no, his arms are just so long, they grazed you while you passed by him.

the baby always goes down nice and easy. one bottle later, with a full stomach, he's rubbing his little eyes and fussing in your arms as he tries to fall asleep. he's a mover, simon's little one--always grasping around with his arms and flopping onto his side in the bed. oftentimes, after a nap, he's facing the opposite direction and on the other end of the crib when you come to get him.

so you shouldn't be surprised when as he's falling asleep, his little grubby hands reach for you and pull.

your eyes widen when you hear the pop of buttons. you look down, gasping, when you see his son has grabbed onto the front of your blouse and pulled the first few buttons out. they clatter onto the floor in a mess, and you're not able to see where they go with it so dark in his room.

"oh, god!"

you try to be gentle as you set the baby down in his crib. he immediately sticks his thumb in his mouth with his head lolling to the side, and you try to pick up anything you step on as you hurry out of the room, trying to hold your shirt together.

it's useless. you're standing there in the hallway, hastily shutting the baby's room closed, tits out at eight in the evening.

"tha' why he so good ta ya, mama?"

your eyes bug out of your head when you see simon there. he's standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes are focused on your poor open blouse. the bra you're wearing leaves nothing to the imagination--just mesh with underwire, and when simon comes closer, there's virtually nothing separating you when he reaches up with that gloved hand and cups one breast, thumb smoothing over your nipple before he tugs on it gently.

"wha--simon--"

"thinks y'r his mum, pretty tits out like tha'," simon hisses. "'f ya wanted it so bad, why didn't ya just say?"

"simon--"

he tsks, using both hands this time to grip your blouse by the edges and tug it down your arms. it falls around your elbows, and he takes the straps of your bra with it, until it's pooled around your waist and your tits fall free.

"fuckin' hell," he breathes, and your lips part gently as he hikes up his mask and spits on your nipples before sucking them into his mouth. "mmmph..."

you arch your back as he rips the rest of the buttons off with one smooth tug. your blouse falls, and your bra follows it, until you're in nothing but your skirt, backing up into the darkness of his bedroom as he kicks the door shut. you scramble to get him back on top of you when your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you're laying down--grabbing around his shoulders as you try to guide his mouth back to your breasts where he can suckle on them with that filthy mouth of his.

"knew it--" he rasps. "fuck, i knew it--"

your eyes squeeze shut when he ruts his hips against yours. your panties are ruined, slick wet and digging uncomfortably into your folds, but the scratch of simon's jeans have your back bowing at a hard angle, your fingers sliding between your bodies as you reach for his zipper. you gasp when you feel him under your hand, straining against denim, the girth of him tying your stomach in hard knots as you think about what it'll take to get you open enough for him to slip in.

"keepin' me fat," simon murmurs. "holdin' my baby like tha', wot did ya think was goin' ta happen, eh?"

"h-huh?"

"'m gonna make you fat, too, swee'eart," he says, smoothing his hand over your tummy. "saw those little pills in y'r bag. it won't take today, but we'll try again tomorrow, yeah?"

you're drooling as he fucks you. your hips are hiked up, your skirt flipped up as his thighs smack against your ass. you're not privy to the way the fat of you shakes every time he's buried to the hilt, but simon appreciates it, tongue out as he watches you push back against him to try and get yourself filled quicker. he traces your spine with his fingers, leaning over you as he watches your fingers dig into his dark sheets and grip for dear life as he gives it to you fast and deep. it's a mess of wet between you, and you know the bed underneath you will be soaked by the time he's done with you, but you can't think about that when the very thing you've been wanting since the day you met him is so close, so within reach.

you haven't taken a single one of those pills since the first week you met that fat, beautiful baby. maybe simon didn't take too close a look at the dated little pills in your bag and in the bin, the little calendar you used to mark rotting away in a forgotten pocket, gathering dust.

when simon comes, your mouth is filled with saliva, and you gurgle between barely-lucid giggles as your hips sink into the mattress. he's saying something, but you don't hear it. instead you reach down with your fingers and stuff them inside, trying to gather as much of his cum and keep it. when simon tries to cum in your mouth later, you nearly bite his dick off.

how dare he try and waste it?

[leaderwonim]

𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐘 — twelve: I’m sure lots of people would want to be friends with you

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. lee heeseung x fem!reader, park sunghoon x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲. Y/N always knew that her high school was dominated by wealth and privilege. Upon having a one night stand with popular athlete Lee Heeseung, she uncovers that Heeseung's friend group controls not only social dynamics but also school policies and local affairs, revealing a hidden world of power and manipulation behind their so called perfectly polished exteriors

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“So, what’s wrong?” Riki puts down his chopsticks, looking directly into your eyes.

“What do you mean?”

He scoffs. “I mean, you wouldn’t just drive me to eat noodles at 9pm at night.”

“I can’t drive you to eat for some sibling bonding time?” You furrow your eyebrows.

“You know that’s not it.”

You sigh. “Fine. Someone sent me a picture of Giselle with Heeseung.”

��Heeseung? You mean the guy you keep fawning over in your spam?”

“That’s Sunghoon.”

Riki throws his hands in the air exasperatedly. “I don’t keep up with these Korean dudes you like noona.”

“Noona?” Your eyes widen at that. “You’re already using Korean phrases?”

Your little brother smiled sheepishly, rubbing his neck in an awkward manner. “Yeah, first day of school I made a friend who was also a foreigner. Her name’s Danielle.”

No fucking way.

“Danielle?” Your mouth runs dry, but you don’t want to ruin things for your brother. He’s made a new friend, and Danielle doesn’t seem half as bad as Hanni.

“Why? Is there a problem with her?”

You shake your head quickly. “No. As long as she’s nice to you then I’m happy for you.”

Riki nods, picking up his chopsticks to dig into his ramen bowl once again. “You need to take me out every weekend.”

“Who said?”

“Mom!”

The next day at school had Lee Heeseung dreading his entire life. Not only were things awkward ever since he told Hanni he’s loved her, but you were still ignoring him.

And as a cherry on top, he had quite literally had a meltdown in your best friend’s arms, who, despite reassuring him it wasn’t embarrassing, still made him feel like the biggest loser of them all.

“Hey guys,” Heeseung says, making his way over to Seojun.

The boy clears his throat awkwardly, looking at everywhere else but Heeseung.

“Hey Hee.” At least Danielle was kind enough to greet him. She was always like that, kind and bubbly. It’s a real shame Heeseung and her were under what felt like a dictator friendship.

“Hey man, we were talking last night and uh,” Seojun scratches his neck awkwardly. “We think it’s best if you take a break from our group, you know, for just a little while.”

Heeseung swears his heart just drops at that moment. All the way to the ground.

“What? Why?”

He notices how Hanni looks at her newly polished nails while Seojun and Danielle both have a slumped look on their faces.

“Well you’re kind of the most emotional person we’ve ever met.” Sunghoon says, and Heeseung has to stop himself from letting out a huge scoff because who the fuck does Park Sunghoon think he is?

Heeseung knew all of them first. Heeseung was friends with all of them first, and now Sunghoon was speaking for the rest of them and essentially kicking him out of his own group of friends?

“And no offense, but you’re really ruining the group dynamic.”

He was ruining the group dynamic? Him? After all he’s done to keep the friendship in tacked, after all he’s done to make sure his feelings for Hanni didn’t get in the way of his friendship with Sunghoon, after he let Hanni slam the dork in his face so she wouldn’t feel weird about his confession? He was the one that ruined the group dynamic?

“So you’re blowing me off just because of that?”

Seojun puts his hands on Heeseung’s shoulder, which should bring comfort, but it only feels like burns being printed on his skin. “Once you get over this sad emotional phase, I’m sure lots of people would want to be friends with you.”

Heeseung now scoffs, eyes rolling to the back of his head from the nonsense that he was hearing. “Fine. This is what you want, right? Hanni? Danielle?”

Danielle doesn’t say anything, she just frowns and looks away.

“It’s for the best.” Hanni says. “It’s not like it’s permanent Hee.”

“Don’t call me that.” Heeseung turns around, practically radiating anger as he walks away from the group.

He doesn’t look where he’s going, too blinded by the hurt he felt at his own friends’ words.

Suddenly hit by another body, Heeseung falls backwards, slamming into the floor.

“Oh my God—I am so sorry,” he mutters out, grabbing the textbook of the person he bumped into on the floor.

“It’s okay really,”

He knows that voice. He fucking knows it.

“Y/N?”

You cringe at the realization that you’ve just bumped into Lee Heeseung, and almost as if he knows you’re going to try to leave him, he holds onto your wrist.

“Please, let me talk to you.”

“I’m busy.” You say, eyes scanning the room for your friends. “Heeseung, let go.”

“No, please. Just let me talk to you for 5 minutes, I’ll leave you alone forever after that if that’s what you want.”

You sigh, watching his defeated eyes bore into yours. No matter how much it hurt that night at the Gala when you saw Heeseung leave with Hanni, you still have feelings for him buried underneath you.

“Okay.” You say, and that’s enough to make Heeseung’s heartbroken face turn into a smiling one.

“Thank you Y/N, thank you.”

And who knows, maybe this would be the biggest mistake of your life, but whatever happens, happens.

