#who NEVER put their own games on sales EVER

[rainswolfs]

breath of the wild shouldn't cost 60 bucks. this game is 6!!!!!!!! years old. tears of the kingdom costs "only" 10 more and hasn't even been out for a week.

[skzdarlings]

harmony ; 3racha x reader ; one-shot

masterlist.

porn without plot. you want to have some fun and you know exactly which boyfriend can help get it started.

pairing: 3racha/reader content info: sub!reader, dom!changbin, dom!chan, switch!jisung, polyamorous mmfm foursome (so they’re all involved with each other and interact with each other), very enthusiastic consent with an implied red/yellow/green light system (yellow is employed once).  some rough play (esp with changbin), cnc game that reader initiates, face-slapping, choking, dirty talk, pussy eating, double penetration, blow job, all three holes at once, multiple orgasms, jisung having a monster dick for no reason, aftercare.  (technically no mention of birth control but it’s a long established relationship and you can safely assume it’s taken care of.) 

word count: 5255 words.

enjoy <3

-

When you want to play – really play – you know where to go. 

Jisung can be an overthinker and Chan is always protective, so they hesitate before getting too rough with you. Changbin, however, never holds back.  You know how to touch him, how to smile that particularly provocative smile, how to bat your eyelashes and invite him to play.  

You are thinking about it when he returns from his work-out, muscles straining in his black tank shirt, body damp with sweat, and looking like pure, unadulterated sex.  Chan and Jisung are huddled around a laptop in the living room, their entrepreneurial endeavours a seemingly endless chore, and they are so engrossed in their work they don’t see you leave. 

You sneak off to your room to change, ditching your shorts and underclothes, slipping into one of Changbin’s old t-shirts and absolutely nothing else.  

You intend to hunt him down after his shower, but it’s Changbin who comes to you.  He ambles casually into your bedroom without knocking, comfortable and relaxed and at home.  You have your own rooms for personal space but you all come and go as you please.

Your room is dimly lit with strings of fairy lights, the bed crowded with pillows and teddy bears, not to mention a big strong boyfriend who makes himself at home.  Changbin is dressed in sweatpants and a black t-shirt, his hair blow-dried soft and fluffy, but body as bulky and powerful as ever. 

“Look at this,” he says, holding out his phone.  A sweater you were eyeing has gone on sale so he sits on your bed and buys it for you without hesitation.   He giggles to himself with all that self-satisfied delight, teasing that he is the best boyfriend and your number one favourite. 

He knows the truest harmony lies among the four of you, together, always, but he likes to tease.

You like to tease back. 

“Be careful, you big bully,” you say, because he plops himself down at the head of the bed, knocking a teddy bear over.  You pick it up and aggressively shove it back into place. 

He quirks an eyebrow, his giggling joviality replaced with a studious expression.  He seems to finally notice what you are wearing, blinking his gaze up and down your body as you rearrange the pillows behind him. 

You bat your eyelashes, all playful innocence.

“Don’t be so serious,” he says.  He deliberately knocks a teddy onto the floor. 

You playfully gasp, bending over with a flourish and flashing him. 

“Ah,” he says, putting his phone on your bedside table.  “It’s like that?” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, blinking. 

“Hm,” he says, giving you another quick once-over.  “Okay.”  

Changbin hauls you over his shoulder and wrestles you onto the bed.  He puts you on your back, upside down so your head is near the foot.  He climbs right on top of you, not an inch of muscle budging even when you thud your fists against his firm chest.    

“Binnie,” you say, wriggling underneath him, the t-shirt riding up your thighs.  “You’re crushing me, you big mean brute.” 

“Brute,” he says, laughing.  He grabs your hips and pins you to the mattress.  “Tsk.  You like it like that.” 

“No, I – ah!”

Changbin never hesitates.  He knows you will tell him if you don’t like something.  It’s a game of trust, full of an all encompassing love that boasts such tender affection beneath each action.  Being with Changbin is like being nestled in blankets by a warm fire on a snowy winter’s day.  You are sheltered in the storm, feeling that protection even more keenly because of the dangerous cold.    

