#the job is ​wasted on this boring bastard whoever they are

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

figured out i can use the german subtitles on english-language shows i’m very familiar with for examples of specific syntax. put on i think you should leave on account of i’ve seen it a ton of times. it has occurred to me that faithfully translated, itysl would NOT be the best model for correct syntax or natural-sounding speech, however whoever wrote these subtitles has no aptitude for comedy or absurdism so it works just fine

[i-have-a-wonky-eye-too]

Devil in Disguise... Part 20/?

Lee Bodecker x reader series

<Part 19<

Warnings: 18+ readers only, swearing, fingering, unprotected sex, light spanking, car sex, public sex, scheming, talk of indecent photographs

You hummed to yourself as you stood in the kitchen cooking breakfast, well, lunch for Lee. He'd be getting up soon to start his next shift at lunch time and you knew he'd want to stay in bed as long as possible since he didn't get home until 4am.

Last night the two of you had dinner at the diner with your grandpa so you could catch up before Lee started back at work after your weekend away. You'd barely gotten stuck into the piece of chocolate cake you were sharing when one of Lee's deputies turned up saying they needed his assistance with something. Whatever it was must have kept him busy most of the night as you didn't even get a phone call from saying he was bored like every other Monday evening he worked.

"Hmm, now that's a delight to see first thing." Lee spoke from the bottom of the stairs.

You shook your head with a smile. "And good morning to you too, Lee."

Lee chuckled as he came up behind you and slipped his arms around your waist. "Good morning, Sugar." He kissed your cheek. "You know how you'd look even better, cooking me breakfast?" He asked. You shook your head as you began to plate his food up. "With my cock burrowed in your pussy." He whispered and kissed your neck.

You gasped, "Sit down." You playfully ordered him, giving him a shove with your arm as he chuckled. "How was work last night?" You asked as you placed his food in front of him at the table.

"Long." Lee hummed around a mouthful of food. "Oh, guess who I arrested last night..." You shrugged. "Principal Dent and Mr Jackson."

Your eyes widened. Mr Jackson was Mary's father which meant, "They got the diary."

Lee nodded. "We got a call to the Dent's residents where Mr Jackson had forced his way into their home and was practically choking Sam to death. He was shouting about him being a bastard and taking advantage of his daughter." Your eyes widened with excitement. "He had the damn diary in his pocket like a damn Bible." He chuckled. "Sam was as white as a sheet when one of the photographs flew out of the damn thing and practically landed in his wife's hands."

You covered your mouth and laughed. "Good... I told ya' it was a good idea to put it in there."

Lee nodded. "I apologized to, Sam, back at the station for not being able to stop whoever was behind the whole thing," Lee chuckled, "He just nodded and said he understood that I tried my best... Son of a bitch still ain't gotta clue."

You shook your head with a smile. "What did his wife do?"

"She just said he was on his own and walked away." Lee shook his head. "Guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens next."

You didn't have to wait long to find out what happened. Rumors in Knockemstiff spread like wildfire. The nosy neighbor who had called in the noise complaint hadn't wasted any time telling her friends about the whole ordeal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Sunday came around, you'd heard all sorts of rumours about Sam Dent but the ones you knew were true, were his wife had kicked him out and filed for divorce, he'd lost his job as principal and was sleeping in a grotty motel. Sally had packed her things up and left town, too ashamed of what happened between her father and best-friend. As for Mary, you hadn't heard or seen anything of her, until today.

You stood by Lee's side as the pair of you, along with everyone else that had just attended Sunday service as you stared at the notice board with gaping mouths. There was no longer any church information pinned to the board but the photograph of Sam Dent and Mary, along with some other photographs you'd never seen before that were of Mary in some compromising positions.

"These young 'ens, nothing but whores." Mrs Jones muttered glancing over her shoulder at you.

You rolled your eyes at her. Lee chuckled as he slipped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you away from the crowd.

"She ain't wrong, Sugar, you are a whore." He whispered in your ear so only you could hear.

You let out a soft gasp as you playfully slapped his chest. "Only for you." You giggled. "Do you think that had something to do with, Mrs Dent?"

Lee shrugged, "Most likely. She took the photograph with her. If her husband was dumb enough to keep that shit in the house, then 'course she was gonna find it." He shook his head.

You nodded, "Where d'ya keep mine?" You asked with a playful smile.

Lee smirked at you as he opened the passenger side door to his Cadillac. "Open the glove box."

You got into the car and opened the glove box as Lee shut the door and walked round his side of the car and got in. There was a small metal box inside the flove box that you took out and looked up at Lee. "Now what?" You asked as your fingers tapped the small lock.

Lee flipped through his house keys until he came to the right one and handed you it. "Open it." He smiled.

You took the key and quickly unlocked the small box, grinning as you opened it and found the various photos of you from the weekend you spent away. Some were just of you smiling that Lee thought you looked really pretty in, and some were of you doing a lot of naughty, sinful things.

Lee licked his lips as he watched you flick through them his pants twitching as he glanced down at the photographs and then at you. "Fuck, Sugar, put 'em away." He groaned as he palmed his crotch before he started the car. "Or I'm gonna have to fuck ya' 'ere." He pulled away from the curb and set off.

You let out a small chuckle and put them away, locking it up and putting the box back into the glove box. "Maybe not here, but somewhere secluded." You bit your bottom lip.

Lee smirked, "I know the perfect spot."

You weren't sure where Lee was taking you, until you pulled up in a familiar spot. It was where you had your first date. It looked a lot different to when you were there a few months ago. The weather had changed a lot, getting much colder as autumn set in.

"You know I love ya', right, Sugar?" Lee asked, drawing your attention back to him.

You nodded, "Of course I do, Lee." You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips.

Lee wrapped his arms around you as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. You moaned softly into his mouth as you laid your hand on his soft tummy and slowly slid it down until you came to the bulge in his pants.

Lee pulled back with a soft hum as you gently began to palm his hard cock. "Fuck, baby, gonna let me fill ya' full of my cock?"

You bit your lip and nodded. "Yes, Sheriff."

Lee leaned forwards and kissed you again. "Move over a bit baby." Lee ordered as he unbuckled his belt. You moved over enough so Lee could move from behind the steering wheel. "That's it. Now, C'mere, darlin'." Lee patted his thigh as he pulled his cock free.

You bit you bottom lip as you pushed yourself up and threw your leg over his thick thighs. Lee put his hand between your thighs and brushed his fingers through your wet lips.

"Naughty little thing, not wearing any panties to church." He tipped his head back and pressed his lips against your throat.

"Only because you ruined them before we left your house." You pouted.

Lee smirked, "It's okay, baby. I like ya' not wearin' any." He slipped a finger inside of you, making you moan softly. "But only for me, Sugar."

You nodded, "Yes, Sheriff."

Lee pumped his finger in and out of you as he kissed and sucked at your throat. "Want another, beautiful?" He whispered.

You nodded, your hands gripping his shoulder. "Yes, please." You begged.

Lee smirked up at you as he slipped a second inside of you and began on scissor then, stretching your cunt as you began to move tour hips. "Look at you. A desperate little whore, ain't ya'? Want my cock, baby girl?"

You nodded with a whimper. "God, yes."

Lee removed his fingers from you and wrapped the same hand around his hard cock, spreading your juices and his pre cum as he stroked himself. He let out a heavy sigh as he pressed the head of his cock against your slit and slowly let you slide down his length.

You let out a deep groan, your fingers tangling in his cropped hair as his cock filled you. "Oh, Lee," You groaned.

"Fuck," Lee laid his large hands on your thighs under your dress. "Baby girl, you feel so fuckin' good wrapped around me." He whispered, lifting his face up to connect your lips.

As his tongue slipped into your mouth you began to lift yourself nearly all the way off before falling bakv down.

The car filled with heavy breathing and soft moans as the two of you found a rhythm. Whispered praises and declarations if love filled the air as the car began to fog a little.

"C'mon, baby girl," Lee gave your backside a light tap. "That's it. Good girl." He smirked up at you as you through your head back, your face contorted in pleasure as you bounced on his cock. "Fuck. C'mon, that's it, fuck." He grunted as he reached down and began to rub your clit with his hands.

Your mouth fell open as you cried out in pleasure, cuming around his cock as he pushed up into you. Lee worked you through your orgasm as his own shortly followed.

"What would you say if I asked you to marry me tomorrow, Sugar?" Lee whispered as the pair of you untangled yourselves one another.

You looked up at him with a smile as you sat back beside him. "I'd say yes, Lee."

Lee nodded with a grin before pressing a kiss to your lips. "Good to know."

You pulled back, "Y'ain't gonna ask me, are ya', Lee?" You raised your eyebrow at him.

Lee shook his head with chuckle, "No, but some day soon." He sent you a wink.

"'kay, good... Give me some warnin' so I can make sure my hair is nice 'nd my nails are painted." You joked as you straightened your hair out.

Lee shook his head with a smile. "Yer always perfect, Sugar."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @est19xxshit @acciosiriusblack @stucky-my-ship @the-girl-who-want-to-die @greeneyedblondie008 @moonlacebeam @charmed-asylum @insanitybyanothername @quinnmaddie @cc13723things @chrisevanseagletattoo @atashi-no-yuuki @bluebouquetcupcake29 @saphic-susperia @kaylamcd2000

[tamagoincident]

To Lure a Bird

arthur morgan x reader

summary: The Van der Linde Gang plans to rob a train, too bad you hit it first. You, being the reasonable person you are, coerce rough-looking men to run a job with you in exchange for the stolen money, and everyone gets more than they bargained for.

chapter: 1/10

link: AO3

Chapter One - A Mutual Enemy

On the evening you first heard of the Van der Linde Gang’s presence in Valentine, you stood at the bar of Smithfield's Saloon disguised in men’s clothing. Not a typical Friday for you, as you tried not to make it a habit of sticking around places where reckless men became more reckless the further they disappeared into their cups. But years ago you’d helped the bartender, a giant man named Ernest, drum up enough money to pay off his debtors, and he held you in the highest of regards ever since. It was the only place you could drink without being disturbed. Ernest made sure of that.

“What’ll it be, the usual?” he winked at you, his large hands already reaching toward the whiskey.

You smiled and nodded.

“I have information you might want to hear,” he continued, pouring the liquor into a glass and sliding it towards you. You caught it easily.

“Oh?”

“There was a young lady here last night. Overheard her talkin’ to some fancy pants New Yorker who kept braggin’ ‘bout the luxury train he’ll be taking back to the North. She seemed awfully intrigued,” Ernest said. “And get this, it weren’t the only instance I’d seen her, neither. Few days ago she’d been traipsin’ around the outskirts of Valentine with a bunch of scary lookin’ out-of-towners.”

“Figure they’re planning on robbing the train?”

Ernest shrugged. “It’s easy pickin’. You know how naïve high society can be.”

Maybe easy enough for a one-person job, if done quickly and with care. You’d only robbed a train once with two people you used to run with. You didn’t run with them anymore. It hurt you to think of it.

You held up your glass for a refill and leaned forward, brimming with interest. “Tell me more about this train.”

—

The train tracks rattled underneath Arthur’s feet.

“Get movin’,” he said to Sean, pointing towards the trees hidden in the darkness. Arthur climbed atop the wagon they’d rode in on and placed in the middle of the tracks, which bore five hundred gallons of oil. He widened his stance for balance and pulled a bandana over his mouth and nose. “Here she comes.”

Arthur squinted against the blinding brightness of the incoming headlight, cocking his rifle as it approached. The train’s horn bellowed into the night.

It saw him. Good.

It came to a hissing and screeching halt. A uniformed man stormed out from the front cab. “What's goin' on here? What's—aw hell,” the engineer wailed, kicking the dirt underneath his feet. “Not again! Gettin’ real tired of this shit.” Behind him, a shadow of blurred movement. Charles, ready to strike him unconscious.

Arthur jumped off the wagon. “Hold it!” he yelled to Charles, who paused his assault and instead restrained the man with a pistol aimed at his head. “What d’you mean, ‘Not again?’”

“If y’all are trying to rob us, we’ve already been hit,” he wheezed.

“You’re bluffin’.”

“You and your boys are more than welcome to board and check. Reckon it’s a waste of time though.”

Arthur swore. “Let him go, Mr. S.”

Charles let go. The engineer stumbled forward, sputtering and coughing. In between heavy breaths he said, “Happened near the Heartlands. Strange feller in a mask robbed us blind and then pointed a shotgun at me, gruntin’ at me to start the engine or he’ll call for his gang to kill everyone on board.”

“Why in God’s name would he do that?” Arthur said.

“Beats me. But now that I think of it, he was probably expecting y’all. Here, he gave me this—” he moved to reach into his coat pocket, but ceased upon the chorus of rifles cocking. Sean and John had appeared to find what the holdup was.

“Don’t move a goddamn muscle,” Arthur growled. “Mr. S., if you could kindly grab whatever’s in that fool’s pocket.”

Charles complied, plucking out a wad of paper. He handed it to Sean, who read aloud:

Don’t want the loot, only your attention.

Have your lady informant go back to the saloon and talk to the bartender.

He’ll tell you where to find me.

Cause any trouble and you won’t see a cent.

Sean laughed bitterly, waving the note in the air. “Got us good, didn't he?”

“Give me that, you idiot.” Arthur snatched the note and tilted the lettering towards the train's headlight. “Goddamn it—”

A bullet whizzed by Arthur’s head. The engineer dove to the ground for safety.

“Get on your horses!” Arthur yelled to the gang and whistled. Once in the saddle, he spurred the horse on and rode hard into the trees, past the storm of bullets, and evaded capture.

He was the last to arrive back at camp, after making sure he hadn’t been followed. He passed Dutch’s closed tent and found Sean blackout drunk near the fire. John sat close by, clearly on the same trajectory as the Irishman, with the amount of empty beer bottles at his feet. Arthur cleared his throat. “Where’s Charles?”

John glanced up, eyes bleary and lined with red. In the firelight he looked small and exhausted. “Asleep.”

“You should be too.”

“Well, I ain’t,” John mumbled tipping the beer to his lips and draining it. He tossed the bottle aside with a crash.

“Need me to tuck you in Marston? How ‘bout a bedtime story?”

“Real funny, Arthur."

Arthur sat down across from John, allowing the sound of crickets and snuffling horses to fill the silence between them. When he spoke, his tone was softer. “Don’t think I’ve seen you this shaken. Not even when you was freezin’ your ass off after them wolves got to you.”

John’s gaze dropped to his lap. “I’m a bit rattled, s’all. I got a bad feelin’, Arthur.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you think the law showed up a little too fast?”

“Maybe,” Arthur said. “I’m more curious about the son-of-a-bitch who knew we was gonna rob that train.” He turned, pulling the note he’d stashed into his saddlebag and brandishing it.

“See? You’re worried too. S’not just me.”

“I’m not worried,” Arthur cast the notion aside. No use in admitting to being worried unless there was really something to lose sleep over, especially in front of John, who looked like he was fixing for an excuse to leave again. Arthur didn’t want to be the person to give him one. He would gladly take a bullet before he watched Abigail’s face twist back into sorrow and disappointment on account of John flying the coop.

“We gonna be okay, Arthur?” John asks.

“Can’t tell the future anymore than you can, Marston,” Arthur said, crumpling the note in his fist. “What we can do is find the bastard who pulled the wool over our eyes, and deal with the rest as it comes along. I’ll talk to Mary-Beth tomorrow. Ask her to go back up to the saloon.”

John watched as Arthur tossed the paper into the fire, the edges curling into black.

—

You waited across the tracks from the abandoned trading post in Roanoke Ridge, taking shelter behind a sturdy tree (you’d almost hid behind one crawling with poison ivy vines, what a sight that would have been). The instructions you’d given Ernest to pass on had been clear: Whoever is sent must be on time and arrive alone. You checked your pocket watch. Already a half hour late. Out of desperation you remained a few minutes longer. The sun was almost at its peak in the sky, and you were getting hot with your scarf obscuring the lower half of your face. You cursed yourself for wearing such bulky trousers and long sleeves.

In your mind, the heist had been preferable to wasting away in the heat. With a little theater and luck, you managed to rob the train heading north. You still couldn’t believe your good fortune. Keeping your voice low and husky, the passengers and engineer had mistaken you for some hardened outlaw. You’d threatened them with your non-existent gang that was supposedly trailing close behind. In reality, the only thing riding alongside the train was the horse you’d borrowed from Ernest.

You scanned the landscape with binoculars, on the precipice of calling it a day, when you saw a pair of figures ascend the hill behind the dilapidated structure. The taller of the two was wearing a fading grey shirt that you imagined was once white, which stretched across his broad shoulders. He staked a far contrast to the companion at his left, a leaner man with dark hair that extended past a deep scar on his cheek. Both looked tough and mean. Exactly the type of men you’d hoped for.

Though two against one, the odds weren’t good if things went south.

You dropped the binoculars and reached for your rifle. Steadying yourself, you squinted through the scope, drifting down the length of their bodies until their dusty leather boots came into view. You cocked the gun, exhaled, and took the shot, aiming inches away from them.

“Shit!”

“Thought I’d said to come alone,” you called out. “If one of you gentlemen doesn’t get going, the next two bullets will be right in the forehead.”

“Jesus Christ,” the dark-haired man yelped. “Is that a woman shooting at us?”

“Woman or not, doesn’t change the fact she’s got a goddamn rifle!” the other fired back. “Alright, miss, my friend here is gonna get on his horse and leave. Ain’t that right, Marston?”

“Rode all the way out here for nothin’,'' he complained loudly and whistled. When his horse came around, he placed his foot in the stirrups and swung his leg over the saddle. “If you ain’t back by sundown, I’ll come lookin’ for you, Arthur. Hear that, lady?”

Arthur waved a dismissive hand. You waited until the horse disappeared behind the hills before coming out from the brush. At this distance, you could discern more of his features. The first of which you noticed were bright blue eyes that writers and painters alike had mused over for centuries.

He directed them at you. “There,” he said. “Happy?”

You lowered your rifle. “We’re off to a poor start, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t want no trouble. Just didn’t know what we was walkin’ into,” he said, moving closer, hands up slightly as if to not appear threatening. “You were real vague in that note of yours.”

You reaffirmed your grip on your rifle. “That’s close enough,” you said. Any closer and he’d eclipse you, your neck within snapping distance of those strong hands.

“Then, how about you tell me how this is gonna go?”

In the days leading to this moment, you’d thought of the ways you were going to approach this. Never did you imagine getting this far. “Do you have any idea why I may have invited you here?”

“To gloat, perhaps? About beatin’ us to that train?”

An involuntary upward twitch at the corner of your mouth. “Not quite, sir. I value my time and yours, so I’ll keep it short. I need you.”

Arthur pointed to himself. “You... need me?”

“Yes, you.”

He dipped his head, obscuring whatever expression he was making beneath the brim of his hat. Rubbing his neck, Arthur said, “Can’t imagine why you’d need me, lady. Accountin’ for the fact you don’t even know me.”

“I’ll rephrase. It’s not you I need exactly, it’s somebody like you. And your friend, for that matter.” You paused. “I used to have partners, too. One is dead, the other is in need of rescue. She was kidnapped. I want to hire you to help get her back.”

“Why not go to the sheriff? Seems a hell of a lot easier than getting up to all this trouble.”