AUTHOR’s NOTE: oh!!! it just gets worse and worse for heeseung 😭😭

taglist 1 (closed) @lilyuwon @soobeboobe @immelissaaa @coqhee @shuichi-sama @ssukiyakii @deobitifull @sunpov @anittamaxwynnn @minjaexvz @katarinamae @capri-cuntz @jooniesbears-blog @sakanelli-afc @lvlyjisung @cherlv @mnxnii @llvrhee @b0bbl3s @lwavander @txtlyn @heartheejake @realrintaro @wonyoungsvirus @hyuckies18 @thinkinboutbin @yoonjise @rikizm @cinnamon-won @samouryed @moon4moony @jakesfurry @yunjinhuhjennifer @viagumi

[archangeldyke-all]

fake dating sevika? obviously leading to real marriage cuz duh 🙄

how have i not done this trope yet? i love it

men and minors dni

you and sevika are friendly. you wouldn't go as far as saying you're friends, but you get along pretty well with your neighbor. that is-- when you see her. she's usually at work but from time to time, you both end up on the fire escape that connects your back windows at the same time, the two of you smoking together after a long day.

on occasion, she shares a cigar with you. you always share your weed with her-- giggling at the way her eyes get heavy and pink as she smokes. you've even shared a few late-night dinners-- just a bag of pretzels and a six pack of ale, but it's still nice.

despite the nice few nice nights you've shared, that's as far as your tentative acquaintanceship has ever gone. which is why you're a little surprised to find sevika at your front door as you get ready to head out to the markets.

"sevika?" you ask. she blinks in surprise, dropping her hand that she'd been ready to knock with.

"uh. hi." she grunts. she's not looking at you, her head is ducked and she's scrubbing the back of her neck. you're a little worried for her.

"you okay?" you ask. sevika sighs a long, gusty sigh, then looks up at you with a wince.

"i need a favor." she grumbles. you raise an eyebrow, curious. sevika groans again, and you giggle.

"come in." you invite her into your apartment, nodding her toward your couch as you grab a beer from the fridge for her. she takes it, nodding at you in thanks. you clink your glasses together, both of you taking a few sips as you settle on the sofa beside her. "so?" you ask. sevika huffs again.

"you know i work for silco, right?" she asks. you snort and nod.

"yes, i'm aware." you bite back the urge to tack on 'so is everyone else in zaun.'

"well..." she trails off, staring at the floor, before shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "basically, we gotta go up to piltover for a fancy-fuck dinner, but they won't let silco bring anyone from his crew besides me. so..." she sighs.

"so what?"

"the whole reason we're going to the fucking dinner in the first place is to get a good look at what the topsiders are cooking up as their own shimmer variants. we can't distract the pilties, and gather intel with just the two of us." she looks up at you, waiting for you to respond like she's somehow revealed the favor she needs.

"...okay?" you ask.

sevika groans, then slumps against your couch. "i need a date." she huffs. you raise an eyebrow.

"i'm pretty sure the girls from babette's--"

"no!" she squeals. you chuckle a little. "these people-- they can sniff out a sump-rat from a mile away. they're already nervous about letting silco bring me along. i need to bring someone..." she pauses and chugs the remainder of her beer, swallows a burp, then speaks again. "you're, like. sweet, y'know?" she whispers. you blink. "you're easy to talk to. you could charm the pants off anyone: zaun gangster like me or piltover elites."

warmth bubbles up in your stomach at her words, a soft smile pulling at your lips. "you think so?" you ask. sevika groans and rolls her eyes.

"fuck off. just: will you be my fake date to this dumbass dinner or not?" she asks. you grin.

"well, what do i get outta it?" you tease. of course you're going to say yes, especially after all the soft things sevika just said to you.

sevika scoffs a bit, smiling back at you. "topsider food for a night?" she bribes. "good wine?"

you snort, then reach your hand out between the two of you for sevika to take. she does, and you're surprised at how warm and firm her grip is. "deal." you agree.

the entire trip up to piltover, sevika's scowling and huffing, bitching to silco any chance she can get about the fact that he's dragging her up top. you find it endlessly amusing.

but the moment you enter the mansion, sevika's attitude does a complete 180. it's impressive to see. her pleasant smile, while fake, is just as pretty as all the quick smirks she's shot you on the balcony as you pass a joint back and forth.

she also starts touching you. at first, it's tentative; a gentle hand on the waist or small of your back; but as you relax into her touch and start touching her back, her touches become mindless.

as you sip on drinks and laugh politely at the rich-people humor you can't understand for the life of you, sevika slings her arm around your shoulders, pulling you toward her chest.

when you're two drinks in, she presses a kiss to the crown of your head. she turns her head to whisper against your ear, "regretting your decision yet?"

you have to bite back the shaky moan you want to let out at the feeling of her breath on your neck.

you end up drinking more than you probably should. sevika's always been attractive to you, but you've never acted on it. you're neighbors, sevika's pre-occupied with work and her girls, you don't want to make things weird. but it's hard to ignore how handsome she looks in her suit when she's staring at you with a strangely convincing admiring-gaze, her mech thumb gently sweeping across the back of your hand.

the wine loosens you up, all your jitters and nerves about being surrounded by wealth melting away with each sip of your glass. the guests find you endlessly entertaining once you start talking: your radical undercity politics softened by the docile way you're leaning against sevika and your slurred words.

you get into a few debates. silco seems impressed with your knowledge of zaun's history, his good eyebrow ticking up with interest as you berate a man who suggested piltoverian taxes shouldn't be funding any zaunite public systems.

you charm a few of the wives, complimenting the appetizers and asking for the recipes, helping clear empty dishes and glasses to the kitchen.

you even make friends with the violinist that's been hired to play music for the night, complimenting her music taste and requesting a few songs that make her grin. "nobody asks for that one, but it's so fun to play, it's my favorite!"

sevika has to keep hiding her cocky smile behind her hand as she watches you work.

dinner is delicious. you're wiggling in your seat with excitement as you tear into the fresh food: a rare delight for you. beside you, sevika keeps laughing as she watches you eat. "you're an animal." she giggles.

"you gonna need anymore dates up here in the future?" you ask around a mouthful of food, hiding your full mouth with your hand. sevika grins.

"we'll see what happens." she chuckles.

by the end of the night, sevika has to help keep you steady as you sway on your feet, laughing and jogging down the streets of piltover while sevika and silco trail behind you.

"i quite like her." you overhear silco mumble at some point. then,

"yeah, me too." sevika replies.

she doesn't kiss you goodnight. you're almost disappointed, until you remember that this wasn't a real date. you stand in your doorway awkwardly, shimmying out of the suit jacket she'd slung over your shoulders on the walk home and handing it back to her, trying to find something to say.

"uh. this was really fun." you whisper. sevika smiles.

"it was. i knew you'd be a good fake girlfriend."

you giggle a bit, something strange flopping over in your stomach at the reminder that tonight was fake. "you're not so bad yourself, you know." you whisper. sevika blinks at you with big eyes, but doesn't say anything. "anyways. was i a good distraction?" you ask. she grins.

"oh, yeah. you had those pilties wrapped around your finger-- i was gone for thirty fuckin' minutes and they didn't even bat an eye." she says, giggling. you smile.

"i'm glad i could help." you laugh. "if you ever need another fake date..."

"you'll be my first choice." sevika promises.

you gulp. this is the point of the night where you turn around and go into your apartment, watch through the peephole as sevika goes in hers, then go to bed. but... you linger.

sevika lingers too.

you decide to just go for it. you're drunk off good wine, full off good food, and... she looks so fucking pretty that the choice isn't all that hard to make. "or, you know. i'd say yes to a real date too."

it's quiet for a horrifying moment, sevika's eyes widening as they study your face, like she's trying to figure out if you're joking. you're about to laugh it off-- already planning on breaking your lease early so you can move out of this building before you ever have to see her again-- when sevika grins.

"a real date with me wouldn't be as classy as tonight was." sevika says. you bite your lip.

"that's okay. tonight was fun, but it was... a lot." you mumble. sevika giggles, a sweet sound, and your stomach flip-flops.

"how does take-out from jericho's at my place sound?" she asks.

it's your turn to grin. "fuckin' amazing." you say. sevika laughs.

"tomorrow?"

"sure. or, we could go now?" you suggest. "jericho's is open all ni--"

you're cut off by sevika's lips. she crowds you to your front door, pressing her chest against yours. you hum into her mouth, and she hums back.

eventually, she pulls away for air. "i've been wanting to do that forever." she gasps.

you giggle, and pull her back in for another kiss. "me too." you mumble before your lips meet.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub @glass-apothecary @m0numents @macaroni676 @vixel352 @artinvain

[mrsvalentinefucker1]

SBR (funny Valentine, Diego, Johnny) HC

Funny valentine:

•The scars on his back are sensitive. Like bad sensitive. If you two are going at it you gotta be realllll careful on how you grip his back (just hold the back of his neck.) you only found that out bc when you two were fucking you gripped his back and he literally jumped out of his skin. (He kinda likes it but you have to be gentle)

•Does he like being a sugar daddy? Maybe, perhaps. He definitely likes to spoil you but you have to go out and shop by yourself bc he’s busy. Just hands you a wad of cash while he’s working

“Funny.. can we spend some time together~?”

“Not now.” Takes money out his pocket and slaps it into your hand “come back in two or so hours and im all yours. I have papers to finish up”

•For some reason I think he’d really like a feisty partner. Like if you talk back, give attitude, or even just don’t answer him when he brings something up to you he kinda gets a little hot bc of it.

