#ting chihuahuas

[septic-9mil]

The kind of guy to make little maps in his head if okay how can this conversation go so then I can mention one if my interests hmmmm

[lousydrawingsforgoodpeople]

[gravehags]

desinare

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: Teen

Tags: awwww look it's a pre-relationship fic just like old times, dinner party, reader meeting the papas, reader and copia being awkward little weirdos with baby crushes, papa nihil slander, references to other curator reader fics

Words: 3,784

Summary: Your very kind cardinal friend has invited you for a meal with three Satanic popes. Surely there's a proverb about this.

a/n: i had so so so much fun writing this lmao i didn't realize how much i missed writing them pre-relationship. my beloved nerds.

~~~

“Eh, signorina?”

“Fuck!” you yelp, dropping the stack of folders you were holding in shock. “Shit…sorry Cardinal. How do you move so quietly with all that fabric on?”

“M-many years of practice, heh,” he kicks himself for how stupid he sounds, wringing his hands while you smile kindly up at him as you stoop to pick up your papers.

“Teach me how some time? I’m always falling over myself. I’d love to have even an ounce of your grace.”

He can feel his ears burn as a dopey grin spreads across his face. She complimented you. Now compliment her back. Go on, say something charming, idiota.

“Dancing!” he half-shouts, making you jump. You fucking fool. “I…I mean I learned how…how to be graceful from dancing. Ballet. In my youth.”

You’re making an impressed face now which is worlds better from the look of terror you previously wore when he barked at you like a senile chihuahua.

“The Cardinal is a dancer?” you murmur, eyes glittering, “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“Oh, it’s been years,” he blushes, “this old body doesn’t move the way it used to.”

He swears he sees your eyes flick up and down his form and a tiny smirk lift your lips.

“I don’t buy that for a second, Cardinal.”

Are you flirting with him? You turn to busy herself with organizing your folders but Copia can see the pink tinge at the tips of your ears.

“Do you like bolognese?” he says, once again loud and blunt. 

“I…what?”

“My…my fratelli and I - the Papas that is - would very much like to meet you. A-and share a meal with you. If you are interested?”

Your mouth forms a little “o”.

“There’s more than one Papa?” you ask, cocking your head. 

“Sì, sì, there is also eh, Papa Emeritus I and Papa Emeritus II, known as Primo and Secondo, respectively. Terzo you already know,” he grumbles, and your lips twitch.

“Three Satanic popes and a Cardinal. Wow…life sure comes at you fast, huh? Never expected this from a job offer.”

“So…is that a yes?”

“No,” you say and Copia’s face falls, “I mean - shit - sorry! A no about the bolognese. I don’t eat red meat. But a definite yes for the dinner, I’d love to meet some more people here! You’re very kind to have invited me.”

“Ah,” he waves his hand dismissively, but a smile still curls his lips, “We don’t get pretty new faces around here very often. It would be our pleasure.”

It doesn’t dawn on him what he said until he sees your lips silently form the damning word and your cheeks light up. Shit, why couldn’t he be normal around you?

“Anyway,” he says, his voice going up a humiliating octave, “would you be available this week? Friday evening, perhaps?”

“It’s a date. I mean–” you look as panicked as he feels at your wording, “--a dinner date. W-with your…with the Papas. And yourself. Sorry, where should I meet you? I’m uh, still familiarizing myself with the abbey. This place is huge.”

“Eh, how about I meet you at your office and I’ll lead the way from there, sì?”

“Sì. I mean, yes. Is there a…should I dress a certain way?”

An image is conjured in his mind of you in a pretty cocktail dress, heels lifting your shapely calves and your decolletage on display—

He shakes his head to rid himself of the vision.

“Uh…dress in whatever is most comfortable. Undoubtedly Secondo will put you to work in the kitchen so–”

“Oh good,” you say, “I mean my culinary talents are uh…definitely lacking but I’d be happy to help and keep busy. Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop, and all that. Well…something like that anyway, I’m not sure if there’s a Satanic version. Anyway I am definitely blabbering on so feel free to ignore…literally everything that just came out of my mouth.”

You’re embarrassed. As if he couldn’t listen to you talk and talk and talk for eternity. He’s about to tell you something to that effect before his brain yanks him away. Bit much for only knowing her a month, fool. Instead he gives you a friendly nod, and bows slightly.

“I’ll eh, see you Friday then yes? At 6:00?”

“Sounds perfect. And…thank you. I don’t remember if I said it or not but thank you for making this place feel like home.”

He feels as if his heart is about to burst from his ribcage.

“Signorina,” he murmurs, “it is my honor. Ciao.”

“Ciao, Cardinal,” you say softly as he turns and exits your office. He doesn’t see the way you collapse into your desk chair with a dreamy sigh.

—

You’re going to be late.

As soon as your work day ended you hustled up to your apartment and began getting ready but it’s now 5:41 and you still have no idea what the fuck you’re going to wear. Half your wardrobe lies scattered on your bedroom floor (you know it’s going to make you insane when you return later that night but fuck you can’t remember what clothes you even own) as you stand in the center of the room in your underwear.

“Okay. Okay you’re going to meet three Satanic popes,” the sentence has a delirious laugh bubbling out of your throat. “Three Satanic popes and one…sweet…handsome…Cardinal. What is the correct choice.”

You eye a snug, knee length burgundy velvet cocktail dress to your left. You’ve been saving this one for a while - for a real special occasion. You would undoubtedly impress but…nah. Too much. To your right is a pair of mom jeans - you pick them up and give them a tentative sniff - acceptably clean. You toss the jeans onto your bed behind you. Okay now for a top. How about…ah! You spy a soft, dark green sweater in a pile and snatch it up. Cozy, comfortable, and practical. Perfect. As for shoes…your well-loved black Chelsea boots should do the trick. You look down at your watch.

5:48

Shit! Almost tripping more than once you jump into your jeans and pull the sweater over your head, tucking it halfway into your waistband. You don’t have the time or the patience to put any makeup on beyond a few swipes of mascara and a dark red lipstick and when you make it out the door with your phone and keys, it’s five to six. You briskly power walk the entire trip to your office and by the time you’re standing outside the door, you’re clutching your side and heaving for breath. You pray to whoever is listening that the Cardinal is a little late so you have a chance to compose yourself but before you can even form the thought–

“Signorina?”

You spin on the spot, trying to look as casual as possible.

“Cardinal!” you rasp. “Uh…hi.”

“You look lovely,” he says with an anxious little smile that gives you butterflies, “you’re glowing, signorina.”

“Thanks, it’s the sweat.”

You ought to be taken out back and shot like Old Yeller.

To your immense relief, he doesn’t look disgusted but instead seems to relax as if your odd faux-pas cuts the tension. Chortling, he gestures for you to follow him with a gloved hand.

“What’s for dinner?” you ask, as the two of you proceed down the hall.

“You’ll have to ask Secondo that, I have no idea what the maestro has planned for us this evening.”

“Sounds ominous,” you smile.

“Eh, sì. He is.”

Oh God.

“Your week has gone well?” Copia asks, adeptly changing the subject.

“Yes, just you know. Trying to make sense of everything von Schreck left me with. Can’t help but feel his presence looming over me whenever I change something he did. Did you know him well?”

“Not well, no. He was a quiet man, kept to himself. His eh, mind started to go, in the end. Became paranoid.”

“Ah. Explains his cataloging system then. If you can call it that.”

You realize you’re now in a wing of the abbey you’ve never seen before - a long hallway with a dark red rug running the length of it and arched doors. Copia stops at one that is open and gestures inside with a nervous smile.

It’s a kitchen. A very large, very well equipped kitchen with a massive island and high ceilings. There are three men standing inside it - you recognize one of them and the other two are staring in your direction. The tallest (and from what you can tell, the oldest) has a soft smile on his face. The other is also tall but broad where the older figure was slim, the overhead light glinting off his bald head. Terzo hops down off the counter, swirling a glass of wine and grinning. You’re suddenly aware of four pairs of the same mismatched eyes boring into you.

“Uh. Hi.”

The three Papas are on you like flies on honey in a snap, pulling you into the warmth of the kitchen while Copia removes his black biretta and wrings his gloved hands. With a shaky voice he introduces you to the two you are unfamiliar with and to Terzo he simply gives a hard stare.

“It’s an honor to meet all of you,” you murmur, smiling around the room, “Wow, three Satanic popes. I haven’t even met one uh…regular pope. Not to say you aren’t ‘regular’ or ‘normal’, of course. The Satanic versions are so much more interesting.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Do you drink?” the bald, mustachioed one - Secondo - asks.

“Please,” you sigh in relief. He gestures you over to the counter.

“What do you know about Italian wines, piccolina?”

Piccolina? You remind yourself to look that up whenever you manage to take a bathroom break.

“Uh, not much. That is to say…nothing.”

He smirks. You know immediately this man is a heartbreaker.

“I will teach you. This riserva is from the Ministry’s vineyards in Piedmont. Made from Nebbiolo grapes.” He pours you a generous glass which you swirl delicately in your hand before leaning in to sniff.

“Oh! I’m definitely getting…red fruits, perhaps cherries? Something mineral, like the way a damp cave smells. Hold on–”

You take a sip as Secondo watches you carefully.

“Wow that’s gorgeous,” you gush, “I didn’t smell the rose element but I definitely taste it. You said the Ministry made this?”

“Sì,” he nods, as he pours more into your glass, “I’m pleased you like it, you have excellent taste.”

“Oh, I really don’t,” you smile, “you’d cringe if I told you some of the swill I find acceptable. Particularly what I drank in college.”

He laughs loudly.

“What kind of self-respecting American college student drinks wine?”

“One from California, that’s what,” you smirk.

“Secondo stop hogging our guest,” Terzo calls from the other side of the room. “I want to see her pretty face.”

Secondo ushers you over to the small breakfast table where Copia sits with the other two Papas before leaving to fetch several wine glasses.

“Don’t you look bellissima tonight,” Terzo grins, and you blush as he gives you a very obvious once-over. That smile disappears though when he jerks violently, slamming his knee up under the table.

“Stronzino, that hurt,” he hisses at Copia, who has carefully schooled his face into a neutral expression. 

Huh. Wonder what that was all about.

You’re distracted by Primo softly saying your name and you turn to the older man with a smile.

“Are you enjoying life at the abbey so far?”

Ah. Well about that. You want to lie - to tell him everything has been smooth sailing but something about the way he looks at you instantly makes you want to be more candid.

“It’s um. It’s been…a lot,” you say, looking down into your wine glass, “The Cardinal is really the only one who speaks to me outside of Sister Imperator. I-I haven’t got out of my apartment much except to go to work. I’m a little self-conscious about exploring, to be honest.”

Primo gives you a gentle smile.

“Do you know where the greenhouses are, fiore mio?”

Fiore mio. Another one for the list.

“I think I know where the gardens are but I’m not sure if they’re nearby–”

“They are.” he says, “Sister Imperator…doesn’t have much use for an old relic like me. I spend my time tending to all that grows here. With some assistance from my ghouls.”

“Ghouls?” you ask, cocking your head.

He smiles.

“Ah, you haven’t met any yet, have you? Well I won’t spoil the surprise. I’m sure the Cardinal would love to tell you about them some time. Anyway, all this to say…please come visit me when you have the opportunity, sì? Ah, that reminds me,” he gets up and walks through an adjacent doorway to what you assume is the dining room. When he returns, he’s bearing a bouquet of vibrant pink dahlias in a glass vase.

“Oh!” you say, setting down your wine glass as Primo places the flowers on the table in front of you.

“For you, cara. To welcome you.”

You’re squeezing the meat of your thigh as hard as you can under the table to keep from crying but the tears well up in your eyes all the same.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and he reaches out to take your hand into his long, wizened one.

“Cazzo, are you making her cry, you old fuck?” Terzo grouses.

“Terzo!” Copia says with a sharpness you’ve never heard from him before. You’re not sure if it’s the wine but you’re definitely picking up on some tense vibes between the two of them.

“Uh, need help with dinner, Secondo?” you ask, trying to cut the awkwardness.

“Most of it is already finished but you are welcome to assist with the antipasti. Forgive the lack of aperitivo but someone forgot to pick up olives today.”

Secondo glares across the room at Copia, who turns beet red.

“That’s okay, I don’t like olives anyway,” you say cheerily. Primo groans.

“Ugh! Philistine!” Secondo snaps, making a sharp gesture, “Get over here and atone for your sins before I kick you out of my kitchen, piccolina.”

Now your face is red.

“Yes, Papa,” you murmur obediently as you rise from the table, missing the way the four men look at each other with raised eyebrows.

“Va bene,” Secondo says gruffly as you approach the island, leaning over to pour more wine in your glass, “Do you know how to toast bread?”

You give him a look.

“I think I can handle toast,” you scoff, setting down your glass. “Are we making bruschetta?” 

He favors you with a nod and a half-smile. A point in your favor.

“Here is the olive oil,” he says, gesturing to his left, “here is the balsamic. I have already diced the tomatoes and here,” he turns and opens the large refrigerator, coming back with a healthy amount of burrata, “is the cheese. Think you got it?”

“I…think so? Wait, do you have a grill for me to use or…”

He hands you a square metal pan with holes perforated in it.

“You’ve used a brustolina before?”

No, you have not used a brustolina before.

“How hard can it be? Don’t worry about me, please go sit down.”

He gives you one last sideway glance before snagging his wine glass off the table and joining his brothers. 

Ten minutes later, Terzo is standing on the breakfast table waving a rag in front of the aggressively beeping smoke detector as Copia looks as mortified as you feel.

“It’s alright, fiore mio,” Primo soothes as you sniffle, staring at the charred remains of what used to be several slices of sourdough bread.

“It’s toast. I cannot believe I actually fucked up toast.”

Copia scurries to your side and Primo steps away to make room. When your head thunks heavy against his shoulder he wraps an arm around you, making soothing noises. 

You don’t see Terzo thrusting violently into the air with a wide grin on his face, still standing on the table but you do see Secondo yank him down when he lets out an undignified squawk. The noise has you choking out a laugh, and you turn to Copia to see him staring down at you with a painfully soft expression.

“It’s nothing, piccolina,” Secondo says, unhanding his brother, “We didn’t need bruschetta anyway. Prometto. The real star is coming soon. Please–” he picks up your wine glass and gives you yet another generous pour, “--go take a seat. Enjoy the company of the Cardinal, and Primo, and my other idiot brother.”

You nod, accepting your glass.

“Sorry,” you murmur, and you feel Copia’s hand rub warm circles on the small of your back. You’d be willing to burn all the toast in the abbey if this is what you got out of it.

“It’s nothing, signorina, truly,” he says quietly in your ear, leading you back over to the table. Secondo efficiently dumps the cremated bread into the garbage and puts an apron over his head which reads “Osculari Coquum.” 

By the time Secondo tells the four of you to take your seats in the dining room you are…pleasantly tipsy and incredibly hungry. The smells coming from the kitchen are so decadent, you can feel yourself salivating. 

“Here we are,” Secondo says, entering the room with a loaded plate, which he places in front of you, “Pollo alla cacciatora con riso.”

You have to sit on your hands to keep from rudely digging in before the others have been delivered their meals but as soon as Secondo sits down, you’re ready to strike. Before you can, Primo speaks up.

“I would like to toast our lovely new friend. To your health and happiness. May you find a home here amongst us. Benvenuta nostra sorella. Ave Sathanas.”

Sorella. The word sounds familiar, as if you’ve heard it in the abbey halls before. It makes a warmth bloom in your chest that you’re certain cannot be attributed solely to the wine.

“Grazie mille,” you murmur with a smile. “Thank you all for having me this evening, I appreciate it more than you know.”

Copia’s hand, resting next to yours on the table, twitches and ever-so-slightly his gloved pinkie finger brushes against yours. You look at him out of the corner of your eye but he’s staring diligently down at his plate, mustache twitching as he fights to smile. The sight makes your heart thud in your chest. It’s as if the two of you are in your own little world, oblivious to everyone else despite the fact that neither of you openly acknowledge the other. It’s a breathtaking feeling and you wish you could put your finger on what is so special about this peculiar man.

“Bella, if you don’t eat that I’m going to eat it for you.”

Terzo is staring at you from across the table, mouth full of chicken cacciatore. The whole room, in fact, is staring at you.

“Shit! Right! Sorry I was…I don’t know where I was. Hmm.”

The four men once again exchange a look as you politely dig into your chicken and rice. It’s divine, as you knew it would be. The conversation flows wonderfully, the Papas all eagerly explaining the Ghost project to you.

“So you are all part of the same band?”

“We each had our terms,” Primo explains, “I was the first, Secondo was second, and now Terzo is the third.”

Your brow furrows as you mouth their names and something clicks.

“I’m sorry, you’re all brothers and you’re named first, second, and third? Who does that to their kids?”

Copia snorts into his glass at your candidness.

“Our idiot father, that’s who,” Primo says, and you’re shocked at his venomous tone, “You’ve met Papa Nihil, have you not?”

Oh. You’ve met Papa Nihil alright.

“Ah…yes. Yes, we’ve met. I don’t think he cares much for me.”

Terzo laughs.

“We all have that in common, bella mia! Consider it a badge of honor.”

You don’t quite know what to say to that and an uncomfortable silence falls on the room.

“So,” Secondo begins, “you must listen to each of our albums and tell us which one you like best, sì?”

“Oh, I don’t know if I’m qualified to properly judge that sort of thing–”

“We insist,” Terzo says imperiously, “I want nothing less than an album ranking and your overall top five songs. Cardinal, see to it that she gets educated.”

“I don’t see how this is my area of expertise,” Copia says sullenly, stabbing at what remains of his chicken. “It’s not my band.”

Hmm. Another frisson of tension.

Interesting.

“If everyone is done with their meal, shall we move back into the kitchen for dessert? Piccolina, how do you feel about gelato?”