“The sheriff?” you scoffed. “You really think he’d risk himself and his men to help me save a working girl from outlaws? Most likely he’d look into my background, and then I’d be arrested before I could even blink.”

“So all we gotta do is save your friend from her kidnappers and what, you’ll pay us?”

“You’ll get the money from the train, and I’ll throw in seventy dollars on top of that,” you said.

“What’s the catch?”

“Pardon me?”

“The catch,” Arthur repeated. “Seems too easy.”

“Didn’t say it’d be easy. Are you familiar with the O’Driscoll Boys?”

A spark of recognition. He was, in fact, familiar. “Yeah, I heard of ‘em. Your friend Emma… them boys captured her?”

You nodded. “A former client of hers runs with that gang. He found us in a hotel room, shot Henry, and knocked me out. When I came to, Emma was gone, and I was alone.”

“Under ordinary circumstances, I’d be glad to help,” he said. “You see, there’s someone I’d need to run this by and he’s already got it out for their leader, Colm O’Driscoll. This’d be the perfect excuse for him to do something goddamn stupid.”

“Please. If you’re familiar with them, you can imagine how awful it must be for her. I’ll even give you half the money upfront,” you said, decocking your rifle and slipping it back over your shoulder by its leather strap.

“Can’t promise nothin’, but I’ll talk it over with some people tonight. Meet me at that saloon in two days, same time. If it goes in your favor, I’ll take you to see the man who makes all the decisions.”

“Are you going to make me wait again?” you asked.

“You’re the one asking for favors, miss.”

“I’m offering a job.”

Arthur’s lips set into a hard line. “A job that might get us into a world of trouble, adding fuel to a fire that’s been burnin’ for a long time now. Frankly, you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

And because you didn’t want to push your luck, you fell silent. You watched him call for his horse and mount it.

“I’ll be on time,” he mumbled as an afterthought, and rode off in the direction he came.

[misterewrites]

Intro to Caitlyn 101 (Mirror’s Edge)

Summary:  Caitlyn is a thief looking for the next big score. Used to taking wristwatches and wallets from rich folk, she's aiming to take down bigger game as she discovers the hidden magical world within her hometown. Her first mark is an unassuming shopkeeper and his collect of ancient relics. All set with a plan, Caitlyn makes her move. Though plans rarely go off without a hitch.

Hello everyone! E here, hoping you are all well and staying safe. So the next chapter of my little side project is here! Honestly wasn't planning on getting back to this so soon but I was having fun worldbuilding and character creating and here we are. You can blame my friend @hains-mae for enabling me.

Right so the next thing I write will probably be the part two to this then the next chapter of the Underground. Umm that's really it for me so have a great week, be safe, wear your mask, take care of yourself and your loved ones. Please feel free to reblog, share, leave kudos or leave comments with things you liked or feedback if you read it on a03. I promised I'd try to promote myself more and it feels weird haha.

E is out, have a great one everyone! and here’s the link to the doobly do 

---> https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/76014323

There was an arrogance that seemed deeply etched into every aspect of the magical world. She stood among valuable, ancient relics from throughout human history: Vases from Greece lined the shelf above her. A row of Roman gladius blades in various states of decay with only a flimsy glass case between them and Caitlyn’s pocket. Tarnished Victorian era slivered lockets left about like loose change.

Millions dollars worth of the past and she, a stranger, was left unattended with it all.

Technically she wasn’t supposed to be in here with the locked door and close sign but the fact in the 5 minutes it took her to pick the lock and scout the first floor without a single soul attempting to stop her really was a testimony to the haughtiness of the ‘shopkeeper’.

It had been only few months since she saw past the false reality that was superimposed onto hers and she was still readjusting: Magic was real. Elves, dwarves, little halfing folk? Real. People shooting bolts of lightning and flames while riding storm clouds? Real. The guy who kept awkwardly hitting on her every time she tried to get a hotdog from the cart at the corner? Just a regular creep BUT could’ve been magical.

Even their currency was a show of their excessive wealth: Sliver, gold, platinum coins Actual platinum traded away like it was nothing! People starving and helpless on the streets and these bastards just walked with some of the rarest metal on the planet in their pockets like chump change.

Anger bubbled within her stomach along with self righteousness and a bit of her breakfast but she took a deep calming breath, closing her bluish gray eyes. ‘Calm down Cait’ she scolded herself ‘This isn’t the first time you’ve seen excessive wealth squandered and wasted. You’re here for a job so do it and never come back.’

She glanced around the waiting room she found herself in. It was off to the side of the shopping front andthere were very few things of interest in the tiny room: Some old, tattered chairs that had seen better days. A very, very tacky abstract painting hung over a bricked up fireplace. There was a scattering of magazines older than her with loose stables and free roaming pages everywhere.

A place of show and very little use.

“Hello my angel.”

Caitlyn seized up. She had been so caught up in her rage she hadn’t been paying attention to anyone coming down the stairs. Three stories with a handful of people about and nary a sound could heard. Must be some sort of magic.

She shook herself out of her stupor, slowly exhaling to calm her nerves. She forced her lips to curve into the cutest, lost smile she could muster. She opened her purple jacket a bit further so the guy could get a clearer view of her tight white tank top and running shorts.

“Helpless. Remember you’re helpless.” She whispered to herself before whirling about, her long black hair with dyed purple coloring flowed behind her gracefully as if she was an actress in those stupid hair product commercials.

“Oh!” she spoke with mock surprise, scrunching her face cutely as possible “I’m so, so, so sorry! I’m lost and the door was open and sorry!”

She leaned forward, sheepishly scratching the back of her neck as she gave whoever it was a better view of her outfit.

Hook, line and sinker.

“No problem sweetie. No need to lie to me.”

Hook, line and sunk apparently.

She blinked, unsure if she heard what she thought she heard. She glanced up to find a strangely dressed man with the goofiest grin.

He was cute in a ‘I dress as an obscure, indie character for cosplay’kind of way: His messy, unkempt black hair sat under a black fedora. He wore a long black trench coat that had seen better days. At least he preferred more colors than black on black. His collared shirt was a nice baby blue with an equally nice light brown vest. Black dress pants because men’s fashion is incredibly boring and shiny loafers to completed the look. Whatever the look was.

She expected him to be taking a good look at her attire.

What she found was him staring at her.

His warm dark brown eyes were soft, gentle and he refused to break his gaze from her bluish grays even though there were more tempting sights on offer.

She was on the back foot. No wandering glances, no self pleasured smiles. Not even a creepy chuckle. Just a strangely dressed, inch shorter guy looking like he just found the love of his life in this moment.

“I…” she cleared her throat “Umm….did you hear me?”

He gave a quick nod “Yeah. You broke in and you were trying to cover your tracks.”

It wasn’t that he guessed correctly what was she up to that threw her off. It was how casually he said it. More discussing the weather than committing a felony.

She raised an eyebrow, not sure how to proceed from whatever this was. There were always some people who caught on about her intentions fairly quickly but no one had ever been so….indifferent about it.

“I don’t work here.” the man offered, slowly closing the distance between them but leaving the doorframe wide open “I really don’t care that you’re here to rob the place.”

This has to be a trap. This had to be. No one was ever this….laidback. Were the other goons on the side waiting to jump her when she bolted? Was she on camera and he was letting her go knowing full well he had all the evidence he needed to track her down?

Or maybe he really didn’t care. He seemed more interested in talking than stopping her and there was this strange presence about him. A calm she’d never felt before even when her parents were alive. It was odd and foreign to her but she felt safe. Protected.

She shook her head, slowly inching closer to the doorway. The man made no attempt stop her. He just stood there, smiling, hands in his pocket.

The rational part of her brain said to run. This whole thing was botched and it was better to cut her losses than find out first hand what magical creatures could do to her. The less rational side of her head told her to wait, to talk this guy. Lying was obviously pointless but she had a feeling he would answer any questions she’d had and she had plenty.

“So…” she rose a suspicious eyebrow “Not gonna stop me?”

He shook his head “I wish you’d stay but I understand if you don’t want to be found in Andor’s shop. He’s one of those new elves. Less honor more power.”

She blinked. He said elves right? Just threw it out there like it was an everyday matter of fact and not a deeply held secret of her hometown.

“Elves aren’t real.’ Caitlyn said matter of fact.

“We both know better than that.” The man gave a bright smile.

“What do you want?”

The words spilled out of her mouth despite her best attempts but this guy was throwing her off so badly she forgot how to function.

“Talk to you of course.”

The worst kind of people were the sincere ones. They were sappy and gooey. They just so happy it was sickening. They had to be up to something. They had to some scheme or scam or something they were waiting to drop on you. No one was that happy, that purely honest. They were the liars who were so good they convinced themselves they were good people. No one was good and everyone had a dark corner in their soul they hid from the world.

Caitlyn knew she had plenty in whatever was left of her ratty soul.

“And if we talk? Will you let me go?”

The man nodded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Caitlyn licked her lips anxiously “Promise?”

Promise? What was she 12? No one kept their promises. Not even her.

He placed his hand over his heart “Cross my heart.”

“Let’s talk,”

He jerked his head towards the door “Outside. Don’t want you to ruin your heist.”

-----

Today was not going how she was expecting. She was thought she was going to break into an elf ran front, scout the area and come back in the middle of the night. She hadn’t been expecting to have coffee and bread with a random stranger on the street.

Well she had coffee, mystery man opted for hot chocolate.

They stood in a strangely comfortable silence a block from Andor’s. The man offered to pay for whatever she wanted and she took him up on it. Couple of baked goods, a sandwich for lunch, some water and of course her cup of wake up juice. If he was mad at her for her splurging at his expense, he hid it well. He just took his coco and some fancy elvish bread. Looked good but Caitlyn wasn’t up for trying other beings food. She didn’t know how it would sit with her stomach.

The elf who ran the cart, a few months ago human to her, waved goodbye to the pair as he counted the human cash the man gave him.

The trench coat cosplay stood patiently, sipping his drink and waited for her to break the silence.

She refused to break the silence first. Not wanting to sound too eager. Eagerness was a weakness and this guy was already throwing her off her rhythm.

“I’m Finnrick by the way.”

She turned to him, unsure if he was messing with her or not.

He gave her the same goofy smile “Finnrick Drift, private investigator.”

“Ah huh.” She nodded slowly “So you’re a magical P.I.? Like elves cheating on their wives, dwarves dodging their taxes P.I.?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugged his shoulders “Ironically elves like dodging on their taxes more than dwarves.”

“Right.”

“You’re new to the whole other side of Newton Haven huh?”

She glanced at her coffee “Lived here my whole life. Really makes me wonder if I lost my mind.”

“Don’t worry, we’re all mad here Alice.”

Why was she talking to him? Why was she being honest? This was weirder and getting weirder every passing second.

Finnrick changed subject “So, robbing Andor? Any particular loot you are after?”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes “Trying to fish something out of me Finny?”

“Guilty as charged” He beamed with pure happiness “Don’t want you wasting your time on shiny trinkets he cares nothing about.”

Caitlyn remained silent. She wasn’t used to such transparency. Normally this would be the point where the guy would lie or pretend to not have heard or awkwardly switch the subject but Finnrick answered openly and honestly. So far.

“So” Caitlyn straightened up, pulling her jacket wide open “What do you think? Great outfit right?”

Finnrick turned to her with a grin, his cheeks turning a pinkish hue as his eyes locked onto hers “Your body is absolutely lovely but your eyes even more so.”

Caitlyn could feel the flush coming. She coughed loudly, focusing on her drink as she willed the embarrassment away.

Finnrick chuckled lightly but returned to his drink. The silence returned, still comfortable as before.

This is was bad whatever this was. She needed to regain some level of control and stop acting like a teenage girl on her first garbage fire of a date.

“So” she cleared her throat “Mister P.I. what would you recommend taking if not all those millions of dollars of historical items he leaves about?”

Finnrick crushed the foam cup effortlessly as he gestured to the third floor of the shop “His office has a pretty simple safe. He keeps loads of paperwork. His various contracts, accounts, treasure hoards”

Caitlyn scoffed in disbelief even though her eyes shone with excitement “Treasure hoards? Elves? I thought dragons were the hoarders. Weren’t elves supposed to be above all that lovely corruption?”

“No one is above corruption.’ Finnrick answered “Elves are just like everyone else.”

Caitlyn crossed her arms and leaned back with a cocky swagger “And why, pray tell, would I care about boring paperwork?”

“Because it really hurt him in the pride.”

Damn Finnrick was good. Not only she was eager to learn more, she could already feel the smug satisfaction of bringing a powerful prick down a peg fill her cause.

Finnrick seemed to notice this because he went on “Andor is a young elf. 100 years give or take.”

“A hundred years is young?”

“When you live a thousand years every other race is a child to you. Andor’s old man is a swell guy. He’s one of those good elves you see in Tolkien.”

“Tolkien?” Caitlyn furrowed her brow “He wrote the books that those Lord of the Rings films are based on right?”

“Yeah actually.”

“Oh and the Hob…”

“We don’t talk about that.” Finnrick quickly added “But see the problem is Andor’s old man doesn’t know his son has become the small time crime lord. Thinks he’s running an antique business selling off old junk that was gathering dust in the family’s attic.”

Something clicked into place for Caitlyn “Wait. Junk from the attic? You mean all those relics on the shop floor?! THAT’S OLD JUNK!?”

Finnrick gave a casual shrug “Elves are weird. Andor don’t know shit about selling, all his money comes from his illegal business practices. That’s how he keeps the shop afloat.”

“I see” Caitlyn spoke, her bluish grays sparkling with mischievous intent “If those records disappeared, his shop sinks and he has to run back home to daddy.”

“And out of the city” Finnrick finished with a smile “And those records are pretty valuable to loads of people. Easier to fence and less messy to explain than a long lost Greek vase showing up in someone’s private collection. You’d get good prices for those hoard locations alone. Better than trying to carry tons of stolen and lost treasure back to your house.”

Caitlyn eyed Finnrick carefully “And you’re doing this out of the kindness of your heart? Trying to do your ‘civic’ duty to our fair city?”

“Among other things” Finnrick admitted “But mostly for the greater good.”

“Pfft, greater good? Yeah sure buddy. Like you know what’s the greater good.”

“Will you do it?”

Caitlyn paused, allowing all this information sink in. It was much better than she had planned and while she wasn’t sure of Finnrick’s angle, he seemed honest enough. Of course everyone seems honest enough the first time you meet them.

“Let’s say I do” she spoke, placing her hands on her hips to play the part “What’s in it for you?”

“A favor” He replied simply.

She rose a curious eyebrow “A favor? It’s not date with me, is it?”

“No, I plan to earn that one myself.” Finnrick answered cheerfully.

Caitlyn coughed “Fine, good. Not a date. Least you’re not a creep. But a favor is pretty vague.”

“It’ll be simple I promise.”

Caitlyn narrowed her gaze suspiciously “You promise?”

Finnrick put his hand over his heart again “Cross my heart.”

Caitlyn took a moment, weighing the pros and cons of the situation.

Caitlyn offered her hand towards the trench coat cosplayer “You got yourself a deal.”

He gently took her hand in his own and gave it a firm shake. She was surprised when, as he pulled back, she felt a strange metallic item left behind.

She looked at the crystal butterfly hair clip he placed in her hand: It was a beautiful with sliver hues and multi-colored shards of glass across its wings.

“What’s this?”

“A gift.”

Caitlyn felt uneasy with the ornament in her palm: It felt cold and distant like it was feeling her out and wasn’t liking what it found.

“It’s attuning to you.” Finnrick explained “It’s syncing up to your whole aura.”

“Aura?” Caitlyn shot him a glare of disbelief “This isn’t one of those new age hippie things is it?”

Finnrick shook his head “It’s a magical item. Yours specifically. Everything alive has a deep and very convoluted to explain connection to this plane. The hairclip is trying to match yours so you and only you can use it.”

“It feels wrong.”

“Because it doesn’t know you yet. It will.”

Caitlyn felt unease about whatever this was. Part of her wanted to toss it as far as she could. The worst part was she felt the item probing at her, changing temperatures as if trying find a comfortable setting for both of them. Burning one moment and too cold the next. This was magic and it made her felt like she knew nothing.

But part of her felt it slowly and subtly trying to match her, focusing on her and on her place in the universe. It felt more natural each passing moment and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious what mister detective over here was letting her borrow.

Caitlyn blew a strand of hair out of her face “How long does this usually take?”

“An hour.” Finnrick reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone “Oh shoot I have a meeting to get to.”

He turned to leave and suddenly Caitlyn felt alone. Awkward just standing in the street without someone to talk to.

“Wait!” She reached for him but quickly pulled back when he faced her “….any advice?”

Finnrick scratched his chin for a moment “Red tiles. Avoid them or they’ll blast you off the roof.”

“G-gotcha.” Caitlyn didn’t want to know what blast off the roof was code for “A-and the hairclip? What’s it do?”

Finnrick gave a cheeky grin and Caitlyn could feel her face flush “I guess you’ll have to find out angel. Bye for now. May we meet again soon.”

And like that, he was off. Strolling down the straight with a bounce in his step and humming a tune.

Caitlyn glanced at the ornate hairclip in her hand.

Turns out there was a lot more to this magical world than she thought.

[dubersbutt]

Making an onlyfans with Leon and Connor

This takes place in an ideal world where having an OnlyFans does not affect one's regular life in anyway and it's treated as just a side hustle

1.1 K

Warnings: smut (sex work, selling nudes, threesome, unprotected sex)

You didn’t really need the extra income, you had a decent job and your boyfriends made 12M and 8M per year , respectively. But, when COVID hit you got bored and the best way to fix that was start an OnlyFans.

You had told your boys about it when you just mulling it over and neither of them objected. Leon suggested that the money from the OnlyFans account could go towards their vacation fund. No, if you want to use the money then you gotta make appearances. You said it as a joke, but Leon looked at you like he was planning something and you were intrigued. You started the account later that week, and you've gained a decent following since.

When you first started it was just you. You started with simple lingerie photos when you started your NSFW twitter. As your account started to gain some traction you gained confidence to start showing more skin, first playing with angles and different items to tease, before showing finally bearing it all.

Connor and Leon were your biggest supporters, always leaving the the most amount of tips under your streams (they didn't need to but seeing dratdaddy92 and mcdickmaster9seven (Connor was giggling to himself when he made his account, and you had to stop yourself from falling over in laughter the first time you'd seen it) up you smile to yourself). They had asked you not to do any private messages or requests, and you agreed - you didn't really want to talk to horny strangers anyway. They'd set up your filming studio, and waited patiently while you did your photoshoot or filmed your stream. As soon was you were finished, they came in to fuck you themselves (unless you were tired, then you watched as they got each other off)

The first time you'd mention you had a boyfriend you'd gotten the typical responses; I could treat you better, can he even make you cum?, lucky bastard. And then you'd let it slip that you had two boyfriends and chat absolutely exploded.

You decided that your next post was going to include Leon, his only condition being that his face wasn't in it, which you didn't mind. You're convinced that in another life Leon was an actor because he put on quite the show as he fucked your face. You'd set up a POV video of sorts, and Leon had complete control over you, holding your hair and hitting the back of your throat every time. Leon hadn't held back on his moans, groaning every time he pulled your head down to the course hairs on the base of his dick.