Between you, there is nothing but heat. 

He gathers the hem of the t-shirt and shoves it up, past the skin of your tummy, exposing your thighs and all the bare softness between them.  Oh, yes, all softness against his hard body, the thickness of his biceps as he holds you down, his big thighs shoved between your open legs, broad shoulders relentless and ungiving even where you smack him repeatedly. 

“Binnie, be careful,” you say, trying to close your legs around his hips. 

You gasp when he puts a hand up your shirt, squeezing your breast in the cup of his palm. His mean fingers immediately find the stiffening peak, thumb tormenting you while you whine. 

You buck as if you want to throw him off, but he is right where you want him and he knows it.  He knows you, your body like a well-loved instrument, his strong hands drawing every musical gasp and sigh out of you. 

“Where’s your panties, hm?” he asks.  Undeterred by your continuous bucking and writhing, he slides his hands down to your naked hips.  He was slouched half-on top of you but he gets up on his knees now.  He pushes your thighs apart, forcing his hips between them. 

“Shameful,” he says.   He tries to grab your flailing hands to no avail.  You smack his chest and shoulders, dodging the reach of his fingers. 

He smacks your face, a tap hard enough to register the game has really begun, but not so hard to sting for long.  You still gasp, your hands pausing.  It gives him time to work a hand between your open thighs. 

“Ahh—!” 

“Yah, look at you,” he says, rubbing his fingers through your wet pussy without finesse or gentleness.  You twitch every time his knuckle rides over your clit.   “Bad girl,” he says.  “Who are you so wet for?” 

He gives you no time to answer, scooting back to drag you to the middle of the bed. You are still upside down, your pillows and teddies piled behind him, all the dreaminess of your girly lace bedroom in contrast to his stark masculinity.  It makes your whole body thrum with arousal, hot from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head.  You feel him even where he is not touching you.  

Where he is touching you, you burn, heart erratic with anticipation as he squeezes your thighs, as he shoves your hands out of his way, as he uses his thumbs to spread your pussy open to his gaze. 

“Ah – Binnie—!”  You get louder.  Your bedroom door is open.  Chan and Jisung might be focussed on their work, but not for long, not if you keep this up.  Still, to speed things along, you scream, “Chan!  Channie!  Ch—hmmph!”

Changbin shoves a pillow in your face, holding it there, smothering you to soften your shrieks.  His other hand is on your thigh – no, slipping higher, a surface touch through all that wet desire.  Then his blunt fingers are inside you.  You moan into the pillow, clenching around the thrust of his fingers.  You get dizzy quickly, partially because of the pillow, partially his skilled hand. 

He abruptly lifts the pillow.  The oxygen goes straight to your head, as intoxicating as a kiss.  You realize you are close to coming already, hiccupping with all that sudden breath as he fucks his fingers into you. 

Changbin is relentless.   You smack his chest but he ignores it, his strong arm keeping a steady momentum.  An orgasm builds and builds, your fingers hooking into his t-shirt for some leverage.  He puts a hand on your belly and holds you down.  He feels so strong and heavy, utterly unmovable, and it makes falling apart so much easier. 

“Didn’t you have something to say to Chan?” he says. 

You gasp and turn your head.  Sure enough, Chan is standing there, watching you.  Changbin does it on purpose, knowing when you are close, so you look at Chan just as the orgasm crests.  

Chan is standing beside the bed, dressed in his basketball shorts and a sleeveless black shirt, a baseball cap over his curly dark hair.   He must have entered the room while the pillow was on your face, and now he is standing there, watching Changbin hold you down and fuck you with his hand. 

“Channie, please—” you say, then you come all over Changbin’s fingers.  You cry out because he keeps tormenting you, thumb shaking back-and-forth across your throbbing clit.  “Ah, Binnie—Channie, please!”

Chan gives Changbin a look, his eyebrow quirked, then he just leans towards the open door and whistles.  It’s a sharp, high whistle, a call to attention. 

“Han,” he says, not even very loud.  Chan never needs to shove or force or yell.  When Chan says come, you come. 