“Y/n.” The president spoke to you with his back towards you as he looked out a window

“What.” You spoke back, not looking up from your hands as you filed your nails

“Excuse me?” He cocked an eyebrow as he turned his head in your direction

“What.” You did the same thing, cocked an eyebrow as you looked up for a moment

“You need to work on how you address me, Y/n.”

“Oh do I now? Why is that?” You said as you crossed your legs the other way and continued to file your nails on the other hand

Funny walked over to you and gripped you by the collar of your shirt, forcing you to look up at him as he looked in your eyes.

“Because I am your higher up.”

You smirked “good for you.”

Diego Brando:

•Diego needs you to scratch him up. He likes to show it off idk why probably bc he is a cocky bastard who wants to make everyone (Johnny) jealous

Diego was fucking you rapidly, his hands around your throat as he thrusts into your core.

“Y/n.”

Your eyes dart to his face, red and dripping sweat

“Scratch me up.”

Your arms reached around his back, hands finding his shoulders then sliding them down with your nails digging into his skin. Leaving red lines from where they started to where your nails currently were.

He moaned out in delight and anguish. it hurt but In a good way

•Say what you want but Diego definitely likes to help you tack up your horse bc he secretly likes to be needed

“Jeez y/n. You can’t put your saddle back that far. How do you ever expect the horse to be comfortable.. and your girth, god. It’s way too loose. Did you do your polo wraps? You did but they’re backwards, god. Here watch me do it.”

May be backhanded a little but it’s kinda hot tbh.

•This one’s kinda weird but I think he likes to go on rants about horses (kin as an equine) like you say something or ask something he’ll just go on a rant

“What do you mean? You don’t know what a flank is?? Surprised you haven’t gotten your teeth kicked in. Okay so-“ then talks your ear off. He picked it all up bc he worked with horses when he was younger (#kin again)

Johnny Joestar:

•Johnny is definitely definitely definitely loves having you lay on him (aww so cute) while he fucks you (oh-) he likes to hold your back, chest to chest while he kisses your neck as you bounce up and down on his cock. Bonus points if you hold his shoulders your face while you bury you face in his neck. (If you know you know)

•Johnny actually loves flowers? Idk why I just thought of that, he loves to talk about flowers.. does he do it often, no chance. But he knows how you pick them for a person he’s interested in that’s for sure.

I have no more I got bored

[lethalbreadkills]

smirk. oc height chart except its missing three brand new ones i made about 12 hours after finishing this drawing

twister. what the fuck is wrong with them. this fucker FOLLOWED A TEAM back upstairs once through sheer will and scared the shit out of everyone up top once. they just like. hang out places. what the fuck are they doing here. the higher ups try so hard to contain them and it does not work. ??? No ones quite sure what their latch is and even WITH the latch they still shouldnt be this lucid. theyre so weirdly functional that everyone assumes them to be a threat and theyre treated as very dangerous despite mostly just lurking ominously and scaring the shit out of toons all over. they dont talk, they dont really interact with anyone meaningfully, they jsut.. do their little jingle and lurk and smile and watch. nobody likes it.

trudge is trudge. weirdly lucid?? why. ?????? also noted to be possessive of items/reseafch nesrby its capsule no one really knows why. it also has a very strong attachment to a toon to the point of protecting them from other twisteds, and has been shown to move, though no one is sure how.. ? Best theory is that it can teleport between capsules like glisten can with mirrors. sometimes if you try to pick up an item near it it will try to shoot you. its 50/50 whether it happens like that but its not good either way. not the most lucid aside from that. sometimes will stay out longer than normal and just . stare at you. its very offputting.

circi.

snip snap is trips goob. looking desperately for his sister. he is so angry and so fucking cunning. targets scraps that arent trip, and also poppys, sometimes rodgers, and fellow goobs. hes well known to not be baited and save his grabs. its weird. he will drop all attention from whatever toon he was chasing originally if he sees a scraps. it is Over for them he will target them for an entire round if they manage to run for that long. he also can talk but not well. he can scream if he tries hard enough. his vocal cords are beyond fried from the worlds stupidest gunk (ichor)

shimmer

tick tack is knick knacks goob he is so joyous. rarely goes on supply runs he helps sort out supplies brought up and is basically a therapy dog to a lot of toons

scott, despite his usual cleanliness habits is often seen covered in ichor more and more commonly, and goes on solo supply runs a lot. he brings back a weirdly large haul every time. whenever sent in with a group he performs worse, and seems to regain his almost germophobic need to be clean of ichor and gunk.

luxi

knick knack!! brights lovely wife. goes down on supply runs often, usually covered in ichor but makes sure to clean herself up after every run with brights. will often help tick tack with whatever job he happens to be doing if shes not needed elsewhere. not a higher up, but well trusted among the community.

sleeve ! a bubbly, competitive toon thats … not seen a lot ?? no ones really sure where the guy came from or how many there are, as aside from an introductory poster, theres no evidence he was ever in the show.

prin !

andromeda, the very small child of circi and via. lives with and is cared for by opal now after her birth parents abandoned her. loves veebee!

[ghulehunknown]

And He Sees Nothing Wrong With That

Terzo x F Reader

“You know you need to be punished for being too seducente”

Flashback Friday! Bringing back one of my first ever fics from AO3 and posting it here

Summary: Jealousy plagues Terzo’s mind after an unproductive and frustrating clergy meeting, and he sets out to prove you are his.

CW/Tags: sexual innuendo and humor, dry humping, oral sex (F receiving), public oral sex, vaginal fingering, light dom/sub, light degradation, light possessive behavior, spanking, established relationship, porn with plot

Word Count: 2.5K

On Saturday you headed into the chapel for a large meeting with Papa and several members of the clergy. You would finally be discussing the details of the next ritual installments.

During the first meeting of the day, Copia and one of the bishops kept staring at you and whispering to each other. Copia stole quick glances in your direction over and over. You quickly straightened the veil of your habit, feeling self conscious. Maybe they weren’t talking about you? You weren’t wearing anything revealing that day, your veil wasn’t out of place…So what could it be? You never had much interaction with the Cardinal before. You didn’t intend to return the looks but you couldn’t help your eyes darting back and forth through the pews to make sure if he was actually looking or not.

Terzo noticed this right away, and looked between you two while he was at the pulpit speaking. He paused momentarily, as he caught Copia’s eyes, then resumed speaking. “Ah sì, the fucking tour…” he trailed off, flipping through pages. “It’s going to be called the…” he traced his fingers along the paper and tapped it once he found the words. “Ah dio mio who wrote this shit?!”

You saw Copia frown a little and cross his arms. Slightly disgruntled, Terzo continued. “It’s the fucking Popestar Tour.” He gestured to himself, almost sarcastically showing off his full Papal regalia, and giving a little curtsy.

“I’m sorry, the Fucking Popestar Tour - are we fucking the audience now?” one of the other cardinals called out, garnering a few snickers from the clergy.

“What?” said Terzo.

Omega crumpled up his papers into a ball from the back pew and threw it at that cardinal’s head, nailing his target perfectly. The cardinal turned around to the ghoul, making foul gestures with his hands and cursing Satan’s name at him.

“Actually that’s a good idea!” piped up Copia for the first time in an hour, leaning forward in the front pew. That smart fucker, you thought. Pretend to sing praises of your Papa in front of the whole clergy while tearing him apart. He continued to glance towards you. You instinctively looked in his direction, now trying to warn him off from going any further, but he continued. “Papa Emeritus, we can barely afford these garments,” he said gesturing to Terzo’s robes. “Accounting is stretched thin, so we really should be thinking of ways to generate profit.”

Terzo shot a dark look in Copia’s direction, quickly shutting the Cardinal up. “Sì sì, like we have the time to line them up outside in the parking lot,” Terzo mused sarcastically. “You know,” he quipped, pointing his finger at Copia, boasting, “the shows have gotten bigger since I became Papa.” He glanced back at you and then to the audience.

“That’s perfect!” exclaimed one of the bishops. “Take a ride on the Pope - we’ll add it to the meet and greet experience!” (“Cazzo, that’s not what I meant,” said Terzo, though it fell on deaf ears.) The bishop clasped his hands together. “Hey, get HR on this immediately. Tack on an extra fifty euros to the regular meet and greet,” he murmured to the sister sitting next to him, who began scribbling on her clipboard. The rest of the audience murmured in agreement.

“Fifty…?” you could see Terzo mouth the words incredulously.

“Yes but how do we implement the fucking?” the sister asked. “Imperator will want to know the details.”

“Do we provide the condoms or does the audience?” someone else asked.

“Who said we’re using condoms?” shouted Rain, who sat in the back pews with the other ghouls. The younger ghouls whispered excitedly to each other and laughed boisterously. Alpha and Omega each took a turn to smack the younger ghouls on the back of the head, nearly knocking their masks off.

“We should definitely provide them,” said Copia. “You can’t trust any of these motherfuckers nowadays.”

“Who’s in charge of branding?” asked one of the cardinals. “They’ll be able to come up with something clever to put on the wrappers.”

“Cum Together!” said the sister, wagging her pen in the air, and continued writing furiously on her clipboard. Several clergy members nodded in agreement.

“Sì, just make it one big orgy,” added Copia, smiling sneakily, looking at you again. He chuckled. “You know, one time I went to an orgy - ”

“You shut up,” Terzo said, pointing a finger at Copia. Copia looked back at him offended but immediately snapped his mouth shut.