The video was titled Boyfriend #1 Says Hi. You gained a huge amount of followers, with a number of them being female- up until the they had been primarily male.

Boyfriend #2 Says Hi was posted about a week later. It was an audio of your moans while Connor ate you out. He pulled out all the stops, sucking on your clit and drawing out whimpers and moans - you always struggled with filming by yourself because you felt your noises sounded fake but with Connor and Leon bade sure that you never had that issue.

During the stream you established nicknames for them (since saying Connor and Leon might raise some suspicions). Leon was daddy and Connor was sir, this was the first time you had incorporated tittles into the bedroom, and you were fairly certain they would stay.

The first stream they participated in was when they took turns fucking you together. You'd set up two cameras, one on that focused on your body, that took up the main screen, and the was an up close shot of Connor's and Leon's dicks sliding into you (it was the whoever wasn't fucking you's job to make sure everything was in focus). :eon starts with you on your back, leaning over your body, caging you against the bed and holding both your hands in one hand, as the other rubs your clit. You beg for him to let you cum, please let me cum daddy, and he does. He spills into soon after, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

Connor doesn't waste any time, flipping you over onto your stomach and fucking you from behind. He takes a much more calm approach, using the slow grind and snap of his hips to drive you insane. You tug at the sheets, feeling the stretch of the fabric under your fingers. Your whole body shakes when he pushes forward. You cum quickly, already overstimulated from Leon, but Connor pushes through, fucking you until you cum again with a loud shout, and Connor follows a few moments later. He gestures for Leon to move the camera off your face so he can whisper praise in your ear before letting Leon take over.

Leon spreads your legs, bending down to put his mouth on your cunt. He moans when he tastes his and Connors cum on his tongue, mixed with your juices. Your ankles dig into Leon's shoulders and your chest arches off the bed as Leon drags you over the edge. Your nails scratch his scalp. (Connor gets a really good shot of your tits on display when you cum. And you definitely don't print it out on a Polaroid for him to keep in his phone case, nope)

Your body is limp, completely fucked out by the time Connor man handles you to get your mouth on his dick. He uses your mouth, sliding your head back and forth along his cock. You let out little gagging noises as you choke on his dick. Connor spills into your mouth with no warning, causing you to sputter and cough (the chat really likes that).

The Fuckathon becomes a trilogy on your page. It becomes the video with the most amount of views in the shortest amount of time. The three videos are your three most viewed videos.

Connor and Leon reappear on your page multiple times, sometimes together but usually in separate videos or shoots. Connor likes to help you with your boudoir shots, usually because by the end of it you're so horny that you're ripping his clothes off to get. He sends the "bonus shots" to Leon when he knows Leon's busy. Leon quickly makes his name as your dom, with all his videos ending with you limp and fucked out. He usually hast to carry you back up the stairs, and likes to run you a hot bath so you can loosen up your sore muscles.

You have enough money in the "vacation fund" to fly around the world multiple times over.

[obsessive-ego]

It's like a popsicle but completely different

Musical beetlejuice x fem reader

NSFT WARNING

Masterbation, voyeurism, you know the drill

Beej finally gets a hold of something very personal and freshly used

i did get alittle sidetracked and slipped in another little idea i wanted to explore

I apologize for this mess

Time and time again he was so close to getting his hands on the ultimate treasure. You always snatched it away before he could grab it. But today, today was different.

...

A normal boring weekday, you were at work and will be gone till the evening, normally the born dead demon would be digging through your stuff looking for just about anything to use whether it was blackmail, which you had nothing, or a delicate item to help remedy some personal urges. But the ghoul wasnt exactly in the mood, hell he wasnt even in the mood to mess with your neighbors, as odd as it seemed, for once in his after life he was concerned for someone other then himself.

Earlier this morning you left in a huff, beej knew you were in a sour mood when you snapped at him when he tried to make you laugh, you weren't upset at him, but the action was still surprising, he wasnt sure what was causing you so much stress, probably work, not that he'd ever convince you to take him with you.

So here he was laying on your bed staring at the ceiling and not taking his opportunity to go wild and have fun. You were his favourite breather and it sucked that your mood effected him, whatever happened to the big bad demon straight from hell? He fell in love that's what, you sucker punched him in the jaw for trying to scare you, and snuck right into his undead heart.

The demon huffs out a sigh, not that he needed to breath, and pulled out a little clock from his jacket, youd be home soon, he sighs again, time sure did moving differently when you were dead.

The undead demon debated his opinions of how to greet you, assuming youd still be in a crappy mood, scaring the piss out of you could get him banished, which was a shame, scaring you was great, the ghoul would either get a delightful scream or a solid punch from you.

Beetlejuice decides the best option was to just survey the waters and work from that, if you were in a better mood he'd jump at you, and if you weren't, he'll go bug the old couple in the next apartment over.

With the familiar clunk on your front door unlocking followed by a slam, was a good indication that you were home, and not exactly in the best mood. Beej frowns and with a snap the demon made himself invisible to you, to avoid you, the last thing the ghoul wanted was you to lash out and banish him.

You swing open your bedroom door, beej flinches at the sudden action, not that you could see him. You toss your bag onto the bed just missing your undead pal, you rub your eyes and flip down beside him, the ghoul leans in close, were you crying?

"Fucking bitch, I'm doing the best I can" you grumble

Beetlejuice flashes from his basic green to fiery red, what the fuck was going on at your job?! Who the actual fuck was stupid enough to torment HIS breather?!

You quickly jump to your feet, whipping away your tears, you weren't gonna let this get to you, you were home and you weren't gonna waste anymore brain power on your shitty coworkers.

With that thought you strip out of your work clothes, unaware of the ghost in the room, who's fiery red hue was now a bright electric pink, wide eye and drooling watching you change into more comfortable attire, commando he was sure to note.

In your emotional entrance you didnt even notice if beetlejuice was even still present in your apartment, yes he would rush you the moment you got it, see there was a good chance he was out doing his thing.

"Beetlejuice?" You call out

"Beetlejuice?" You call out again

"Sugar, be careful with the B word" beej quickly pipes up, forgetting his words would not reach you in his current state

"Bee- Oh, my bad, almost 3 in a row there" you cover your mouth and beej let's out a sigh he didnt know he was holding.

Guess the ghoul wasnt around, which was fine, you were emotionally drained, with a headache coming on, and honestly could use some alone time, nothing against your friend, sometimes you just need some peace and quiet.

You flop back onto your bed and sigh, beetlejuice floats over next to you, frowning, guess he should duck out and let you pull yourself back together, youd be in a better mood to mess with later. The ghoul floats over to your bedroom door to leave but stops, when he hears a delightful familiar thud of very specific drawer, Beetlejuice's hair quickly shifts from its dull green to electric pink, he knew that you were up to, the ghoul spins back to you to confirm his thoughts.

Here you were, upon your bed, pajama pants abandoned, lubing up your beautiful pink vibrator. Beetlejuice was buzzing with excitement, the ghoul floats back to your side to enjoy the show.

"So wound up from work you need to blow off some steam?~" he coos, not that you could hear him.

...

Oh how the born dead demon adore watching you tend to your more desperate needs, yes he'd love to rip that lucky peice of silicon straight out of you and replace it with his own cock, fingers, tongue, hell anything would be delightfully. He wanted you bad, and not just in the sexual sense, he wanted you to be all his, to cuddle, kiss, joke around with, and yes he knew you liked him back, you were terrible at keeping secrets, and maybe during one spying session he herd you moan his name, but beetlejuice could see you were a coward with your feelings and for once in his undead life, he respected that you needed sometime to come around, but that didnt mean he couldnt push his luck with you. Lean against you during movie nights, cling to you like a lost child, cuddle you while you slept, you never pushed him away or outwardly said no.

You were his perfect little breather, funny, tough, jumpy, and sexy, exactly his type, plus you basically let him do whatever he wanted, so win win.

...

Beetlejuice sat in front of you, a perfect view, as if you were presenting your vagina to him, you were leaning against the headboard of your bed, against a few pillows, since you were alone the plan was to jerk away your bad mood, summon your favorite undead bastard, and just hang out.

You gently slide the vibrator inside, beetlejuice bites his lip, slowly pulling out his Half hard cock.

With a familiar click the toy buzzes to life, you let out a soft gasp before reaching down and pumping the toy in and out of your body.

Youd never admit it but you were a horny little thing, beetlejuice sure as hell didnt help, the bastard always had his hands on you, god you wanted to know what itd feel like to have him touch you like this. You curse yourself, he's dead, isnt that gross? Who cares, you lul your head back and begin bucking you hips to meet the toy.

"F-fuck" you utter, you really needed this, with beetlejuice hanging around and being underfoot, you really hand no time to yourself.

Unbeknownst to you the ghoul you wanted so badly was sitting inches away from you jerking his cock matching your pace, gazing bouncing from your face, to your chest, to your delightful wet pussy.

"That's it sweets, you're so good, naughty little thing~" he purred.

Hearing you moan made the ghoul shudder, oh how he LOVED that sound, and wished he was the one making you do it, soon, he can get his fix like this for a tad longer.

You begin bucking harder, and you voice begins breaking, a good indication you were gonna finish soon, beetlejuice has seen this enough times to know how your body is, he begins picking up his pace, wanting to finish shortly after you.

"Ah, ah, Lawrence-" you moan out as you cum.

Beetlejuice's jaw drops, and blows his load, hearing you moan out his first name, hell he didnt even know you knew it, fuck it sounded so good coming from you, it felt like his heart was gonna start pumping again.

"Babes" he says in a whisper, watching you regain your self.

You toss the toy aside as you put yourself back together, sliding on some pajama pants, you sigh, feeling much better. You're brought back to reality when you hear you phone ring, you make a dash to the front door, where your jacket was tossed in your emotional entrance, your phone being in its pocket.

There sat beetlejuice, alone on your bed, electric pink fading to a softer pink, soft cock still in hand, cum all over his lap, the ghoul was stuck in a loving daze, you said his name, his first name, it sounded so good coming from you, god slash satan he wanted more, he also wanted to thank whoever told you his first name.

Then it clicked, you were gone, and left behind your freshly used, hot out the oven, bright pink vibrator, finally, after all the time you snatched this treasure right from under him so many times, but here it was, as if you handed it to him on a silver platter. What did he do to deserve you is beyond his knowledge, after all the horrible things his demon ass has done, he keeps winning.

Electric pink gracing his hair once again, the ghoul couldnt help but drool at the delicious treat you have left for him, but he knew he couldnt enjoy it here so the demon snatches up the toy and vanishes, reappearing in the bathtub, his go to place to hide and enjoy some personal time. Beetlejuice could hear you pacing and chatting on the phone, indicating you're gonna be preoccupied for the next little while, meaning he's got nothing to worry about.

"Alright my tasty little thing, it's just you and me now~" tongue dragging the length of the toy, beetlejuice shivers, it was still warm, he let's out a low growl.

"Fuck, no wonder I call ya sugar, you taste just so good". His free hand finds it's way back into his trousers, pulling out his now semi erect cock for another round.

Beetlejuice's tongue roamed the toy, savoring the taste of you, oh how the demon dreamed of tasting you from the source, and this was so damn close, so warm.

"So such sweet little breather, we havent even had dinner and you're already giving me dessert~" the ghoul hums, treat your vibrator as a popsicle, starting off with long licks from base to tip, before sticking the toy in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip.

The ghoul was a buzz with excitement, electric prink hue so bright it practically illuminated the bathroom, reflecting off the tub and shower walls. Drool leaking from his busy mouth, eyes rolled back in absolute bliss as his free hand stocked his cock, his mind running wild, replaying the show he witnessed moments earlier, but instead of you dashing off, you as the demon to help you clean off your little toy.

"Lawrence, can you please help me with this?" You would coo.

The thought of you saying his first name again was enough to get the ghoul to start bucking harder into his hand, covk already leaking pre cum.

"Fuck" he utters "I'd do anything for ya y/n" he growls out, hips thrusting without rhythm, he wasnt gonna last much longer.

With one last long lick from base to tip, and the thought of you thanking him for helping you 'clean up' with the use of his first name again, was more then enough to push him over the edge again, shooting his load off on his hand and lap once again. Beetlejuice leans back and sighs with contentment, electricity leaving his hair and being replaced with soft pinks and greens.

"Y/n's favourite popsicles are the pink ones, heh, I dont blame her, mine too" he muses while admiring the 'clean' vibrator.

"I guess I should tidy this up" he groans looking at his cum covered hand, with a snap of his fingers his little mess was gone, yes he may be sitting in the tub, but the demon sure as hell wasnt gonna take a bath.

Beetlejuice gives the toy another once over, coding it in a thin layer of demon spit before vanishing it away to its rightful home, knowing you, youd find it in you drawer and assume you put it away and forgot. The demon felt so smug with today's events, you seemed to be happier after you jerked off, and he got dinner and a show, just not in that order.

Beetlejuice is snapped from his musing with the bathroom door swings open, with the shower curtain pulled the demon was fully visible to you, thank god slash satan he cleaned himself up.

"What are you doing?"

Beetlejuice, fully dressed, covers his chest as if he was naked.

"Dont you knock? I'm in the tub" he jokes

You snort out a laugh followed by a fake apology

"So what's up doll? Ya need to pee? Dont mind me" beej shrugs

"No" you say plainly as you wash you hands "since you're here, wanna order pizza? I had a shitty day and want to relax" you sigh glancing at the ghoul who was now buzzing with excitement, take out ment scaring the piss out of breathers. Beetlejuice pulls you close into a tight bear hug "I dont know what I did to deserve you babes"

When released, you stumble away saying you were gonna go place that order, clearly embarrassed and confused, not 100% expecting that reaction from beetlejuice.

Even though it had a rocky start today was a good day.

Bonus

You were sitting on the couch fiddling with your phone after making yours and Beetlejuice's pizza order, not really thinking much of anything. The demon flops down beside you, you glance up at him, he's been weirdly quiet since he hugged you in the bathroom.

"So babes, did you know my first name is Lawrence?"

[goldenlaquer]

Hi! Can I ask for Abuto, Gin, Hijikata, Sougo and Kamui headcanons about them being woken up with a bj by their so? Thirst is real

I was secretly hoping for this ask so I’d have an excuse to unleash the horny beast. Thank you. 

Gintama NSFW Headcanons: 

Abuto:

I’m a lucky bastard, is the first thing Abuto thinks when he wakes up with the sheets tenting around his hips, held up by your head as you slowly blink up at him and suck his tip into your hot mouth. 

Good girl, comes the second, along with a sleep-rasped groan when he reaches to push away the sheets to better take a look at the hot scenery, and you bob down and impressively take half of his length in, throat frantically adjusting around the fit.   

He doesn’t have a third thought. It all whites out in his mind when his eyes adjust to the dark and he realizes that your clothes are gone, which means that he can see past the valley of your swinging breasts, past your soft belly, at the lips of your pussy peaking out from your thighs, all puffy and practically dripping with your arousal. All from just sucking him off? All for him? Abuto’s a lucky bastard indeed.

Suddenly, uncharacteristic impatience burns through him. As perfect as it feels, it’s not enough for him to lounge back and have you do all the work. 

“Come here, sweetheart.” 

You’re lifted up, lovingly kissed on the temple, and moved again to have your hands firmly gripping the headboard for support as his broad tongue surges from your clit to between your folds and back, drinking up all the accumulated sweetness, leaving not a single precious drop to waste.

The Yato have unquenchable appetites. A fact that you mustn’t forget the next time you choose to impulsively give him a blowjob.

Hijikata Toushirou:

You just wanted to turn that frowny up side downy. 

While dreaming, there’s a deep furrow between his brows and his lips are tightly pursed, his whole body fraught with stress-- just like in real life when he’s dealing with low-lives and subordinates. But that’s no good. Sleep should be about relaxation and refreshment, and god knows he doesn’t get enough of both. 

So to help him with that, you slide down his boxers and go to town. 

Hijikata, on the other hand, is sure glad that he decided to sound-proof his quarters. Very fucking glad. Because no one else needs to know how he yelped out your name in the middle of the god knows what hour of the night just as he jerked awake cumming in your mouth, effectively breaking whatever rules he had placed himself about nightly disturbances, and how whoever broke the peacefulness of the night had to face the justice of seppuku. 

His chest heaving and eyes wild as he pulls your head off his dick is far from the relaxation you envisioned. And the what the fuck are you doing that is ground out from his clenched teeth isn’t as refreshed as you would have liked to hear. He looks angry and ready to chew you out, but between you, his dick is still hard and heavy against his stomach. 

You don’t help the situation by swallowing and licking your lips, a silent plea for seconds. 

Not in a million years could he tell you to commit seppuku, but there are other punishments, like shoving your face down to mattress and pounding away at your core to quell the raging need you have put in him, that are significantly more satisfactory.

Kamui:

Wide blue eyes snap open and meet your own as you’re in the middle of laving your tongue up the sensitive underside of his cock.

He looks startled for a second, deer in the headlights, before it melts into a satisfied sort of understanding. 

“Was earlier not good enough?” The smile stretches bright around his face. You have to fight hard to not let that memory heat up your face as you continue. 

But as good as it is to see and feel your lips stretched around his girth, Kamui’s getting frustrated. Your teasing pace was cute for all of five seconds, but now it’s fast becoming boring. He want to buck his hips deeper in that hot cavern of a mouth, and the only reason why he hasn’t done that by now is because you told him you didn’t like it after that one time he grasped your cheeks and proceeded to fuck your face without warning. It’s okay. Mistakes happen. He’s learnt his lesson, hasn’t he? He’s holding back from fucking you face now, isn’t he?

But did you learn your lesson? You hadn’t, he finds out when he grasps your hair to signal for you to go faster. You aim him a dirty look and keep that same agonizing pace. Kamui lets you stay there for a few more seconds, before gently shoving your shoulders, throwing you off his cock with a pop and onto your back. 

If he can’t fuck your face the way he’d like, then the least you can do in return is to stay still for him as he shoves his cock between your thighs, his way slicked by your saliva and the wetness already there, and start rutting against your cunt. And when you beg for him to stop and just put it in, Kamui shakes his head like the little greedy shit he is. It’s only fair. 

Okita Sougo:  

fucks the shit out of your face yo. pushes the back of your head down and holds you there, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as you gag and slap his thigh to let up. and when he feels a bit more merciful, he relaxes his hand enough to let you gasp in one breath before he pushes you down again. who told you you could do that? he certainly doesn’t remember giving you permission to play with his cock like that. sougo yawns. he might just fall asleep like that and make you keep his cock warm all night long. better make him cum fast before he goes through with that idea. 

Sakata Gintoki:

complain. complain. complain. why’d you wake him up. he was getting some beauty rest. you see these bags? they’re from staying up all night and making sure your horny ass is satisfied. complain. complain complain.  too slow. too fast. too much teeth. too little teeth. go down and suck his balls too, will ya? now that he’s awake, don’t you think you should do the right thing and put in a little more effort in fucking him back to sleep. goodness, people these days, thinking they can half-ass things and expect the results of a decent job. that’s what’s wrong with society!