You always obey Chan.  You throw your head back, gasping as you come a second time.  It is so soon after the first orgasm that it feels like one long, rolling wave.  It continues to shudder through you, even after Changbin slips his hand out. 

The shirt is still shoved up your tummy, soft skin and wet pussy on display.   Chan does not look away, reaching blindly behind himself for your desk chair.  He yanks it closer to the bed and plops down, taking off his cap and tossing it on the floor.   He is bare-faced, expression so open and honest, but a hunger in his eyes that darkens his whole face. 

Changbin just looks giddy.  You look at him as he giggles, that funny little chortle leaving that buff body.  Then you realize he is rolling his sweatpants down. 

“Channie!” you yelp, shrieking and twisting while Changbin licks his palm and strokes his cock, his other hand effortlessly holding you down. 

Chan slouches in the chair.  He props an elbow on the arm-rest and puts his chin in his palm.  His other hand slips under the waistband of his shorts. 

“Careful, baby,” Chan says, seconds before Changbin smacks you again.  It is within your limit, but still enough to turn your head on impact.

Like before, it breaks your concentration, and Changbin takes the opportunity to grab your hips, line up, and shove his cock inside you.  Chan and Jisung always give you a minute to adjust, the size of a hard cock definitely different from fingers, but Changbin never waits.  Even while you wince and complain, he fucks you through it, gripping your hips hard and ignoring your hands pushing against his chest. 

“Too much, Binnie,” you say, even though the sting is quickly passing.  You’re so wet and it makes it easy for him to fuck you.  It even sounds messy, every thrust opening you up, getting you even wetter, the bed creaking as he pulls you onto his cock over and over. 

You look over at Chan who is still watching, the shape of his hand and his dick so clear through the material of his shorts as he fists his cock slowly. 

You hiccup as Changbin switches from long, deep strokes to short, pounding ones. 

At which point Jisung finally walks in, yapping about work, saying, “I was thinking we could postpone the meeting to Monday and—oh, hi, WHAAAT, we’re having sex in here?  All right, man, okay, that’s cool, all right, what’s up.”   

Oh, your sweet Jisung.  He is also in house clothes, black shorts and a sleeveless white shirt, dark hair feathering through his fingers as he runs his hand through it.  He walks further into the room, kicking the door closed behind himself for no reason.  His attention is firmly fixed on you, holding your gaze while Changbin fucks you.  The unmoving intensity of those big brown eyes leaves you tingling, a swoop in your belly that feels as thorough as a good fuck.  It crashes into the feeling of Changbin inside you, makes your whole body get tight so Changbin groans and curses. 

“Oh,” is all you can say.  You cover your face with both hands, gasping when Changbin goes back to longer, deeper thrusts. 

“Heyyy, baby, why are you hiding?” Jisung says in his sweetest voice. 

You hear him approaching, even above the sound of you getting fucked, above Changbin’s little grunts, above Chan cursing.   You feel the dip of the mattress when Jisung climbs up on the bed, sitting near your head.  Then his hands are on your wrists, prying them away from your face.   You try to wrestle them back but he holds them calmly, his own arms boasting a subtle musculature as he pins your hands to the mattress to stop you from moving. 

“Yes,” Changbin says.  “Like that.  Come on.” 

“Jisungie,” you whine, looking down at where Changbin is driving into you, feeling each thrust deeper than your pussy, all the way up to your throat.  You tip your head back, looking at Jisung upside down. 

He leans down, his hair swooping forward, tickling your face as he kisses your forehead and temple. 

“It’s okay, baby,” he says.  Despite his soft voice, he does not lighten his grip, your hands still locked in place.  “Does it hurt?” he asks, wide-eyed. 

“Mmm,” you say, nodding, even while shuddering with so much pleasure that a tear spills down your cheek. 

“Aww,” he says, licking that tear track, making every nerve spasm.  “You’re so cute, baby.” 

“She gets tighter when you choke her,” Chan says.