“Yes but HR will want to know the details - we need waivers a-and STD screenings - ” chimed in the sister, worriedly counting on her fingers before Terzo cut her off.

“No, no one is fucking me!” Terzo shouted. The room fell silent and he paused for a moment. “Not that cheaply anyway,” he added dryly, looking back through his notes to get back to the topic at hand. He scoffed and muttered under his breath, “Not since college…incredible.” He rolled his eyes and continued.

He finally calmed the audience down and finished speaking, then dismissed the clergy in a hurry to reconvene in fifteen minutes.

Copia leaned across the aisle to your pew before he left. “It was a good idea, no?” He shrugged his shoulders and walked towards the back pews to strike up conversation with the others.

Feeling annoyed, you turned back to him and started to say something but thought better of yourself and turned to face Terzo. Your eyes met his, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Oh shit, you thought, knowing just how this looked to him. You gathered your belongings and headed to the altar to start setting up the communion for mass later in the evening.

Terzo remained where he stood, gripping the sides of the pulpit as the clergy milled out of the front doors, tapping his fingers on the sleek mahogany. You could hear the gold nails on his leather black gloves click rhythmically against the wood. You gazed along his profile; he wore a frown and raised an eyebrow, looking straight ahead.

Once most of the clergy left, he walked over to the altar where you stood. “Come here, Sorella!” You tried to look busy to avoid the intensity of his gaze. His papal face paint looked even more menacing in the light of the chandelier, the light only picking up the white paint and his white eye. He seemed taller when he wore his mitre and full papal robes.

He grabbed the large silver Grucifix next to you and clutched your hair, forcing you face down and bending you over the altar. “We talked about this, Sorella. You understand the consequences, sì?”

You yelped. “Papa wait - ”

“Silence,” he commanded, pushing up your skirt and paddling you square on the ass with the metal cross. You let out a small moan. Fuck, why did that feel good? Your skin stung, mostly from the cold of the metal, as he wasn’t intending to mark you - only making a metaphorical point of who you belonged to.

“Yes, Papa,” you said, resigning while feeling your heart beat with excitement.

He tore down your panties to your ankles, spat into his hand, and shoved two clawed, gloved fingers into your pussy, unrelentingly moving them in and out. You moaned louder this time.

The two cardinals who were still in the back of the hall murmured and quickly shuffled out the front door.

“Sei mia,” he whispered menacingly quiet in your ear. He groped your left breast as he dry humped your thigh from behind, his golden nails still gripping you inside. “You know you need to be punished for being too seducente, si?”

You whined, the pain from his slap still stinging and his gold nails prodding your soft interior flesh. “Yes Papa I was so stupid,” you choked out, clinging to the cold marble altar for support. You could feel his rock hard erection prod into your thigh through his robes. He lifted up your leg to go deeper inside your cunt, now raw from his claws pounding into you feverishly.

He sighed contentedly. “You’re so tight, Sorella. I can feel you getting wetter with every touch, these gloves are sliding in so easily now. Cazzo!” he exclaimed, rubbing his clothed erection on your thigh in fervent passion. “You’re going to be moaning when the next session begins - just like my goddess should. Sei così futto bellissima. You are mine, and I am yours. I want the whole fucking clergy to see you’re mine, and show that idiota Copia his place. He thinks I’m some joke? I’ll show him.” He grabbed your jaw with his free hand. “You hear me?”

You nodded in his hand. “Terzo, my beloved, there’s nothing going on there! Please, believe me - ”

He pulled your hair back so you could see into his eyes. “I know bella mia, he’s just a prick. And he’s been making eyes at you. And how could he not - sei la più bella qui.” He relinquished the grasp on your hair, your hairline aching from his tight grip, and he swung your head back down to the marble. He continued fingering you from behind, pinning you down with his other arm to keep you from moving wildly by his frenzied, almost desperate touch. He kept looking towards the door. “Where’s your phone?” he asked.

You whined, barely able to utter another word.

“Your phone, your phone, principessa!” he urged.

You wanted to ask where his was but could only manage a few guttural moans and pointed to the floor, where your phone flew out of your habit moments earlier.

He bent down and picked it up to look at the lock screen, never breaking his rhythmic thrusts with his hand. He grunted and mumbled, “He knows better than to text you when I’m right here.” You leaned over to see 12:53 - seven more minutes until the next meeting was supposed to reconvene. “We can figure out how to kill time,” he said, finally easing up on you, now slowly entering you with just his index finger. “That’ll teach that stupido uomo ossessionato dai ratti not to covet what does not belong to him. Voglio assaporarti.”

Fuck, he really was going to one-up Copia.

He flipped you over so your back laid against the cool marble. He hovered over you and stared deep into your eyes as he slipped his gloved fingers out of you and into his mouth, moaning, tasting you. “Deliziosa,” he said. He slid two fingers back inside your dripping wet pussy, rolling his thumb over your clit. You grinded your hips against his hand, clutching the edge of the altar, hoping to hurry up your encounter before anyone else came back in. Small, wet sounds echoed along the stone walls.

You both glanced back at your phone - 12:55. The Cardinal was usually annoyingly early.

“Who makes you feel good?” he asked loudly.

“You do, Papa!” you screamed.

“Who do you belong to?” he demanded.

“You, Papa!”

“You would never leave me, not for him?” This last question sounded wounded, not a command. He broke your gaze briefly, looking at the floor, his long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. He quickly flicked his eyes back to yours.

Why would he ask these questions? “Never my love,” you whispered, whimpering at his touch. Your clit quivered under his thumb, and your wet cunt contracted around his digits.

“Good girl.” He spread your legs apart, and ravished you with his tongue, flicking wildly around your clit and motioning a come-hither inside you with his index finger. You grabbed the sides of the altar in euphoria. Your body convulsed around him, your thighs wrapping around his neck. You lost control as your body tensed and released, Terzo moving expertly in rhythm with your hips, and you cried out in ecstasy, your ardent moans for your lover echoing through the chapel walls. Your arousal came flooding out of you, and Terzo latched his lips around your labia and sucked deeply, drinking you.

He gulped and chuckled, as he continued to finger you while he looked up. You followed his gaze to the front of the chapel, where Copia and several cardinals and bishops stood, mouths agape at the sight before them.

You quickly shoved him off you and pulled down your habit to cover yourself, but it was too late as they likely walked in just as you were wailing like an animal for your Papa.

“Are you quite finished?” one of the bishops asked, annoyed.

Copia was red in the face and glanced away as Terzo stared at him. He brought his arousal soaked fingers to his mouth again, exaggeratedly sucking them clean. “Oh sì, ho concluso il mio lavoro,” he said, answering the bishop but grinning at Copia, his face paint smeared around his mouth and chin.

You blushed, embarrassed; yet you tried to hide a grin yourself, because that was one of the most thrilling experiences of your life. You slid off the altar and stood beside Terzo, trying to conceal putting your underwear back on by standing behind his vestments. You held onto his shoulder for support, your legs shaking like mad.

Copia slowly made his way up the steps, papers and Unholy Book in hand, eyeing the altar where you just laid. You had left behind a small pool of your arousal - and probably some of Terzo’s saliva as well. “I see,” he muttered, a disgusted look on his face as he tried to find a clean surface to place his things. The remaining cardinals and bishops took their seats, eyeing Terzo with trepidation. It looked like everyone - Copia especially - had several words to say, but their place was beneath Papa.

Terzo grabbed you by the shoulders to whisk you away, and you both broke out into laughter as you made your way to the pews. As it was the Cardinal’s turn to lead this meeting, Terzo happily took his place in the second row pew, propping up his feet up on the back of the first row and leaning back contentedly with his hands behind his head. He proudly wore his smudged paint and the scent of you like a badge of honor. You took your place beside him, still stifling laughter.

Copia flipped through his Unholy Book, trying not to look at the two of you entwined in an embrace. Terzo kissed you on the temple, looking at Copia. “Cardinal, I know it must be hard for you to imagine such a passionate embrace, seeing as you’ve never pleased a woman…but this is how it’s done.”

Copia slammed his book shut and started to speak but suddenly fell silent. “Sister Imperator,” Copia said, bowing his head slightly in respect.

Imperator came entering the chapel and took her place a few rows behind you, on the opposite side of the aisle - almost as if to keep a close watch on you.

Terzo sank down into the pew, pulling up his robes to cover his face, as if that would make him invisible. You looked behind your shoulder, and caught a glimpse of her stern face.

What trouble would you be in now?