[carboniteprincess]

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, Canon-typical violence, mentions of blood, character death, murder, you're literally a rebel sniper, it's enemies to lovers boba is not going to be nice to you yet, love at first fist fight, I cannot stress this enough, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, he's kind of arrogant? but he's young give him time

Pairing: Boba Fett x F! Reader | 2.0k words

You're arguably the best sniper in the entire rebel alliance, with hundreds of high ranking Imperial officials on your belt. When you're given the order to kill Boba Fett, you are under the impression that this would be like any other mission. Unfortunately, he seems to have great skill of getting out of situations that aren't in his favor. Now you're on Tatooine, where your comrade Orda has lured him into discussing business in a shady restaurant under the guise of being an Imperial Commander. His luck has to run out at some point, and you intend that to be today.

Crossposted on Ao3!

Being a rebel wasn't as glamorous as you thought. You weren't conducting high-level espionage or anything of the like. Instead, your penchant for sniping was homed in on, making you one of, if not the best in the entire squad. The only flaw you had, was arrogance. Never have you let a target walk away, never have you allowed yourself into a tight spot. 

You were always ahead of the enemy, so when your general gave you the order to kill Boba Fett. You assumed it would be an easy in and out job, perhaps he would've posed a threat to other members of your squad. But to you it would be simple, right? Unfortunately not. 

This is your third attempt at some kind of ambush, luring him into a perfect position. Mandalorian armor had few weak points, meaning you had to meticulously spend hours figuring out where would land a good, clean blow. His neck. If angled correctly, one tilt of his helmet and it would be over. Right through the jugular, no more bounty hunter. Another imperial dog to add to your list. 

If he would just turn his head, a little more to the right. Sweat beads on your forehead, eyes focused down the scope. Being a good assassin was all about your ability to linger, to wait. You're positioned on a balcony, a blind spot to the restaurant below. Your associate kept him talking under the guise of being an Imperial Commander, negotiating pay for the next rebel target. Boba Fett sits across from him, drink untouched. If you could see his face you'd swear he seemed bored. His legs wide open, leaning back nonchalantly. 

Fingers clenching on the trigger, you close your left eye. It wasn't like you enjoyed your job, when this war was over you'd swore to never lift a weapon again. The Empire made you, molding you like clay into a perfect killer. A painful truth, a driving force. Your parents. Both were medical professionals, caught smuggling medication to the galaxy's poorest. Promptly executed and then you, an orphan. A street urchin, nothing more. 

It wasn't long into your teens that you heard of the resistance, your heart burned with a want of revenge. So you got stronger, learned how to use a blaster, pilot and any skills that would make you useful to their cause. But you weren't a rebel, not really. You didn't care for politics, didn't even bother listening to the speeches about restoring the Republic. It didn't matter to you, but what did matter was taking out as many Imperials as you could before you die in battle or finally become numb to the anger. 

Self-preservation was no concern of yours, and that made you dangerous. A loose cannon, hot-tempered, and scarily a woman. You were used to being underestimated by your peers on gender, height, birth planet…. and you were the one who gets the high-profile missions. You were the one who has the highest accuracy, years of practice which left your trigger finger calloused, and every other emotion muted. 

Boba Fett had become a real thorn in your side. Threatening your record, career and possibly your sanity. His uncanny talent for escaping situations, even if all cards were against him, was exasperating. You would be lying if you didn't have some modicum of respect for him though, you were somewhat alike. Respect, no matter how great, does not destroy a death warrant. 

Someday soon his luck would run out, and it would be you at the other end of the blaster. That day was today. Lips twitching into a smirk, you watch his neck turn. Bingo. You steady your rifle, pulse pounding in your ears. At last, this mission would be over. You'd become a legend, the woman who killed Boba Fett. 

Bang. You take the shot, accurate as ever. A hum leaves your lips, watching him fall to the ground. Your calculations were correct, there was a weak point. Every armor has one, even Mandalorian. It was like a drug, the puzzle pieces clicking together with every fragility you discovered. 

The restaurant below descends into chaos, even the bartender is panicking. All guests rushing from their tables, abandoning their meals as your associate checks the man's pulse. You stare down your scope, watching the ordeal. He gives a thumbs-up, definitely dead. A buzz in your ear alerts you to a comlink.

"He's dead. But I think you'll want to come down here." Orda replies through static. Your brow creases, what the hell could've gone wrong. Muscles twitching with irritation, you make your way through the currently uninhabited building. You were ordered to avoid collateral damage by all means necessary, a false fire alarm did the job well. 

Your feet tap against the stairs as you make quick work of assessing your surroundings— if something is wrong, then it's always better safe than sorry. It seemed to be all clear, so you proceeded out the door and onto the street. This area of Mos Eisley was pretty habitable, aside from the abundance of criminal undertakings. Dust kicks as you march into the restaurant, pushing through various guests who were piling out at lightspeed. 

With a gruff, you finally make it to the rooftop, an exclusive VIP spot which proved difficult to doctor identity necessary to enter. You're about to start asking what the hell could've been so important that he dragged you down here, but your eyes meet Orda's now slumped body, face down with all color residing. A frustrated sigh leaves you, he was a good man. Even worse, he was a great rebel. His heart was in it, unlike yours. He shouldn't have been the casualty here. You reach down, pulling out his identichip and stashing it in your pocket. An action that you've taken with far too many of your comrades. 

Painfully you pull yourself from Orda's body, standing upright. Lingering would be a deathwish, whoever killed Orda was skilled. An impressive marksman, obviously one of Boba's accomplices who mistakenly thought he was the one that shot him. You could go over what-ifs later, right now you were going to finish the fucking job. 

The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in crimson constellations as the wind settled. Inspecting Boba's body was your primary concern, whatever Orda discovered, it cost him his life. You were determined to find out what exactly it was, from a glance it seemed like Boba Fett. With a grimace, you move his drooping head around. Concerningly heavier than expected, beskar is light and durable. 

You hook your fingertips under the helmet, pulling it off and coming face to face with…. not your target. Fuck. You'd be deceived, spectacularly. Knuckles white, feeling bile in your throat threatening to explode in a cocktail of frustration and admiration. The crudely made edges of the helmet abrasive against your palm, a reminder of your failure. 

Without a second thought, your balled fist comes into contact with the wall, encasing the helmet and sending tendrils of pain, a shock wave through your arm as you verbalize your confliction with a strangled scream. Orda died for nothing, you were a joke. Everything you had built, buried and locked away was floating to the surface. 

But you haven't felt this alive in years. Being outsmarted, so cunningly sent a morbid thrill up your spine. You could almost laugh, had you not heard footsteps approaching. Impulsively your hand fell to your blaster, making a mental note to thank your teacher for always carrying more than one. 

"Surely you didn't believe it was that easy to kill me." Before he can finish you turn, firing your blaster in his direction. Of course, his armor deflects it with ease. "I must admit, I'm impressed. Not everyone could distinguish beskar through weight alone." A snort leaves him at your feeble attempt to hold ground, looking over your pathetic secondary weapon that could barely injure an Ewok. 

"Go thing I'm not everyone then." You stand, keeping your right arm extended, blaster aimed at his inner thigh. It wouldn't kill him, however it would allow ample time for escape. "You killed my friend." He's circling you now. "Who's your Intel? How did you know I'd be here?" 

"You are hardly in the position to be making demands, little rebel." Another chuckle, you'd heard of him toying with his advisories before, but this was different. A teacher disciplining a student. 

"You're going to kill me anyway, what's the harm." You huff, shrugging. He stops pacing, chewing over your words. 

"Killing you would be a waste." That bastard. "Of my time and resources." He adds matter-of-factly. 

"Orda wasn't?" You spit, voice cracking in frustration. Figuring out what made others tick was your specialty, but the lack of motivation and reason within Boba's actions is what baffled you. 

"That was a favor." He sounds like you should be grateful, almost insulted that you hadn't figured it out yet even with him practically dangling the answer in front of you. Perhaps you weren't as clever as he thought. 

"A—favor? How would killing my comrade benefit me!" You reply astounded, cheeks burning red, hand shaking on your blaster. 

You think for a second, taking your eyes off him. Why did it take until after the kill for Orda to realize what was wrong with the body… He isn't… wouldn't…could've of… you've been double-crossed. "He wouldn't— I've spent months with him—" 

"And every little thing you did, he told me." His admission is calm, you look over Orda's body, no longer do you feel remorse. Just shame. You couldn't even see betrayal under your nose. 

You walk closer to him, the barrel of your blaster getting dangerously close. Nothing could stop you from finishing your mission right now, but he's letting you. Knowledge is far more appealing than rewards in the resistance. 

With your grip around the handle tight, you slam it down across his helmet, your knee reaching his groin. "You're very easy to fool." A smirk replaces the look of misery on your face, it was a dangerous game to pretend to let your guard down. Your risk paid off, managing to get a shot at his thigh. 

Swiftly, you press all your weight on him, knocking him back just enough to make a run for the edge of the balcony. He groans in pain, you're so close to the edge, escape almost in your grasp— when a grappling hook wraps around your ankle. 

You struggle against the cold floor, doing anything you can to wriggle free from his grasp.

It's fruitless, as soon as he's in reach you're kicking him, hurtling all kinds of abuse. Your attempts to wrestle him are almost comical and in a frenzy, you grip the only thing that seems viable. His Helmet. You manage to free it, your fingers hooking under and pulling it off his head, sending it on the floor beside you. For a moment you're the one stunned, not him. 

Dark curls frame his face, a beautiful border to tanned skin. His nose is prominent but compliments his features. Scars pepper his face, but he's young. Younger than you thought. You watch as his forehead crinkles in anger, hands pinning yours beside your head. 

Wasting no time, you bring your head to crack his, sending him back with a kick to the stomach. Your nose pours from impact, dripping onto the floor as you clamber to your feet. 

"This isn't over." You hear his voice, unmodified. You rush to the edge, peering over and assessing if you can land in one of the speeders below. He stands, trying to rush over to stop you. "Don't!" 

With a wink, you throw yourself over the side. In seconds you're hurtling onto the street, watching a bare-faced Boba Fett grow smaller with each passing second. His eyes are widened in either admiration or shock for your bravery. 

He eventually dares to look over and finds that you're gone. Whoever you were, he finally had a worthy opponent. He would find you again. His little rebel. 

[yukeri]

[YURI&Co. Headquarters]

THIS PIECE CONTAINS STRONG LANGUAGE AND ARGUING - Starring: Hong Yumin, CEO Na Deokhyun - Synopsis: Yumin, feeling as if she has nothing left to lose, makes one last attempt to save her career. - Year: 2019 - Length: 1,867 w.

Yumin stood in the elevator nervously wringing her white linen top. Just go in and make your demands. Don’t take no for an answer.

A chime signaled she’d reached her destination, and the following robotic voice confirmed it. She could feel the temperature drop as she stepped out of the elevator and into the frozen tundra that is the CEO’s floor. But it didn’t discourage her; it’s no secret that the CEO is very sensitive to warmth and keeps his office floor cool. It also serves as a cheap ploy to subconsciously intimidate any industry adversaries coming to meet with him and make them more susceptible to his coercion, but it won’t work on her. Hong Yumin was on a mission that she had been psyching herself up for over the past several days. Nothing could destroy her resolve.

She strolled up to his secretary. “Hi, Jeongho,” she said as sweetly as she could without cringing, “Is the CEO busy?”

He glanced at the man's schedule; “Uh, not right now,” he said hesitantly, “But he has a meeting in 10 minutes.”

This is your chance.

“Sorry, do you have an appointment? I don’t see one--”

“That’s all the time I need,” Yumin said, strutting right past Jeongho and approaching the CEO’s office. She could hear the secretary’s stuttering protests as she reached the door. She paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and entered the breach.

I did it, she thought as she closed the door behind her. Yumin slowly turned around. She had only seen the eggshell walls and cement flooring of the CEO’s office on two occasions: the day she signed her contract with Tastemaker and about a week ago when TM Girls was disbanded. Such a rush of emotions came over her that she almost forgot why she had committed this career-threatening faux pas in the first place. Flustered, she swallowed her feelings and greeted the CEO politely: “Good afternoon, CEO.”

“Yumin-ah...good afternoon,” the CEO replied curiously, looking up from his thick-rimmed glasses. He glanced at his iPad confirming what he already knew, “According to my schedule, you don’t have an appointment with me.” Yumin stood visibly trembling as he looked her up and down. “So either my secretary just lost his job, or you’ve lost your mind,” he said with a dry chuckle.

Then he stared at her with that look, his eyes fixed upon her and his eyebrows raised. The look was not openly nefarious as he is the CEO and must keep the appearance of approachability even behind closed doors, but to anyone who knew him that look was just as effective as a gorgon's stare.

Just like that, Yumin froze. She felt all that hard-earned conviction drain from her body and immediately realized the grave mistake she had made. Stop freaking out! You got this, Yumin’s inner motivation coach called out trying to preserve the last ounces of confidence she had left. You’re already here; you might as well speak! She opened her mouth, not particularly sure as to whether coherent words or her breakfast would come out, “Yes-- I mean, no. I don’t have a-- er, an appointment.” Alright, looks like we’re getting somewhere. She started regaining her confidence and spoke again with a voice significantly less shaky; “But please, if I could have a moment of your time--”

Suddenly, Yumin heard the subtle tones of the CEO’s phone. She looked down at the cellphone on his desk, then back at him as he pressed the tip of his AirPod. “Hello,” he answered, “Oh, Kyungsoo-ya! How’s filming going?”

Then it hit her: all the emotions she'd swallowed. The years of anxiety facing the possibility that she might never debut; the anger from the relentless hiatuses she had no choice but to endure; the devastation when she was told for the second time that the group she cherished more than anything in the world was no more. They were all festering inside her and had amalgamated into a feeling she rarely experienced: pure rage.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Yumin thought. The CEO jerked his head up to look at her with an expression of plain shock. Oh, wait...no, she said that. To the CEO.

Before he could utter another word, Yumin’s hand had snatched the phone off his desk and ended the call with whoever was on the line. She clutched the CEO’s phone in her hand as he stared at her in disbelief. Yumin didn’t back down; she stared right back.

“Okay, I’m listening,” he said flatly, breaking the silence.

Yumin took another deep breath and finally spoke her mind, “The only reason I signed a contract with this company was because you guaranteed that I would debut within 6-8 months. That was over two years ago; I--”

The CEO groaned and rolled his eyes as he reclined in his chair, his folded hands on his chest and his eyes fixed on her. Sorry, am I boring you?! I can’t believe this smug bastard...

His phone began to vibrate in her hand, but she swiftly declined the call. “I-- I am tired,” she said in a tone louder than what she had intended. “I’m tired of getting calls from my grandparents asking me to come back home because I have no future here; I’m tired of training trainees half my age that debut before I do; I’m tired of being the oldest trainee I know that isn’t anywhere near a debut; and I’m tired of putting my faith in old men who so easily crush the dreams of young, hardworking trainees because they’ve never had to experience this disappointment in their life.”

The CEO glared at her with his eyebrows furrowed, clearly offended. She decided it would be better to switch up her argument: “Look, when I left JYP...I was devastated. I worked so hard and all I got in return was a cancelled debut. Looking back, I can see that if I had debuted then I would’ve left the group almost immediately. I wasn’t ready; I would’ve been torn to shreds for my lack of ability. But I am a thousand times better than I was all those years ago because of Tastemaker. I was an alright rapper when I got here; now I’m the rap instructor. I can out-rap any trainee under this label, male or female. I was a good dancer before, and now I can out-dance our choreographer-- her words, not mine.”

The CEO chuckled lightly at her claim before she continued, “I have leadership quality, an attractive personality, and great visuals...but what good is having those attributes if no one sees them?” The CEO nodded thoughtfully.

Now we’re here, she thought, the hardest part. She took one final deep breath and gave her ultimatum, “I’ll always be thankful to you...and to Tastemaker for making me better...but if you don’t plan on debuting me, then...then just let me go. This way, we can stop wasting each other’s time.”

There. Yumin had said her piece and now it was time to listen.

The CEO cleared his throat and began to speak: “Wow…how dare you speak to me this way?! You have absolutely no idea why I make the decisions I make, and I will not be told what to do by some little bitch who thinks she’s talented because she can rhyme two words together.” Yumin was speechless; she could see what could’ve been a successful career flashing before her eyes...now it’s all gone. She felt her heart sink as tears welled up in her eyes. “Give me my phone!” He snarled at her, snatching his phone from her extended hands; “By the time I’m done calling every agency and talent scout in my address book, you won’t be able to open a fucking YouTube channel! You’ll have to go back to your grandparents’ and become a turnip farmer, shoveling shit to make a living.” He pulled her contract from his drawer, “You want me to ‘let you go’? So be it.” He pulled out a lighter from his pocket and set it ablaze. Yumin could only watch and cry as her dreams literally went up in smoke. The CEO threw the remnants of her contract in the garbage, “Now get the fuck out of my office,” he hissed, “You’re done.”

But no, he did not say that. In fact, he did not say anything. The CEO simply glared at her without a word and all Yumin could do was glare back. Say something, dammit! She thought. Yell, scream, something.

After what seemed like hours of deafening silence, he finally spoke, “Wow...that was impressive,” he stated flatly while opening his iPad. “Tell me, Yumin, do you remember Moon Yuri?” She was still reeling from the thought of what could’ve happened, but responded, “Uh...yes. Wasn’t he involved in THE FUN FACTORY?”

“Correct,” the CEO replied while checking some emails and notifications, “That call that you declined a few minutes ago? That was him. ” He gestured towards the phone that was still in her hand; she’d almost forgotten she had taken it. “Moon has made a request to establish his own label within the company. I just needed him to confirm some last-minute details.”

Yumin clearly didn’t understand, so the CEO attempted to clarify as he reviewed some charts and graphs, “Yuri is planning to debut a new girl group next year and he’s looking for 6-7 girls to be in it. Tastemaker isn’t planning on debuting any other groups as of right now, so any Tastemaker trainee may audition for him. Whoever is accepted will have their contract transferred to his label. No hassle.” Yumin finally realized what he was saying.

“But-- when is the audition?” “That was one of the details he needed to confirm. I’d say about a month or two?” “And...I can audition?” “I recommended you personally,” he said, making eye contact with her for a moment before taking out a pen and flipping through some important-looking documents. “I was in the middle of drafting a memo with all the details.”

Yumin stared into space, feeling like a complete idiot. If I had just waited a little longer...

“Um, may I have my phone back?” the CEO asked politely, but sternly, “I do have some important calls to make.” Yumin snapped out of her trance and hurriedly rested the CEO’s iPhone on his desk. The CEO continued to split his attention between the graphs on his iPad, the documents on his desk, and now the iPhone which was connecting to no doubt some other big name in the industry.

Yumin didn't know what to say. “CEO...I’m--” The CEO started chatting with someone on the other line. She averted her gaze as she pondered what to do next, eventually deciding to leave. She turned and walked towards the door. “Oh, Yumin-ah,” he innocently called out just as she was about to exit the room. She turned back to him, “Yes, sir?”

“Don’t pull this shit again,” he calmly ordered, “Because next time you won’t be so lucky.”

Slightly unnerved, Yumin nodded in agreement and exited the CEO’s office with another chance. Fourth time’s the charm, I hope.

[trashboatprince]

I’m working on a main story for my Reverse Omens au, but for right now, I really wanted to do something with Aziraphale the Demon opening up his shop.