“Awww,” Jisung says.   He releases one hand to reach for you.  He wraps his fingers delicately around your throat, not even squeezing at first, just a caress as his hand curls around you. 

Your adrenaline naturally peaks, body clenching, just like Chan said.  Changbin groans his satisfaction and Jisung tightens his grip, keeping you pinned by the throat while Changbin goes still, coming inside you. 

“Fuck,” Chan says. 

Jisung releases your throat and you suck in a shaky breath.  It is interrupted when Jisung swoops in, kissing your lips upside down.  You squirm under the confusing messiness of his open mouth at this angle. 

He comes up with a breath, one as shaky as your own, ravished from a kiss.  He runs his hand through his hair and nods to Changbin, saying, “Turn her around.” 

Two pairs of hands find you, manhandling you so easily between them.  You yelp, startled by the movement, as they lift you up and turn you around so your head is in Changbin’s lap and Jisung is now the one between your legs. 

Changbin hoists you into his arms, holds you in the cradle of his bicep as Jisung lays down between your open legs. 

This is one area that Jisung never hesitates to indulge, his open mouth descending on your pussy with ravenous excitement. 

You are so, so sensitive down there, almost numb beneath the first few searching swipes. 

He presses his whole mouth there, moaning as he sucks on your clit then licks up and down, back and forth, around and around.  His tongue rubs where Changbin just came, circling your sensitive hole, pressing there then licking back up to your already throbbing clit. 

“Can’t come again,” you say, not entirely sure if it comes out coherent because your eyes are closed and your brain feels fuzzy.   

He answers with a hum.  He does not seem to be eating you out with the intention of making you come, but purely for his own pleasure as he sucks and licks and tastes.  Despite that – and despite your words – you feel a tightening in your belly, a dull throb that feels too feels too deep to reach. 

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Changbin says when you start to writhe, his big arm wrapped around your neck, holding you tight to his beating heart. 

The thud of that heart, the relentless flick of Jisung’s tongue, and Chan’s approving nod makes your thighs press around Jisung’s head. 

“Oh—” is your last word before you come again, bucking hard against Jisung’s face.  You gasp and cling to Changbin’s arm. 

Jisung keeps licking at you, not relenting until your gasping whine is more of a scream.   Then he kisses your thighs and hips before pushing himself up onto his knees. 

He and Changbin wordlessly work together, sitting you upright to remove your only article of clothing.   Both pairs of hands find you again, touching and groping and stimulating everywhere. 

You shudder under all the sensation, eyes closing, rocking against nothing.  You are desperate to close your legs to relieve the tension, but Jisung is kneeling between them.  Fortunately, he knows you well, his hand sliding down there, fingers finding you, curling into you. 

“You’re soo wet, baby, it’s embarrassing,” he says.  “You need it that bad?” 

He is still using his sweetest voice, like he doesn’t know he is about to utterly wreck your shit.  Because Jisung always does without very much effort, simply by effect of having the biggest dick you have ever taken.   It is part of the reason you usually can’t start with him, or why he takes his time when you do, because it is an aching endeavour whenever he tries to fit all that inside you. 

Even the bulge in his shorts is obscene, the material rubbing against your thighs.  He brings your hand to that bulge and groans when you squeeze it, saying, “That’s it, that’s it—”

He leans over you.  It sounds like he and Changbin might be kissing above your head, sloppily at that.  Jisung is probably shoving his tongue into Changbin’s mouth, the same tongue that was just inside you as it licked up the mess that Changbin made.   

They press you between their bodies in an envelope of desire, utterly dominating your senses.  Changbin smells like his shampoo, a deep scent like mahogany, while Jisung tends to douse himself in cologne, faded now at the end of the day but still a rich, expensive smell.  Beneath all that is that simple sweat, bodies getting worked up, raw sex overwhelming all those other scents. 

You breathe them in, whimpering because you are pressed so tightly between them. You can feel Jisung twitching in your hand and Changbin beginning to stiffen again at your backside. 

 There is a wet pop and a shared gasp when they stop kissing.  Jisung grabs your face and pulls you up, his mouth hot when it claims yours, that stupidly talented mouth making you crazy. 