Your cheeks redden at the moan that escapes your mouth. Copia coughs sharply at your side, having turned red himself.

“What’s your favorite flavor, bella mia?” Terzo asks, rising from the table as you do.

“Stracciatella, definitely, but I will never say no to chocolate.”

“Ah! A woman after my own heart! Copia do you hear this? She likes stracciatella.”

The Cardinal remains seated, nodding distractedly. As you exit the room you see Primo move closer to him and put a hand on his back, leaning in to speak quietly.

—

“Oh topolino…she’s just as lovely as you said. Kind, smart, beautiful. Burns bruschetta but eh, no one is perfect.” Primo smiles as Copia looks up at him in earnest.

“Papa…I really like her.”

It’s the first time he’s voiced his feelings out loud and he can feel the flush on his cheeks creeping down his chest.

“I know, ragazzo mio. And you know what? I think she really likes you too.”

Copia’s heart skips a beat.

“Really? You think so? I-I want to do something nice for her, something she deserves but I’m not sure–”

“Spend time with her,” Primo says, smiling, “She is very lonely. Continue to be the friend you have been thus far - that’s what she deserves.”

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” Copia murmurs, “Surely she’ll tire of me or–”

“Surely nothing of the sort,” Primo says firmly. “If she cares for you as I suspect she does, she will welcome you into her heart. All parts of you, not just the best ones. You’ll see, topolino. Prometto.”

“Grazie,” Copia whispers as Primo places a kiss on his forehead.

“Hey you two what flavor–oh, I’m sorry, I’m interrupting something.”

You move to exit the room but Copia stands abruptly.

“No, please. Stay.”

You smile. If only he knew now how you’d take that request to heart.

[phyrestartr]

Happy Place (HOUND) (Miguel x M!Reader)

Geneticist!Miguel x Guard!Reader Part 3 of HOUND | w/c 3.8k

#NSFW, zombie AU, apocalypse AU, mentions of exploitation and abuse, body horror, gore, immoral research and experiments, power imbalance, reader is a criminal, miguel is a scientist, dark themes, reader is morally grey, bottom!miguel, top!reader, hurt and comfort, it's fluffy in the end, bussy loading lmao

Note: Genuinely had a really fun time writing this!! Was not really planned, but I cannot resist the idea of reader being a big softie towards people he kind of gives a shit about :sob: some angst, some miscommunication, and some good ol' FUCKIN'. Hope you like it! I have an idea for another part, but idk when/if I write it u-u we shall see.

--

You started behaving differently around him. Miguel rationalized it was just because of the sex–you’d suddenly found a new resource in your “owner,” and so started looking to him to find it, to get a piece of something you’d been without for a long, long time. 

But primal instincts suggested something else; you didn’t just look at him like a fuck doll, you looked at him with soft eyes, slow blinks, and gentle patience. Normally, in those hellish meetings you were dragged to, you would stare straight ahead, listening to everything, but not giving away thoughts or opinions. And now?

Whenever Miguel glanced your way, he found you watching him, eyes half-lidded and lovey. The scientist forced himself to look away. He rubbed his mouth, trying to pet away the embarrassment (and will away any uncouth thoughts). Miguel liked the change, of course, but it had to be investigated. 

He brought you to Lyla to get some tests done. She was all too happy to see you, calling you a “good dog” and her “best boy” to which you merely huffed and smirked smugly because, yeah, you knew you were the best mutant puppy they had. 

“So? To what do I owe the honour of seeing my favourite guy?” Lyla asked as she reached up to fluff up your hair. You bowed your head like a dire wolf leaning in to let a chihuahua preen. 

Miguel crossed his arms, equally enamored with your gentility as he was perplexed by it. “He’s different. Less strict and serious, more…” Miguel pursed his lips when a faint grunt of approval boomed in your chest as Lyla scritched a particularly good spot. “That. This. Whatever this is.” 

“Awe, come on, he’s just a big puppy. That’s what we made them to be, right? Not a big deal.” But Miguel didn’t buy it. Still, he knew Lyla wouldn’t so easily dismiss his claims, either. “Anything change with you, big guy?”

“Sex,” You answered.

Miguel rubbed his face with a groan. “I–you–”

“Wow, getting in the freak seat, huh, Miguel?” Lyla teased. “Sex puts anyone in a good mood.”

“This isn’t just a good mood. It’s a complete 180.” His hand dropped from his face to gesture towards the teddy bear. “Look at him. He doesn’t do this. What if it becomes a problem?”

“Actually, his cortisol levels’ve been down since he got back to watching you,” Lyla argued, suddenly a tinge more serious. She glanced your way, and her expression shifted just the slightest bit before returning to Miguel. “Really don’t think it’s a big deal.”

“You don’t think?” 

“Pal, buddy, come on–”

“Please, just–just run tests. Just check.” Echoes of snarling mouths rippled to the forefront of his mind. His palms began to sweat. “I need you to check.” 

She must have understood.

Lyla agreed, and assigned Miguel with a temporary HOUND escort. While it was humiliating to need a babysitter around the clock, Miguel couldn’t go without one–every blind corner, every door sitting sealed sent his heart into a panic, made him want to curl into himself and disappear. Having a superhuman by his side was the only thing that gave him some sense of comfort. 

Miguel paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder. He glimpsed your back turned to him as Lyla dutifully prepared for the examination. 

“When do I get him back?” Miguel asked, like he didn’t just demand Lyla take him. 

The woman in question shrugged. “Eh. Dunno. Shouldn’t be more than an hour. Probably less than that. If there’s a problem, I’ll keep him longer.” 

Oh. Miguel didn’t like that. 

–

You came back about an hour later, tagging out your substitute and finally, finally, taking up your spot by the door. Miguel’s shoulders relaxed with the buzzing in his mind. Things were okay again. 

“So?” Miguel asked, pulling himself up from his desk to saunter towards you. “Anything?”

You glanced his way with a familiar, stony set to your stare. “Not much.”

“Really.” He could tell you’d snapped out of whatever lovey dovey daze you’d gotten stuck in, though. Your body wasn’t so open anymore, what with your arms crossed and eyes simmered down into burnt-out coal. “You expect me to believe that?”

You didn’t answer. But your silence said enough. 

–

Things went back to normal. You remained distant and far off, but attentive and responsive to Miguel’s needs and wants; you stood closer to him if his stress peaked, you never left his line of sight, you fucked him if he beckoned you to the bed. You reset back into the dog you used to be.

Miguel didn’t like it. He’d taken you to Lyla to see if something was wrong with you, if you were going to break and snap, turning into the thing that’d tried to kill the both of you. He didn’t want you to reset. He didn’t want you pulling away.

–

The undead were slowing down. Another winter had hit, and it hit hard, knocking out the city’s electricity and tearing down power lines. But it’d frozen the dead, rendered their bodies useless and slow in the frigid streets of New York. 

It made capturing specimens easier and faster for the HOUNDs, just as it made extermination easier for the military as they scrambled to secure a quadrant of the city before winter passed into spring. All reports suggested the reclamation efforts were going well with few accidents and even less resistance from each point of interest hit. The amount of hideaways and survivor camps were astonishing as well, all tucked away into the tops of skyscrapers or underground in the darkness of parking lots. Civilians were truly incredible. 

But the HOUNDs were working double time, hardly having ample opportunity to shut their eyes before being requested again and again and again–there was always a building that needed to be cleared, a squadron that needed to be found, civilian colonies that needed to be relocated, and your sort was best suited for it all. 

Thankfully for you, retrieval efforts took a brief pause after a 99% clearance was announced, and the military began construction for official sector lockdown. Finally, there would be a safe space for the public to exist in, sealed off from the rest of the decaying, hungry world. 

And you would get a break. A chance to let the frostbite heal, to get shot up with painkillers, and bask in the synthetic warmth of Alchemax. Or, they’d kill you and let you rest forever if your test results came back as troublesome or unpromising. God, you hoped you were still promising. 

You’d done your best, shoved away the shreds of affection you felt for your keeper to maintain focus and keep worried eyes away from you. Your mind was clear. You felt fine. You really did. But they were human, and they were scared of what they created (what else is new), even though they depended on you and your ilk so heavily for safety, and for the most dangerous of missions. 

The sort of missions that had some of your kind put down after abnormalities, consistent with the incident several months ago, were detected in their DNA. The sort of missions that gave some of your kind the chance to make a run for it out in the field, daring the outside world in favour of living as a slave to Alchemax. You could understand it. You could sympathize, even; freedom was a beautiful idea, but with the world in such a state, the confines of your prison promised more freedom than the wildlands of the old world. 

Idiots. Every single one of them. 

The truck jostled you back to consciousness. The pounding in your head worsened, the pressure in your sinuses amplified, and your will to go on slowly withered away. But, thank whatever was left of God, you were almost back to Alchemax. Almost home. 

You wished you could collapse into Miguel’s bed beside him and sleep it all off, but that uncomfortable panic your soft side threw him into wasn’t acceptable. You didn’t understand it, but you weren’t going to fight it. There wasn’t any point. 

–

Miguel awoke to you standing by his door, arms crossed, back against the wall, and head bowed as you quietly snoozed. Normally, you didn't sleep on the job. Normally, you didn't look like shit either, though; you had a mask of sorts covering the bottom half of your face, probably one equipped with an air purifier to keep illness away from the rest of the building, and your skin lost its natural light to it, accentuating the deep crescents of shadows under your eyes.

He needs rest. That was the first thought in his mind, and the one that got him up and out of bed to get you. He expected a fight, honestly, but you were easily guided to where Miguel led you in your hardly-conscious state. 

“‘M fine,” you grumbled, brows furrowing and weak hands lamely trying to free yourself from Miguel's touch. 

“You need to lay down.” And somehow, he made it happen. Miguel got you in the bed and pulled off your boots before settling back down himself. It was strange, he realized, how he felt safe with you simply sleeping beside him, and sharing your warmth with him. Maybe he didn't need you to stand guard and sacrifice sleep for his sake anymore. 

–

Miguel didn't know when he'd fallen asleep, but waking up pressed into the warmth of your too-big frame was a welcome surprise. Your limbs were tangled all around him, your legs threading through his, your arms draped around him, your nose pressed into his mess of chestnut hair while deep, rumbly purrs rolled against his back. Your claws were out, too, every now and again gently kneading against his chest and stomach when happy dreams danced through your mind. 

It was when you let out a grumpy growl that Miguel smiled. He couldn’t stop himself from trying to carefully, slowly, turn in your arms, avoiding getting nicked and waking you up just to catch a glimpse of your sleeping face. Miguel settled back in, feeling you adjust and watching your brows furrow the slightest bit while you unknowingly made accommodations for him. 

“What’re you dreaming about, huh?” Miguel murmured when your expression slackened again and the drone of purring resumed. He reached towards your face carefully, running his thumb against the mess of scars intersecting with your bum eye; you never let him touch your face, always shying away or wincing in a recoil whenever he so tried. He never knew if he hurt you, or if you didn’t want to be reminded. It’s not like he ever knew what was going on in your head, anyway. 

Maybe I should. A thought that plagued him far too often. As far as he knew, the others didn’t bond too well with their guards, at least not to this level. But maybe they should have taken the time to. Maybe they should have matched you based on personality compatibility, or something similar to make sure you’d get along, to ensure nothing like that abomination could have happened in the first place. Maybe then they’d care about the HOUND division more. Maybe then you wouldn’t be seen as expendable. 

Your good eye opened when Miguel’s thumb dipped down into the scar resting flush against the bone of your damaged eye socket. You recoiled with a wince and sat up in a hurry, looking around the room in confusion and running a hand through your hair. 

“What the fuck,” you grumbled, voice hoarse. You coughed into your arm, but the mask caught it for you “Didn’t mean to–”

“I made you lay down,” Miguel said, firm. 

You looked at him, confused for a moment before relaxing into your plain, uncaring state. You rolled your shoulders a few times before reaching for the hem of your shirt and pulling it up bit by bit; Miguel was almost too distraught by the bandages and marks marring your body for him to realize what you thought he wanted. 

“Wh–hey, no, no.” He sat up and stopped you, grabbing your arm to give you pause. “Just–stop. Relax.” 

“You’re giving me mixed signals.” Your brows furrowed. “Don’t like me lookin’ at you, don’t want me getting too comfortable–”

Miguel’s gut twisted. “I didn’t know if something was wrong–”

“You that scared of me?”

“I’m not–”

“Then what is it.” 

Miguel didn’t have the words. He didn’t know. He couldn’t straighten out his thoughts enough to give you a succinct, reasonable answer that’d make sense and cover everything. He didn’t know what he was thinking or feeling during those blurred days of the apocalypse. 

“I don’t know.” Miguel stared hard at your arm. His fidgety hands fussed with the bandages. 

You waited for a beat for him to continue, but he didn’t. You leaned in the slightest bit like it’d encourage him before you prodded further. “You don’t know?”

“Anything. About all of this–everything. Everything’s ending.” Ah. How optimistic of him, one of the men tasked with giving the world a fighting chance, to save humanity. “Nothing good happens anymore.” Right?

You stayed quiet for a long while. Miguel didn't know how to read that look on your face. He could only imagine what someone like you, someone hardened and fucked over by the world, was thinking, what you were judging by his words and– 

“Some dinosaurs got fucked by volcanic ash,” you interrupted, “but some changed, and turned into birds. Like chickens ‘n shit. Some things turned into us, too. Somehow.” You cleared your throat and rubbed at the mask covering your mouth. “Don’t like the idea that we evolved from a fucking dolphin or whatever, but it happened. We're here, too, like those fucking chickens. Despite the world ending.” You spared him a look this time. “Things still lived, even if they changed.”

Miguel was dumbstruck. And he understood what you were saying. So much more than what you tried to convey. You were starting to make sense to him. 

“Huh. That was almost optimistic. Profound, even,” he offered with a soft smile. “Didn’t know you knew so much about chickens.” 

You scoffed. “My kid loved that stupid fun fact. Loved dinosaurs. Told me about them all the time…fuckin’ chickens and dinosaurs.” You were smiling, too. He heard it in your voice, saw the creases by your eyes. 

“Sounds like a smart kid.” 

You nodded. “She was.” 

–

He convinced you to keep him company for the day, the night, and the morning. It was a relief, waking up next to you again, feeling just a little less hopeless as the hours passed in your presence while chicken fun facts echoed in his thoughts. Hell, he was even starting to like being the little spoon, especially when he felt stiff, morning excitement pressing up against his ass. 

You weren’t that shy about it. You pulled his hips closer and ground up against him, grumbling and sighing through that stupid mask into his ear. Maybe you were still asleep, indulging in your body’s wants as dreams carried your subconscious into similar territory. Miguel only hoped you were dreaming about him. 

He jumped when your large hand groped his hardening cock through his joggers. He started scrambling and reaching for the side table for the bottle of oil he kept on hand for the nights he had you in his bed (and for his own personal time), nearly dropping the damn thing when you started pulling and tearing at his pants, suddenly deciding you were beyond impatient to have him. 

“Wait–hey, just–wait a second–” Miguel scrambled to shove his sweats down before you could do anymore damage. You huffed a laugh in his ear when you finally groped his hot skin. The sound lit an inferno in his chest. “Impatient pendejo.” 

“Lube.” 

“I'm working on it.” He lathered two fingers with oil and reached back, prodding before pushing in as you spread him wide. Your impatience had his fingers pumping in and out quicker, hastily convincing his tight ring to relax and loosen for the main event. Your hand gripped his cock and tugged firmly, making his hips buck back against you and lodge his digits in deeper with an embarrassing squelch. That, in your mind, meant he was ready to go. 

You pulled his hand away rudely before yanking down your waistband and jamming yourself into him. Miguel gasped and struggled against you before you thrust forward, simultaneously pulling his hips back, and fully seating him. Your arms snaked around him to cage him in and stop him from wriggling away if it got to be too much–you wouldn't have it. Miguel liked it that way. 

“Mierda, you–” he choked down a whine when your hand curled around his throat and held firm. “D-Don't get too carried away.” But thorny barbs pushed at his skin, teasing and kneading while Miguel's core melted and eased around you. His hand felt down, jolting a little at the bump jutting out from his flat stomach. Sometimes he forgot how big you were. 

You pushed two fingers into his mouth when you started moving, rutting into him lazily and sloppily, dragging rugged moans out of his chest with every draw of your bodies together. He bit down on your fingers hard and grasped your hand at his neck to find some kind of anchor point. Another breathy laugh had Miguel opening his legs wider, his back arching off of your chest. You wrenched your fingers from his mouth and pulled him back in, adjusting yourself to make use of his compliance and fuck him better. 

“Such a good little thing,” you grumbled, voice roiling with dark thorns. “You like being manhandled, huh?” And you squeezed his thigh and his throat hard, digging in your barbs just enough to threaten injury. “Like bein’ a whore?” 

Miguel wanted to snap at you, to tell you to shut the fuck up and stop teasing (bullying) him, but you hit him where it counted and freed his mind from the concept of speech. One of his hands balled into the sheets while the other clawed back at you, trying to sink further into his set anchors.

“Hm? You tryna say somethin’?” You asked with such condescending mirth in your words. “You wanna tell me how good it feels?” 