So, here’s a little something while I work on the main story for Sour Blessings. I had to do a bit of research for this, so you’re welcome.

Summery: The opening for A.Z. Fell’s Antiquities and More is on Friday, however, the demon Aziraphale may have to put that opening on hold, indefinitely, due to an unexpected promotion.

Not if the angel Crowley has anything to say about it!

Warning: Reverse Omens, the other demons and angels are not swapped, these two fools are in love but they won’t admit it so it’s getting the ship tag.

Aziraphale (formally Azrafel) is a half-deaf, white cat demon, Crowley (formally Samael) is a rainbow boa angel and the one who tempted Eve (There is a reason for this!).

Rewrite of the infamous Bookshop deleted scene.

On with the fic!

--

Can’t Have That Now, Can We?

--

Aziraphale, formally known as the demon Azrafel until he stole back his original name, was more excited than he had been in years.

Finally, after so many hiccups, missions, and simply being absentminded about his goal, he was opening up his shop! Well, not officially, he planned on being open to the public on Friday, but he was allowing for guests today!

So far, the only person invited is his dear angel, Crowley, who he knows will be here promptly at a quarter past eleven, the redhead was also so good with time.

Proudly, Aziraphale looked up at the sign that had just been installed this morning. A. Z. Fell’s Antiquities and More, it read with a shine of silver paint on a dark blue background. It was beautifully fitting for the man-shaped being, fitting his color aesthetics. He practically purred in delight as he stepped through the doors, happily hearing a jingle of a bell above his head.

The demon hummed to himself a song from an opera he had attended a few days ago, carefully lining up some of his collection he had noticed he bumped out of place. His shop was going to house his massive collection of antiques, a term he had adored using for the collection since it was first coined during the 1400’s in references to ancient artifacts.

He finally had a place for all his stuff, things he had hidden all over the world, bought, traded, stolen, made himself, gifts from his favorite snake, all in one place now! Sure, it took him centuries to finally settle down, but 1831 was a good enough time, right?

Well, there had been an attempt a few centuries ago, back in the 1500’s, but it had been a bookshop next to a printing shop that had printed a book he really had wanted, but a mission to China had prevented that. And had also resulted in him not paying rent on the shop and having gotten in trouble with Hell for something stupid, he couldn’t pay the rent and lost the first shop.

Anyway, he happily likes to forget that happened and has instead tried again! Same location too, second time’s the charm!

Aziraphale wasn’t finished setting up though, he still had more stuff in storage that he needed to bring in, but his angel had said he’d help up with bringing that in. He wouldn’t help with the organizing though; Crowley knew from experience that Aziraphale had a way of organizing his clutter in a way that worked for the cat. Especially when it came to certain collections, like his massive library and his collection of rare snuff boxes.

As he carefully aligned a bronze statue of a rather specifically detailed and accurate horse he got as a joke gift from Crowley, he heard the jingle of the bell above his front door. He cupped his hand over his left ear, trying to hear who it was, couldn’t be Crowley, it was too early still.

Then he smelled the scent of festering mold and swamp scum, along with other unpleasant things, and he felt his skin prickle.

With a held back sigh, Aziraphale put a fake smile on his face, turning to face his fellow demons, hoping his beard hid the fact that his mouth twitched. “Hastur, Ligur, to what do I owe the pleasure of two Dukes of Hell in my shop?”

The two demons stood by the open doors, dressed in rather shoddy clothing, meant more for the lower class than the higher, as Aziraphale himself was dressed to blend in with. However, it was good to note that this time they actually wore clothing that would help them blend in, rather than how they dressed the last time they ‘visited’ Aziraphale. He would never forget those sins against nature.

Neither of them smiled, they just stared, before Hastur stepped forward. “We’ve orders from Below for you.” He ground out, making Aziraphale raise an eyebrow.

“Orders? Strange, normally Hell just burns a message in one of my books or screams at me from an envelope nowadays, don’t usually send messengers to tell me what my next job is.

“It’s not really… orders.” Ligur spoke up, waving a hand, completely bored of this already. “’s more like you’re getting somethin’.”

Aziraphale blinked, cupping a hand over his ear again. “Come again?”

Hastur made a face. “Think of it as… bad news, but not really bad news, more like good news, but we can’t say that shit, so it’s bad news, but not that bad-”

“I… I got it.” The cat sighed, holding up a hand. “Is it about the second revolution in France?” He had sent in a wordy letter to Hell about how he had helped kickstarted that event, even though he hadn’t actually done so. He and Crowley had taken a trip to the south of France and got dreadfully wasted and somehow ended up on the Isle of Capri.

“More like a bunch of things you’ve done, Azrafel.” The chameleon demon spoke and ignored the face Aziraphale pulled, hearing his old name. It has been centuries, and no one cared that he stole back his angel name, they just ignored him, thinking he was edgy or something. “Apparently, you’ve done your job to such extremes that Hell is oddly impressed.”

This can’t be good.

“And because of this, you’re going down to Hell, promotin’ you back to Downstairs. Heard you might get a cushy job runnin’ the torture department, lucky bastard.”

Aziraphale blinked, trying to register what this meant. “But… I’m opening this antique shop on Friday. If Master Hatchard can make a go of it, then I think I can really…”

“Hm,” Hastur pondered for a moment, “actually, I think that’s an idea, whoever replaces you up here can use this place as a base of operations.”

This got a look of disgust from the cat demon. “Use my shop?” The nerve! No one was allowed to use his shop; this was for him! And maybe Crowley, because he knows that wily angel will also laze about wherever Aziraphale is staying.

Neither demon seemed to give two shits about what Aziraphale thought of this. “You’re bein’ promoted,” the frog demon shrugged, “you get to go back home.”

“Can’t imagine why anyone who wanna spend more than five minutes on this waste of space.” Ligur commented, look at a bell jar on a shelf, containing a taxidermized scene of insects dancing at a ball. The chameleon on his head licked its lips.

“Azrafel’s been on this shithole for almost six thousand years,” his companion replied, “that’s some impressive patience, I can’t stand doin’ tasks up here that take longer than a day. Just plant bad ideas in a human’s head and let ‘em do all the work. Still, gotta give kudos where kudos is due…”

He dug into the pocket of his grubby coat, pulling out a box, covered in stains that Aziraphale really didn’t want to know the origins of. “Apparently, this is for all your bad work.” He said in a tone that clearly didn’t hide his jealousy and bitterness.

Hastur opened the box and Aziraphale stared at a rather lovely, shiny medal. He had seen this kind before, proudly worn by members of the Dark Council.

When they said he was being promoted… oh, oh bugger, this was a Promotion.

“I don’t want it.” Aziraphale spoke without much thought. He glanced up and nearly screamed, because right behind Hastur and Ligur, was a redheaded angel, giving a cheery wave.

The grandfather clock off to the left happily showed that it was exactly a quarter past eleven in the morning. It was the worst possible time for Crowley to show up.

--

With a skip in his snake-skinned step, Crowley turned a corner down a street in Soho, a box of the finest chocolates under his arm. He had dolled himself up for today, putting on his finest dark gray suit, his pink shirt clear and ironed, and a new hat sat happily on his head, decorated with a gold-plated apple blossom.

It was over-the-top, but the snake-eyed angel was known for being flashy and showboat-y with his appearance.

He spotted the shop at the corner and picked up the pace, mentally counting down the seconds. He loved being exactly on time, but he also loved putting Aziraphale on edge when he was a few minutes late.

Crowley got right up the steps at exactly 11:15, noticing that not only were the doors opened, but two figures were standing in the doorway, with Aziraphale stared past them. And right at Crowley, with a look the screamed ‘oh bugger’.

The demon licked his lips, stammering as he tried to speak to the two strangers, who Crowley hadn’t quite realized were demons. “B-But only I can properly thwart the good deeds of the angel Cr-Samael!”

Crowley stopped smiling, tilting his head, eyebrow raising over his dark shades. He held up the package, smiling, and mouthed ‘chocolates’ at his best friend.

“I don’t doubt that,” the blond-haired demon spoke, “whoever replaces you will be as bad an enemy to Samael as you are. Baphomet, maybe.”

The angel looked horrified and disgusted. He looked towards Aziraphale and mouthed ‘Baphomet?! Baphomet’s a wanker!’ The gray-haired demon shifted on his feet, trying to ignore Crowley to not draw attention to him.

“Samael’s been here just as long as I have, and he’s wily! And cunning, and brilliant, and oh…” Aziraphale was a bit flushed in the face and Crowley perked up, smiling brightly.

“It almost sounds like you like him.” Hastur spoke in a tone that was clearly not pleased with this.

“I loathe him!” Aziraphale shouted, though his face still burned red. “And, despite myself, I respect a worthy opponent! Which he isn’t because he’s an angel, and I cannot respect a demon. Or like one!” He tacked on quickly.

Hastur actually smirked, crossing his arms. “That’s the attitude that Hell likes to hear. I can see why they’re bringin’ you back.” He stepped forward, pinning the medal to Aziraphale’s dress jacket, the shorter man holding his breath at the bad smell coming off of Hastur. A quick glance over the other’s shoulder let Aziraphale know that Crowley was out of sight, hopefully he knew to stay away until these two were gone.

“So…” Aziraphale started, “we’re going straight back, now? Before the grand opening?”

“Ehh… soon.” Hastur waved a hand. “Got a job to do, then we’ll be back for you.”

--

The job was a simple corruption on, convince a human in charge of a respectable pub to take in bribes, sell illegal content under the counter, and convert his pub into a drug den in later years, that should do the trick.

And to help with that, they decide to plant things in the backroom of the pub for the owner to find, miracled with a temptation to put the pieces together. Ligur stood outside the backroom’s door while Hastur moved to remove the contents of his pockets in the room.

He pauses, however, hearing voices outside of an open window.

“Are you certain that we are unobserved,” it was the voice of the angel Samael, “of glorious being of God’s divine will?”

There was a strange, echoing voice that followed right after, layered as if multiple voices spoke at once. “No one is listening, oh angel Samael, the Lefthand of God.”

Blinking, Hastur steps onto a crate under the window and, using his true eyes, peeks out the window, only the top of the head of his frog looking into the alley behind the pub. He could see Crowley, standing before a cloaked figure in white, the latter having their back turned to the window. He slipped down a bit to not be seen, but still remained close to hear.

“Curses.” The angel hissed. “If only I could understand why my blessed plans are always so brilliantly thwarted! It’s as if the forces of Hell have a champion here on Earth who contaminates my blessings! Who overlaps their own dark influences on my own good ones! Who thwarts me… thwartingly…”

Unbeknownst to the demon on the other side of the wall, the cloaked figure that Crowley was speaking to was actually just a tailor’s dummy from the tailor shop just next door. Crowley was practically tickle-me-pink with delight of how much fun it was doing this. He absolutely loved when he got to flex his acting skills.

He continued the act, putting on the heavenly voice once more. “Why, Mister Crowley, you must not be downcast. I hear news that will bring joy to you and all the powers of Heaven! They do say as how the demon Azrafel, your nemesis, is being sent back to Hell!”

Crowley knew he was acting slightly to broadly, but it was the style of the time, so it was necessary.

“Can this be true?” He continued in his normal voice. “I was going to throw myself into a pit of Hell Fire in my despair at once more being beaten by the demon Azrafel! But such excellent news! Only Azrafel knows my ways well enough to…”

“Thwart them?”

“Exactly. Now, let us retire to church, and pray to the success of good on this Earth, thanks to Hell’s foolishness!”

Hastur heard the other walking off before he moved out of the room, well, he might have to have a conversation with Aziraphale it seems.

--

“So, I’m… not going anywhere?” Aziraphale asked, mismatched eyes staring at the two other demons, the pupils growing with possible hope.

“Change of plans.” Hastur grumbled. “We need you here, in this shop, battling good.”

Ligur slapped the Aziraphale on the back a few times, nearly knocking him over. “Carry on battlin’ that pain in the ass angel. I’m sure Hell’ll understand that you’re needed here more than down there.”

“Keep the metal.” Hastur poked at it against Aziraphale’s chest, making him wince at the pressure of the jab.

“But I don’t understand…” The cat demon blinked, suddenly realizing he was all alone in the shop now, the scent of sulfur starting to mellow out. With a snap of his fingers, the shop suddenly smelled of flowers, thanks to the lovely potted plant that just showed up next to him.

With a heavy sigh, he shook his head, moving around a shelf to try and return to his previous task of worryingly set up his collection.

“Well, that was fun.”

Aziraphale yelped, jumping a foot in the air as his hair and beard puffed up from the shock. He turned, finding a certain angel, basking happily in a chair that had been swiped from the King of Spain in the late 1300’s. “Crowley… w-what are you doing here?” He asked, approaching the redhead, who just smiled, holding up the box of chocolates from behind.

Aziraphale chirped in joy, taking the box. “Oh, yes, thank you, darling!”

“’s nothin’, kitty cat. I think you deserve them now than you did before those two idiots showed up.”

“How… much of that did you see?”

Crowley shrugged before getting out of the chair, stretching. “Well, I arrived to see that you were stuck dealin’ with two idiots, and that you needed help. So, I may or may not have helped you out of a bit of trouble, again. Nice medal, the Dark Council kind? Wow, that’s a hell of a promotion, kitty cat.”

Aziraphale frowned and removed the metal from his jacket, tossing it towards Crowley, who caught it with ease. “I’ve done so well at my job that I was promoted to join them! I mean, it’s not the worst promotion I could get, in fact, any demon would give up their whole… well… everything to be part of that group! But I must admit, it would be too much, I’d be allowed to do whatever, but I wouldn’t be able to work and stay on Earth.”

“Sounds like a shit job to take, Aziraphale.” Crowley commented, looking over the metal before dropping it into a clay pot. “But hey, you get to stay here!”

“For some reason…” Cat eyes turned, staring directly at snake ones, hidden behind dark lenses. “What did you do?”

Crowley grinned brightly. “Oh, just pulled off some theatrics.” He wiggled his fingers and Aziraphale groaned. “I told you I was good at this! I should join a theater, get my name out there! I’ll even do those boring, sad Shakespearean plays you like so much!”

“Uhg.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes before looking at Crowley, smiling. “Still, thank you for helping me today, darling. Now, how about the two of us enjoy this delectable box of goodies you got me, I have a lovely red that we can drink alongside them in the back, found it while bringing things in the other day.”

“Sounds delightful, kitty cat.”

END

--

Well, this was a lot of fun to write!

In case you wanna know what they look like, Aziraphale looks like Martin from Prodigal Son (except well dressed in a light gray and dark blue Regency outfit), and Crowley looks like David’s portrayal of Richard II (in a dark gray and pink Regency outfit).

Hastur and Ligur look like characters from Oliver Twist haha.

In case anyone was wondering why Aziraphale owns an antique shop, it was because as much as I love the bookshop still being part of a Reverse Omens au, I also really loved the idea of going off the little fact that book Aziraphale also collects old snuff boxes and it went from there that he just collects all sorts of things.

Oh, and Hastur left Aziraphale on Earth cause if he's really the only one who can 'stop' the Heavenly might of Samael, the angel with the title of Destroyer, well... yeah, might as well leave him to deal with that mess.

Thanks for reading! As always, drabbles are open! 

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

Little Secrets

for @nightimedreamersworld from the prompt list and tags you posted. Thanks to @ninemagicks for leading the way. 

From a tumblr prompt list by @mraculous and sent to the Carry On fandom by @nightimedreamersworld : ‘a mutual friend tried to introduce us, but we already knew each other from LARPing but we’re both too embarrassed to admit that so I jokingly said we used to date and oh god now our friend won’t stop interrogating us about it’ AU

Little Secrets, a Snowbaz LARPing AU (2774 words)

Simon

“Do you want to come over Friday? I can order in curry and I’ll even watch that Netflix thing you’re obsessed with, if you like,” Penny says, before taking another bite of her sandwich. I’ve already finished mine but I take the chance to steal one of her crisps. She never finishes them. I hate seeing them go to waste.

No one should ever bin salt and vinegar crisps. It’s a crime against humanity.  

It’s been harder to coordinate our schedules this term. Even meeting for lunch is a treat. We’ve not had a night in for weeks. It’s not as easy, now that we don’t live together.  

And it’s not often that Penny offers to let me decide what we watch. Says she’s got standards and I watch too much “brain numbing rot.”

Castlevania is not rot. It’s fucking brilliant. My costume for this campaign is based on Trevor Belmont. It’s wicked good.  

I’m gutted to have to turn her down though. Friday’s going to have to be a no. We’ve been gearing up for this campaign for weeks and I can’t miss it.  

“I’m sorry. I can’t Friday.”

Penny looks at me over the top of her glasses. “Why not?”

She doesn’t know about this. About the LARP club I joined. It’s something I started doing over the summer, when she was away in India with her family.  

I was bored. And lonely.

I don’t know why I haven’t mentioned it. It’s not that I’m embarrassed about it. I’m not. It’s a hell of a lot of fun swinging a sword around and taking part in campaigns. Even the costume workshops are entertaining.  

Everyone’s so friendly. Well, most of them are, at any rate.

Penny tends to frown upon things like this. Things that don’t serve a purpose. Making new friends doesn’t count as serving a purpose. She’s told me more than once that having too many friends is an unnecessary burden. “There’s only so many hours in a day, Simon. Two, three people, that’s all any of us have time for.”  

That’s all Penny has time for. I’m lucky to be one of her three people.  

Telling her I’m spending two nights a week LARPing with near strangers while dressed as a medieval monster hunter likely won’t go over too well.  

Especially as that amounts to two nights a week I’m not doing my coursework or revising. Sacrilege.  

“Uh. I’ve got . . . uh, there’s a study group.”  

“On a Friday night?” Her eyes widen.  

“Yes.” The shorter the answer the better with Penny. I can’t get caught in a lie if I’m barely saying anything.

“For which class?”

Fuck it all. I can feel my leg starting to jiggle. She’ll know the gig is up if I don’t answer soon.  

“Medieval Literature.” Thank fuck I’m actually taking that class this semester or she’d be onto me.  

It’s not that far off, anyway. Most of the costumes qualify as Medieval.

“Dedicated lot.”

“Quite.”

“It’s good to see you being so devoted to your studies, Simon, what with applications for graduate programs coming up.”

As if I needed the reminder.

“Maybe we can try to find some time next week, then.”

“That’d be great.” I reach out to steal another crisp. She smacks my hand away. “I do miss you, Pen.”

Penny pushes the bag of crisps over to me with a sigh, but she’s smiling. “I miss you too, Si.”

It’s not until the next week that we manage to make plans. And it’s not for curry and Netflix.

We’re at Foyles, having spent the last hour listening to one of Penny’s favorite poets do a reading and a Q & A. Penny’s dead gone for Nikita Gill. I thought it was mostly because she’s a femininst and Indian but I see the point, now that I’ve heard her read from her latest book. She’s brilliant.

Penny’s in line to get her book signed and I’m just sort of shuffling along with her, feeling like a bit of a tit, seeing as I’ve not got a book myself.

Should I? I feel I ought to at least have something, but it’s too late now, we’re almost to the signing table.

Predictably, Penny gets into an intense conversation with the author while I stand there, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably and nodding every so often. The store clerk finally gets Penny to shove off. She drags it out for another minute and then we’re finally clear of that scene.