“Hold her,” Jisung says, speaking against your lips while guiding Changbin’s hands.  Jisung grabs your thighs and pushes them up, not quite folding you in half but almost there.  He knows you need to be open to take him.  Even then, you are already clenching, fluttering around nothing in anticipation.

Changbin holds your thighs back, hands pressed under the curve of your knee.  Jisung hastily shoves his shorts down his thighs, leaving them gathered at the knee.   He touches you and uses your desire to wet his dick, frantically jerking it as if it is not already intimidatingly hard and ready. 

“Jisungie,” you say, already whining, wiping an embarrassing spot of drool as it spills over your bottom lip.  Your body is so eager that it thunders out of control, clenching around nothing, and you can’t seem to stop it.   

Jisung is so mean, just using his fingertip for a second, circling your fluttering hole.  You try kicking him but your ankle manages little more than a flick, your legs trapped in Changbin’s hold. 

“Sorry,” Jisung says, giggling and obviously unapologetic.  He flicks your pouting bottom lip before finally putting the tip of his dick at your entrance. 

The first little bit is always fine.  It feels good to be full, your body needing him, pulling him in.  He rocks back and forth a little, pushing an inch then another, and that’s when your body realizes how much there is, clenching and stretching and burning as he pushes in.   

He goes slow, his whining mouth against your throat.  But then Chan sits on the edge of the bed and touches his back.  He bottoms out quickly and you squeak, eyes closed and breath coming fast. 

You hear Chan say, “Take it off.”   Confused, you blink your eyes open.  Chan is talking to Jisung, tugging his shirt up his back. 

Jisung groans but complies, tugging it over his head with one hand.  The few seconds give you a precious moment to adjust, barely enough before he comes back and starts to fuck you with short, rolling thrusts.   You think Chan is getting Jisung’s shorts out of the way given the jerky way Jisung moves on top of you, but then you are skin to skin with no obstruction. 

“Mmph, yellow – legs,” you say, breaking only briefly to prevent a cramp in your thighs.  Changbin is quick to smooth you out, helping reposition you more comfortably.  

You sprawl flat on your back as Changbin moves away, wrapping your legs around Jisung’s waist without any hindrance.  He holds himself above you, alternatively muttering expletives and cooing sweet nothings at you. 

Changbin sits on one side, Chan the other, both fully clothed despite the obvious strain below their waistbands.  It reminds you a little of the time Changbin topped Jisung while Chan fucked you, the pair of you kissing and touching between them the entire time.   

Today is a little different.  You are at the centre of it all, Jisung inside you, Chan’s hand on your chest and Changbin’s fingers circling your mouth.   You take those fingers when prompted, sucking dutifully, batting your eyelashes up at him while he softly finger-fucks your mouth. 

Chan’s fingers join him, touching your lip.  You open your mouth wider and drool messily around the intrusion. 

“Fuck,” Chan says.  He rips his hand back in sudden needy haste.  “Turn over,” he demands, smacking Jisung on the ass. 

It makes Jisung yelp but he complies.  With some help from Changbin, you roll over until Jisung is on his back and you are on top of him.  Changbin kneels upright too, taking your face in his hands and kissing you, tongue penetrating your mouth as Jisung holds your hips and thrusts up into you. 

Chan grabs the back of your neck, holding you in place while Changbin kisses you.  Chan’s other hand runs down your front, tweaking a nipple and making you mewl into Changbin’s mouth.  You are more panting than kissing by the time Chan’s fingers reach your pussy. 

Jisung slows down just a little, out of breath and whimpering as you clench around him.  This angle makes him feel stupidly deep, your eyes rolling back.  He makes a few small, jerky movements, not even a deep thrust, and it still feels like he his hitting your heart. 

Chan joins the kiss with Changbin.  You are not even sure who is kissing you, just that it is one or the other, back and forth until you are dizzy.  You know it is Chan’s fingers between your legs, the unmistakable pattern of his deft, familiar stroke making you spiral towards another orgasm. 