Italian to English Translations

- dio mio (my god)

- Cazzo (fuck)

- Sei mia (you’re mine)

- seducente (seductive)

- Sorella (Sister/Nun)

- Sei così futto bellissima (You are so fucking beautiful)

- Idiota (idiot)

- bella mia (my beauty)

- sei la più bella qui (you’re the prettiest here)

- principessa (princess)

- stupido uomo ossessionato dai ratti (stupid rat-obsessed man)

- Voglio assaporarti (I want to savor you)

- Deliziosa (delicious)

- Ho concluso il mio lavoro (I’ve finished my job)

[artdcnaldson]

you literally read my mind with making dodge prove he deserves you before he gets to do anything YOUR MIND im BARKINGGG (and so is he)

now i’m thinking about the remix ,, maybe you and dodge don’t get a chance to be alone together again for a bit bc you’re both busy competing and training. your rivalry is still going strong to outsiders, but you both know it’s fundamentally changed. there’s a different heat behind your gaze when you lock eyes with him across the ring, his hands will wander and subtly squeeze your hips when he’s moving past you in the stables. the longer this goes on the more pent up you’re both getting and it all comes to a head when the next big rodeo comes up.

for once, you stick around after your event to actually watch dodge ride. he sees you as he’s getting set up in the cage and flashes a quick smile before he really locks in to focus. theennn your eyes move from him across the crowd to see familiar bedazzled jeans and perky tits leaning against the rails of the ring, waving and batting her eyes at him.

and fuuuck that, you see red. if he needs to get his dick wet that badly, she can have him!! you turn on your heel and storm to your car right as the sound goes off and he’s let out of the gate.

after that, you’re cold to him. you completely ice him out for days, barely acknowledging his existence and avoiding him at all costs. he finally corners you in one of the tack storage rooms and when he figures out why you’ve been so upset with him he’s such a dick about it. you do your best to stay cold towards him and keep it a secret, but a snide comment about “cowgirl barbie” slips out before you could stop it and suddenly he’s a dog with a bone.

you try to shoulder past him to the door, but he grabs a handful of your hair and pulls you back to face him. he tilts your head up so his lips are practically on yours when he speaks.

“you know, if I’d known how cute you look when you’re jealous, I’d have fucked her right in front of you ages ago,” he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips. your eyes widen ever so slightly and you avert your gaze.

little does he know, you think as flashes of him mouthing at her tits in the back of his car run through your mind.

the problem is dodge is very perceptive. he’s known you almost all your life, even if you two hated each other for so long he still knows your tells.

“you dirty little girl, you already have seen me fuck her,” he grins. there’s a mean glint in his eye that sends heat straight to your pussy.

the words fly out of your mouth, “i didn’t watch you fuck her, i only saw—”

“enough to get the idea, huh? too bad you missed out on the whole thing, she got pretty loud towards the end.”

humiliation burns through you, more so than the grip he still has on your hair. you shut your eyes tight as tears well up in them. he coos at you and brings his free hand to caress your cheek.

“don’t worry baby, i haven’t fucked her again,” he says, still so condescending but with a hint softness. “you think i’d go back to her after tasting you? not a chance in hell. not when this pussy is all i can think about.”

you open your eyes and gaze up at him, they’re still full of tears and a whimper escapes your throat. it’s a sight that would have sent him to his knees had he not had days of pent up anger towards you for being such a brat and exponentially more pent up arousal over it.

he shoves his thigh between your legs and wraps the hand that was on your cheek around your throat. you squirm, but you know you’re not going anywhere if he doesn’t want you to. the powerlessness makes your mind go fuzzy and soft.

“you’ve been such a little bitch this whole week, trying to get back at me for something i didn’t even do,” he says, squeezing your neck just a bit tighter. “now you’re gonna be a good girl and make it up to me, isn’t that right baby?”

even with your restricted movement, you’ve never nodded your head so fast.

your honor i’m in love with him and his mile wide mean streak for cute little brats

-🎀

Hnngngngnngng :(((( he’s mean :((((

I’m so not eloquent when it comes to dodge I wish I could write him I truly do but my head is just so empty :(((

But I’m Thinking in very vague terms about him fucking you hard and rough, making you moan and cry on his dick so everyone knows you’re his little plaything :(((((

[klanceyuri]

tear a hole exquisite red (fuck the rest, and stab it dead)

Summary: Creek has layers to his personality just like any other Troll does, rotting and wretched and vomit inducing layers, but he has layers nonetheless

Warnings: psychological manipulation, physical violence, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: @bulliestrolls started the psychopath Creek au, so go give him some love for all of the glorious ideas his brain spawns. also Creek's a bit of a whore, just to spite Branch even if it means sleeping with all four of his brothers, because I think it's funny. anyways! if ya'll enjoyed consider dropping a reblog or checking the Ao3 port, it really means a lot

It's all a game for Creek, he's playing the long con and Floyd is his perfect little experiment. Who knows, maybe after he inevitably decides to make Floyd cut the cord, he'll try for Bruce, really tear a hole into Branch and his family. He can laugh at the thought of getting Bruce to divorce, to manipulate him into leaving Brandy for another Troll after Creek himself picks apart Floyd and and gives Branch enough mental anguish for a thousand lifetimes.

But no, that won't be enough, not for Creek. Oh not in the slightest, not after all the agony that Branch has given Creek, his vendetta will never be satiated. Who knows! Maybe he'll go so far as to return Branch to his gray state, that'd be delectable. That could make him feel a sense of satisfaction if anything ever could, or Branch's head on a platter, but the downside to the otherwise beautiful idea is that he wouldn't be able to torture Branch anymore.

"Creek!" It's Floyd, the specific tone of his voice is one that Creek has learned to pick out of a hundred in a similar fashion to Branch's. Just so he can hunt down Floyd and use his sweetness and ignorance of Creek's intentions as a weapon. The magenta Troll has this adorable smile on his face, well, adorable if it weren't for the downturned ears that look just like Branch's.

Creek gives a smile, warm like a fireplace on the TV screen, "Floyd, lovely to see you," He catches sight of Branch trudging behind the slightly older and quells a smirk before tacking on, "My love."

Then he's being hugged and as much as he wants to recoil in disgust when it comes to anything that Branch has any form of relation too, he doesn't. He has a performance to enact, and he plans on fulfilling the part with precision as much as it makes him feel ill and want to gag. But at least Floyd is tolerable compared to the likes of John Dory, Clay, or Bruce. He has gripes against each of them for seperate reasons than being Branch's older brothers.

John Dory is far too obnoxiously loud and arrogant and stubborn and always thinks he's perfect, and apparently he bailed on Branch which he can respect. Clay is somewhat paranoid, always has this brat (Poppy's sister, disgusting) clinging to his side, his hair is a mess too. And Bruce, well, Bruce isn't half bad, his only problem is how often he says sorry for leaving Branch to raise himself, and his domesticity, it reeks like rotting flesh.

"What brings the both of you to my meditation alcove?" Creek asked, giving a small bow to his 'boyfriend' and his least favorite person. He wanted to just be cold and cruel to Branch up front and center, the amount of vitriol stored in his tiny body towards Branch and the queen was unreal, but he refrained. He didn't let it seep through the cracks of his composure, he didn't let it show through until he was alone and could tear something to shreds.

"My brother has been having anger issues again, and he's looking a lot more gray than usual," Floyd explained and Creek just watched Branch get even more agitated as Floyd spilled details that should be confidential, or saved for close Trolls at the least. But wait, that's right, Creek is a close Troll now, and Branch just has to deal with that.

Creek gives a hum as he steps ever closer to Branch and takes his paw, it's yanked away and Creek feigns hurt.

"Branch, he's trying to help," Floyd hissed.

"Really, Branch, I just want to lend a hand," Creek tacked on.

Branch gave a long groan of annoyance before reluctantly letting Creek take his paw, only because it made Floyd smile. He hated every second of his bristled fur brushing against Creek even though it was for just under ten seconds.

"Unless he finds a way to perk up," Creek goes the extra mile to grab the tips of Branch's ears and flick them up, the graying Troll stumbles back. Oh he relishes in that and tries to hide his smirk, "He'll go gray again, I'd suggest meditation."

"I'd suggest meditation," Branch bitterly smarms back at Creek who raises a paw to his chest in faux hurt that only Branch can see through for some fucking reason.

"Branch! If you make one more jab at Creek, I'll," Floyd falters, "There will be consequences."

"Love," Creek begins with, "It's fine, I'm used to dealing with children," The glare Branch shoots is sharp enough to slice diamonds, "If you'd like you can leave him here and I'll teach him the basics of meditation."

Floyd gives this soft smile, completely wrapped up in Creek's performance, and then he presses a kiss to the purple Troll's cheek. Creek returns the favor before Floyd speaks, "Thanks, Creek, I'll be back in hour," And then he's taking his leave.

"You're gonna leave me here? With him?!" Branch questioned, a frantic lilt to his voice as he spoke. Two paws held one of Floyd's, desperation clear with how he held himself.

"You're in good hands," Floyd answered with before gently lifting Branch's paws off his own, "I'll bring snacks when I return."

Branch knows he won't win, "Alright, be careful."

Both Branch and Creek wait patiently for Floyd to be out of earshot range before they interact any further. And their interaction consists of Branch trying to tackle Creek to the ground without any remorse behind his actions. Creek doesn't scream, doesn't writhe, doesn't kick or retalliate, and that scares Branch more than any other reaction could. Instead the Troll in question just smiles, this calculating and cruel one that oh so often is matched with the rest of the face, not now, his eyes are cold and most of his face is stilled.

"What do you want with my brother?" Branch tried to snarl, hands resting atop of Creek's arteries, a bit of pressure and he'll go lightheaded, maybe even pass out. It's illegal to kill a Troll, but every single day that Branch has to watch Creek feign domesticity around Floyd he gets closer to committing an atrocity.

Creek gives a hum, "Your suffering, as sweet as he is he's not my type," He watches Branch go through a thousand thoughts at once and the second he knows Branch is starting to formulate a response he adds on, "I'd go for a guy like Bruce if nothing else."

"You absolute cunt," The expletive is more of a harsh whisper, voice coarse with rage, "You homewrecker."