The hand around his throat was joined by the one leaving his thigh, and you squeezed harder. Delicious sparks of blackness muddied his vision, the near-death feeling accentuating the hard cracks of your hips into his, the white-hot blaze curling his toes and shaking his thighs. 

“Tell me,” you demanded again, a little louder, a little more annoyed. But how was Miguel expected to speak when he was so close to the edge of life, death and pleasure? He was nearly there, so close, just a little more–

But you pulled out.

Miguel heaved in breaths and blinked away the fog shrouding his sight. He wondered if old wounds gave you pause, or if fatigue had finally gripped you and extinguished your desire. And it concerned him, the idea you weren't ready for this, that you might've felt pressured or–

“Tell me.”

–oh, no, you were just being a cocky asshole. Figures. 

Miguel scoffed and reached back, weakly pawing for your slick cock rubbing against the curve of his ass, trying to guide it back to where he needed it. You should've known well enough how good you were, and yet–

“Words.” 

“I-It’s good,” Miguel croaked, cringing at his stuttering. “I–can’t you just–” Your charge choked on a mangled cry when your claws broke skin and sunk deep. But the afterburn fuelled the explosion boiling in Miguel’s gut. God, what was wrong with him? 

“Please,” he finally whined. 

A pleased purr vibrated against Miguel’s back. “Please?” 

Miguel screwed his eyes shut to ward off the wave of embarrassment crashing down him. “Fuck me. I have to–I need to–” 

You slammed back in, and Miguel almost shattered. He half-turned out of your grip, chest brushing the sheets while his abdomen twisted to still give you his ass; but you were a benevolent menace, and rose to your knees, guiding his hips up with you while he buried his pleas into the mattress. 

“Good. I'll give you what you want. I can do that.” 

And after a few bullseye hits, Miguel came undone. His hips jittered and stuttered, overwhelmed and ecstatic with the electricity shooting through his body and burning him alive. You held him tightly, moaning lowly as you plowed into his stifling heat, determined to plunge off the edge yourself while torturing your partner with wave after wave of tumultuous ecstasy. You really were too good at this. It was almost unfair. 

“Por favour,” Miguel gasped. He was breaking. It was too much. Too much–

“Shut up,” you grunted, but the plea must've done the trick; your hips jolted to a stop once flush up against Miguel's ass, and a familiar flood of heat filled his guts. Miguel pulled on fistfuls of his hair and bit down on his other hand's knuckles. He probably would have passed right out if he hadn't grounded his soul with a little bit of pain. 

You slumped on top of him unceremoniously, like a dog flopping back onto its owner. You grumbled and wheezed in a way that sounded far too dad-like, in a way that almost made Miguel laugh and did indeed bring a tired smile to his face. As much as you were an insufferable asshole, you were just as cute and silly. Miguel quite possibly loved that about you. 

“What? All that shit-talking tire you out?” Miguel asked. 

You huffed. “Still sore.” Ah. Maybe your earlier torture was to disguise your need for a break after all. “You got me going too much.” 

“Sorry? You're the one who started it.” 

“You're the one who begged to get fucked,” you retorted like an annoying teenager. “Like a bitch in heat.”

Miguel sighed. He knew he wasn't about to win this one, but he had to try. His stubbornness wouldn't let him back down. 

“You're the one who woke up hard. Grinding against my ass to–” he stuttered when you pulled out suddenly before flopping down beside him in bed, “--t-to get off.” Christ he hated you. You were so fucking annoying. 

“You liked it.” You watched him grab some tissues from the side table and clean up as much as he could before rolling on his back to stare at the ceiling. “You're horny as fuck.” 

Miguel lamely slapped a hand at your chest, and you caught it, pinning it against your warmth. Miguel didn't mind. It felt nice. 

“Yeah. Well. It's the apocalypse.” 

“It's the apocalypse,” you agreed.

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

Disgrace Chapter 9 : Crosshair x F!OC

It's been a bumpy ride and it's only getting bumpier as our story plunges into the depths of the pleasure planet. Our heroes are shaken and feeling a fear that runs deeper than the chasm they find themselves entombed in. As they quake from the struggles that have gripped them, deep underground, some truths may come to the surface. Is a confession still true if it's whispered in the dark?

Chapter Specific Warnings: Smut, PiV+ Cπ, skin to skin comfort, lots of talking, Crosshair slowly becoming allergic to clothing (not literal) Angst, Crying.

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Authors Note: Not much going on visually this chapter, but we're back baby! Tie up some lose ends and ease you guys into the second half of this book.

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Word Count: 6746

Dynamic: Princess x Guard, Speed running Co-dependancy, A Mangy Cat and his Aggressive little Chihuahua. She's a damsel, she's in distress- she can handle it. Murder is his love language.

<-Previous Chapter - Read On Ao3 {START HERE}

Music Inspo- Like A Prayer, Bigod 20 Cover

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Chapter 9: Like a Prayer

It was a bumpy trip, as we slid down through the open chasm. The headlights danced wildly as rocks caught the undercarriage with the sound of tearing mineral, tipping the speeder to free fall several meters, back end pointed down. We hit a smooth, slanted plane that crumpled the trunk compartment with a crunch of twisting metal and a painful jolt through my neck. The engine sputtered out and the headlights died as we pitched forward with a crash, sliding down the glossy slope, first with a slow shriek and then rapidly, faster and faster, we plunged further into the abyss. 

I wrestled with the handling, trying to keep us straight and away from the eerily smooth walls, but with the engine out I was steering blind without the headlights or power assist. 

Crosshair had thrown himself against my seat as we plunged through the open rock, binding me in place with strong arms thrown about me for dear life. His arms still wrapped about my chest was the only thing reassuring me he hadn't fallen out. 

I was pumping the breaks, but without the engine they were useless. The starter was clicking as I punched the button which wasn't connected anymore, I'd have to get at the wires again… not happening at this speed, even if I could see what I was doing. 

The slope sharpened into a narrow tunnel, sections collapsing behind us as our crashing vehicle destabilized the tunnel, sparks shooting off the side of the speeder as it drifted against the tight walls. 

We were slowing, gradually as the tunnel evened out. Eventually we were spat out into a wider cavern, the dragging speeder catching in the sand, finally grinding to a stop. 

Listening to the tink and clicks of the cooling engine with my eyes closed… I felt like I had gone def at the sudden absence of shrieking, sparking metal. Our heavy breathing reverberated through the cave, adding to the soft, ethereal soundscape filtering through the shock. I opened my eyes slowly, half expecting to find we hadn't actually survived that. My knuckles were white where they gripped the steering, then I looked around.

The vision that greeted me pulled a gasp from my rattled lungs. 

The cave system we came to rest in was deep… the dark enclosing rock far overhead. The stone had the same blue tinge as most Ga'haiian bedrock, though the walls had been worn to a polished shine, evidence of long extinct glacial flows. The old water channels spread in all directions from this main vein, twisting in impossible shapes. 

None of that was the remarkable part however. 

Quartz deposits, clear from years of pressure, were embedded throughout the walls of stone. Occasionally these clear patches would glow with a crackling snap of white electricity, the current arcing through the stone to resemble lightning strikes dancing along the cave systems tunnels, providing a constant, flickering light. 

“What is that?”

“It's Iotryke. A conductive kind of quartz, we landed in a vein.”

“Why's it doing… that?”

“I-I've heard it's ‘cause of the storm… lightning striking the mountains or something.”

The mundane exchange was calming our nerves… it wasn't just me that was rattled. He wouldn't let on, but I could feel the tremors in his arms binding me to the seat. 

I didn't want to think about the whiplash we'd be nursing.

He moved, tossing off his helmet before unlocking my buckle and lacing his hands under my arms, hoisting me up and over into the back with him. I fell against his chest. My legs were still caught on the back of front seat, but his arms were fixed tight, not allowing me to right myself.

…

“… you okay, Crosshair?”

“I'm sorry.”

“... For what?”

“I shouldn't have told you to run, I miscalculated,”

…

“You got me back… don't beat yourself up over it,”

His arms only tightened on me. 

“It was stupid. What if I had taken longer to get to you?”

“I would have kept stalling… look, things always seem obvious from this side of it but I assure you all those other plans going through your head could have easily gone just as wrong.”

Scrambling to loosen his grip, I shifted carefully to sit on his thighs holding his face. 

“Today it worked out, we'll learn from it tomorrow… for now, well… we're trapped in a cave,”

He looked away, trying to find his pride somewhere other than my eyes. Then his gaze flicked back to me. He cocked an eyebrow, lifting the leather jacket with a finger to scan the tan, stitched together two-piece.  

“What… exactly, are you wearing?”

I guess the nature of my dress hadn't really registered in the frenzy of the rescue. I put on a haughty tone,

“A respectful representation of our first peoples,”

“... Uh huh,”

He cupped my cheek, pulling me into a soft kiss, before resting his forehead against mine. The cold shiver in us was difficult to ignore, bringing our attention back to the shaken feeling we could sense on each other. It was more than the bumpy ride through the cave. 

I was scared… truly… truly scared.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, something breaking in me, pouring out through sudden, hot tears rolling off my cheeks to fall against his. 

Crying again… twice in one day. 

But I couldn't stop it, a slow stream of salt, muscles rigid as the day's events sank into me. 

His lips were finding each stray tear, kissing away the wet stains on my skin…

“I'm sorry… so sorry, Tahny”

I pressed hard against him, finding his mouth with mine. I needed him… I needed to not feel like this. Weak, fragile. 

“I don't need apologies,”

My hands had already started tracing the lines of his breastplate, searching for a hold to pry it off.  

His hand closed around my wandering fingers. 

“Tahny, slow down,”

“I don't want to…Crosshair, please…”

His name had become a cry of desperation on my tongue, begging for the peace I only felt with him…

He kissed me again, his gentleness in sharp contrast to my rough escapism. 

“Just slow down,”

He reached up and the breastplate came off, sliding from between us. The series of clacks echoed sharply against the acoustic stone hall, pieces of armor falling away one by one. 

I slid my hands under the hem of the tight black top as it was exposed, taking his lead, pacing myself. Just feeling his skin, his lips against mine.

More clicks, and I rolled the hem up and over, lips parting a moment as I tugged the shirt off of him. He slid the jacket from my shoulders, and started to pick at the leather knots lacing my vest closed. The article hung open as the straps were loosened from their eyelets, and I hugged tight to him again, pressing my skin against his. His warmth sunk into me, chasing the stubborn chill from my bones. 

He held me there against him, hushing sobs that were already starting to slow. 

“He really got to you, didn't he?...I should have gotten there sooner,”

I shook my head… that's all wrong.

“He shouldn't have been able to… I'm not so easily threatened, I shouldn't be scared of someone like him… somethings wrong with me,”

Why was I so shaken?

He was stroking my hair, confused and a little concerned at my rapidly swinging reactions.

…

“So you're afraid to die, I think that's normal, Tahny… you’re supposed to care what happens to you…”

I looked at him through the curtain of my hair. That was exactly it. Somewhere, somehow… I lost the sense of invincibility that came with embracing death.

“It's all your fault,”

“Excuse me?”

“Me, caring about things… it's been happening ever since you showed up,”

His lips twitched, the corners turning up briefly with a short exhale before he forced his usual serious expression, clearing his throat.  

“Is that so? What's so bad about caring?”

I groaned.

“Caring karken kriffs, Cross… it makes you want to change things you can't and have hope and all that… hopeful stuff.”

“So I… make you hopeful?”

This time he let the smirk fly, squeezing me with his usual mischievous spark glinting back at me in the flickering light.

I rolled my eyes, letting my head fall to his shoulder with a thump. 

“That is the sappiest interpretation possible,”

“You didn't say I was wrong,”

His voice purred against my ear, sending sparks down my spine. I hissed at him,

“Your foolishness is contagious.”

He lifted me, crushing his lips to mine. 

The side door thumped open, Cross kicking it wide to give us room as he angled me to lay on the firm bench seat, not letting our lips part. His hips snugged between my thighs, and I sighed, wrapping my legs about him. 

I was trailing my fingers down his back, the muscles flexing against them as Crosshair moved over me. I found the dimples of his pelvis between his hips and paused a moment, tracing the dips before sliding around front, guided by his hip bones, to unhitch his belt letting it slide to the floor. 

Lips were tracing a warm trail across my jaw, Crosshair leading himself to the sensitive spot on my neck to graze his teeth against it, making me shiver. 

“I need you, Crosshair…”

The confession was whispered in his ear, pulling a low groan of desire from the man who clamped to the tender flesh of my jugular, sucking a new mark into the skin. I tugged at his waistband, pulling his blacks down to his thighs, trying to hide the notion I might mean more than his body; not entirely sure if I was trying to fool him or myself. 

His half hard shaft fell free to lay on my belly and he pinned me like that, in no particular hurry to rush into the next step. The feeling of his hardening length pressed between us was causing a heat to rise desperately in my skin, my core. Need. 

Channeling my frustration I ran my tongue up his neck to take his earlobe in my teeth. The salt of his sweat stung my lips as I nipped him.

“Let me have you li’nen… take it slow if you must but do so inside me,”

“...the things you say.”

His voice was a smooth vibration against my skin as he continued to leave small love marks down my neck and over my collarbone, ignoring my request. I tried to reach for him but he pressed harder against me, blocking me. 

The cock in question was sliding over the thin leather of the tiny skirt and thong, making me quiver pathetically as he bit his way down to my chest, licking over a breast before sucking the nipple between his lips, teasing it with his tongue. 

I groaned at the rush of electricity through me... I wanted to disappear into the feeling. Crosshair had other ideas. 

Releasing my breast with a soft ‘pop’ he came even with me again, framing my face with his forearms to look into my eyes, pulling me back to focus with his protective posturing.

“I won't let it happen again, I promise… so you don't need to be afraid,”

You can't promise such things…

I was about to protest, but a look in his eyes caught me, bringing me to the meaning behind his words… a plead for me, needing me, to believe it… begging me to, so that he could. 

The gears in me whirred as I contemplated taking the weight of such responsibility. 

I can do that… if I want to believe you I can.

I cradled his chin in my hands, 

“Don't you dare break such a promise.”

His lips found mine with a renewed fervor, a restored sense of purpose as he slipped a hand between my legs to tug the thin strip of leather separating us aside. 

I moaned into his lips as he adjusted to press himself into my folds, coaxing his length into me, interlocking. The seat creaked as he shifted his weight to his pelvis, sinking as deep as he could. My legs snaked around his, hooking the heels of my boots around his calves. 

An ache bloomed trough my pelvis, my flesh was tender after our previous days together and I inhaled sharply at the stretching sensation. 

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, just a little bruised,”

“...I should have known, should I stop?”

I shook my head, pressing my cheek against his.

“Just, this once… be gentle,”

He hummed back, our arms wrapping tighter about each other as he reclaimed my lips. 

We sprawled over the backseat, entangled as he warmed himself in me, not yet moving. There was no frantic race to get as much out of this as we could, frankly, we weren't going anywhere anytime soon. 

His shooting hand cupped the back of my neck, calluses rough against my nape as his tongue dove against mine, pulling me into deeper and deeper kisses. Moans rose softly from me against his lips, letting out an occasional squeak when he'd grind his hips, sending a sudden wave of pleasure through me with the friction. 

Cross pulled his lips from me, whispers hot in my hair. 

“How long’s it been?...Since the night we picked you up?”

It was a difficult question to focus on, pinned to the seat as I was. Four days on the transport, the moon and all the in betweens…

“Two weeks tomorrow,”

I mumbled into his neck, tightening my thighs about him. 

“Kriff, really?”

“Mhmm”

…

“Just two weeks…”

His pelvis pulled back a moment, thrusting back home, I bit into his neck, stifling the moan that ripped through me. His hips kept that rhythm, slow, forceful, sinking my hips into the back seat with each thrust. 

I let his skin slip from my teeth, harsh gasps spilling from my lips to whisper back to me from the cave walls punctuated with pitched moans in time with Cross’s movements. 

“Say it again, Tahny... That you need me,”

“I need you.”

It barely left me before his mouth was on mine again, ungraceful and frantic as his thrusts picked up pace. I lifted my thighs to wrap higher around his back, angling him to hit that spot just right, bruises be damned. 

With his free hand his knuckles drifted down, dragging against my skin till he sunk his fingers into my hips to hold me still; Carefully, Crosshair stroked into me, the weight of his bare chest pressing hard against my arching form as he moved his hips. My eyes fluttered against the waves of bliss pulsing through my brain. 

“I'm so close… take me there, Cross,”

My thoughts felt fuzzy and warm, the skin against mine hot and heavy and comforting. His breath was becoming ragged against his own rising pleasure. 

“You're mine Tahny,”

He moaned it against my lips, thrusting hips starting to snap in an erratic desperation. 

“Say it… I need you to say it,”

…

“I'm yours, Crosshair,”

The delirium took us, my body taught and rigid as I came for him. Cross pulled my hips against his, groaning softly as he poured into me. 

He was trembling from the intensity of the release, hips still bucking weakly as if to deny the pleasure should end. 

Our gasping breaths chorused back to us, filling the cavern we were stranded in. I listened to the sounds of our mingled voices, watching the false lighting zig zag across the ceiling, slowly coming back down to the backseat of the wrecked speeder. 

“Just two weeks?”

He breathed it against my neck, air hot from exertion. I shrugged,

“We can pretend it's been longer,”

“I'm not sure that's the point…”