“Oh, god, she’s – she’s—” Jisung says, squeezing your hips, going still for a minute to stop himself from coming when you do.  He is breathing as hard as you. 

You look down at Jisung, holding eye contact while you come hard on Chan’s fingers. Chan and Changbin are each sucking a bruise into either side of your neck. 

“Fuck,” you say in a watery voice, thighs shaking, hands on Jisung’s abdomen as you lean forward. 

“That’s it,” Chan says, kissing your throat sweetly while Changbin bites you meanly.  Both of them swipe their tongue across the mark they leave behind.  “Jisung,” Chan says, a demand without further explanation.

“Fuck, I know,” Jisung says, slowly moving his hips again. 

It is so quick off your orgasm, it makes aftershocks move through your whole body.  You are a livewire, making every ridiculous sound possible as Jisung fucks you, Changbin kisses you, and Chan gets up behind you. 

Chan runs his hands down your sides, gently bending you forward until you are chest to chest with Jisung. 

“Yup, just like that,” Chan says, rubbing the base of your spine then lower.  His hands cup the curve of your ass, squeezing, tilting your hips just so.  It gives him a good view of Jisung’s cock moving in and out of you, no doubt obscenely wet and messy, as well as exposing the smaller hole in your ass as he spreads you open. 

“Changbin,” Chan says, still with that same confident assurance he will be obeyed no matter what, “Pass me the lube. Bedside drawer.” 

As if you were not already sensitive enough, just hearing those words makes everything clench, which makes Jisung fuck you harder, which makes some place inside you that is so unbelievably soft and tender start to ache. 

“Ah, that sound,” Changbin says when your moans turn to high-pitched whimpers.  He pats the back of your head and reaches for the bedside table. 

After a bit of rustling, he tosses the lube at Chan who catches it easily. 

“One second,” Changbin says while Chan uncaps it.  “She’s gonna come again.  Big one, isn’t it, yes?” 

The fact he knows before you do is a testament to how closely he watches you, how well he knows you.  He is completely right, of course, as Jisung repeatedly pounds into some squishy, vulnerable part of you, so deep and so tender.  You are not sure your clit would even respond if someone tried to touch it, but they don’t need to.   It is enough that Jisung is hitting that place again and again. 

You come with a scream, literally gushing around Jisung as you come.  It takes everything in his willpower not to come, nonsensically begging Changbin to help so he doesn’t finish.  Changbin just grabs him by the throat, much harder than Jisung grabbed you, making Jisung choke out a strangled gasp immediately.  It works, though, as Jisung goes still but stays hard, letting you rock desperately on top of him as your orgasm seems to last ages. 

When it finishes, you are completely boneless.  You slump onto Jisung who takes a breath when Changbin lets go. 

“All right,” Changbin says, smacking your ass.  You hear him kiss Chan quickly.   “Your turn.”

It is a good thing you feel so willowy; it makes it easy for Chan to open you up on his slick fingers.  The few times you have done this, it always took forever, which was fun in its own way, but today it is so easy.  He slides a finger right in, then another, hardly any obstruction as your body surrenders so completely to your boyfriends.

“You gonna take it okay, baby?” Jisung asks, his hands on your sides, holding you steady. 

You look up at him, nodding, and open your mouth with a whine.  He understands, lifting his head, meeting you in a messy, lazy kiss while he rocks slowly inside you.   The kiss only breaks when Chan replaces his fingers with his cock, reigniting every spark in your over sensitized body.  

“Ugh, god,” Jisung says, barely above a breath as he pants against your mouth.  “He’s inside you, baby?” 

You don’t answer because he can probably feel it when Chan is fully inside you.  It takes a second for them to calibrate, find a rhythm that works.   You are not sure if you are more impressed with yourself for taking it so easily this time, or impressed that Jisung has lasted this long and is still coherent enough to keep a steady rhythm. 

“Changbin,” you say, his name a moan on your lips.  You need to feel him too, his hand on your back not nearly enough. 

“Go,” Chan says, groaning, your hips in his hands as he fucks you.  “Oh, baby, you’re so good,” he says.  “Isn’t our girl so good for us?” 