And Creek just laughs, "Oh, Branch, don't you get it?" He ever so carefully raises a paw and traces it across Branch's face, and he knows that the graying Troll would flinch back but he can't lest he wants to let go of Creek's throat, "I'll drop to lows you've never even heard of it'll hurt you- and if your brothers are the collateral damage? That's not really my problem."

"You're fucking sick, do you know how Floyd's gonna react hen he hears this? You'll break him," Was all that Branch could supply in response to to the downright sickening knowledge he had been given.

"And that'll hurt you, which is really what I'm looking for. But if I want a chance to have a go at any of your other brothers then I'll have to let him down easy," Creek said, "I've talked my way into getting a Bergen to not eat me and give up on happiness. You know damn well I can convince Floyd he's the monster so your brothers and all of Pop Village will come to my aid."

Branch steps back from Creek, speechless, and then the fucker laughs.

"They'll come to my aid Branch, they'll be doing everything they can to make sure I don't off myself while leaving Floyd to suffer- and the best part of it all, Branch? It's a two for one deal, and I just know that one of your brothers will be too caught up in making sure I'm okay to even realize how fucked Floyd is," Creek spat, "I'll fuck that one next."

"I'm gonna tell Poppy everything," Branch said firmly like the words would register as a threat to a Troll that's escaped death three times over now.

"She'll never fucking believe you," Creek answered with and the break of silence from Branch is all he needs as an answer. He stands up and makes his way over to Branch, firmly grasping his jaw, "What're you gonna do about it, Branchie?"

Branch doesn't have an answer ready for what he just had unloaded onto him, all he can do is wrench away Creek's paw. He steps back and wipes his paw off on his vest, "Something."

Creek gives a hum and a smirk, "Cute, you think you can beat me at my own game."

"Oh I don't think I can, I know I will," Branch snapped back with.

"We'll see," Creek said, again with this calculating and cruel smile on his face, "When Floyd crumbles you'll go down with him," It isn't an idea, it's something that Creek knows is true, "I look forward too it."

-/-/-/-

Its Bruce.

After Creek has cried a god damn ocean of crocodile tears and used gold to frame Floyd as the monster, Bruce ends up being his next weapon. And he even went so far into twisting Floyd's perception of reality that the magenta Troll is the one saying sorry even though he did nothing wrong. Even though he was the sweetest Troll in all of Pop Village, turned to a somewhat paranoid and reclusive Troll whose graying just like Branch is.

He loved Floyd to pieces. He loved Floyd into his basic elements. He loved Floyd into a million little bits that can never be arranged again. He loved Floyd and played him as the monster with so much accuracy that even the true victim was fooled into thinking he did everything wrong. He loved the way he played Floyd, he loved the way he could use Floyd, he loved everything about Floyd except for the fact that he was Floyd.

Maybe it's wrong, being a user in the way that Creek is, but he doesn't quite care. So long as it brings Branch mental agony than he'll be enacting it, whether it's him being the source of Floyd's joy or pain. And now he's going to go through the same song and dance all over again with Bruce, except, to a considerably more intensive degree.

Because with Bruce he has competition; and that would be Brandy, Bruce's soon to be former wife. What fun really, Creek can tear two families to shreds in one go while no one is looking. He'll gouge another gaping wound into Branch's family and he'll completely excommunicate Bruce from his family.

He's playing this pathetic act when he casts out the first bait for Bruce, sniffling and whimpering as he leans against the purple Troll. He has his knees hitched, "God, I just, I can't believe I was so blind for three months," He forces his breath to catch.

Bruce rubs comforting circles against his acquaintances back, "I wouldn't have seen it coming either, Floyd of all Trolls," It makes sense he'd never have seen it coming what with it never happening at all. All those years in acting school finally paid off for Creek, and he's using them to seduce a Troll with a wife and thirteen kids just to spite Branch.

"I don't even think any of the kisses were real," Creek sighed, slowly lowering his knees and tilting himself to face Bruce just a little bit more. He had to work this operation delicately, like giving someone a transplant, one wrong incision into Bruce's psyche this early on will botch the entire attempt. And he can't have that happening, no not at all, then he wouldn't have a chance to break apart Clay or John Dory afterwards.

"I get it, being the heart throb brings a lot of insincere praise your way," Bruce laughed a little bit as he spoke, edging away from Creek just a bit.

Creek gives this smile, the smallest upturn of his lips at one corner, "Well, if I kissed you it wouldn't be insincere," There's a slight twitch in Bruce's expression. Exactly what Creek is looking for.

"Yeah well, I'm married now, I have a wife willing to give me as many kisses as I so desire," Bruce said, a hint of defensiveness to his voice.

"Well," Creek begins, dragging out the 'L' as he speaks, "Brandy doesn't need to know, it's just between two friends isn't it?"

Bruce is crumbling, Creek can feel it, he can see it, he devours the destruction of resolve. The purple Troll gives a sort of discontented sound, a partially confused one, "Just between two friends, to make up for the falling out between you and Floyd."

Paws are already upon Bruce's face before he can finish his sentence because Creek already knew that the answer would be yes. He's swift to lean in and speak in a tone that he knows will snag Bruce on a barbed hook, "Thank you, Bruce."

And Bruce moves first and Creek has to try his hardest to not smirk into the kiss that picks up pace so much faster than he thought it would.

Hook, line, and sinker.

[woodchipp]

Thank you for spelling out your character development, Aubrey! You really needed to because you didn't actually have it in the first place, but the game needs to pretend as if you did!

"I felt like everyone abandoned me... and abandoned MARI too..."

I'd like to note the way Aubrey phrases this line. Mari is tacked on at the end of the sentence as if she's an afterthought.

Considering how self-centered Aubrey has shown herself to be over the course of the game, it reads more as "Everyone abandoned me, goddammit! oh and there's that dead girl too ig"

It's very subtle and intricate writing when your characters rant about their foibles to the audience as if they're standing in a confessional.

"After SUNNY stopped coming to school..."

Which he did on a whim, apparently. Nowhere in the game is it stated or implied he was homeschooled or granted some special exemption.

Also... the writer... totally... isn't... overusing... ellipses...

"I just wanted to go through the photos, because... well... I guess I just wanted to see everyone happy again."

It always circles back to Aubrey and what she wants. It didn't occur to her to leave Basil's things alone since going through the album might bring up some painful memories for him. No, all that mattered is that she wanted to "see everyone happy again," even if that makes those same people miserable now.

Aubrey is an asshole.

"All of our memories together..."

Because the giant "BASIL'S MEMORIES" on the album's cover wasn't convincing enough for her, apparently.

I have already touched on this in other posts, but for the purposes of this one, I have to reiterate.

1) Aubrey's immediate reaction to a perceived slight was to basically disown her close friend of God knows how many years (even though she had no reason to blame him, nor did she let him explain himself) and make a conscious choice to start harassing him. Because that's what strong friendship is, isn't it?

2) She conveniently doesn't specify other "things like that" she called Basil, which implies she might have called him something way worse than "creep"

As you should.

You won't get to do anything about that, though, because the story is going to shift its focus to Sunny in a few minutes anyway.

Peak writing!

And now she's turned on the waterworks because the game's running short on time allotted to her "character arc", so we need to pity her as fast as possible.

I find it funny how the fact Aubrey nearly killed Basil back at their old hangout spot the day prior is not directly brought up or addressed by her at any point of her rant. Her sudden breakdown would have made more sense if it came after her admitting how guilty she actually feels about the accident because she crossed a line or something like that. Nothing of the sort happens, and all we ever get is a vague "What I've been doing is worse than what BASIL did"

BULLYING PEOPLE IS NOT A "MISTAKE". IT IS A DELIBERATE DECISION YOU MAKE.

FUCK YOU.

(also, Sunny taking a few steps back instead of trying to comfort his friend like Hero and Kel speaks more of his character than the game ever could)

"I'm going to acknowledge I'm a shitty friend, but you're not going to see me develop! What do you take me for? An important character?"

"sorry I didn't put my life on hold to keep you all from turning on each other because I'm this group's singular braincell, apparently :<"

Yes, they don't deserve an asshole like you as a friend.

Sunny and Aubrey are both friends no one deserves, actually. One is so unreliable he walked out on his bestie when said bestie was at his most vulnerable and the other harassed her friend for four years just because she assumed he wronged her

Hero's argument to convince Aubrey she does care about her friends after all omits the fact she stole one of her friends' property and then bullied said friend because of it.

Love that no one gives a shit about Basil in this game.

And you couldn't say this while you were talking to her in the church on Three Days Left because...?

>>"We should all be here for each other!" >>Sunny is due to move town the next day

fucking lmao

And that's it! Aubrey's redemption is official!

Except it literally took a single poorly-written rant. And a hug.

Because that's peak writing.

143/10 once-in-a-lifetime masterpiece would absolutely kill my sister because I couldn't watch the TV for as long as I want again

[docholligay]

I skipped how Evelyn is running through the laundromat trying to get things ready and paying attention to little things happening, while Joy is trying to talk to her. But Evelyn has a singular focus, not just now, but all the time, when people are trying to reveal themselves to her. She does it with Joy, she does it with Waymond, I would argue she does it with her own damn self. She can't slow down and talk about how anyone feels about anything. That's a fucking distraction.