~~~

My shoulder burned from the stretched position leaning into the hood of the vehicle. I found another loose wire and clipped it in. 

“Okay, tap it again.”

Crosshair touched the wires under the dash together and waited. 

Clicking, but no start.

I flicked the vibroblade open again in a huff, angling it into the thin space to try to see with the dim light it cast. 

No, all these connections are plugged here fine… 

I leaned a little farther, wedging my slight form deeper into the tight space. Couldn't see much… but,

There was a faint ‘tink’ of something dripping. 

I carefully wiggled to face the fuel tank and sure enough, a gasket was knocked ajar of its clamps. Readjusting the fitting and tightening the fasteners I finally worked my way out of the engine block. 

“Alright, try again.’

To my surprise the engine finally roared to life and I thunked the hood back down, Casting a look at the man in the driver's seat wearing a mildly impressed expression.

“You actually did it,”

Not wanting to waste water I scooped sand off the floor and scrubbed at the grime on my hands. I scoffed back, masking my shared disbelief,

“Told you, these things can take a beating,”

The rest of the speeder was rough, paint stripped from either side and trunk mostly crumpled but it was up and hovering again. 

Thank the void.

The idea of walking from here to any part of civilization was far from appealing. Not like we could try to get back to Estkle from here, the southern tunnel that dropped us in here was steep and who knows how far down we really were. There was no way to get the speeder up to the opening again anyways. The cavern was riddled with passages but there was only one that was ground level.

So, according to the dash-comp, North it was, and further down too from the looks of it, but the path was wide enough to drive through. We had the fuel, might as well use it. 

I slipped into the passenger side as Cross shifted us into gear angling the nose of the vehicle down the corridor we had decided on. Yanking my bag from where it had gotten wedged under the seat, I pulled out some dry rations and handed one over to him while I counted the rest. We hadn't touched them since leaving the moon but there was only half a duffle of food. Maybe five days if we're careful, but we'll most likely be in trouble if we don't find an alternative at some point. 

Especially if we can't find a way back above ground…

I scanned about the wide cavern flickering with spectral lightning. There was no light leaking into the chamber, no way to tell how far underground we really were. We were betting a lot on the water trails leading… somewhere, but with us sliding down so far I wasn't sure anyone would be able to find us if they tried to follow from the surface. 

“Ready?”

Crosshair was biting down on his nutrient bar looking to me for the final word before we broke the first rule of being lost and left the cavern. 

“There’s got to be another side, right? Might as well get started.”

He pressed the accelerator, gradually increasing our speed when no immediate obstacles presented themselves till we were at a comfortable cruising speed. 

We moved ahead in a shared anxious silence, the sandy floors of the cavern passing smoothly under us as we drove further into the dark shaft. 

Hours went by, quietly at first as we basked in the seclusion of the tunnel system, then with light conversation, shouted over the car noise. A comment about the stone, a wonder about the water, a lesson on the geological makeup of a tidal locked world. 

It was boring, the tunnel tight and uniform as it stretched under the mountain. There were fewer fragments of quartz in the long channels so the headlights guided us through. No obstacles, no turn offs, just a dark tunnel that seemed to go on for ages. 

The clock on the radio worked, and if it was correct, it would be early evening Ga'haiian. Too bad we couldn't get any signal down here for some music, the sound of the engine reverberating from the rocky walls was somewhat maddening and made the chit chat difficult. 

So I sat, leaning against my door watching the clone drive. He was relaxed, angled into his own door's armrest steering one handed. His armor plates were carefully stacked in the back seat, black top folded with them, leaving Crosshair in only the skin tight bottoms and boots. 

He casually gave the accelerator more pressure, feeling my eyes on him, and our speed started to edge on reckless. 

“Ease up, fuel burns faster like that…”

I had to shout to be heard but we decelerated. 

“That's no fun,”

He sighed, and I understood the lament. There wasn't even anything to look at down here. 

I etched the time, direction and our speed onto the dash with my vibroblade, calculating how far we'd traveled and trying to remember how many kilometers it was from Estkle to the Trimecca farm lands between the range and Sohn. We were no doubt still a ways off. 

The tunnel gradually widened and dropped into another dried out reservoir. Crosshair slowed and pulled the speeder to a stop. 

The new bur offered us a few routes to take, the tunnels spitting into two wide enough for the vehicle. I stepped out, walking to the mouth of the first passage. The air was still and dark and I debated the cost of fuel versus calories in scouting out which one might be more useful. Cross spoke up from the car,

“Maybe we should rest here for now…”

I didn't like the idea of extending our stay, but it wasn't worth pushing ourselves. Standing was already releasing some of the tension from the long drive… Might as well stretch our legs. 

I nodded and he cut the engine, plunging us into momentary darkness as our eyes adjusted to the inconsistent Iotryke flicker. 

We spent some time pacing about the new cave. I ran my hand over the smooth walls, warm wherever the sparking quartz was exposed. The caves were cool now, but the closer we got to Sohn the hotter it would get. I wasn't sure how far we'd be able to travel beneath the surface, or how far the atmosphere shields of Sohn extended. 

I was starting to get overwhelmed. The immensity of what it meant to be lost down here crushed into me all at once. Closing my eyes I filled my lungs, holding it a moment before sighing it back out. 

Heat gave away what the soft sand didn't as Cross came near, drawn by my tense exhale.

He enclosed me in his arms, warm skin pressing against my back. 

“Credit for your accounts?”

“Just trying to calculate our way out of here.”

“What if we’re here forever?”

He whispered it through a smile in my hair and I tilted my head back to look up at him. 

“There's nothing alive down here Cross, that doesn't bode well for making a life of it,”

“You so sure about that?”

He tilted his chin to guide my gaze to a shadowy crevice in the otherwise smooth walls. If you squinted, and looked long enough… it shimmered with movement.

I made my way to the wall, as close as I could get to the elevated crack. In the dark, fist sized… crustations? Clamored about each other, disappearing and reappearing in small burrows in the exposed rock. 

“We could always eat the wall bugs,”

I shot him a look for his word choice, but it was good to see something thriving. 

“No way to know if they're poisonous…”

I was bluffing slightly, given enough time I could usually figure out how to butcher something safely. I've had to learn some odd skills to keep my father's clients happy. 

“My stomach can handle it,”

“That explains the thirty two rotations…”

“Does it?”

“No. You're going to have to… expand on your story, How the kark did you manage that again?”

“That would take a while,”

“All we have down here is time,”

That smile again, making me chuckle in exasperation,

“I don't believe you, we're trapped and you're happy about it,”

“If we weren't, and we had made that train we would have what… hours?”

Maybe less. Kark, my father must be looking for me by now. 

“And you prefer certain death?”

He sloped over, pushing me against the wall,

“We won't die, I won't let you, though… I could get used to the idea of having you the rest of my life,”

He leaned in to nip my neck and my face flushed. 

“Let's try to make it a long one, yeah?... What do you think’s in the trunk?

I squirmed out from under him and he groaned in frustration.

~~~

Nektu, becktu, nah men’dah…

I threw the tight ball of plastic ration packaging up again, catching it as I stared hard at the tunnel openings from where I was sprawled on the speeder hood. 

Nektu, becktu, nah men’dah…

It wasn't the most accurate way to make a travel decision…

Nektu, becktu, nah men’dah…

That and my mind was wandering. 

“You’re quiet again, what's eating you?”

Crosshair huffed and leaned against the trunk he had been messing with, insistent he could get the damaged lock pried open with the tiny vibroblade. He was working up a sweat trying to prove himself right. I was staring and he raised an eyebrow. 

“Just… who was Rah’dehko working for… and how they're related to my Vah'hadarr”

“What makes you think your father's involved?”

“Rah'dehko Den. After our little run in, Va’hah would have wanted to keep tabs on him…whoever he answered to has to have ties to my family,”

“What does it matter?”

“Did you notice his gang?”

“Was hard to miss them,”

I shot him a look, trying to be serious. 

“Zygarrions. A few of them… separate from the rest.”

“Slavers.”

“Slavers.”

Zygarrions were almost never seen on Ga’hah, having both a bad history with the Katjarl clans and opposing cultural views on free will with the planet at large. 

“So it's about the recording then?”

“This is all about the recording… isn't it?”

A loud screech and a triumphant grunt brought my attention back behind me. The crumpled trunk finally popping open to creak up lazily. 

“You got it!”

I slid off the hood making my way to Crosshair's side. 

“Too bad… nothing really of use in here.”

He was right. The empty fuel canisters and hover dolly weren't exactly gonna blast a hole for us. It was high hopes to think we might have some extra food or water… I reached in and pulled out some dingy shop blankets. 

“These might make camping in the car more comfortable…”

He took the blankets from me, tossing them into the back of the speeder. Reaching in for his belt and a fresh toothpick. 

“So your father deals in slaves.”

It wasn't a question, and ice slipped down my spine. It had been a suspicion ever since we overheard that secret conversation, but it hurt a little for him to say it so openly. 

“Slavery is a very blatant term suggesting conquer and all that, here on Ga’hah it would be more…contractual,”

“... What's the difference?”

“Mm. Slavery is… was frowned upon by the Republic. They wouldn't have traded with a planet that deals in flesh traditionally… So there's the Ga'haiian cultural loophole.”

“Do tell,” 

He was leaning on the side of the car, watching me. His interest in the topic seemed to be wanning. I ducked under his arm to slide between him and the speeder. 

“Ga'hah is a culture steeped in the pursuits of pleasure, One such being complete devotion, or more bluntly, to be completely owned by another… voluntary,”

Cross paused a moment as the meaning hit him. His hand came up to cup my chin, crooning suggestively,

“A willing slave…”

I shot him a look of incredulity,

“Willing being the operative word, the Republic looks the other way as long as there’s measures to make sure the contracts are entered into by choice,”

“Semantics, the jist is your father is building a sex den for a political figure… it's not exactly mold breaking, Tahny,”

Not just any politician.

Neither of us wanted to say that part aloud, though that was something that bothered me too. This was one figure in the whole political scene of Coruscant who was reputedly as squeaky clean as they came, and from my brief observations… not interested in the ecstasy held in flesh. What he'd want with an array of slaves picked with my father's expertise, to a preference no less…

Either way it would be a scandal if the new Emperor was found to be dealing in trafficking right out the gate. Thinking back to the recorded conversation, trying to remember why it sounded familiar. Who was my father talking to? I was there, I know I had heard it before… and I must have been seen… is it really just me though? 

I looked up at the man stroking my jaw, more focused on my lips than the conversation.

“Crosshair? You said my parents were supposed to be on the transport… right?”

The military vessel assigned to us by his eminence himself, stocked with those of shakey loyalty to the new regime, or maybe simply… disposable.

“Up until the last minute,”

“And when were you assigned to the escort?”

His eyes focused back on me, narrowing.

“About an hour before we left Coruscant.”

It had to have been Crosshair that tipped him off. 

The clone in question had caught up to my reasoning, leaning back slightly,

“If he was spooked by me, why leave you on the ship?”

“The ship still needed to keep to the expected schedule, and he can't have known I would be targeted off of Coruscant… or at least thought it less likely,”

Crosshair scoffed at that and my brow furrowed in irritation. He can't be under the impression my father would sacrifice me and more importantly,

“Why would you be instructed to take me to the safe house if Va'hah thought you were an assassin?”

His cheeks suddenly flushed and he stepped away, running a hand over the back of his head which was… an odd response. 

“Cross…what is it?”

He turned back to me, biting his pick in half as he thought a moment before spitting it out, licking his lips and leaning back over me.

“It was supposed to be Hervos.”

“Hervos?”

“Lieutenant Hervos was supposed to escort you to the moon.”

I raised my brows.

“How was he supposed to do that?”

“He couldn’t have, he'd never have been able to keep you safe,”

Debatable. A diplomatic approach might not have been so bad a move…

“So… no, Crosshair, how did you get the encryption code?”

He leaned in closer, resting his forehead against mine with his eyes closed.

“The Lieutenant kept it on him, I took it as we were leaving.”

“You picked his pocket?”

“No, I looked him in the eye and took it, what was he going to do? Stop me?”

I pulled back, catching his eyes in the flickering light. 

“What happened to following orders?”

“The last orders given to me was to guard you from harm, get you home…”

“So you stole it?”

…

“I stole you,”

His hands trailed the length of my arms to lace his fingers in mine. 

“If you were going to be stranded alone with any one… it was going to be me.”

…

“Then why were you so hesitant to have me… once we were alone?”

“It wasn't about that, if I had let any one of those… any one else and you would have died, it's my job to make sure that doesn't happen,”

He was suddenly tense as he leaned against me, his palms coming up to cup my cheeks,

“I wasn't worried about having you, you're invitation was… clear, but you had to be safe, I was supposed to get you home first… but I needed you that night and- you couldn't die, I couldn't let you go knowing you would die,”

I went rigid, a sudden overwhelming feeling making my face hot and my eyes sting. 

That's not fair…

“What's wrong?”

Everything. 

My voice came out strained,

“This was supposed to be simple, idiot.”

I hopped up to perch on the door, wrapping my legs about his waist to pull his lips to mine in a fervent, frantic desperation. 