Changbin and Jisung basically just grunt in reply, affirmative but irrevocably distracted. 

Changbin kneels near your head, rubbing the back of your neck and gently guiding you to turn your face.  Jisung swears when you open your mouth, a bit of spit drooling past his own lips as he watches you take Changbin’s cock past your lips.   You mostly just lay there with your mouth open, letting him fuck it rather than really blowing him, but there are no complaints. 

Chan squeezes your ass, a gentle knead that just makes you feel more open, stretched to your absolute limits, so full that you do not know how you will ever be happy without them all inside you.  

It reinvigorates you.  You find strength in your arm and use it to touch Changbin, fist circling where your mouth does not reach.  You get him off first but Chan follows quickly, muttering things like you, tight, perfect, baby, baby, baby.

“Oh god,” Jisung says, somehow still holding out.  When Chan slips out, it gives Jisung slightly more leverage.  He pushes himself upright, letting you slump in his arms and cling to him while he fucks up into you with quick, desperate little uh-uh-uhs. 

Finally, he comes, your name melting into a moan as he buries his face in your neck, mouth open where Changbin left his bitemark. 

They surround you after that and you hum happily, letting them pass you from one pair of arms to the next.  Jisung flops back, running his hands through his hair and catching his breath.  Changbin is there with a cloth of some kind – you think it might be Jisung’s shirt, but Jisung is way past caring – and he gives you a quick and gentle wipe-down while kissing your sleepy brow. 

“I should buy you sweaters more often,” Changbin says, giggling. 

It makes you snort with laughter, blinking up at him with a grin.  “Was gonna fuck you anyway, dummy,” you say. 

“In that case, I’ll buy you another one right now.” 

You giggle when he rubs his nose against yours in a cute little nose-kiss, eyes crinkling with an affectionate smile. 

“Mm, c’mere, sleepy,” Chan says, rightfully as you are still mostly slumped in his arms.  You manage to string an arm around his neck as he scoops you off the bed and holds you against his chest.

You are still a little dazed from so much sensation.   You let your boys take care of you.  After some quick inspection and care, you are plunked in a bath with Jisung to clean and decompress while the other two go strip and re-make the bed. 

Jisung kisses your face while helping you wash, his careful hands and the hot water soothing every achy limb. 

“Totally worth it,” you say, head under his chin, eyes closed and sighing contently. 

Changbin comes to help you out.  By then, you are bright-eyed, sore but in a way that makes you alive.  You feel clean and fresh and loved, bundled up in a robe and then carried off in Changbin’s arms to the living room where food, a comfy couch, and Chan is waiting. 

Jisung joins a moment later.  The laptop is long since closed and utterly forgotten, the four of you snuggling up in a big blanket.  Chan has an arm slung across the back of the couch, your head on his chest, Changbin’s arm around your middle, and Jisung half-asleep where heis  slumped against Changbin. 

“Round two?” Jisung asks then promptly yawns, making you laugh as Changbin playfully smacks him and Chan just sighs an amused sigh. 

Taking the cue from Jisung’s yawn, you close your eyes and snuggle down. 

“Love you,” you say, drifting off to each of them saying it back.  You know one of them will carry you to bed eventually, so you let yourself drift into sleep, safe and warm, happiest when you are all together, just like this, the four of you always in perfect harmony. 

[cloverthebarbearian]

I am here to feed the Rugan community to the very best of my ability 😌❤️ she's a long list fella's so get comfy

Masterlist of Rugan HCs (NSFW under cut)

Rugan on the Road

With the Zhentarim

He's incredibly bossy while never doing much hands on work himself

He's always trying to find shortcuts to getting a job done quick and easy

Constantly pulling 'we're a team here we're family c'mon now' if his crew starts bickering

Empty promises of promotions or good words put in for low ranking recruits if they do extra work for him

But if you ACTUALLY manage to impress him though? He will show favoritism and not even try to hide it

Doesn't care much for following orders if he can get more from a better deal, but has been getting sloppier about hiding his schemes with age (girl why did you offer to split profits on a smuggling job with a complete stranger for real)

Big drinker, heavy sleeper, still somehow the first to wake up every morning

Also the first one to duck during a battle if he finds an opening

First one to act like 'we sure showed them! By working together. As a team.' When the fights been won

As much as he loves to slack off and take shortcuts, you'll never catch him complaining about the 'little' things. Low rations? Not hungry. Long journey? We need the exercise. Small crew? Good for stealth, travel light.