But here she DOES say something revealing, at least to me. Joy IS taking the wrong tack here. Evelyn doesn't dislike Becky, and Joy is incorrect to make it about Becky. But nor does she have the strength or reflection to be like, "I know me dating girls is hard for you." That would be so exposing to them both, and hiding it behind Becky herself is an emotional cop out for Joy, honestly. But Evelyn immediately brings it up, in her way, telling Joy she should be grateful that her mother is open to her dating a girl. And, honestly it does say something that her mother, coming from a place and time where this is not at all happening, ever, has decided that this can stand. It's not great, but it's fine. It'll be fine.

Joy can't recognize in which the way her mother is, also, making an attempt. I am not giving Evelyn a get out of jail free card! Before anyone yells at me. But I think it's fair to say that Evelyn wants to accept this more than she is capable of doing so. Evelyn has not rethought her life strategy in years, and she has built this emotional cage for herself, and people could free her but she would have to let them. She would have to let herself!

However I laughed out loud about Evelyn making the point that not only is Becky a girl she is a WHITE girl, to add insult to injury, and Joy says the most American thing possible, 'She's half Mexican" when of course what Evelyn is talking about is Becky's experience of moving through life. Becky is a white girl for social purposes, and the movie is making that point as well--you don't name a character Becky for no reason.

[klysanderelias]

I've been thinking a lot about that 'finding a lost cat in the alps' post in conjunction with the 'stardew valley is wehrbauer' post because of potionomics because like...

I have to not criticize the game for not being anti-capitalist because that's like criticizing call of duty for not allowing you to solve problems nonviolently - you're playing a shooter, what did you think you were going to do, except in this case it's a 'capitalism ho' game like recettear. And, I need to not criticize the game for not being citizen sleeper because yes, I want more games like citizen sleeper, but that doesn't mean I can complain that the devs didn't agree with me and make a citizen sleeper clone.

But I keep coming back to those criticisms as underlying causes of the symptoms I feel like I CAN complain about - that the story has fundamentally no conflict, that the game tries so hard to be 'wholesome' and diverse without ever exploring what that actually means in context, and of course the game being a glorified dating sim with a fully functional minigame tacked on.

And the problem, at its core, feels like: I am playing a game with neoliberal ideology by people who want to feel good about neoliberalism. And so everything is fettered by the imperial worldview that the developers either didn't even know they had, or chose not to interrogate because it wasn't 'feel good'. And I feel like, the more I play this game, the more I feel like there's no substance. I can't even say 'it would be so good if it was good' because the only reason I'm still thinking about potionomics is because I want to give it a fair shake for my sister's sake, and because I'm so disappointed in what I'm given that I can't help but try to analyse so that I'm not just going 'what a piece of shit'.

The game wants the central conflict to be 'you're stuck in soul-crushing (literally!) debt due to your uncle, and if you don't succeed at this business venture you're fucked' but it can't even commit to the basic narrative conflict - there's a very minor scuffle with the uncle but he's helping you the entire time and he's really sorry about the whole thing and really is it even HIS fault, and of course the nasty lady who is collecting your debt actually turns out to be completely reasonable and she's not actually going to fuck your life up, and the evil witch who mind controls the entire island actually is pretty reasonable too when she loses to you in a fair contest because even though she could just mind control you she wants to win FAIRLY but then she's like 'oh well, gave it a good shot' and just wanders off

And there's SOMETHING they could do with ANY of that but they just don't WANT to, because it would mean starting to interrogate ANYTHING about the fundamental premise and show the underlying contradictions.

Like, how did your dumbass uncle get a MILLION BUCKS in debt when renovating your entire fucking building costs like, maybe ten thousand in total? You can pay a girl twenty five bucks to go fight monsters for you and bring back potion ingredients. It's like, they can't possibly start to look into that without blowing the entire premise up. And of course, you're not even doing a recettear run where you DO have to earn all that money back, it turns out there's a potion contest conveniently right after you inherit the place that pays out A MILLION BUCKS over the course of five rounds so you don't even HAVE to earn money during your off weeks, you just need to cook two really good potions every ten days and the whole debt is taken care of. It's not just 'capitalism ho', it's conveniently whitewashing 90% of it's own plot in order to make sure you don't ACTUALLY have to worry about anything because like-

Part of the game is that when you gather ingredients, it can cause parts of the island to get 'overharvested' and the game tries to incentivize you to 'take sustainably' but a) all it really does is increase cost and b) fundamentally I don't think you can have a mechanic like that in a game about sending heroes to kill monsters. Like damn, I guess we need to let the bandit population bounce back a little, we're overfishing their camps. And of course the idea of harvesting sustainably only works when you're LIVING sustainably, and not being a profit-maximizing business in a thriving mercantile town where EVERYONE is taking from the same land.

And like, the game also shies away from the idea that people get killed adventuring! Every time it comes up, they joke about it, like the only time a faulty health potion doesn't work is when they're using it on a fucking papercut. The idea of profiting off people's literal health never comes up. You can give your heroes free potions as they go off to fight monsters for you, but the game never asks the question 'what happens if some rando can't afford the seven hundred gold that's being upcharged by 158% by you?'

Because y'know, every single one of your friends is financially stable and landed. Even the homeless orphan has a thriving business that you end up dumping half your money into every day. And they're all COMPETENT in a way that drives me CRAZY. There's no conflict, there's no stress. I'm not asking 'uh oh, what if Mint gets killed' because she's not in any fucking danger. It's wholesome taken to a cloying degree where the game refuses to allow anything that could potentially make you feel bad. Every rival you face becomes your friend right afterwards. Every romance option wants to fuck you and is always friendly and receptive every step of the way. Every possible conflict in the story gets resolved painlessly. Yeah it sucks that your uncle landed you in soul-crushing debt, but don't worry, no harm no foul. Yeah it sucks that your rival is using underhanded tactics to try and cheat you out of the prize money, but don't worry, they'll become your friend and TEACH YOU HOW TO CHEAT JUST LIKE THEM

It's like... yeah, I want a game with better politics. I want a game with a stronger narrative, with more stakes and more excitement, but also on the face, as what it is? It's just a nothingburger game. It's playing twister trying to avoid making you feel bad about ANYTHING. It's fighting for its life to say absolutely nothing.

And I can't get away from the fact that it feels like, the reason why this game is so devoid of anything to chew on? is because it's trying to sell you the neoliberal dream. You get to be the good, profitable, nice, well-liked small business owner, making a million fucking dollars in less than two months, being the best at everything, and everyone wants to fuck you, and you don't even have to feel like you're exploiting anyone! If you never ask any questions, if you never think for a second about the people trying to buy potions priced 70% over normal value, if you never consider whose bodies you're cutting up to get ingredients, if you never consider the people literally putting their lives on the line for your profit margins, you too can see number go up and kiss all the NPCs who are just personable enough to be fuckable but not people enough to complicate your life in any way.

I get why games like this exist, I do. And I don't even necessarily mind - it's a fun game, and I had some fun playing it. But it's just... I don't know how to fix it without ruining the core goals of the game, because the core goals of the game seem to be 'capitalism is great and you can be an ethical capitalist don't worry about it' and 'what if everything was nice forever'

And lemme tell you. As a writer, I feel like sometimes I write scenes where the characters do things too correctly, where they act reasonably and justifiably and don't react badly to things that might upset them.

But at least to my credit, I do in fact make those poor bastards go through it.

[bellyasks]

Okay, how about some prompts that are amusement park themed? 🎡🏰🎢🎠🎪

thank u !!!!!!!! i tacked on a few extras Just For Fun

🎡 How does your character feel about heights? Not a fan? Maybe they think they can handle the ferris wheel, but by the time they get to the top their stomach is doing nervous backflips. Maybe the person they're with notices they're looking a little green and offers a comforting tummy rub.

🏰 Your character is in the fun house and thinks the wiggly mirror (the fuck are those called) is giving them a wildly exaggerated belly, until they realize it doesn't seem to have quite the same effect on their friends. After some proper self reflection, they realize that, after a day of eating greasy overpriced snacks, their belly is just considerably rounder than usual.

🎢 Is your character a fan of rides? Even if they are, their stomach surely isn't after being packed full of sugary snacks. After being spun and shaken around on a wild rollercoaster, their belly is feeling queasy and uneasy and probably pretty bloated. Do they get a chance to sit down and recover, or does somebody drag them straight to the next attraction?

🎠 Crap! Your character can't bring their snack on the carousel like they thought they could. They waited too long in line to go back now, so they're going to wolf it down at record speed, just in time to get on. They're feeling awfully bloated now; maybe whatever they ate wasn't meant to be deepthroated in two bites?

🎪 Yippee! The circus! Your character is IN the circus. Fuck em, we can't all be audience members. Whatever roll your character may take in their troupe, it would almost certainly be easier without a conspicuously distended tummy. Hopefully they don't make the mistake of overeating before they perform, especially if they have to wear some little skin-tight outfit.

🤡 With all the friends that joined your character on this outing, they feel like they're in a clown car, especially when everybody piles back in to go home. After a long afternoon of snacking, the car is packed with full, bulging tummies, pressing and bumping against each other as they squeeze together in the cramped space.

🎈 Your character is just about the worst goddamn clown anybody's ever seen. Every time they try to blow up a balloon, they slip up and the air rushes right back into their mouth. They're bound to be feeling pretty bloated by the end of the day, maybe looking a little like a balloon themself.

🍿 Who doesn't love a giant thing of popcorn? Popcorn is devious; it goes down almost too easily to realize how full you're getting, and it's so hard to stop eating. It's also the cheapest snack in the place, and your character decides to go wild on their fun day out and get a huge bag of it.