I’m ready to head to the pub for a bite, but Penny stops down the line to talk to someone from her seminar and I’m left at loose ends again. It’s mostly uni types in the crowd, nearly all of them intense and bright eyed as they talk over each other now and indulge in some excitable hand waving. There’re a few blokes here and there, moody looking types with man-buns, horn rimmed glasses, and oversized jumpers. I recognize one or two from my classes but no one I know well.

Penny stops to talk to another person and I’m in despair over dinner. I wander over to a book display and idly flip through some paperbacks as I wait for her. Thankfully it’s not more than a few minutes later when I hear her call out to me. “Simon!”

I trot over, more than ready to make a run for the pub but her first words aren’t “let’s get out of here.”

“Si, I want you to meet my friend.”

Oh, fuck. We’re never going to get to the pub at this rate. I plaster a smile on my face and turn to say ‘ hello’ to whoever it is Penny is bound and determined to have me meet.

And I freeze.

“This is Baz. He’s in my Modern British Poets seminar and he’s almost as keen about vampire lore as you are.”

I raise my eyes and meet Baz’s cool stare, that one eyebrow of his arched as he meets my gaze.

Fuck. I don’t need to be introduced to Baz. I know Baz. He’s the Mage in our campaign. He’s a fucking ruthless one too, dead brill with his spells, even though he’s a bit shit when he’s got to do any swordwork.

That was my main job on the summer campaign--give him cover so he could cast his spells and decipher his runes and whatever else it is that Mages do.

I’m front line offense now--cut down anyone in my path, long before they can get near the rest of our party. It’s up to Gareth and Niall to have Baz’s back this time around.

I can’t very well pretend I don’t know him, but I really don’t want to be explaining that I’m in a LARP club to Penny in the middle of this bookstore, not in front of Baz.

Fuck.

I give Baz a pleading look which I’m sure only confuses him, based on the way his eyebrow arches up even more. I don’t know how to convey “don’t tell Penny you know me from the Dragonknight campaign” with just my eyes.

“I’m well acquainted with Simon, Bunce.”

I am well and truly fucked.

“You two know each other?” Penny gives me a penetrating look.

Baz keeps talking. “Yes, we’ve been--” but I interrupt him before he can say anything more.

“He’s my ex.”

I have literally no idea why I said that. And there’s no taking it back, now that it’s out there.

Two sets of eyes goggle at me, both of Baz’s eyebrows reaching for his hairline now. Penny looks scandalized.

“Your what?” she asks.

“My ex-boyfriend,” I clarify, literally begging Baz to go along with this with my eyes. I probably look like a gormless twat. Just go along with it, I try to broadcast that thought across the two feet of space between us.

“Your ex-boyfriend,” Penny says flatly. “How do I not know about this, Simon?”

Baz looks just as curious, but thank Christ he doesn’t say anything.

“Oh, you now, summer romance, short-lived fling, gone but not forgotten.” I’m literally babbling.

“Very short lived,” Baz says drily. “So short lived I’d be surprised if he had mentioned it, Bunce.” He’s smirking, the smug bastard. Arms crossed over his chest, that one fucking eyebrow mocking me now.

“Yes, ah, you know, summer.”

“I’d say I don’t know at all, Simon.” Penny’s looking between us, a suspicious look on her face. “Why don’t you fill me in. I’d love to hear about my best friend and my study partner getting together and me being none the wiser.”

Baz is full on grinning now. “Yes, why don’t you tell her, Simon? Unless you’d rather I did?”

I think the fuck not.

“Ah. Well. You know we met  . . . ah . . . at the library.”

“What on earth were you doing at the library?”

What the fuck was I doing at the library? I never go to the library and Penny knows that.

Fuck.

“Wasn’t that when your laptop was being wonky?” Baz chimes in.

I scowl at him. Only one of us needs to be fabricating this tale and that someone is me.

“At least that’s what I remember you saying, when you came in that night.”

Bloody hell.

“Uh, yeah. That’s what it was. Had to come in and do a lit search on premises.”

“It’s a good thing I was working the desk that night,” Baz says, uncrossing his arms and sliding his hands into his jeans pockets.

My eyes follow his hands down and keep going.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Baz in jeans before. Tunics? Yes. Majestic robes? Yes.

Elegant, fitted jeans that are snug all the right spots? Well, I’d remember seeing that before, is all I’m saying.

I drag my eyes back up to his face. “Uh, yes, um, good thing.”

I didn’t know he worked at the library.

“Simon came in, just before closing time, with the idea that he was going to do a search and print it all out in mere minutes.” He’s really warming to the subject and I’ve lost control of this whole situation.

“Typical,” Penny says and I’m outraged.

“What?” I sputter.

She nods her head at Baz. “He gave you those puppy dog eyes and that crooked little smile of his, didn't he?”

“Now, see here, I’m the one telling the story and–”

But Baz steamrolls right over me. “Oh, you know he did, Bunce.” He gives me a fond look that makes my face heat up.

What’s he playing at? I rub at the back of my neck, feel the clammy sweat starting to form there.

“Got you to do the whole thing for him, didn’t he?”

This is pure slander. I’m not going to stand for this.

“I couldn’t resist his roguish charm.”

“Listen, now--”

Baz just keeps talking. “I had no idea he was such a shameless flirt.” He shakes his head at me and actually manages to look almost mournful, the lying bastard. “Charmed me, wined me, dined me. But once his laptop was functional and the research project complete, just a few short weeks later, he dumped me without a second thought.”

“Simon!” Penny’s glaring at me now. She’s bought his whole fabrication and I’ve got no one but myself to blame for this farce.

“Just wait a bloody minute!” I yelp.

Baz hunches his shoulders and lowers his head. “By text, no less.”

“Really, Simon, how could you?” Penny’s all righteous indignation, her hand coming to rest on Baz’s arm, eyes blazing as she rakes her gaze over me. “I go away for a few weeks and you not only manage to seduce my friend but then unceremoniously dump him by text? You know better than that. You were a bloody wreck when Agatha did that to you!”

And now she’s airing my entire sordid dating history to Baz in the middle of a bloody Foyles on a Thursday night and I’ve not even had dinner. This takes the biscuit, I swear to god.

“Penny, listen, it was nothing like that, really, I swear.”

She’s got her arms crossed over her chest. “Then how was it, Simon?” Cold as ice. You’d think Baz was her best friend and confidant, not me.

This is a fucking disaster. I’d have been better off telling her about the LARPing.

I am going to tell her about the LARPing. It’s the only way out of this mess.

“Listen, Pen, I’m sorry. I thought you’d be upset I was wasting my time--”

“Wasting your time?” Baz interrupts. “Is that what you’re calling our two weeks, then?”

“That’s not what I meant!” I’m going to let a berserker just go by me and wreck Baz this week, I swear I am. Won’t even brandish my sword at him, I’ll just point him in Baz’s direction. It’d serve the bastard right. “Listen, Penny, I was going to tell you, but I was a bit embarrassed--”

“As well you should be, the way you behaved.” Penny interrupts me this time and I have reached my fucking limit.

“Would the two of you let me finish one bloody sentence?”

Two expectant faces meet mine but I swear there’s a glint in Baz’s eyes and his lips quirk like he’s trying to keep himself from laughing. Arsehole. I may go after him myself this week, if he’s not careful. Go rogue. It’d be worth it, just to wipe the smug look off his face.

He’s got his hair down tonight. I don’t know why I didn’t notice that earlier. He’s usually got it up when we’re–fucking hell, why am I thinking about his hair right now?

“Ok, so let me finish what I’ve got to say or I swear to Christ I am going to go off.” Baz inclines his head and waves a hand at me in a ‘have at it’ gesture. Penny frowns but holds her tongue. “So, while you were gone this summer I got a bit caught up in LARPing.”

“You did what?” Penny asks.

“LARPing. Live action role play.”

“Whatever for?”

“I don’t know. For something to do.”

“And why are you telling me this now?”

I pull at my hair and groan. “Because that’s how I met Baz. He’s not my ex. I’ve never gone out with him. I just made that all up, rather than tell you about the whole LARP business.”

“Why on earth would you concoct all that nonsense, Simon?” Penny’s looking completely perplexed but Baz has this cheeky grin, the absolute wanker.

He’s got a dimple in his left cheek.

Fuck.

“Because I thought you’d be irritated. It’s not something that serves a purpose.”

“Why would I care what you do with your free time?”

Oh my fucking god.

I give my hair another yank. “Aren’t you always telling me I should spend more time on my studies? Keep my social life a bit more contained?”

Penny has the audacity to shrug. “I’m not your keeper. If you need to swing a sword around to let off some steam, far be it from me to argue.”

She turns to Baz and smacks him on the arm. “What were you thinking, going along with all this nonsense of his tonight? I’d not expect that kind of foolishness from you, Baz.”

Baz leans against a bookshelf and flashes her a grin. “Let’s just say my curiosity was piqued, when he threw that ex comment out there. And you know how I love to spin a good story, Bunce. He certainly wasn’t going to pull one over on you by himself.” His eyes light on me and there’s something smouldering in the depths of them. Something I’d like to get a closer look at.

“Well, you’re ridiculous, the both of you,” Penny says. “You deserve each other, honestly.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, I’m starved. It’s past time we went to dinner.”  

“Enjoy the rest of your evening.” Baz’s eyes never leave mine. “I’ll see you Friday then, Snow?”

He used my LARPing alias.

I liked it better when he was calling me Simon.

Penny hooks her arm around his. “Come join us, Baz. Since you and Simon already know each other so well.”

He adjusts his book bag on his shoulder. “I suppose I could do with some dinner.”

Penny keeps her hold on his arm and leans back to look at me behind Baz’s back.

And then she winks.

I think I’m the one that’s been played.

And when Baz’s knee knocks into mine as he squeezes into our booth at the pub I realise I don’t mind one bit.

also on ao3 Little Secrets

[lloydsluck]

Crow’s Feet

Prelude

Ever looked at something that’s so fundamentally flawed, so bad in design, form and function, it’s actually intriguing. Like a botched piece of taxidermy or a first attempt at a short novel. A piece of work that was probably not half-assed but whole-heartedly assed with good intention and it would be insulting to the creator to jokingly ask did you write this story as if you’re the old piece of gum stuck underneath a Grade 8 English Lit student desk?  With no light, sense of tense, or spellcheker? The stereotypes and bad similes cause eye rolls so

 far back into one’s head it’s like… well it’s hard to think of a comparison here, so count yourself lucky. Not to mention the ADHD diversions, talking about mounting dead animals in one sentence quickly sidestepping to self-awareness of this piece of literature. I digress. When last did you see a questionable piece of art that you found beautiful? So bad, it’s great. So useless and time-wasting, it’s what you’ll think about ironically one day on your deathbed. Because heck… made you look. 

The Incision 

1

Mondays. The start of a new week. New opportunities for a new you. A fresh squeeze of hope that things will get better served with a side of “I can change” attitude. And no matter how many Mondays we have, (4 187 to be precise, if you, like the average human being will live to 79), you will wake up to the same old boring Monday, every week, the same way. 

Each one with a long dreary stretch and sigh, heavy eyes, telling yourself that you will make the most out of this week. But you won’t. Because laziness is time consuming and you don’t actually have anything else to do, really. 

However, on this particular Monday, which was Fick McOwen’s 2226’s Monday, things were different. 

Fick woke up with the dreadful sensation of drowning. Sinking deep in a casket of darkness. As he gulped in a breath of thick air, it tasted of rotten cabbage coating the back of his throat. Blind and bewildered, sharp metal sounds scratched close above his head. The sound stung his eardrums and made him cock up his forehead banging it hard against a flat surface.

‘Jeeezus fuck’, he hissed. 

With no sense of time and space, his ears were ringing overcharged electric chimes in his head which felt cracked and ready to explode like a reactor in Chernobyl. He took a few minutes to try and calm himself. No good ever came from a panic attack in closed confines with a possible concussion. He finally raised his hands to his chest and did what most drunks do the minute they wake up, pat themselves down and check their underwear.

*

One week earlier.

2

If she was just a bit nicer, Jeffrey thought, she may have already had a proper and dignified burial for her husband. Stomping up and down a room that looked like it was decorated for a five-star hotel in Vienna, the newly-widow’s bony figure moved fast from left to right like a rabid old fox prowling a fence. For Jeffrey, her unwanted but needed bodyguard/help/punching bag, she was Hitler’s sphincter. She sparked fear in him and tightened his nerves with her demanding presence. Like a screwdriver twisting and turning into soft wood. A reaction he despised about himself. It ruined many good days. Sunny days and days like today. 

Watching her from the corner of the large room, she attempted phone call after phone call, shouting at poor bastards who made the simple mistake of answering their phones that day. 

Wanting to disappear he closed his eyes and listened to every passive-aggressive step she took in the room. He liked to tell when she walked on the tiles or the bear rug; it was a fast tac tac tac womp womp womp womp tac tac womp womp…then nothing. He opened his eyes and with a fright found her standing right in front of him, steaming red with anger.

Her greying blonde hair was fastened in a tight pincushion on top of her head. This pulled back her frail white skin that held everything in place. Face to face, he couldn’t help but stare at the permanent makeup she had done on the lower lids of her eyes and on top of her brows. It was starting to fade and as a result, it looked like she put eyeliner on days ago and never washed it off. 

Her stare was cold and deadly like an overworked mortician’s. It complemented her daily outfits of thin grey pencil skirts and matching suit jackets. She had her name embroidered on the inside of the neckline since all of her clothing was specially washed and pressed at a local laundromat. One that she owned of course. 

Margaret. 

That’s what her husband used to call her. Or Margarine, Margie, or Macaroon. She would always remind whoever was listening that she was actually named after Princess Margaret, Countess of Snowden. If you had to look her up, you would see the uncanny similarities between the two women. So much so, that Jeffrey often wondered if they weren’t related. Considering how much of a royal bitch she was.

Nevertheless, he had to call her Mrs. Ergo. And he preferred the kind request from John Ergo, her late husband, since he didn’t think she would have liked the names he had listed for her in his head anyway. 

She snapped back up and walked across the room towards the large oak desk that faced the gigantic windows that looked out onto their garden. Their Ergo-Eden. With a deep sigh, he sat up straight and smoothed back his black hair that was styled according to an old Italian mobster he saw in a film when he was 15. 

“It’s all in the confidence of smoothing the wax over your hands first and then through your hair.” That’s what the old man said to his fellow pasta slurping, red-wine drinking, two hits a week gang that sat around a checkered table talking about the importance of looking respectable, no matter what the job. And this was what he told himself in the bathroom mirror every morning, (impersonating a very bad Italian accent of course) while he prepared for his day. 

Apart from the respectable hairdo, Jeffrey was built like a small bull with a refined jawline. At first glance one would imagine he spends his days lumberjacking in the forest; but instead of plaid shirts, he was forced to wear black on black as per ‘management’s’ request. 

He refocused his attention on her and as foul as she was acting that day, somewhere deep inside him, he felt sorry for her and her loss. His face twitched as he clenched his jaw trying to shape compassion on his face, but feared he looked more like a constipated clown trying to keep his cool. He was given cards once with all the different faces and expressions on it. Ironically, the illustrations looked like they were drawn by an autistic robot with no emotion nor artistic talent (it was), but it helped him deal with different people. Lines that came down the forehead with no teeth, meant anger or disappointment. Teeth showing meant they were happy – or about to bite you. 

Margaret often made faces Jeffrey couldn’t place on his cards and her teeth always had some lipstick stains on it, which quite frankly, just distracted him altogether. 

He watched her go down a list of names and numbers, furiously scratching them out when the call didn’t go as planned. Eyeing the last name and number on the list, she picked up the phone and started dialing. 

3

Fick carefully pulled the skin up the neck and then over the top of the head, trying his very best to keep his hand steady. He wore magnifying goggles that pushed his choppy brown hair up toward the ceiling and enlarged his olive-grey eyes. It looked like the head of a praying mantis was stuck on a lanky man's body who dressed as if he found a discarded box of 80s band shirts and never bothered to wear anything else again. 

'There.' He said as he lifted his hands and inspected the bird-like shape that was coming together in front of him. 

In the back of the garage-turned-workshop, a small radio was trying to hold itself together while Henry Rollins tore away at its speakers. The music filled the room and gave Fick the ability to concentrate. Nothing else was audible. Not a phone or a thought could break his focus. 

And it paid off; the crow started to take a lively shape, fast. All it needed were the eyes and some beak touch-ups and this bad boy was ready for some teenager's window sill.

Fick lived in Long Fountain, a small town where the kids were either into wrestling, the backyard kind, or satanism – also the backyard kind. This meant there were a lot of goth-like metalheads who gave themselves names like Agares and Forneus and hung outside the grocery store to smoke cheap cigarettes they bummed off the shop clerk. They would wear black makeup and dangle fake blood vial necklaces around their necks. Some would even proudly claim that they spray-painted hale satin on the backside of the church announcement board. To top off their rebel-without-a-cause-and-lack-of-basic-grammar-look, these kids would own a taxidermied crow on their windowsills, just for that extra edge. 

“It’s a phase” most parents would say, but Fick couldn’t care less. He got fifty bucks out of it, liked the work, and asked no questions. 

As a self-employed middle-aged Taxidermist, he could work from home and at his own pace. Something he considered to be more valuable than a performance bonus cheque at the end of a year after slaving away in a badly lit office desk from nine to five, five to seven days a week.

He didn’t necessarily consider himself a hermit, but he did prefer his own company with the exception of a few selected people – very selected and very few. This was a choice he made unapologetically clear to others who wanted to befriend him for no real reason. When presented with this frankness, they would awkwardly laugh it off and insist he’s just a fun and sarcastic guy. He despised those people the most. 

Furthermore, Long Fountain was a small enough town for the nosy types to know everyone and their business, while still quiet and sparse enough for others to embrace the privacy of the town’s border. If you had to take a drone shot from high above, the edge of the town looked like it disappeared into the desert like an ocean of drought that spilled into a suburb. Fick could never figure out why they called it Long Fountain though, as there wasn’t even a lake or river anywhere near them. But he liked it there and he appreciated the colourful desert sunsets that could be found if you were at the right place at the right time.

The only other peculiar thing about the town was that there was an abnormally large crow population, which he didn’t mind because it meant more product for him. That, and an abnormal amount of  old age homes. 

He gripped the tweezer handle between his teeth while he carefully glued the last soft tiny black feathers to the rim of the beak; he tended to hold his breath during these final touches. While the song came to a screeching halt, the ringing of his cell phone surfaced through all the noise and concentration. 

‘Fuck!’ He spat out the metal twangs, pulled off the goggles and flipped his phone over to reveal four missed calls from an unknown number in town. He was about to throw the phone over his shoulder onto a once purple–now grey–couch, when the screen lit up again with the same number flashing. 

‘Hello’ he answered casually trying to simmer down. 

‘Hello, is this Fick McOwen?’ A sweet lady’s voice kindly asked on the other side. 

‘Yes, how can I help?’

‘I’m looking for someone who can help me with a,’ she paused for a second,  ‘stuffing job?’ 

‘Well ma’am, I do all kinds of taxidermy. We don’t call it stuffing though, rather mounting,’ he smirked. ‘Anything from crows, bucks, ducks, even your pet poodle.’ He stared at the one-eyed crow that was perched up in front of him. 