~~~

A whimper cut through my wispy dream state, too soft to echo but stirring me from my light sleep. My eyes were already adjusting and taking in the darkened cave. The crumpled trunk hood was still raised from us prying it open, lightning flashes reflecting wildly down on me from the dented metal. 

My skin was hot and I reached down for a bottle from my bag, taking a small sip of water, before sitting up and shifting to lean over Crosshair. He was sleeping in the reclined driver's seat,  a whimper low in his throat again as I watched, face twisting into a pained grimace. I ran my fingertips over his brow bone and cheek, soothing his twitching muscles. 

“Shh, li’nen…”

He gasped awake, jerking under my hand, fingers snapping to the side of his head as he half sat upright. 

“It's okay, Cross, I'm here… we're alone,”

“Where-”

Eyes widening, he follows the lightning across the ceiling.

“We're in the Iotryke caves,”

“The… the caves.”

He closed his eyes and leaned back again. I stroked his cheekbone resting my forehead on his brow and his breathing started to slow, hands finding mine in the bright darkness. 

“... Where were you?”

He was quiet, thumb stroking the hollow of my palm. I pressed him this time, 

“Kamino?”

“...No, before that…”

His fingers brushed his scar and he flinched, as if it hurt anew. 

I pressed a kiss to his temple. 

“Tell me… how'd you get this?”

He looked away… it was subtle, but he was suddenly avoiding my eyes. His brow was knitted with concern, fingers tapping mine in an agitated kind of way. 

“I'm not gonna force you, but… you can tell me, don't think you can chase me off now…”

“We're trapped in a cave.”

“And we could have all the stars between us, yet I'll still stand at your back,”

…

“... Ion Cannon,”

“... Like on a ship?”

“Yes,”

“You… you what? Got too close?”

“... Yes,”

“Crosshair.”

His eyes flicked to mine in the dark, holding my gaze a moment before sighing,

“It was clone force 99.”

“Otherwise known as your brothers…”

His brow pinched again, but he corrected,

“My brothers.”

…

“Burned you with a ship's Ion Cannon?”

… 

“How’d they manage that?”

He sighed, breathing deep,

“They blew up the casing after I trapped them inside… and had my men fire it. I ended up in the line of fire instead, and they escaped.”

He spat his words, looking away again with the defensive air of ‘are you happy now?’ I should've been more surprised at his words… but I wasn't. I understood the story though it wasn't told in a language I knew. 

“So you tried to fry 'em up but got burned?”

He winced, pointedly avoiding my gaze. 

I crawled into his seat, resting my body against his chest. Brushing my lips to his, I whispered against him.

“And you think this would frighten me?”

“It should… if you were sane,”

The guilt in his voice was obvious; The unsure tenor of someone now doubtful of actions they felt justified in the distant moment. If this was to make him a threat to me… no. I've known far worse monsters, ones who torment for the thrill of it… for fun. At times I've been one. 

“I'm perfectly sane and I say it doesn't,”

He rolled his eyes but the tension started to leave him, strong arms founding their way around my back. 

“Maybe Hunter deserved it anyways…”

“Oh yeah? What’d he do to deserve being melted?”

“He wouldn't have been melted,”

He looked almost annoyed I would suggest it, adding pridefully,

“They’re too good for that,”

“That's a varp of a heavy gamble, Cross, even for you…”

“I out maneuvered them and the imps at every turn. If I wanted them dead… they know damn well if I wanted them dead they would be. Hunter…”

There it was again, the name of the ninety nine’s leader accompanied with a distant hurt in his eyes. 

…

“He knew about the inhibitor chips.”

I tensed, 

“The what chips…Cross?”

His turn to stiffen but it didn't last as he crumpled beneath me, defeated, surrendering the secrets he'd been holding.

“The clones are programmed. Controlled.”

He formed a gun with his fingers, and pressed it over his ear. 

“Through a chip. It's how they got them to do it. Turn on the generals… ‘Good soldiers follow orders,’... Buzzing through their heads, their words and thoughts, it's like they're hypnotized,”

A chill dropped through me… compulsion was, well… blasphemous. Not to mention the depth of government secrets he just revealed. He shouldn't be telling me this…

“And Hunter knew what exactly?”

“... That I…”

He gritted his teeth,

“He knew there was a possibility I may have been controlled, and left me to that… fate.”

There were hints of shame in his voice. 

“With what you just told me, you think he could have bested you?... Taken you against your will?”

“Of course not.”

“Well now you're contradicting yourself. What was he supposed to do?”

…

“So… Were you being controlled?”

“Does it matter?”

“I don't think you would have fired a ships engine with them inside of it and just… trusted that they'd get themselves out, not without some external reason,”

“And what if there wasn't a reason, what if I really wanted them to burn for leaving me behind?”

“That still sounds like a reason… just less noble.”

He snorted dryly. 

“Well… you have more confidence in me than he did… asking when it stopped influencing me.”

“I don't think he meant anything b-”

“I don't want to be around people who think I would choose to hurt them. The fact that he even considered I would try to kill them, the child, uninfluenced…”

He was coiling tight with a disembodied indignation. 

“They don't know me. If that's what they think I'm capable of, they never did. Harsh, yes, willing to do what they won't. Always… but I'm not a child killer, All those years as comrades for nothing.”

He sighed, some of the fight going out of his words. His fingers brushed the melted scar over his ear, eyes clouded in reminisce.

“There was fire, and pain, searing pain… and then it was like I woke up; Burned, confused, the lights of the Marauder leaving me behind… again. I tried to pursue, scuttle their engines and catch up… but they left, I suppose more like ‘got away’... The result is the same, I've had no idea what to do since, every decision seems wrong,”

I kissed him again, desperate to steal some of the hurt from his voice, as if I could draw it from him like venom from a wound. He pressed back, subdued and broken, making my heart ache. 

“I'm gonna have to have a word with this ‘Hunter’”

…

His brow furrowed,

“That would be to exchange words, not…?”

I grinned against his cheek,

“I'm going to fight him.”

His lip twitched at that,

“You think you can take Hunter?”

“I have my ways, he'll never see it coming,”

He chuckled, nuzzling the hair against my neck,

“That's my girl…”

He met my lips again, less reserved, pulling me to press into his bare chest. His hands roamed down my back feeling the shape of me. 

Shifting back and crossing my arms on his chest, I rested my head to look up at him. 

“What does it mean… to be yours?”

…

“I'm still working that out myself…”

“Do you wish to be mine?”

…

He fell silent, running his fingers through my hair, letting the strands fall slowly to catch the sparks like dew in a spiderweb. 

“Can’t you see, Tahny?”

His husky voice was barely a whisper, like a private prayer, yet…it echoed through the silent chamber.

+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

Tags: @feral-ferrule @thecoffeelorian

+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

[gilverrwrites]

Could you picture Roman being a dog owner? I kept thinking back to his Arkham Origins quote of 'feeding the player's spleen to his dogs!' ... probably vicious fellas. I bet his S/O dotes on them, and even takes a liking to them. Just softer Roman hours. How will he take it too if his S/O has a pet?

I could totally picture him being a dog owner, what I can’t settle on however, is which type of dog. I could totally see him with some kind of Pitbull, Doberman, or a Corso. You know, those breeds that get bad reps for being scary?

Or, if he actually has an evil little lapdog? You know the kind.

Maybe one that’s already known for being a bit unhinged like a chihuahua?

Or maybe something a little more unsuspecting? Like Toy Terriers, or a mini spaniels.

Either way these dogs get mixed treatment. Like, there’s not a lot of fields for them to run around on in the city, and I know damn well Roman isn’t taking them for multiple walks a day – although he probably does have someone for that. (Until his S/O convinces him anyway – Come on Romy, fresh air, stretch your legs, good for your heart.)

They also probably sleep in cages that are hopefully the right size.

However, they’re eating well. Canned dog food or kibble, yes, but also human grade meats and milk bones, proteins, veg, the works. And during the day, they get free range. They’re on the couches, the bed, cause they’re not trained to listen to anyone but Roman.

I bet he has a love-hate relationship with his S/O doting on them, cause on the one hand ‘They’re supposed to be attack dogs!’ and you’re turning them into pampered pooches. But on the other hand, he loves the way you grin when they roll on their backs for belly scratches, or when they follow your commands for treats.  

You’re both pretty cute when you’re begging for his attention with those matching puppy dog eyes.

He’s probably pretty neutral about his S/O having a pet, it really depends on what it is and how it behaves. If its needy, I can maybe see a tinge if jealousy, cause Roman wants and deserves your attention most.

But otherwise there’s no strong emotions. He’s fairly good with them, especially if you’re around. Talks to them, pets them, whatever. Gotta save face in front of the S/O. Probably says mean things to them, but in a playful way.

For example, my mum has a cockapoo who looks like a seasame street character, and there isn’t a thought in her head that isn’t ‘pet me’ ‘play with me’ or ‘sleep’ and I know Roman would think she was a pathetic waste of a dog. But he’d pet her anyway.

Disclaimer: No dog is actually scary, evil, or unhinged by nature, its all dependant on training, environmental influence, etc. This is all just in good fun.

[3cheers4alex]

Nobody pays heed as Yuri slips away from the party. Otabek is there, just as he was during that first party in Hasetsu, leaning against the vending machine. A can of Red Bull rests in his hand, his attention half on the distant thrum of music. The world around Otabek changed; the sky tinted with the orange of a not-quite-set sun, leaves tinged with the colors of decay. Otabek himself seems unchanged, his hair tousled, still wearing the Adidas tracksuit. Why did Yuri expect any different? Surely, a couple of kisses couldn’t redefine someone’s essence. “Nice job on the bronze,” Otabek says, breaking the quiet. “You’ve mentioned that,” Yuri replies. “Then you got my messages?” “Yeah, I got them. Sorry for being a jerk.” Otabek remains silent—there’s nothing more to say. Yuri’s silent had been intentional. Settling onto the ground, Yuri embraces the rust and dust, uncaring of the stains on his jeans. Otabek sits beside him, knees touching, an unspoken peace offering as he passes the drink to Yuri. He accepts it, his gaze fixed on the sky above, where the clouds are just clouds—no longer dogs. But perhaps Yuri is the dog. Simple and instinct-driven, keenly aware of the heat from Otabek’s leg and the lingering touch of his lips on the RedBull can. “You ever think about what it’d be like, you know, if Soulmarks weren’t a thing?” Yuri asks. “No, I don’t,” Otabek replies, straightforward as always—romantic yet frank. “Am I insane for getting rid of mine?” “No. I told you before, I find it ballsy.” Yuri searches Otabek’s face for any sign of insincerity. All he sees is the sincere gaze returning his, framed by thick lashes. “You really don’t think I screwed myself over for anyone else?” Otabek’s first response is a steady shake of his head. “You wouldn’t bother with someone who saw it that way.” “Right.” “You know what I truly believe?” Otabek continues. “Do I want to know?” Yuri half-jokes. “Jean-Jacques wasn’t completely wrong about you.” “That I’m trying to fuck you so that there are fewer competitors to worry about?” “No. That you’re like an angry chihuahua. Always snapping first, thinking it’ll save you from getting hurt. You think I’ll hurt you, so you’re ready to strike.”

[loonasketches]

I REALLY wanna draw Sun and Moon biblically accurate, like no lips only bonk, round cheek goofy smile yet creepy teeth havin asses (yet I love it anyway)

Sun an absolute paranoid chihuahua personality with a tinge of malice and threatening

Moon just an absolute gremlin with his form of playing games and putting you to sleep for naptime is literally hunting you like prey and killing you

These, these are my favorite daycare flavors ✨☀️🌙

[assistantcommanderalisha]

Heya guys! I’m back with another post! But this one is about Fez Perry! If you guys wanna ask Perry and his siblings questions, I’m deciding to make posts about Perry and Sibs so you could get to know them before asking them questions! Finally we have the semi aquatic egg laying mammal of action in fez, the Fez Boi himself, Fez Perry the Fez Platypus aka Agent FezP!

Name: Fez Perry

Gender: Male He/him/his

Age: 12(currently in 2023)

Physical Appearance: Fez Perry is a greenish teal male platypus with yellow tinged tangerine webbing only on his back feet(odd traits that platypuses outside of Danville don’t have) He also has three black hairs on his head, a low long salmon orange beaver tail, deep dark brown eyes in an unnatural walleyed position making him look mindlessly stupid and derpy as a pet, and a duck bill that matches his webbing color. Under his fur, he wears the amulet of Juatchadoon, a siren pendant, and he mainly wears a fez on his head as Agent FezP. FezP also wears a fedora on his head but he wears it on underneath of his fez. Around his arm, he wears a light teal turtle bracelet which is his miraculous in camouflage mode.