[loving-n0t-heyting]

Imagine that we as a species suddenly encounter some new and acutely horrible infectious parasite. Doesn’t kill, exactly, not right away, but causes constant and excruciating pain and cognitive/emotional deterioration. And it’s horribly infectious. It’s just the worst!

So we could kill them all, the drugs exist, but instead, out of the abundant kindness of our hearts, putting every buddhist monk to shame, we instead do our best to try and communicate to them in worm-ese: please, please just fucking stop. Ofc that doesn’t work, so we resort to the next most divinely merciful thing: individually isolate and house the great mass of these parasites in a little enclave, sometimes alone but more often with a bunch of other wriggly bloodsucking friends, filled with nutrients and artificial stimulation, away from vulnerable human flesh. Until suddenly, one day, one of the parasites breaks free of its bell jar as tho by magic, pulling others out with it, and starts wreaking havoc once more on humanity

Again, we could kill them all! Would be a piece of cake! But instead, we create a giant container to contain all the other containers still remaining, to wait and see if any of these others are able to pull this same bit of invertebrate!Houdini trickery. Or at least, most of us do. There’s an eccentric, tho, who tries a different tack. Bc he cares about these little fuckers. They are his special little buddies. Instead he picks one, his precious little fucking nightmare pet, to bring back into his own privately maintained demon habitat, doing his best to communicate with a tiny little worm puppet he crafted specifically to interact with the bastard. Waits for it to spawn younglings so he can set up them with their own living quarters. He even arranges a sort of pen pal programme where the worm can wiggle and get wiggled at by its monstrous broodmates, and eventually finds them all a particularly dangerous conspecific roommate, all the while tending to its every need thru the puppet.

Why? Why does he maintain this ludicrous arrangement with a little worm boasting fewer brain cells than he has has taste buds? Bc he is going to teach it to talk, and then converse with it to see how the other worm could have escaped, and build a way forward for the two species to live in harmony. It’s insane, ofc. Nobody takes him seriously bc it’s the stupidest idea they’ve ever heard. Any number of snide remarks are made by his colleagues (as much as anything bc they see in him their failures). But it works!! One of his ~100 iterations bred from the first manages to learn to speak in human speech! It’s a fucking miracle! And so he presses on with it, showing it the damage the outbreak has caused, pleading to help him find a solution to keep both species in safety and comfort

And what does this little platyhelminth bitch do? How does this pampered little tapeworm ingrate respond to these overtures of inter-phylum peace? Tells him it thinks the one to mysteriously break free was a hottie, that he should have somehow asked permission and better collaborated on the interior design of the terrarium with it before it had the gift of fucking language to convey its wants, that he was tooooo pushy in trying to talk about how to avoid species-wide relentless torture, and now its going to use what it learned in conversation to a) kill him and ii) escape to cause the plague to end all human plagues. And it does it! While he’s prone and vulnerable and screaming for mercy and avowing his confusion and refusing to defend himself, it fucking does it!!

God what an entitled little fucking bitch

[justsalpals]

https://www.tumblr.com/justsalpals/751271185799675904/hes-an-afterthought-one-by-one-they-are-brought?source=share

ooh, rubbing my little hands together. I didn't think anyone was actually gonna go for this. hell yeah. guessing you just mean the whole post?

So! If I'm recalling correctly, this was written immediately after the finale. Post-episode is when I've always had the most luck getting eyes on a post, so I was in a bit of a hurry to get something out while there were still eyes in the tag. I knew going into the episode that Jace was nearly certainly gonna die and was looking forward to getting a good short angst piece out about it. Because that's how I roll.

The main inspiration was, pretty obviously, how we have no fucking clue what happened to Jace. He was being arrested, but then pushed into the lava? But the death was quick and jokey enough it could be argued to be a non-canon aside. But then again, shortly after all the shatter starred people were brought back to life! Does that include Jace? Why wouldn't it? The Bad Kids straight up do not know enough about this man to judge whether he was irredeemable and genuinely into it or just a brainwashed pawn. (The real answer, of course, is somewhere between.)

One thing is for sure: they don't talk about him ever again. Which I choose to interpret as them just fucking forgetting about him. (To be clear, I find this very funny. And in character for a bunch of teens who just saved the world again. They don't have bandwidth to think through every little person who's gonna be resurrected, okay?!) So, gods left to their own devices were told to bring back everyone who'd been shatter starred. I certainly don't see why Jace would be excluded.

But he is forgotten. His death was tacked onto the end, a joke to wrap up loose ends. And his resurrection is just as careless.

He is an afterthought.

Ooh nice one, Arson. Punchy! Depressing! This is our starting point, the tone setter. We're taking this and running with it.

Jace is brought back to life, and just. Left to his own devices. Not worth the effort. Yeah you helped try to kill a god and force the entire town to become an unwilling divine domain, but we legitimately do not care about you enough to even follow up. He's not a threat. He's not even enough of an annoyance to swing by and heckle with some jeering one liners. He's not worth it.

He's alone. Unmoored. Directionless. For the first time since Porter raised him from the dead, he can't feel that otherworldly anger that drove him.

His chest aches.

Was he not angry anymore? He should probably be angry, right? That's how villains feel after their plans are foiled, yeah? And I do believe that even before being brought back Wrong, Jace had a lot of anger he buried far down as he could. The shatter star didn't invent the anger, just stoked what was there already.

But that anger was the only thing keeping him upright for months. He wants to be angry now, wants to still have that drive and purpose, but he's so damn burnt out.

So where does he go from here? He's probably lost his job, and gets the feeling if he goes to check he'll just remind people of his existence and get thrown in jail after all. What's left? Jace being directionless is something I love to play with, and he's had all that direction and devotion ripped from his chest. What's there to do but grasp at ghosts?

So he goes to the gym. Probably doesn't even know why, just knows it was the last place he saw Porter.

Hey Arson, why the hell does he make a bunch of clones of himself?? That makes no sense. BECAUSE ITS A COOL VISUAL OKAY. The emptiness of the gym is Too Much. Summoning a crowd of yourself, but their eyes judge harsher than any outsider ever would.

He's lost in himself, and after so long he can't even figure out what it is he's feeling. He can't comprehend that he just misses Porter. And what way is there to speak with the man who would be god than to pray?

But Porter's not here anymore. Jace, alone forgotten directionless, has to figure it out on his own.

[sacrilegious-skeletal-scribe]

kerosene and other dietary supplements

there’s a dryness in the center of bite wounds, the ones that don’t get all the way through

teeth and saliva and blood; evenly divided semi-circles, perfect fifths, et c

but the skin between remains unblistered, unbroken

dry and calm

it’s funny, as long as the laughter is directed at nobody and maybe yourself

if it's still humor when the ouroboros reaches the end of its tail and stares back at itself

eyes and recognition and fear meeting for a second

the moment it takes for a jaw to widen, eyes rolling back in the lunge

and the snake is lust, it is doubt and a choking scream and violence

so tightly coiled it must forfeit sight to part its teeth

directionless and thrashing and begging for someone to do that again

take up shed blade and intent and for chrissake aim for something important

but mostly it sleeps in your chest, and mostly it isn’t a snake, and mostly you live around it

and it’s not lust

it is anger, enough pain and blood and guilt and violence for a lifetime

astounding what you can fit into fifteen minutes with a little depersonalization and a paring knife

still not lust

but there is a sex to it

something in the movement, in the quiet desperate shuffling

because it’s sex and it's grief and you don't even have to cry during

it’s sex and it's the closest you can get to dying without drawing attention to yourself

it’s tearing your skin down to brass tacks because maybe if you can get at the support hooks you can talk them into fitting correctly

it’s standing in the basin of a church parking lot on a thursday afternoon

slamming god’s finest car door into your forearm until it remembers who it belongs to

it hurts like godfire and it’s the closest thing you can have to sex without taking your clothes off

and it’s lust the same way that shallow midnight anguish is lust

it’s lust like an apology that stalls out, somewhere between bile and teeth

like a molding pomegranate, like a dead spider, blood and skin and eyes

smeared ever so slightly between your palm and the hole it was trying to escape to

it’s lust for as long as anger has to be yelling

has to seethe and bare teeth and throw plates at raised arms

as long as anger does not realize how to smile, to placate, to pray

as long as i love you has to be true

as long as you have to stare unblinking into the wound before it’s allowed to kill you

allowed to pus and rot and burrow through flesh until there isn’t any

lust like a maggot cupped gently into a corpse, bathed in sunlight

it’s lust because the grief counsellor can never dig quite fast enough

hard to keep up with the dirt, armed with your own inertia 

and twenty court-ordered minutes

and the kind of grief that doesn’t grip the silverware drawer to hurt other people

they never get to weapons made of strangers

to clothing that debrides skin if you fold it right, if you ask nicely

to throwing yourself against nails and teeth and flared collarbones

until the bruises start to slide together, till your skin is too stunned to scream at you

it’s violence but not for anybody else

that godless sex that gets you frowned at, by family and holy men

like all this little fucking conundrum was missing was disapproval

and the bite roils in your stomach now, bile creeping up between cracked teeth

they are vicious and eager and can never sink all the way through

‘cause it’s rotting, that dry little center

and you can’t bring yourself to check just how much progress it’s made

you’ve always looked a little like roadkill, anyway