‘What is your rate?’ She calmly inquired. 

‘It depends on the job. Small birds and animals start at thirty bucks, and then it can go up to a couple of thousand for a full deer, buck or elk.’ 

She went quiet on the line. He could tell she was busy writing something down, possibly a calculation. He hated long silences, it gave him indigestion.   

‘What would you like to have mounted?’ He nudged, just to check that she was still there. She remained quiet. 

‘Hellooo?’

‘Ten thousand.’

‘Excuse me?’ He quickly asked to confirm that he probably misheard.  

‘Ten. Thousand.’ She repeated sternly. 

‘Ma’am. What do you want to have done?’ His stomach started to tie knots of doubt, anticipating a job he may not be able to do. 

‘I prefer a private meeting to discuss this further.’ Her tone suddenly changed from a sweet old lady to an office crank complaining it’s cold. He hesitated for a second. Feeling his gut whisper all tales of caution to avoid this type of interaction. “If it’s too good to be true…” he would always remind himself. 

But…then again...

The ten thousand dollars started to swim through his mind like a beautiful woman in a red bikini, blowing kisses from a crystal blue pool. Caught in the moment, he impulsively replied, ‘Okay.’ She quickly confirmed that her people will be in contact with his people and disconnected before he could even take a breath to say he doesn’t have “people”. 

Confused about the call and left with nothing to follow up with, he decided to write it off as another crazy old lady from one of the care homes who got hold of the nurse’s office phone. Eyeing the cotton-eye-crow, he proceeded to hit play on his stereo, threw his mobile on the couch and stuck the tweezers back in his mouth to finish the job.

NEXT CHAPTER COMING SOON

[paechwrites]

A mega gift fic I did for @caruleanfox as a writing exercise and because I just wanted to lol. Enjoy ʕ•ﻌ•ʔ

---

It was the third time in the row that Dave came by to his sister's house, the first visit Rose assumed he needed something, eggs or milk maybe; it wasn't odd for him to swing over to Rose and Kanaya's house, showing up on their doorstep at least once a week or so and asking if they wanted to join him in whatever social activities he had planned. 

But instead, Dave casually offered to watch over their son, Jasper, with a solemn expression. The first time, Rose gladly handed him over without a second thought, needing a night out for just her and Kanaya without maternal duties. The second run happened two days after, three movie tickets in his hand and inquiring if Jasper wanted to go with him and Karkat to the theatres. The movie, in question, was a kids film, particularly for children under the age of five. Jasper, what Dave shrugged off as a coincidence, happened to be under the age of five - two, to be specific. 

Rose smirked at this, commenting slyly on the matter. "Did you really go and buy tickets at the box office for a mind-numbing children's film, even if my answer if Jasper could come was no? Are you regressing due to your blemished childhood? I hope Karkat hasn't reacted so negatively to this development."

Dave frowned, shaking his head and insisting he just wanted to spend quality time with his nephew. Nonetheless, Rose complied, taking a moment to bathe him while Kanaya proceeded to dress him. Once Dave dropped off Jasper back to his home, their son had been the most hyper he'd ever been, after consuming popcorn and a probable gratuitous amount of candy without monitors. 

Perhaps Dave was merely trying to win Jasper's love, bigger than he adored his mothers. Kanaya, admittedly, felt a twinge of jealousy creep up her shoulder.

And the third time, Dave took him for a day out at Chuckie E. Cheese and insisted Rose and Kanaya join along, to which Jasper wasted no time getting tuckered out; Dave had to fit himself into the kiddy playhouse entrance and climb up obstacles in order to fetch him from the highest ground. When Dave brought him down, his face had been greased with specks of pizza sauce and only a handful of tickets clutched in his little hand. 

Dave went ahead and used a napkin from a nearby empty table to rub away the sauce, fixing the strands of bleach hair then asking him gently if he wanted to cash in the the tickets before they left the establishment. That moment, Rose had never seen once, a fatherly aura practically radiating from the display, not to mention once Dave set him down and reached for his hand. 

Rose and Kanaya had never certainly seen that side of him, Dave moreso acting as Jasper's fun, no-limit uncle that helped him to get food smattered on his face and clothes with spoilt treats added. Mainly because he didn't have kids of his own so repercussions weren't always present in his mind than just having simple fun. The change was drastic, not even Karkat had an answer to it when questioned about it.