Height: 2 feet (60.96 cm)

Nemesis/Enemies: Dr Doofenshimirtz, Rodney, L.O.V.E.M.U.F.F.I.N., Dennis the Bunny, and Professor Parenthesis

Friends/Allies: Doof, Phineas, Ferb, Candace, Major Monogram, Carl, Monty Monogram, Lyla Lolliberry, Stacey Hirano, Milo Murphy, Diogee, Balthazar Cavendish, Vinnie Dakota, Melissa Chase, Zack Underwood, Ortan Mahlson, Pinky the Chihuahua, the other agents, Perry, Groucho Perry, Fedora Perry, Female Perry, Bunka da Bunkaquan, Parable the Dragon-pus, Master Perry, Rebel Perry the Rebel-pus, Perry the Platyborg, Sweary the Swan, Perry 2(cousin), Peggy, Ricardo, Penny/Phyllian, Whitney, Mishti, Dairry, Emily, Rose, Amy, Nelson(evil cousin), Pansy(mom), Percy(dad), Kyra(lover and love interest), his backup dancers/dancing trope, and Wayzz(kwami)

Family: Perry(brother), Groucho Perry(brother), Fedora Perry(sister), Female Perry(sister), Kelly(sister), Bunka da Bunkaquan(brother), Parable the Dragon-pus(brother), Master Perry(brother), Rebel Perry the Rebel-pus(brother), Perry the Platyborg(brother), Sweary the Swan(brother), Perry 2(cousin), Peggy(cousin), Ricardo(cousin), Penny/Phyllian(sister), Whitney(sister), Mishti(sister), Dairry(sister), Emily(sister), Rose(sister), Amy(sister), Nelson(evil cousin), Pansy(mom), and Percy(dad)

Nationality/Species: Australian(native to) American(domesticated in) , Male Platypus, half dream demon, and half siren

Born: January 21st 2011

Occupation: Top Secret agent of The OWCA, Household pet, Top watchdog spy of the Hater Empire, Leader of the Watchdog Spies, Lieutenant General of the Hater Empire, and holder of the turtle miraculous

Affiliations: The O.W.C.A.(Organization Without A Cool Acronym), The S.O.K.W.C.A.(Secret Order Of The Knights Without A Cool Acronym) Flynn Fletcher Family, and the Hater Empire

Hometown: Danville

Boss: Major Monogram

Owners: Phineas and Ferb

First Appearance: Phineas and Ferb and The Temple of Juatchadoon

Alinement: Good(in PaF) and Evil(In WOY)

Likes: Being very sassy, showing himself off, wearing a fez, being manipulative, hanging out with my brothers and sisters, making dramatic entrances with his backup dancers, dancing, music, my theme song “Perry in a Fez”, and Favorite Songs: What’s My Name by China Anne McClain and Perry in a Fez

Dislikes: Wearing my fedora under my fez, being questioned about my fez, and why he’s not in Egypt

Miraculous: Turtle Miraculous

Kwami: Wayzz

Hero Persona: CaraFezPerry

Villain Persona: ShellShockFezPerry

Powers/Abilities: Shell-Ter and Protection(as CaraFez), Apportion, Clairvoyance, Cross-Dimension Awareness, Illusion manipulation, Intangibility, Innate Capability, Nigh Omnipotence, Laser Manipulation, Levitation, Molecular Manipulation, Nightmare/Dream Manipulation, Nightmare/Dream Inducement, Possession, Pyrokinesis, Size Shifting, Telekinesis, Telepathy, and Mind Reading(as a half dream demon) enchanted singing voice which allows to manipulate or control others’ actions with its compelling tones. The more of the negative energy he consumes, the stronger his voices becomes, and the farther he could spread his good magic(as half siren but uses it for good)

What his speaking voice sounds like: Very cool, very calm, very collected, and he has a Sassy accent.

Status: Active and immortal

Voiced by/Speaking and Chattering Voice: Dee Bradley Baker

Singing Voice: China Anne McClain

Personality: He can be best defined as “The Sassy Bossy Flirty Dramatic Entertainment" younger brother to Perry. He kinda has same aspects as Perry, but the difference is that he is mostly sassy, bossy, dramatic, and entertainment. This is seen from the fact that he brought backup dancers to a long-lost temple and when he was dancing. He also seems loyal enough to wear a fez even though he wasn't in Egypt. He does have a difficult relationship with Perry but sometimes they get along with the rest of his brothers and sisters. As Agent FezP, he is proud of his abilities as a fez platypus and wants to prove himself to Perry that he can be a good secret agent for the O.W.C.A. As a dream demon, he can be manipulative and he is always sassy in order to get what he wants. When he’s making a deal with someone, his greenish teal hand starts burning with light teal flames. As a siren, he plays with someone’s emotions and he’s ready to show off his singing voice and feeds on the positivity around him.

[marcoangelorossi]

Flor

All’ordine del giudice i due soltadores inginocchiati lasciano cadere a terra i galli. Come due baleni gli animali si precipitano l’uno addosso all’altro. E’ un esplodere di piume, zampe, becchi, polvere. Saltano fino a un metro di altezza, un metro e mezzo. Cercano di salire sopra l’avversario, di sferrare il colpo decisivo.

Appoggiato alla parete appena dopo l’entrata del palenque l’uomo fuma. Osserva distratto il giovane agitarsi in mezzo alla folla degli scommettitori.

D’un tratto un colpo preciso della lama di rasoio legata al posto dello sperone recide, sotto l’ala, l’arteria di uno dei galli. Un lungo schizzo di sangue tinge di rosso il gesso bianco dell’arena. Un mucchietto di piume senza vita si affloscia lì, sulla nuda terra.

“Ti sei macchiato” dice l’uomo.

Il giovane gli sta di fronte. Conta il piccolo fascio di banconote vinte con le scommesse. Una riga di puntini rossi gli attraversa la camicia a scacchi.

“E’ gia ora?” chiede il giovane riponendo il rotolino di pesos nella tasca dei pantaloni.

L’uomo muove avanti e indietro la testa da contadino coperta dal cappello di paglia bianco ingiallito dal sole, dal sudore, dal tempo. Fuori dal palenque i due si dirigono verso il pick up azzurro. L’uomo sale sul pick up, aspetta che il giovane, dopo essersi accomodato alla guida, accenda il motore.

Questa mattina mi sono alzata dal letto tutta sudata. Avevo fatto un brutto sogno. Un incubo. Il peggiore di tutti gli incubi.

Mio marito.

Miguel era davanti a me, mi aveva trovata. Come succede negli incubi io tentavo di parlare, di gridare, ma dalla bocca non mi usciva alcun suono. Dopo essermi lavata mi sono preparata un caffè e me ne sono andata a prendere il bus che porta alla fabbrica di televisori. Come ogni mattina da quaqndo sono arrivata a Ciudad Juarez.

Il giorno in cui sono arrivata qui era estate. Quando sono uscita dalla stazione mi si è stretto il cuore. Caldo. Colline grigie e caldo è ciò che mi ricordo di quel giorno, io che ero abituata alle verdi, fresche montagne della mia sierra. E poi dovere camminare per le strade piene di gente, piene di uomini, sola. Cercare una pensione per dormire. Stare da sola in una pensione. Mi vergognavo, non potevo credere di stare facendo una cosa così.

Però, che altro avrei potuto fare? 

Quando i viaggi di Miguel erano iniziati non avevo dato peso alla cosa. Miguel coltiva la terra, alleva manzi, li lascia pascolare nelle terre dell’ejido, su per il monte. “Vado ad acquistare del bestiame” mi diceva “Vado a vendere dei manzi”. Però lui non si portava mai via le bestie, e nemmeno ne portava indietro di nuove. Mi sono detta: avrà una querida. Io e Miguel eravamo sposati già da una decina d’anni. Ci eravamo sposati giovani. Io era poco più che una bambina. Su nella sierra tutti gli uomini sposati hanno altre donne, alcuni hanno addirittura due case con moglie e figli in ognuna. Miguel stava via un paio di giorni, tre. Io non ci faceva caso. Avevo la casa da curare, dovevo stare dietro a mio figlio. Uno solo, ho avuto problemi al parto, quasi ci rimanevo. Non ho più potuto averne altri. E’ andata avanti così per anni. Una vita tranquilla. A casa i soldi non mancavano, anzi noi eravamo una delle famiglie più agiate di quel nostro paesucolo abbarbicato sulla sierra. Poi quando Josè stava quasi per compiere diciotto anni Miguel se lo è portato dietro in uno di quei suoi viaggi.

Il sole sta iniziando ad abbassarsi verso le montagne quando il pick up si ferma di fronte al ristorante della stazione di servizio. I due si siedono a un tavolo, ordinano il pranzo. Uno a uno vanno in bagno. Si lavano via alla meglio la polvere della strada. Quando la cameriera se ne va mangiano in silenzio le bistecche ricoperte di salsa piccante accompagnate da purea di fagioli neri con crema acida.

Finito di mangiare i due sono in piedi fuori dal ristorante.  Appoggiati al pick-up fumano in silenzio, di fronte a loro i chaparrales attraversano il deserto di Chihuahua rotolando col rumore del vento.

“L’hai portato?” chiede l’uomo senza distogliere gli occhi dall’orizzonte. Il giovane annuisce, “Sei sicuro di volerlo fare?”.

“Dammelo”.

Il giovane si infila una mano nella tasca dei pantaloni, ne estrae il rasoio dal manico di corno. Senza guardare lo porge all’uomo.

L’uomo lo afferra, “E’ quello che ha ordinato il patron. Questa non é come le altre volte”.

Il giovane butta a terra il mozzicone, lo schiaccia con la punta dello stivale.

“Non abbiamo scelta”, con una schicchera l’uomo lancia il mozzicone nell’aria. “Anche noi abbiamo bisogno che se ne stia zitta” il mozzicone vola. Il mozzicone va a finire addosso a un cane spelacchiato. “Il patron lo sa. Ci sta dando un’opportunità”.

Il cane guaisce, fa una mezza giravolta, sotto la pelle gli si vedono le ossa del costato e della spina dorsale.

“Un’opportunità?”

“Per rimanere vivi”.

Il cane trotterella via dal parcheggio.

Come è possibile che si porti il figlio se va dall’amante? Non riuscivo a capirlo. Va bene che Miguel era molto legato a Josè. “Questo ragazzo è un campione a castrare manzi” diceva “Il muchacho ha una mira eccezionale”, e se lo portava sempre dietro, sia che si trattasse di radunare il bestiame sia che andasse a caccia su per il monte. Però, caspita, dalla sua donna. No, non poteva essere. Divenni sospettosa, divenni curiosa. Iniziai a spiare Miguel, a fare domande a Josè. Così finì che un giorno lo trovai. Miguel e Josè erano appena tornati da uno di quei loro viaggi. Enrique, un amico di Miguel, era passato di lì e li aveva invitati alla cantina. Loro erano andati con lui. Mi misi a frugare il pick up. La cosa era in fondo a un sacchetto di cellophane, avvoltolato su se stesso e ficcato dentro alla cassetta degli attrezzi. Aveva i bordi neri di sangue rappreso e nel mezzo si vedeva chiaramente il capezzolo scuro. Era la pelle di un seno. Un seno di donna. Aprii la bocca. Mi coprii la bocca con le mani. Volevo piangere, volevo urlare, ma era come un incubo, dalla gola non mi usciva alcun suono. Sono rimasta così, con le mani giunte di fronte alla bocca aperta. Impietrita, immobile, con gli occhi sbarrati di fronte all’orrore.

Quando Miguel era rientrato a casa l’avevo affrontato. Povera scema, chissà cosa mi credevo? Però non è che l’avessi pensato, le parole mi sono uscitè così, dal cuore. Lo guardavo dritto negli occhi e gli sputavo in faccia lo schifo che provavo per lui. Per avere passato con lui tutti quegli anni, cucinato per lui, dormito con lui, partorito suo figlio, un altro assassino, come lui. Mi tirò un pugno che mi fece saltare due denti. Caddi per terra con il sangue che mi colava dalle labbra. Poi lui mi strappò il vestito di dosso, si cavò la spessa cintura di cuoio e si sfogò per bene su di me. Sembrava che non volesse più smetterla di battermi. Alla fine mi gettò addosso quella maledetta cighia mi lasciò stesa a terra in cucina, semisvenuta e sanguinante. Nei giorni successivi non ne avevamo più parlato. Io in realtà non riuscivo a parlare proprio con la faccia gonfia e livida che mi ritrovavo. A denunciarlo alle autorità non ci ho nemmeno pensato. A parte il fatto che Miguel è compadre del capo della polizia locale ed è pure amico di due federales, c’era sempre Josè. Se anche mi avessero creduto, se non mi avessero riconsegnata a Miguel,  avrei mandato mio figlio in galera, forse per sempre. Aspettai una decina di giorni. Quando i segni più evidenti della battitura si furono sbiaditi mi truccai, radunai le mie quattro cose, presi quel po’ di soldi che Miguel mi lasciava per quando lui non c’era e partii. Avevo sentito che a Ciudad Juarez le fabbriche, le maquiladoras, cercano sempre operaie. Così venni qui.

Quando il pick-up arriva a Juarez il sole è appena sceso dietro l’orizzonte. L’autostrada penetra tra i quartieri più desolanti della periferia. Il pick up percorre lentamente i viali che uniscono gruppi di isolati miserabili ad altri gruppi di isolati miserabili. In mezzo terreni brulli, il deserto. Piano piano entra nelle caotiche zone commerciali, le lascia, si inoltra in quelle residenziali. Attraversa isolati di ville con giardino e garage, marciapiedi vuoti, donne dalla vistosa acconciatura al volante di auto nuove di pacca. Quando i marciapiedi iniziano ad essere costeggiati di macchine parcheggiate i quartieri si rianimano. Magliette rimboccate su ventri sporgenti, jeans incollati a sederi, schiamazzi dietro a un pallone. Alcune ragazze chiaccherano in gruppo con le braccia incrociate sui seni appena sbocciati. Altre ragazze, sole, affrettano il passo. Si girano a guardare furtive il pick-up che rallenta affiancandole. Quando le strade asfaltate lasciano il posto allo sterrato sulla città è ormai scesa la notte. Il camioncino percorre cauto le stradine non illuminate di quel quartiere improvvisato sul crinale della collina. Tiene i fari spenti, avanza a tentoni. Si ferma ad ogni incrocio un po’ troppo a lungo, come chi va alla ricerca di qualcosa che ancora non conosce, un indirizzo, una persona. Infine si ferma proprio lì dove una piccola rientranza nella teoria di case a un piano senza pavimento rende l’oscurità più cupa. Forse è per questo che Flor, mentre torna dall’ennesimo turno di notte, non si accorge che è parcheggiato lì a neanche venti metri dalla porta di casa sua.

Alla maquiladora si montano televisori. Io me ne sto, anzi ormai posso dire me ne stavo, al mio posto di lavoro, arrivava un televisore, gli montavo il pezzo, quello se ne andava, ne arrivava un altro, e così via. Qualche giorno fà è successa una cosa strana. Monta un pezzo, monta un pezzo, monta un pezzo, e di colpo tutto si mette a girare, non ce la facevo più a stare in piedi. Quel giorno avevo anche le mie cose, e il giorno prima avevo fatto doppio turno, avevo finito alle undici di sera. La mattina ero montata alle otto, come sempre. Allora ho chiamato il capo: “devo andare in bagno”, “okey, cinque minuti”. Così avevo aperto la porta di sicurezza che sta proprio di fianco al bagno e sono uscita. Pensavo che desse all’esterno, volevo prendere una boccata d’aria, allungare per un attimo lo sguardo verso l’orizzonte. Invece mi sono ritrovata nel retro del magazzino. Il Suburban nero era parcheggiato col muso verso l’entrata, tra le due grandi porte di metallo scorrevoli si vedeva un rettangolo di sole. Il SUV aveva il portellone posteriore aperto. Non lontano dal Suburban c’era un tavolo di metallo, lungo. Degli uomini stavano avvolgendo del nastro adesivo attorno a dei sacchetti bianchi. Di fianco a loro una pila di televisori già nei loro imballaggi, pronti per essere spediti alla casa madre su al nord, USA.

Quello che per primo si è accorto di me era un grassone, la pancia gli tirava la camicia di cotone a scacchi e fuoriusciva dai jeans stretti da una cintura di cuoio, chiusa da una fibbia d’argento a forma di ferro di cavallo. In testa portava un cappello di feltro da gringo,tipo cowboy, color panna. In mano teneva un fucile mitragliatore nero, di quelli che chiamano cuerno de chivo per via della forma del caricatore.

“Ehi mamacita che cosa cerchi?”.