Then it hit them. Rose and Kanaya shared knowing, curious looks as they walked back to the car while Dave carried Jasper on his shoulders.

~~~~

"Is there something you've been pondering about, Dave?" Rose asked, criss-crossed on the couch on an afternoon with Dave sitting inches away from her on the couch.

Dave shot his head up from his phone, a reflection of Rose staining his shades.

"Ponderin' about what brand of shoes I should buy? Fuck yeah, I've been, I only have like one pair of shoes like as if I'm a bum on the street with tissue boxes for shoes and shaking that mug as rhythmically as I can, except instead of pennies, it says coochie because matters of the heart come first." Dave spouted, checking his phone when it buzzed in his palm. Rose gave him a mellow look, fixing her posture on the cushions.

"I think Nike's would look good," Rose mused out loud, thuds suddenly resonating out in the hall until her purple eyes landed on Jasper; who beamed at the sight of his uncle.

"But you and I both know that wasn't what I was referring to."

Dave raised both his brows above his shades, watching as Jasper toddled over to Rose and stabled his hands on her lap.

"I don't know what the hell you're getting at, but I genuinely thought you were invested with me about choosing what sick shoe wear I should buy. I'm hurt, Rose." Dave put an exaggerated hand to his chest, earning Rose to roll her eyes.

"I'll humor you later on that, if you'd like, but I called you over for important matters." Rose stated, resting a soothing hand on Jasper's stark white hair. Dave shrugged lightly in response.

"Nothing important really going on."

"Matters as in, family matters. Or alternatively, why you keep whisking away my son."

Dave froze, lowering down his phone as his thumbs hovered above the keyboards.

Rose looked at him attentively, her posture fitted into as if she was a therapist handling one of her usual patients.

"Well, uh," he cleared his throat, turning off his phone and glancing up at Rose with his shades mirroring a view of herself. Rose suddenly placed both her hands against one knee, perking it up a bit on the couch and making Dave groan.

"I feel like I'm being interviewed for a babysitting job here." Dave said, slackening his shoulders.

"I mean technically, you've been babysitting these past days."

"Those are classic uncle bro bonding days, not boring ol' hours of making sure the kid doesn't get into any trouble around the house."

"Jasper rarely gets into trouble, mind you."

"Yeah but that ain't the point though."

Rose piqued an eyebrow, scanning him over suspiciously with deep purple eyes.

"You know, I've never really pegged you as one to have baby fever," Rose said, causing Dave to choke up and grasp a hold onto his pants.

"Baby fever? There's no baby fever or any sort of fever flaring up in here." Dave deadpanned, as hard as he could manage, what with his voice raising high pitched in the middle of his sentence. Rose pursed her lips in amusement.

"Are you and Karkat, perhaps, leaning in a family-way now?" Rose smirked, Dave immediately waving her off before dropping his hand flat. He emitted a loud sigh, his cheeks flushing and feeling more vulnerable than he's ever been. She'll prattle on about this if he doesn't come clean.

"Okay," Dave started. "Okay, okay. This is really fuckin' dumb, it happened in a really-"

"Dave." Rose cut in a little sharply, gesturing towards Jasper with a nod of her head.

"I mean, uh, this is really kinda unfortunate and dumb that I have really strong feelings for, and it happened in a very uncharacteristic cool kid way." he rambled, Rose humming responsively.

"Go on."

Dave let out a huff.

~

"Dude, make sure you know how to handle those kids," Dave advised, not looking up from his phone as he slung his arm over the bench and bubbly giggles poured into his ear, Karkat's more deeper, scratchier laughter roaring above them. "I don't wanna deal with angry lusii or something. Whoever the hell is in charge of those kids."

"I'm wrangling them just fine, thanks for asking." Came Karkat's gruff, along with grub chirrups. Dave nodded mindlessly, scrolling through his new messages. For awhile, Karkat's laughter intermingled with practically chipmunk-squeaked voices were all Dave could hear, eventually growing fond of the sound with a small smile tugged at the corner of his lip. The growing generation of young trolls loved Karkat astoundingly, just as much as they did Kanaya; it was quite comedic to see a grub latch onto his pant leg as he started trekking back home.

"Hey Dave!!"

At this, Dave lifted his head up and away from his screen, a low sounding 'yeah?' under his breath. The view of Karkat being used as a jungle gym obstacle for the young trolls met his shaded gaze, a bronze grub tucked to his chest and pressing its head affectionately into him, a wide toothy grin plastered on Karkat's face as a rust climbed and perched onto his shoulder.

"These little bastards think I'm cooler than you!" Karkat boasted. He never was one for censoring himself around delicate, impressionable ears - that is, unless Rose and Kanaya were around. They'd lecture him more than once when a profanity would slip off his gray tongue with innocent Jasper only inches away.

Dave couldn't help but emit a giggle, warmth vibrating throughout his chest. His small smile transpired to a full, fleshed smile, just the imagery of Karkat doting on children set a sudden flame.

It wasn't seconds long until the thought rushed into his head; the thought of a tiny being that shared Karkat's gray skin, but looked like Dave and had his unnaturally burgundy pupils, right there in the commotion with the wrigglers and Karkat. He swallowed.

~

Dave buried his face into his palms, shades pushed up against his forehead. Rose, this time, looked at him with a soft smile, shifting a little closer to him and placing a hand on his knee. Jasper stood onto his tippy toes, reaching for the slowly sliding-off shades, to which Rose made a disapproving noise of and probed him to quickly snatch away the shades.

Rose playfully shook her head, then reverted her attention back on Dave.

"Well, there is certainly nothing wrong with developing a paternal need.." Rose started, Dave squeaking into his palms. Oh, jesus, it was a terrible idea to converse with Rose about this. But what other choice did he have? Karkat was off the table immediately (for now) and Kanaya would undoubtedly take the same route Rose is doing now, the others he just didn't feel too confident to bring it up. His ears felt hot, feeling as if every eyes in the room were glued onto him; except for perhaps one little boy too transfixed with Dave's shades behind the couch.

"Oh my god, Rose, no."

"I think you'd make an excellent father, and Karkat definitely fits the role quite nicely from what Kanaya has told me."

"Rose, don't infect me with your family disease-"

"I think it's about time Jasper gets a cousin anyway, he spends a little too much time with adults rather than other children his own age range, don't you agree?"

Dave issued another throaty noise, a bright red blush painting his face behind his hands. He'd have to talk to Karkat about the idea tonight, instead of harboring it any longer.

***

Karkat tapped his spoon against the rim of the bowl, watching the dices of chopped carrots swimming in the broth, mixed with pieces of chicken and optional trollian toppings. Dave still wasn't up for trying Alternia cuisines, much to Karkat's annoyance, so he made sure to store a separate pot for himself that were filled to the brim of what Dave would gag at and compare it to the most vulgar of things.

Karkat hummed thoughtfully, dipping his spoon back into the soup and bringing it into his mouth. Where was Dave anyway? Dinner had been prepared half an hour ago and the last time Karkat heard of him was when he was at Rose and Kanaya's house.

As if on que, sounds of the living room door creaking open echoed throughout the house, signaling of Dave's arrival.

Karkat perked his posture up a little. Dave walked into the kitchen, shuffling with something in his pocket. It took a minute for Dave to lift his head, a small smile tugging at his lip.

"Yo, Karkat, sorry if I took long." Dave greeted, placing his phone on the table and then heading to the fridge.

"You do know there's freshly cooked dinner to your side, right?" Karkat questioned. Dave shrugged, patting his stomach as he pulled out a basket of strawberries.

"Already ate at Rose and Kanaya's house." he replied, taking a seat across Karkat with the full basket and plucking one out.

All around, dinner was unusually quiet - Dave was unusually quiet, and this set Karkat off a bit. On an ordinary night, Dave would be flapping his mouth away, making all sorts of gestures and going from topic-to-topic. Maybe Dave just wasn't feeling talkative tonight.

But then.

"Hey, so Karkat, you remember that thing like a week ago?"

Karkat looked up from his plate, eyebrow arched. That was unspecified.

"A thing? From a week ago?" Karkat repeated, confused. Dave nodded his head, coughing into his arm as he seemingly choked on a strawberry stem.

"Yeah, y'know, when we were like....uh, at the park?" Dave recounted, a blank expression embedding Karkat's face until he hummed responsively.

"With the lovable little shits? Yeah, I remember that." Karkat said, taking a swig of his drink. Dave stared at his husband through his shades, lips thinned. How in the world was he supposed to go about this without his face looking like a tomato and his hands distractingly fidgety.

Dave let out a drawn string of 'uh's, resting his elbow on the table. Dave never wished for anything more than for Karkat to magically read his racing thoughts, chewing the inside of his cheek as a tic.

Karkat had always been a paternal type, as much as he wouldn't admit and only respond with an roll eye; Dave studied how his expression seemed to soften at the immediate moment a small chubby hand slapped against his chin.

Come on, Dave, the blond thought to himself.

Straightening his stature, Dave pursed his lips. "I could've confused you for a jungle gym obstacle that day, all the grubs and wrigglers just crawlin' over you like you're the Ronald McDonald statue out in the play area. Or wait, were actually any Ronald McDonald statues? Back on my old Earth, I mean, because I swear I have this fuzzy memory of a commercial coming onscreen where other little kids were thrashing and circling around a plastic Ronald McDonald statue like it was the holy man himself, McDonald's being the most devout of all restaurants."

Karkat simply rolled his eyes.

"Hey, you think those kids ever been to Earth C's McDonald's before?" Dave piped up, Karkat only shrugging his arms.

"I don't know, Dave, I'm not even those wrigglers' guardian so it's not like I see them everyday and know what they've been doing or where they've been, let alone digested." Karkat said. A surprising grin mounted itself on Dave's face, startling Karkat just a little.

"Aw sweet, I bet the grubs don't even know what the hell a McDonald's is and the non-grubby ones probably love the shit out of it, McDonald's is practically every kid's paradise to dine out at, I've only gone like three or four times when I was a kid, but that place was an absolute heaven to me, being able to sip on apple jay and eating probably-processed cheeseburgers and greasy as fuck fries-"

Karkat cut into his husband's overtly exciting rambling without hesitation. "Dave, we're most likely not gonna see that gang of ankle biters again."

Dave immediately deflated. Oh, no.

"What?"

"Half those kids belonged to parents and lusii already present at the park, remember?"

"Yeah, but, didn't you say they were from the brooding caverns?" Dave questioned, tilting his head a little.

"The grubs were from the brooding caverns, but Kanaya's already cleared out the already-hatched grubs from the caverns two days ago, ready for the Mother Grub to deposit more eggs." Karkat explained, watching Dave slumped in his seat with a look of realization and thin lipped upsetness. Karkat chewed on his lip lightly.

It was quiet for a short moment, Dave looking plainly at the table cloth before choking out an 'oh'. Possibly finding the sudden silence just as awkward and unwelcomed the mutant troll found it.

Dave bit his tongue, tips of his fingers burning as he ached to spit out his offer already. He gulped heavily.

"Hey, uh, Karkat, Karlkat, kitkats, Karks," Dave fumbled, leaning more into the elbow laid on the table. "I don't think I've ever used those nicknames before, except for probably kitkat because I mean c'mon, your name practically sets itself up for that pun like it's got no business, I think I actually have a paper with a laundry load of written idea nicknames I can give you, hold on let me go get it-"

"Dave!" Karkat snapped, making the man pause midway of lifting off his seat.

Dave quickly plopped back down, clearing his throat to refresh their conversation. He stabled his feet to the ground, staring directly at Karkat through his shades. Are his shades even appropriate right now? Should he take him off so Karkat could take him seriously?

His fingers moved up a tad, almost wanting to act on just that.

"Karkat, I was kind of thinking, like a lot on this," Dave started, brushing his hand over the black ledges of his shades. His voice almost cracked, nerves jumbling and surging through him. "Those kids from the park, uh, really made me consider something. Of how it would feel like, and be like, to have a lil' tike running around...here too."

Karkat shifted an eyebrow up at him, his face flying into a curious look, and a bit wary. Dave took that as a sign to continue, attempting his hardest not to get caught up in his rambles.

"I've actually sometimes wondered what adorable abomination we could make, like how red their eyes would be, your bright pigment or mine, or if they'd have bleach white strilonde hair, horns or hell, no horns at all."

Karkat slowly released his spoon from his grasp, mouth slightly open. Dave laughed nervously, cheeks flushing from embarrassment.

"What would we name it anyways? Jayden Broseph Karkat The Second Strider-Vantas? Or just Strider?" Dave itched at the back of his palm. "And, y'know, I think it'd be cool to have a family with you - we're already at that age and married, so it's not like we're speeding through this like a goddamn Mario game, have myself a best dad in the world cup while you get the kid ready for school. Rose and Kanaya have been waiting on our asses anyways to get Jasper some new playmate, so..."

Dave removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose, white and red staring keenly at Karkat.

"What....do you think?" he asked aloud.

Karkat blanched. His pointed ears turnt down, hesitating what to say, as a low blush crept on his face and spread.

"Okay. Um, wow," Karkat coughed out, eyes wide. "Are you - you sure?"

"Absolutely, man."

"With me?"

"Who else would I do this with, Gamzee?"

Karkat's eyes traced back to his bowl, shoulders tightening with a grand decision hanging over them. His food might've gone cold by now. He couldn't remember the last time he touched it, actually.

"Alright."

--

John gaped at them, looking Dave and Karkat up and down before a big grin painted his face.

"So, will you help?" Dave asked once more, returning back the same excited smile as Karkat shuffled behind him.

"Absolutely!" John yelled. "Oh, this is so exciting!"

"I know bro."

The moments in the ectolabs seemed like a blur to Karkat, everything happening so quickly as he stood before the platform and peered down at it intensely, boldly. Waiting for the bundle to just zap and appear, his heart thrumming.

Dave choked beside him, already breaking out into a sweat. "God, I'm so nervous."

"Dave, it's a little late for nervous." Karkat grumbled back, but swallowing thickly with anticipation.

In a flash, what took a swift second but the mutant couldn't tell as he screwed his eyes shut, messy bleach hair suddenly appeared and caught his eye instantly. Two new big and red eyes casted open, six talons clacking against the platform as the red grub emitted a yawn into the air.

"Holy shit its got my hair." Was the first thing Dave voiced. She looked at the two confused, switching her head from the human to the troll. Karkat felt his gaze permanently glued to the new grub, unable to tear his eyes from the mix of red and pale gray and white fluff of hair.

"She."

"What?" Dave looked over at him.

"She has your hair....and my blood color." he corrected slowly, while Dave contorted into a surprised expression.

Karkat swallowed again, staring in disbelief at the small thing in front of him. Dave nudged him gently.

"Pick her up." Dave murmured, causing the mutant troll to nod lightly before carefully moving into hold his daughter up, for the first time. This way, Karkat and Dave got a better look at her. She wriggled a bit in Karkat's hands, giving another yawn that showcased her tiny sharp teeth.

"Fuck she's tiny." Dave observed, leaning into Karkat and shifting his shades up a little.

"She's a grub," Karkat said plainly, his tone leaning defensive. "Grubs are naturally tiny."

"I know, though she's not all troll." Dave reminded him, a defeated agreement coming from the troll. He never made so much extra precaution before of holding his grub, making sure to not squeeze her too tight in case his claws pricked her but not too loose where he'd accidentally and regretfully drop her. She reopened her bright red eyes soon enough, staring at him mindlessly.

"Yeah, she's gonna be a weird as fuck kid." Karkat stated, quite affectionately while he softly rubbed a thumb over her chubby cheek. She suddenly glared furiously at him, puffing her cheeks up into a ball. Dave reeled his head back, pretending to feel intimidated by the adorably grumpy, fierce expression his grub gave him.

"Oh jeez, look at that scowl, looks like she doesn't like being called weird." Dave whistled, cracking into a smile. "She looks like you."

Karkat furrowed his caterpillar brows, simultaneously with their new daughter. Dave emitted an amused sound, planting a hand on Karkat's shoulder as he weaved his other through her hair.

A surprised expression struck his face suddenly, pausing his hand for a moment before pushing aside her hair, revealing nubby horns, mirroring her troll dad's but just a tad nubbier, beneath the mountain of white hair.

"She even has your horns." Dave said gleefully, shifting his weight more onto Karkat and wrapping his entire arm around his neck. Karkat grinned, proceeding to cradle his kid closer to his chest, the grub hooking her talons on his turtleneck and keeping a steady gaze on Karkat, responsive small chirrups spilling out from her then nuzzled her grouchy chubby face into his chest when he laid a small kiss to her silky hair.

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME ⟶ REVOLTING PEOPLE / 3.02 always feel free to tweak the sentence to fit your muse.

‘revolution is in the air.’

‘soon the streets will be awash with blood.’

‘i’m sure there’s more, but i don’t want to know about it.’

‘who wants to try my coffee?’

‘he’s seven feet of solid muscle.’

‘how many times must i tell you that throwing hot beverages at the customers is not considered good business practice?’

‘what kind of gullible idiots would queue for coffee in a paper cup with stupid names for the cup sizes?’

‘who were you talking to just now?’

‘talking to a book? that’s strange behaviour.’

‘sometimes you talk to your imaginary friends.’

‘don’t you talk to him that way. he’s not well.’

‘see? these are the kind of gullible idiots you were talking about.’

‘best idea i’ve had since i booby-trapped my false leg to dispose of that woodpecker.’

‘i remember the explosion.’

‘could you say all that again? i wanna right it down.’

‘are they going to be very bored?’

‘are you implying my life is dull?’

‘i won’t pull any punches.’

‘my life story will be warts and all.’

‘i really must protest in the strongest possible terms.’

‘there’s always a catch, isn’t there?’

‘i insist you accept this huge sum of money.’

‘THAT’s what i’m protesting about.’

‘rioting will ensue.’

‘it’s called ambience.’

‘it’s called assault.’

‘hold your tongue, madam.’

‘you’re a pansy!’

‘you hoyden!’

‘is this flirting?’

‘how dare you strike me, madam!?’

‘and what are you going to do about it? physically overpower me like some raging animal and have your wicked way with me?! in the back room to which i have the key?’

‘i could help you if you like.’

‘they make such an unlikely couple.’

‘opposites attract, don’t they?’

‘you know you’re barred. so, get out.’

‘you shouldn’t have thrown up in the porridge last night.’

‘luckily they were all english so none of them complained.’

‘this is turning a bit nasty.’

‘why are you telling me stuff i already know?’

‘they’re getting itchy trigger fingers.’

‘so what, i’m not scared. alright, i’m scared.’

‘i can’t help noticing a bit of tension in the air.’

‘don’t be offended, gents.’

‘we will not be insulted.’

‘very well! we shall all sing the hessian national anthem in a loud and intimidating fashion.’

‘kill me now.’

‘we have an anthem?’

‘that was beautiful.’

‘slit the bastards throats.’

‘that’s haberdasher’s rhyming slang.’

‘there’s really no need for all this musket-cocking or trigger squeezing.’

‘you know my father?’

‘oooooh, that’s mysterious.’

‘there’s a mysterious beautiful lady to see you.’

‘you look wonderful.’

‘i was going to say that.’

‘how long has it been?’

‘the day you left i waited for you on the roof but you never came.’

‘it would have helped if you’d said which roof.’

‘i loved that roof.’

‘our parrots. i loved our parrots.’

‘i thought it was me you loved.’

‘they never even met me.’

‘she’s swedish, but grew up in birmingham and never quite lost the accent.’

‘not a day goes by when i don’t think of you. well, a few days maybe. but not very many! mostly tuesday’s, because that’s my big shopping day. and saturday’s; my saturday’s are crazy.’

‘i’m not the sap i used to be.’

‘what do you want from me?’

‘is there anywhere the two of us can be alone?’

‘meet me on the roof, sugar.’

‘look on me and weep.’

‘all i did was ask you to hold the baby for a minute.’

‘babies are a full-time job.’

‘there’s still so much we don’t know about genetics.’

‘you’re the father, _____, just live with it.’

‘i’d rather you didn’t use the word ‘rub’ in my present condition.’

‘do you need any extra help over there?’

‘i need your ladder.’

‘it’s freezing up here.’

‘i’ve been waiting hours, what took you so long?’

‘that was another roof. another time.’

‘you’re still angry.’

‘you hurt me.’

‘i thought we had everything. we were young, we were in love, the world was our oyster. but you turned that oyster upside-down, and the pearl of our happiness was dislodged and fell out of the oyster into the tangled mass of seaweed on the ocean floor, and got devoured by scuttling, scavenging... crabs.’

‘oyster analogies are so hard to sustain.’

‘why’ve you climbed back into my life?’

‘you really know how to keep sticking on in that knife, don’t ya?’

‘they’ll kill him if they find him.’

‘forget it, baby, i’m looking out for number one from now on.’

‘i know what kind of a man you are.’

‘you’re still as irresistible as you ever were.’

‘the world ain’t fair, cinderella.’

‘i can’t help wondering what might have been.’

‘do you have any regrets?’

‘why am i wasting my breath on you?’

‘i’m talking about a depth of emotion and feeling you’ve never experienced.’

‘she’s the one woman i’ll never forget.’

‘we’re destined never to be together.’

‘put down that harp.’

‘it’s just a piece of grit that’s gone into my eye.’

‘is something the matter?’

‘you have washed that thumb, haven’t you?’

‘then she got some hired thugs to beat me to a pulp.’

‘what’s your definition of a love story, then?’

‘that was a pack of lies, and you know it.’

‘blinding the woman was true.’

‘if she can take it, i can.’

‘well i don’t know what you’re talking about, then.’

‘well excuse me, i’m working with one arm here!’

‘it’s so foggy. i can’t see two feet in front of my face.’

‘why would you want to see two feet in front of your face?’

‘feet in front of your face? that’d mean someone was flying at you feet first.’

‘it’s an expression! now will you be quiet?’

‘he is the goat.’

‘don’t do the noise, it sounds a bit french.’

‘if you’re following someone up a ladder, /then/ you can have two feet in front of your face.’

‘what the hell am i doing here?’

‘let me do the talking.’

‘arrgh! dubloons!’

‘you see, darling? i told you.’

‘it’d be odd if we /didn’t/ do this.’

‘it is not goofy.’

‘hand over that goat!’

‘why do you keep glancing over my shoulder?’

‘you’ve killed him!’

‘i didn’t do nothing.’

‘you’re holding a frying pan and it’s still reverberating!’

‘i’ll round up the usual cutthroats.’

‘how can i make myself scarce? there’s only one of me as it is! how can i get more scarce than that?’

‘this is my home town, i couldn’t get lost if i tried.’

‘i can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done.’

‘here’s my invoice.’

‘what you’ve done tonight makes me care for you even more.’

‘listen to me, you headstrong little fool...’

‘well when you’re right, you know, you’re right.’

‘you and i, we don’t add up to a hill of beans in this cock-eyed world.’

‘we’ll always have parrots.’

‘in some circles, that could be construed as mutiny.’

‘i didn’t notice any actual treason, per say.’

‘with respect, any leading actor glamorous actor is going to want to play the part of me, isn’t he? i’m the disabled character; whoever plays me picks up all the awards.’

‘i think i might add a shark.’

‘a huge white shark that only eats naked ladies.’

[auntiebioticslab]

I didn’t get any asks for this but that’s okay because unfortunately I am WELL capable of infodumping without anyone’s permission. so here’s the unplanned variable ask meme by @outervvorlds

read mores do not work on mobile because tumblr is garbage from a toilet and my computer is currently on a UPS truck to California. I am so sorry.

Basics! Name, age, personality, etc. What do they look like? Are they a new or old oc? 

Her name is Rocket Alexandria Hawthorne! Formerly Rachel Holloway back on Earth but I’ll get to the reason for the name change.

She’s extremely vague about her age (her go-tos are “older than you” and “over a hundred” which are both technically true due to the “being on ice” thing) but she can pass for anywhere between 30 and 50 appearance-wise and the timeline of her Earth memories pretty reliably pegs her as late 30s-early 40s.

She’s a really effortlessly confident and funny person, which is the main reason she could probably talk her way out of her own execution. Also because I have a disease that makes me project my brain shit onto every oc I have she’s prone to hyperfixating due to an Unclear But Definitely Present Brain Thing so she knows a lot of things about a lot of things. Also she’d never openly admit it but she’s a sucker for romantic things and definitely cries at weddings.

This is her:

Her mom was Pakistani and her father was Black but she usually just says she’s from Baltimore.

What are their attributes, perks, and flaws?

She’s got high charm and intelligence, average strength and temperament, and good everything else.

I got her up to level 30 my last play through, do not make me list all her perks. Most of them this go-round so far are buffs to vendor prices and boosts to movement speed.

She has weakness to both plasma and physical damage!

What do they believe in?

Religiously, she’s agnostic but she kind of likes the notion of Philosophism. Morally, she believes that there’s no reason for people to pointlessly suffer just so someone at the top can hoard money, and also that the colony would be better off if Byzantium suddenly burned to the ground.

...she did not burn Byzantium to the ground, don’t worry.

How did they react to becoming Captain of the Unreliable? Are they much of a leader?

She always kind of wanted to be a cool spacefarer, but she hoped it would be under different circumstances. She told ADA that the real Hawthorne was killed by marauders, offered the poor bastard some dignity in death.

She is a pretty effective leader but that’s because she doesn’t really see herself as one? The crew aren’t subordinate to her, they’re her friends.

What was their life like before being iced?

It was boring! She was stuck in a shitty line cook job which wasn’t terrible but also felt like a waste of her education, and she was barely scraping by anyway. That’s why she applied for the Hope initiative.

Did they have any family before becoming Captain? Do they think their crew as family? 

Obviously she had parents growing up; they werent as present as they’d have liked to be because Work but she never once felt like they didn’t care for her. They didn’t live to see their daughter off when she boarded the Hope, but that was because of natural causes.

She also had four older brothers! Darren, Brice, Gene, and Andre. She was closest to Andre because the age difference between them was only a year. He’s actually the one who gave her the nickname “Rocket” in the first place; when they were kids they would pretend to be space explorers and their pretend names were Astro and Rocket.

None of her brothers were on the Hope. Darren actually was doing pretty well for himself in a low-level government job and didn’t feel the need to leave the planet, Brice didn’t want to uproot his wife and kids, Gene, well...she still has no idea what Gene was up to when she boarded the Hope because he took a job in another country and lost contact with his siblings years prior. Andre had been dead for years, unfortunately, having died in a work accident a week before Rocket was due to graduate college.

It still nags at her that while she can at least assume all her other brothers died peacefully and surrounded by loved ones, she knows EXACTLY what horrible thing happened to Andre.

As for the current crew, ohhh yeah, they are definitely her family. She cried when Felix said “I’ve got a family” to Clyde.

What’s their fighting style? Who do they bring along?

Ironically for a timeline where Roosevelt was never president, she does practice big stick diplomacy. Well, it’s usually small stick diplomacy because she prefers one handed melee, but still. If she can avoid direct conflict (through stealth or negotiation) she prefers to. The only exception was Tartarus.

There’s no real rhyme or reason to who she has in her party because from a Me As The Player standpoint I just go with whoever gives me boosts to the stats I need for the quest I’m doing. Which, in practice, usually ends up being Parvati and Felix because of that sweet sweet Persuasion buff.

Is Spacer’s Choice their only choice? What do they think of the corporations?

She is...not a fan of the amount of power they have. Spacer’s Choice in particular has a special place in hell as far as she’s concerned. If you held a gun to her head and asked her to pick a favorite...she’d probably ask you to just shoot her. Or she’d choose Auntie Cleo’s because their jingle is the least annoying.

What do they think of the factions? Are they liked or disliked by any?

Rocket has to make an actual effort to get on someone’s bad side so she’s in pretty good standing with most of the major factions. She made an effort with the Board, though 😁

For her part, she’s especially fond of the folks on the Groundbreaker.

What’s their favourite place in Halcyon? Least favourite?

She likes the scenery on Terra 2 and the people on the Groundbreaker, but as corny as it sounds her favorite place in Halcyon is the Unreliable. It’s home to her, and it’ll stay that way forever.

She doesn’t hate Edgewater per se but being there fills her with rage because of how...indicative it is of the way the rest of the colony is being run.

Do they have a favourite alien creature?

She definitely has never done extensive research on the care and feeding of leather boas because she hyperfixated on the idea of getting one as a pet before realizing that recreating the necessary habitat conditions on the Unreliable was impossible, or at least way too expensive.

No, I’m not projecting the amount of times I have done something similar for bearded dragons.

Did they save The Hope?

FUCK yeah she did.

What do they want to do afterwards? - but do they get a happy ending?

She finally gets some use out of her degree; she’s qualified to be a food scientist, like a real actual food scientist, and that’s probably what Halcyon needs more than anything.

Considering a few other things that happen in the epilogue, she doesn’t get a perfect end. But it’s enough.

What do they think of the companions? Friendships, crushes, dislikes, etc. 

She immediately thought “now I’M the big sister” after recruiting Parvati and Felix, so there’s that. Probably accidentally called each of them by the name of one of her brothers a few times. Convincing Ellie that she actually cares about her as a person is her white whale of sorts, and she empathizes a lot with Nyoka given her own history of loss. Logically she realizes that Max is a fellow capital-A Adult but also she feels like she’s holding the leash on a feral dog whenever he’s with her. She likes to tell SAM he’s doing a good job.

How do the companion quests go?

Golden ends across the board, babey. I’ve never been one to half-ass shenanigans.

What’s their love language?

Gifts and acts of service!!! She always tries to play it cool until she’s ready to admit her feelings though, so there’s a lot of pretending she just HAPPENED to find this thing she damn near tore the planet apart looking for.

Also she especially likes to flirt by cooking. Even back on Earth she got into a fair few relationships by being like “hey neighbor, I underestimated how much this recipe makes, interested in taking some leftovers off my hands? ;)” when she knew damn well how much the recipe made and doubled it so she had an excuse to see her cute neighbor.

Are they in a relationship? Do they want to be?

She has a crush on a certain rogue scientist, and unfortunately for her it is such an intense crush that she actually gets tongue-tied around him sometimes, which isn’t something she’s used to and that stresses her out a LOT.

Damn now I want to write an immediately-post-game-but-WAY-pre-epilogue fic with the crew trying to get them together so they don’t have to listen to Rocket blasting classical music and frustratedly screaming into a pillow every time she leaves his lab.

How to win them over?

She likes to look into someone’s eyes and see a fire, you know? I mean this in both a platonic and romantic sense—if someone is downtrodden but still determined, she probably at least respects them.

Also if someone she has feelings for does some kind of tender touch thing like brushing her hair behind her ear she McDies. Just completely short circuits. Cannot handle it.

How to break their heart?

If she found out someone important to her was using her or going behind her back it would destroy her. Unwilling betrayals as a result of being under duress are one thing, but deliberate, calculated manipulation? That’s her absolute worst nightmare.

How did those cows get onto their ship??

She wanted to try making homemade cheese and didn’t trust the bottled milk to actually be from a cow after what she learned about the saltuna cannery in Edgewater.

Ok technically she just agreed to deliver the cows to a facility on Terra 2 after the actual ship carrying them had engine troubles on Groundbreaker but she liberated some of the milk while in transit. Not like they’d notice.

A song that reminds you of them,

Sucker Punch by Die Mannequin!

Three random facts about them.

She got that burn scar during her time on Earth. Be careful with hot liquids, kids.

She’s tall—like, 6’5” tall. People who don’t receive proper nourishment don’t get very tall so she towers over most of Halcyon.

After the events of Don’t Bite The Sun she went back to Stellar Bay and told Raymond “I’ll teach you my recipe for breded cystipig chops with mock applesauce if you’ll teach me how to make that casserole”. Good trade for both parties.

[aggressiveviking]

Tagged by @introvertia (thank you! i love doing these tag games)

1) Birthday? April 18

2) Astrological Sign? Aries ♈ 

Bonus: Chinese Zodiac - Wood Pig

3) Height? 165cm or 5’4 (i think?? i dont understand inches)

4) Last Song I listened to? Planets by Short Stack. a true bop

5) Hobbies: Drawing, Playing (video games or just straight up being a fOoL) Watching movies/tv shows/animations (anything really), Reading, Writing, Sleeping

6) Favourite colour? recently idk say Ultramarine Blue

7) Last movie I saw?  On the Big Screen: Yesterday (its an awesome movie about this struggling musician who realizes he's the only person who remembers The Beatles after he wakes up in an alternate timeline where they never existed - 100% recommend) At Home: Joker (we all know that one lmao)

8) Favourite Book: I’m not sure tbh. I’ve had some books that i’ve considered favs since high school but some i’ve reread and they struck me a bit boring. I can say a few that i enjoyed these last few years:

Gentleman Bastard Series by Scott Lynch (amazing and engrossing read. awesome world build. very fun characters. but kind of looses momentum with each next book tho) The Kingkiller Chronicle Series by Patrick Rothfuss (slow pace with an overpowered MC but an incredible world build and even if you don’t want to admit it the MC has a charm) The Left Hand of God Series by Paul Hoffman (this is one that ive reread a couple of times throughout the years and its the only series that has held up in time. i loved it when i was in high school and i still love it now when i reread it last year. super cool world build. very cool characters!)

9) Dream Job: Something involving creating work (artist, writer, etc.or a combination of the two)

10 Meaning behind my URL: in the old days i only ever used tumblr to find nice pic references for drawing. i would just go through people’s blogs and look at pictures. i did that for a long time before i decided to actually make my own profile. The only thing i ever did on tumblr was to waste time looking at pictures so i decided to just declare that in my url. i never even thought about establishing myself and my art with this as the name - its just kind of happened. But i kind of like the hidden meaning it has for me - now wastingtime is my signature. its kind of like my fuck you to everyone who ever told me drawing was a waste of time (because i saw through this profile that there are a lot of people out there who appreciate my art. not only does it make me happy, it makes them happy. so it can’t possibly be a waste of time. and that helped me build up some confidence in myself and helped me be proud of myself for once)

idk who to tag lmaoo whoever want to do it - go ahead!