“Cosa ci fai qui? Come ti chiami? In che reparto lavori?” L’uomo in camice bianco, un caporeparto, mi si era avvicinato urlando, aveva annotato i miei dati, e mi aveva rispedita in malo modo al mio posto. Io era ritornata al lavoro. Mi aspettavo che da un momento all’altro arrivasse il mio capo a farmi una cazziata, infliggermi una multa, addirittura lincenziarmi. A volte succedeva, anche per piccole cose. Anzi succedeva spesso. Invece niente, né quel giorno, né nei giorni successivi.

Quando l’uomo vede la donna avvicinarsia alla porta di casa si volta verso il figlio seduto al posto di guida: “Adesso”.

Di colpo i fanali del camioncino si accendono. Un’ondata di luce abbagliante investe la donna. Flor gira la testa di lato e alza il braccio per proteggersi dalla luce. L’uomo apre la portiera e scende in strada. E’ alto, il cappello di paglia ritto come una cresta mentre cammina dinoccolato verso Flor. Quando è a pochi passi da lei la sua figura copre la luce dei fanali così lei può girare la testa e guardarlo senza abbagliarsi.

“Ciao Flor”.

Maledizione. Miguel. Il suo peggiore incubo è lì di fronte a lei. Flor trema. Flor ha paura. Miguel continua a camminare verso di lei. Miguel le si avvicina.

“Non torno a casa con te”, riesce a dire Flor. “Non posso più vivere con te Miguel. Ti ho lasciato. Per sempre. Non capisci?”.

“Sei tu che non capisci Flor. Questa non è una cosa solo tra me e te”,  Miguel ormai è di fronte a lei.

“Ma io non ho detto niente Miguel”, come una falena abbagliata dalla luce Flor non riesce a muoversi. Sta lì ferma nel cono di luce dei fanali, “e me ne starò zitta”, tiene le mani giunte di fronte al seno ansimante “credi che voglia mandare mio figlio in galera?” Sembra che stia pregando.

“Non possiamo correre rischi”, Miguel ha estratto il rasoio. “Mi spiace”, e ora lo tiene lì, aperto, nella mano.

Il suo braccio si allarga e disegna un semicerchio netto nell’aria della notte, rallentando appena quando la lama incontra il collo di Flor. Un lungo schizzo di sangue sgorga dall’arteria recisa di netto e tinge di rosso il gesso bianco della parete della casa. Flor si porta le mani al collo, apre la bocca, lacera l’oscurità con un urlo muto. Poi si affloscia al suolo lì, sulla nuda terra.

Quando ti recidono di netto l’arteria giugulare a morire ci si mette poco. E’ una questione di secondi non di minuti. In quei pochi secondi la mia paura più grande non è stata quella di morire. No, la morte quando ti prende per mano è una cosa enorme, assoluta. Non spaventa più, stupisce. Quello di cui io avevo paura era che sul furgone ci fosse mio figlio. Che fosse Josè quello che aveva guidato fin lì sapendo ciò che Miguel era venuto a fare. Che se ne stesse lì a vedermi mentre morivo. Che se ne stesse lì mentre suo padre mi stracciava la camicietta, mi strappava il reggiseno e mi tagliava il seno sinistro, per poi riporre la pelle in un sacchetto di plastica trasparente che avrebbe consegnato al suo capo, al Patron come prova dell’avvenuta esecuzione.  

[musemuseum]

Sky shook his head. "Won't bother me any. I just want you to feel comfortable." He wanted Wilder to get along with his parents. Giving Prince a scratch behind the ears, Skylar shook his head once more. "Stella's inside. Hip problems, but don't worry, Vader and Padme are there to keep her company." They'd gotten Stella when he was just a kid ── the first of their animal brood ── so she was the oldest of the fur babies. "We'll head in and see them once you meet mom. She's been dying to meet you," he stated with amusement.

By now, Saint had wandered off, back to Sky's father's side ── holding out hope that some morsel of food would be dropped. When they rounded the corner of the house with Prince, his mother greeted them with as much enthusiasm as the dogs had. "Sweeti, you're here!" For an older woman, she was quite quick ── rushing over to meet them at the edge of the deck. She wrapped her arms around her son, pulling him into a hug and effectively squishing the small Chihuahua between them. "Hey, mom."

He fought to detangle himself from the hug, eager to introduce Wilder, and save the dog's life in his arms. He set Prince on the ground when he was free of his mother's embrace, and then gestured to Wilder. "Mom, this is Wilder." Mary Morrand turned her attention to Wilder, and immediately moved to pull him into a hug. "It's so nice to finally meet you. We've heard so much about you." Sky's cheeks flushed, tinged with embarrassment.

Wilder couldn't help the way his cheeks flushed when he realized he was at Skylar's parents' house. That meant something, didn't it? He'd have to unpack that later when he was in the privacy of his own home with nothing else pressing immediately. "Gossip?" He repeated, grinning widely as he returned the hug, pushing himself up to press a kiss to the blond's cheek. "I love gossip. She won't have to do too much convincing. Is that going to bother you?" He teased, bumping Sky before following his lead.

Wilder was surprised to see two such different dogs coming toward them but happy to watch Skylar's interaction with them each. He reached down to scratch the St. Bernard and then to pet the Chihuahua in the other's arms. "Aww... just the two dogs, then?" He asked, looking up.

[slyshyfoxy]

Hello! Is been long long, anyways so back to progress is where I went to japan trip and had a not bad time and was drinking beer everyday and not thinking about Kyla for a period of time, and I came back and met jovan and Jovan met my family for business, then I continued and tried to study but I still feel useless today no matter what, I think maybe is just a lonely night?

Ohya and I broke a promise to myself where I went to siamdiu sigh I really feel very useless and not doing anything good in my life like a lowkey slump, and I dw to keep on enjoying my life or what, it’s really making me feel very guilty and useless LOL, like I shd be doing more work and all but ngl it was fun so apparently that day I went out to siamdiu I made two friends Vicki and Yan ting ya I do still feel useless but I at least made some connections and it’s probably gonna be something I’ll look forward in the future, I guess like wtf but I vomited on Jovan car and ended up getting dominated by Vicki…. She’s like a chihuahua but I guess she’s the first girl I kiss in 2023? 2022 I didn’t even kiss no girl LOL, but interesting HAHAHA but when she kiss my neck and all lowkey turns me on wtf HAHAH

Ok I enjoyed it but I still feel guilty afterwards and I’m not perfect so fucking Jenny stop feeling guilty and get ur sleep pattern right Jesus Christ stop feeling guilty fuck fuck fuck , could have done it with Vicki if she managed to turn me on more but unfortunately I was on my period , unfortunately!!!! But I need to start going to gym already, and stop feeling useless u are fking useful and amazing who on earth at age 22 earns 100k on paper? Not a lot of ppl and I need to start saving my money if not I’m gonna be broke, and start eating healthier… sleep on time pls , go school pls, start studying pls !!!!!

Fuck Kyla don’t reply her anymore , no clubs for now till I feel I’m useful or see mood , Jesus !

- 20 feb 2023

[lousydrawingsforgoodpeople]

literally impossible

[gravehags]

desinare - the natalie edit

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!OC (Curator!OC)

Rating: Teen

Tags: awwww look it's a pre-relationship fic just like old times, dinner party, natalie meeting the papas, natalie and copia being awkward little weirdos with baby crushes, papa nihil slander, references to other curator fics

Words: 3,791

Summary: Natalie's very kind cardinal friend has invited her for a meal with three Satanic popes. Surely there's a proverb about this.

a/n: take a shot every time secondo pours more wine in her glass

~~~

“Eh, signorina?”

“Fuck!” Natalie yelps, dropping the stack of folders she was holding in shock. “Shit…sorry Cardinal. How do you move so quietly with all that fabric on?”

“M-many years of practice, heh,” he kicks himself for how stupid he sounds, wringing his hands while she smiles kindly up at him as she stoops to pick up her papers.

“Teach me how some time? I’m always falling over myself. I’d love to have even an ounce of your grace.”

He can feel his ears burn as a dopey grin spreads across his face. She complimented you. Now compliment her back. Go on, say something charming, idiota.

“Dancing!” he half-shouts, making her jump. You fucking fool. “I…I mean I learned how…how to be graceful from dancing. Ballet. In my youth.”

She’s making an impressed face now which is worlds better from the look of terror she previously wore when he barked at her like a senile chihuahua.

“The Cardinal is a dancer?” she murmurs, pale green eyes glittering, “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“Oh, it’s been years,” he blushes, “This old body doesn’t move the way it used to.”

He swears he sees her eyes flick up and down his form and a tiny smirk lift the corner of her lips.

“I don’t buy that for a second, Cardinal.”

Is she flirting with him? Natalie turns to busy herself with organizing her folders but Copia can see the pink tinge at the tips of her ears.

“Do you like bolognese?” he says, once again loud and blunt. 

“I…what?”

“My…my fratelli and I - the Papas that is - would very much like to meet you. A-and share a meal with you. If you are interested?”

Her mouth forms a little “o”.

“There’s more than one Papa?” she asks, cocking your head. 

“Sì, sì, there is also eh, Papa Emeritus I and Papa Emeritus II, known as Primo and Secondo, respectively. Terzo you already know,” he grumbles, and her lips twitch.

“Three Satanic popes and a Cardinal. Wow…life sure comes at you fast, huh? Never expected this from a job offer.”

“So…is that a yes?”

“No,” she says and Copia’s face falls, “I mean - shit - sorry! A no about the bolognese. I don’t eat red meat. But a definite yes for the dinner, I’d love to meet some more people here! You’re very kind to have invited me.”

“Ah,” he waves his hand dismissively, but a smile still curls his lips, “We don’t get pretty new faces around here very often. It would be our pleasure.”

It doesn’t dawn on him what he said until he sees her lips silently form the damning word and her cheeks light up. Shit, why couldn’t he be normal around her?

“Anyway,” he says, his voice going up a humiliating octave, “Would you be available this week? Friday evening, perhaps?”

“It’s a date. I mean–” she looks as panicked as he feels at her wording, “--a dinner date. W-with your…with the Papas. And yourself. Sorry, where should I meet you? I’m uh, still familiarizing myself with the abbey. This place is huge.”

“Eh, how about I meet you at your office and I’ll lead the way from there, sì?”

“Sì. I mean, yes. Is there a…should I dress a certain way?”

An image is conjured in his mind of her in a pretty cocktail dress, heels lifting her shapely calves and her decolletage on display—

He shakes his head to rid himself of the vision.

“Uh…dress in whatever is most comfortable. Undoubtedly Secondo will put you to work in the kitchen so–”

“Oh good,” Natalie says, “I mean my culinary talents are uh…definitely lacking but I’d be happy to help and keep busy. Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop, and all that. Well…something like that anyway, I’m not sure if there’s a Satanic version. Anyway I am definitely blabbering on so feel free to ignore…literally everything that just came out of my mouth.”

She’s embarrassed. As if he couldn’t listen to her talk and talk and talk for eternity. He’s about to tell her something to that effect before his brain yanks him away. Bit much for only knowing her for a month, fool. Instead he gives her a friendly nod, and bows slightly.

“I’ll eh, see you Friday then yes? At 6:00?”

“Sounds perfect. And…thank you. I don’t remember if I said it or not but thank you for making this place feel like home.”

He feels as if his heart is about to burst from his ribcage.

“Signorina,” he murmurs, “It is my honor. Ciao.”

“Ciao, Cardinal,” she says softly as he turns and exits her office. He doesn’t see the way she collapses into her desk chair with a dreamy sigh.

—

She’s going to be late.

As soon as Natalie’s work day ended she hustled up to her apartment and began getting ready but it’s now 5:41 and she still has no idea what the fuck she’s going to wear. Half her wardrobe lies scattered on her bedroom floor (she knows it’s going to make her insane when she returns later that night but fuck she can’t remember what clothes she even owns) as she stands in the center of the room in her underwear.

“Okay. Okay you’re going to meet three Satanic popes,” the sentence has a delirious laugh bubbling out of her throat. “Three Satanic popes and one…sweet…handsome…Cardinal. What is the correct choice.”

She eyes a snug, knee length burgundy velvet cocktail dress to her left. She’s been saving this one for a while - for a real special occasion. She would undoubtedly impress but…nah. Too much. To her right is a pair of mom jeans - she picks them up and gives them a tentative sniff - acceptably clean. Natalie tosses the jeans onto her bed behind her. Okay now for a top. How about…ah! She spies a soft, dark green sweater in a pile and snatches it up. Cozy, comfortable, and practical. Perfect. As for shoes…her well-loved black Chelsea boots should do the trick. She looks down at her watch.

5:48

Shit! Almost tripping more than once she jumps into her jeans and pulls the sweater over her head, tucking it halfway into her waistband. She doesn’t have the time or the patience to put any makeup on beyond a few swipes of mascara and a dark red lipstick and when she makes it out the door with her phone and keys, it’s five to six. She briskly power walks the entire trip to her office and by the time she’s standing outside the door, she’s clutching her side and heaving for breath. She prays to whoever is listening that the Cardinal is a little late so she has a chance to compose herself but before she can even form the thought–

“Natalia?”

Natalie spins on the spot, trying to look as casual as possible.

“Cardinal!” she rasps. “Uh…hi.”

“You look lovely,” he says with an anxious little smile that gives her butterflies, “You’re glowing, Natalia.”

“Thanks, it’s the sweat.”

You ought to be taken out back and shot like Old Yeller.

To her immense relief, he doesn’t look disgusted but instead seems to relax as if her odd faux-pas cuts the tension. Chortling, he gestures for her to follow him with a gloved hand.

“What’s for dinner?” she asks, as the two of them proceed down the hall.

“You’ll have to ask Secondo that, I have no idea what the maestro has planned for us this evening.”

“Sounds ominous,” she smiles .

“Eh, sì. He is.”

Oh God.

“Your week has gone well?” Copia asks, adeptly changing the subject.

“Yes, just you know. Trying to make sense of everything von Shreck left me with. Can’t help but feel his presence looming over me whenever I change something he did. Did you know him well?”

“Not well, no. He was a quiet man, kept to himself. His eh, mind started to go, in the end. Became paranoid.”

“Ah. Explains his cataloging system then. If you can call it that.”

Natalie realizes they’re now in a wing of the abbey she’s never seen before - a long hallway with a dark red rug running the length of it and arched doors. Copia stops at one that is open and gestures inside with a nervous smile.

It’s a kitchen. A very large, very well equipped kitchen with a massive island and high ceilings. There are three men standing inside it - she recognizes one of them and the other two are staring in her direction. The tallest (and from what she can tell, the oldest) has a soft smile on his face. The other is also tall but broad where the older figure was slim, the overhead light glinting off his bald head. Terzo hops down off the counter, swirling a glass of wine and grinning. Natalie’s suddenly aware of four pairs of the same mismatched eyes boring into her.

“Uh. Hi.”

The three Papas are on her like flies on honey in a snap, pulling her into the warmth of the kitchen while Copia removes his black biretta and wrings his gloved hands. With a shaky voice he introduces her to the two she’s unfamiliar with and to Terzo he simply gives a hard stare.

“It’s an honor to meet all of you,” she murmurs, smiling around the room, “Wow, three Satanic popes. I haven’t even met one uh…regular pope. Not to say you aren’t ‘regular’ or ‘normal’, of course. The Satanic versions are so much more interesting.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Do you drink?” the bald, mustachioed one - Secondo - asks.

“Please,” Natalie sighs in relief. He gestures her over to the counter.

“What do you know about Italian wines, piccolina?”

Piccolina? She tells herself to look that up whenever she manages to take a bathroom break.

“Uh, not much. That is to say…nothing.”

He smirks. She knows immediately that this man is a heartbreaker.

“I will teach you. This riserva is from the Ministry’s vineyards in Piedmont. Made from Nebbiolo grapes.” He pours her a generous glass which she swirls delicately in her hand before leaning in to sniff.

“Oh! I’m definitely getting…red fruits, perhaps cherries? Something mineral, like the way a damp cave smells. Hold on–”

Natalie takes a sip as Secondo watches her carefully.

“Wow that’s gorgeous,” she gushes, “I didn’t smell the rose element but I definitely taste it. You said the Ministry made this?”

“Sì,” he nods, as he pours more into her glass, “I’m pleased you like it, you have excellent taste.”

“Oh, I really don’t,” she smiles, “You’d cringe if I told you some of the swill I find acceptable. Particularly what I drank in college.”

He laughs loudly.

“What kind of self-respecting American college student drinks wine?”

“One from California, that’s what,” she smirks.

“Secondo stop hogging our guest,” Terzo calls from the other side of the room. “I want to see her pretty face.”

Secondo ushers her over to the small breakfast table where Copia sits with the other two Papas before leaving to fetch several wine glasses.

“Don’t you look bellissima tonight,” Terzo grins, and Natalie blushes as he gives her a very obvious once-over. That smile disappears though when he jerks violently, slamming his knee up under the table.

“Stronzino, that hurt,” he hisses at Copia, who has carefully schooled his face into a neutral expression. 

Huh. Wonder what that was all about.

She’s distracted by Primo softly saying her name and she turns to the older man with a smile.

“Are you enjoying life at the abbey so far?”

Ah. Well about that. She wants to lie - to tell him everything has been smooth sailing but something about the way he looks at her instantly makes her want to be more candid.

“It’s um. It’s been…a lot,” she says, looking down into her wine glass, “The Cardinal is really the only one who speaks to me outside of Sister Imperator. I-I haven’t got out of my apartment much except to go to work. I’m a little self-conscious about exploring, to be honest.”

Primo gives her a gentle smile.

“Do you know where the greenhouses are, fiore mio?”

Fiore mio. Another one for the list.

“I think I know where the gardens are but I’m not sure if they’re nearby–”

“They are,” he says, “Sister Imperator…doesn’t have much use for an old relic like me. I spend my time tending to all that grows here. With some assistance from my ghouls.”

“Ghouls?” she asks, cocking her head.

He smiles.

“Ah, you haven’t met any yet, have you? Well I won’t spoil the surprise. I’m sure the Cardinal would love to tell you about them some time. Anyway, all this to say…please come visit me when you have the opportunity, sì? Ah, that reminds me,” he gets up and walks through an adjacent doorway to what she assumes is the dining room. When he returns, he’s bearing a bouquet of vibrant pink dahlias in a glass vase.

“Oh!” Natalie says, setting down her wine glass as Primo places the flowers on the table in front of her.

“For you, cara. To welcome you.”

She’s squeezing the meat of her thigh as hard as she can under the table to keep from crying but the tears well up in her eyes all the same.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and he reaches out to take her hand into his long, wizened one.

“Cazzo, are you making her cry, you old fuck?” Terzo grouses.

“Terzo!” Copia says with a sharpness she’s never heard from him before. She’s not sure if it’s the wine but she’s definitely picking up on some tense vibes between the two of them.

“Uh, need help with dinner, Secondo?” Natalie asks, trying to cut the awkwardness.

“Most of it is already finished but you are welcome to assist with the antipasti. Forgive the lack of aperitivo but someone forgot to pick up olives today.”

Secondo glares across the room at Copia, who turns beet red.

“That’s okay, I don’t like olives anyway,” she says cheerily. Primo groans.

“Ugh! Philistine!” Secondo snaps, making a sharp gesture, “Get over here and atone for your sins before I kick you out of my kitchen, piccolina.”

Now her face is red.

“Yes, Papa,” she murmurs obediently as she rises from the table, missing the way the four men look at each other with raised eyebrows.

“Va bene,” Secondo says gruffly as she approaches the island, leaning over to pour more wine in her glass, “Do you know how to toast bread?”

Natalie gives him a look.

“I think I can handle toast,” she scoffs, setting down her glass. “Are we making bruschetta?” 

He favors her with a nod and a half-smile. A point in her favor.

“Here is the olive oil,” he says, gesturing to his left, “Here is the balsamic. I have already diced the tomatoes and here–” he turns and opens the large refrigerator, coming back with a healthy amount of burrata, “--is the cheese. Think you got it?”

“I…think so? Wait, do you have a grill for me to use or…”

He hands her a square metal pan with holes perforated in it.

“You’ve used a brustolina before?”

No, she has not used a brustolina before.

“How hard can it be? Don’t worry about me, please go sit down.”

He gives her one last sideway glance before snagging his wine glass off the table and joining his brothers. 

Ten minutes later, Terzo is standing on the breakfast table waving a rag in front of the aggressively beeping smoke detector as Copia looks as mortified as Natalie feels.

“It’s alright, fiore mio,” Primo soothes as she sniffles, staring at the charred remains of what used to be several slices of sourdough bread.

“It’s toast. I cannot believe I actually fucked up toast.”

Copia scurries to her side and Primo steps away to make room. When her head thunks heavy against his shoulder he wraps an arm around her, making soothing noises. 

She doesn’t see Terzo thrusting violently into the air with a wide grin on his face, still standing on the table but she does see Secondo yank him down when he lets out an undignified squawk. The noise has her choking out a laugh, and she turns to Copia to see him staring down at her with a painfully soft expression.

“It’s nothing, piccolina,” Secondo says, unhanding his brother, “We didn’t need bruschetta anyway. Prometto. The real star is coming soon. Please–” he picks up her wine glass and gives her yet another generous pour, “--go take a seat. Enjoy the company of the Cardinal, and Primo, and my other idiot brother.”

She nods, accepting her glass.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, and she feels Copia’s hand rub warm circles on the small of her back. She’d be willing to burn all the toast in the abbey if this is what she got out of it.

“It’s nothing, Natalia, truly,” he says quietly in her ear, leading her back over to the table. Secondo efficiently dumps the cremated bread into the garbage and puts an apron over his head which reads “Osculari Coquum.” 

By the time Secondo tells the four of them to take their seats in the dining room Natalie is…pleasantly tipsy and incredibly hungry. The smells coming from the kitchen are so decadent, she can feel herself salivating. 

“Here we are,” Secondo says, entering the room with a loaded plate, which he places in front of her, “Pollo alla cacciatora con riso.”

She has to sit on her hands to keep from rudely digging in before the others have been delivered their meals but as soon as Secondo sits down, she’s ready to strike. Before she can, Primo speaks up.

“I would like to toast our lovely new friend. To your health and happiness. May you find a home here amongst us. Benvenuta nostra sorella Natalia. Ave Sathanas.”

Sorella. The word sounds familiar, as if she’s heard it in the abbey halls before. It makes a warmth bloom in her chest that she’s certain cannot be attributed solely to the wine.

“Grazie mille,” Natalie murmurs with a smile. “Thank you all for having me this evening, I appreciate it more than you know.”

Copia’s hand, resting next to hers on the table, twitches and ever-so-slightly his gloved pinkie finger brushes against hers. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye but he’s staring diligently down at his plate, mustache twitching as he fights to smile. The sight makes her heart thud in her chest. It’s as if the two of them are in their own little world, oblivious to everyone else despite the fact that neither of them openly acknowledge the other. It’s a breathtaking feeling and Natalie wishes she could put her finger on what is so special about this peculiar man.

“Bella, if you don’t eat that I’m going to eat it for you.”

Terzo is staring at her from across the table, mouth full of chicken cacciatore. The whole room, in fact, is staring at her.

“Shit! Right! Sorry I was…I don’t know where I was. Hmm.”

The four men once again exchange a look as she politely digs into her chicken and rice. It’s divine, as she knew it would be. The conversation flows wonderfully, the Papas all eagerly explaining the Ghost project to her.

“So you are all part of the same band?”

“We each had our terms,” Primo explains, “I was the first, Secondo was second, and now Terzo is the third.”

Natalie’s brow furrows as she mouths their names and something clicks.

“I’m sorry, you’re all brothers and you’re named first, second, and third? Who does that to their kids?”

Copia snorts into his glass at her candidness.

“Our idiot father, that’s who,” Primo says, and she’s shocked at his venomous tone, “You’ve met Papa Nihil, have you not?”

Oh. She’s met Papa Nihil alright.

“Ah…yes. Yes, we’ve met. I don’t think he cares much for me.”

Terzo laughs.

“We all have that in common, bella mia! Consider it a badge of honor.”

Natalie doesn’t quite know what to say to that and an uncomfortable silence falls on the room.

“So,” Secondo begins, “You must listen to each of our albums and tell us which one you like best, sì?”

“Oh, I don’t know if I’m qualified to properly judge that sort of thing–”

“We insist,” Terzo says imperiously, “I want nothing less than an album ranking and your overall top five songs. Cardinal, see to it that she gets educated.”

“I don’t see how this is my area of expertise,” Copia says sullenly, stabbing at what remains of his chicken. “It’s not my band.”

Hmm. Another frisson of tension.

Interesting.

“If everyone is done with their meal, shall we move back into the kitchen for dessert? Piccolina, how do you feel about gelato?”

Natalie’s cheeks redden at the moan that escapes her mouth. Copia coughs sharply at her side, having turned red himself.

“What’s your favorite flavor, bella mia?” Terzo asks, rising from the table as she does.

“Stracciatella, definitely, but I will never say no to chocolate.”

“Ah! A woman after my own heart! Copia do you hear this? She likes stracciatella.”

The Cardinal remains seated, nodding distractedly. As she exits the room she sees Primo move closer to him and put a hand on his back, leaning in to speak quietly.

—

“Oh topolino…she’s just as lovely as you said. Kind, smart, beautiful. Burns bruschetta but eh, no one is perfect.” Primo smiles as Copia looks up at him in earnest.

“Papa…I really like her.”

It’s the first time he’s voiced his feelings out loud and he can feel the flush on his cheeks creeping down his chest.

“I know, ragazzo mio. And you know what? I think she really likes you too.”

Copia’s heart skips a beat.

“Really? You think so? I-I want to do something nice for her, something she deserves but I’m not sure–”

“Spend time with her,” Primo says, smiling, “She is very lonely. Continue to be the friend you have been thus far - that’s what she deserves.”

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” Copia murmurs, “Surely she’ll tire of me or–”

“Surely nothing of the sort,” Primo says firmly. “If she cares for you as I suspect she does, she will welcome you into her heart. All parts of you, not just the best ones. You’ll see, topolino. Prometto.”

“Grazie,” Copia whispers as Primo places a kiss on his forehead.

“Hey you two what flavor–oh, I’m sorry, I’m interrupting something.”

Natalie moves to exit the room but Copia stands abruptly.

“No, please. Stay.”

She smiles. If only he knew now how she’d take that request to heart.

[coldazure]

"Hmph, for someone who hates being called a watchdog, you're definitely not one to shut that yap. Like a fucking Chihuahua." Seto pressed further. "I build some of the more advanced technology for the US military. I pioneer the vehicles, the programs, anything you can pretty much fathom in terms of hardware. Seems someone found out a dent in my security."

"Understandable that I would be on someone's hitlist eventually. I did refuse to share my secrets to some choice individuals, given the circumstance of this decaying world. Alas, that's someone else's problem if I'm left alive."

Going through the bag, he takes out a silencer and attaches it to the gun. So the bag held a few gun parts.. yet he didn't have one in the office itself. Interesting. Though the moment he went through the bag, other sounds could be heard. A "ting" from something glass. It must of been a small jar of sorts along with the arms accessories. Perhaps he knew that the time would come for this emergency bag.

Placing a hand on the other's chest, he steps ahead and pops one of the dead in the back of the head with the gun. At least the silencer removed the sound of the shot.

"So. Any plans on getting out of here? I can lead you directly to the exits but these things are all over the place. Also.. it looks like there are some cave-ins during those explosions so.. might be a bit limited."

Well, at least it looks like Seto knows how to handle a gun if he's going through the trouble of checking the ammo. Most people who are handed a gun don't do that.

The bag does not go unnoticed and Leon arches an eyebrow at him in silent questioning but he doesn't actually say anything. For now, anyway, he'll likely ask later.

He sure as hell sounds sure that someone is trying to kill him. Head honcho here, then? Just what the hell does he even do here? It seems a little extreme to unless a virus for one single person but then again, the people who play with these stupid viruses are never the brightest blub in the box.

"What do you do here?" Blue eyes suddenly narrow in irritation when he's called a watchdog. "Don't call me that." How many times has he heard that? Watchdog. Personal attack dog. Dog in general. It drives him fucking insane.

"Yeah, thanks for saving my ass, nice to meet you." Leon drawls sarcastically at the lack of gratitude from the man. "Name's Leon and if you want to go separate ways and get yourself killed, be my guest."

[foryoupeko]

How I write the SDR2 cast

Hajime - He’s a thin line of “I’m responsible for keeping my entire class sane” and “I’m 15, I like to do dumb shit”

Chiaki - She’s sleeps all the time and only wakes up to say something useful

Nagito - Spits out awkward (but true) statements with a tinge of depression behind it

Kazuichi: Why isn’t Nagito affected by Peko’s murderous intent?

Nagito: That’s because I don’t understand the concept of self preservation

Fuyuhiko - Wants to be the dad friend but he has the patience of a chihuahua

Peko - Straight man, that’s right people who don’t get comedy jargon, a straight man. Also she has emotions but she doesn’t show it on her face. If I had a nickel for every time someone states she has no emotions or just boils it down to “she likes fluffy things” I could buy the rights to Danganronpa and take Peko for myself.

Kazuichi - Saids the most pathetic things you ever heard from an incel. If I ever need to make a character point out something most ppl would be smart enough not to ask about, I know Kazuichi has my back. Also a fun punching bag for the other characters but not in a mean way.

Sonia - I really don’t know her personality at all. I think it’s weird that in the DR3 anime Chiaki was the one trying to keep the group together, when that was Sonia’s ONE role in chapter 2. Like why the fuck did we give Sonia’s one gimmick to Chaiki? IDK I technically didn’t watch the DR3 anime so maybe I’m wrong.

Gundham - If you can ever decipher what he saids, he’s actually a tsundere mom friend

Nekomaru - Enabler / Hypeman

Akane - No impulse control. Also dumb because of trauma and no formal education.

Ibuiki - Saids really batshit crazy things, she has ADHD so no context needed for anything

Hiyoko - If I need someone to be mean for no reason, Hiyoko will go up to bat

Mikan - She cries a lot. I don’t really find the “Mikan get bullied” jokes funny. I think she’s also unhinged and talks about torture quite a bit. I feel like she’s a psychopath but we all ignore it because the franchise does her dirty so we give her a pass. The whole “she’s a nurse because she likes to feel superior to her patient” is a big pill to swallow. 

Mahiru - Honestly if I need a character to be a nag, sexist, or a lesbian, Mahiru will get screentime. Overall Mahiru pisses me off but I think that’s because I’m genderfluid and her views on gender is problematic at best. The only way I like writing her is if she has an unrequited crush on Peko but I know making the lesbian fall for the unobtainable straight girl is problematic so I don’t want to do that.

Fuyuhiko: *explains the whole Peko and Kuzuryu dynamic* And that’s why Peko did what she did… 

Mahiru: You know. Boys are supposed to protect girls

Fuyuhiko: I know, I should’ve protected both you and Peko

Mahiru: Who cares about me? I mean nothing to you! Why didn’t you protect Peko??? She deserved better!!!

Hiyoko: (slowly realizes that between Sato and Peko, Mahiru probably has a thing for strong women)

Imposter - Real MVP dad friend. Always asking if everyone has snacks and having fun.

Teruteru - As a horny asexual, I write Teruteru horny but not nasty. He will say gross things but never follow thru with any of them.

Teruteru: Yes I will trick Sonia into giving me beej. Oh shit she’s taking me seriously. I gotta bail.