Even though he's a selfish asshole, he has a really charming demeanor and good enough attitude during the shittiest of situations that most people find themselves enjoying the journey with him by the end of the day

With Tav's Party

(Let's say after you've saved him from being near beat to death for finally getting caught scamming the Zhents, you convince him to let you escort him to Baldur's Gate just to make sure he doesn't get jumped again and fucking Die)

The man is SO flirty. He can't stop flirting. Depends on if Tav is into it or not will drastically change how he comes onto them, but note its not JUST Tav hes flirting with. He's got eyes on practically everyone. (Except Laezel. He tried, once. She threatened to kill him) No one knows if hes serious or if its just his personality but the man can't stop flirting.

At first, he puts in some work. Wanting to put in a little effort to carry his own weight and not be a burden, though Tav insists on him resting after the ordeal

But it doesn't take long for him to milk the mothering. His injuries suddenly become too distractingly painful. Even though Shadowheart absolutely mended that broken rib two nights prior. He insists the bruising is still pretty serious. He needs to save his strength for travel.

The entire party gets pretty sick of his BS after a while, but its not enough to kick him out or anything

Phrases like 'shut up rugan' or 'fuck off rugan' become campsite mottos

Once you all get to Baldur's Gate, its a funny, bittersweet dynamic of everyone saying they're releaved he's finally leaving, but reluctant to say goodbye

The first night without him is unusually quiet without his drunken campfire stories and earth shakingly loud snores

Rugan as a Mentor

No ulterior motives in the sense that, he only ever recruits people he also finds attract. A bias he refuses to outright acknowledge ('I have an eye for talent! Not my fault the talents also a looker 😏') so he would recruit Tav with every intention of possibly bedding them. The motives are not ulterior. They are perfectly apparent.

Similar to in game canon, he'd recruit them by trying to come to some sort of sale arrangement. Though lets say instead of selling the chest to split profits for themselves, he convinces Tav that rescuing him would surely warrant a reward back at their base, which would in turn lead to more jobs, which would lead to more money for them

Always insists on training his personal recruitments himself (for the non-ulterior ulterior motives)

Is FULLY the type of coach who has to insist their stance is all wrong so he can stand intimately behind them and guide their limbs to the proper position

He's got his cheek pressed to their's, gruff voice low, talk'm'bout 'You're far too tense, Sweetheart. You really need to relax those shoulders and widen your stance, like this...'

He's entirely aware of what he's doing and makes Zero effort to be subtle about it

General Rugan HCs

SFW

Drinks a lot but holds it well

Getting him truly drunk is VERY funny and usually ends up with him gushing about how much he cares about his friends, his guild mates, stuff he'd never be caught dead saying sober, and will insist he never said drunk either

Has 101 stories of his decades running jobs on the road, most of which you're certain are entirely made up... Until you meet an old business partner of his one day, who can corroborate the tale

For such an experienced merc/trader, surprisingly light on battle scars

Very, VERY ready for retirement. May have even been getting sloppy with his scams on purpose in the hopes of being kicked from the zhents all along...

NSFW

The man fucks. The man FUCKS. Rough and sloppy and hard and like its the last romp he'll ever have every single time.

Will always make sure his partner finishes, typically more than once

Likes to choke his partners

Likes to cum on their face

*Gasp*! Oh noooo, we can't find/afford a room to rent for the night. I guess I'm just gonna have to take you right here in this ally by the bar 🤷🏼‍♂️ but you better be quiet, unless you want to get caught...

Big into dirty talk and will practically narrate his plans for the evening as he acts on them

Has the stamina to last hours and prefers to take his time but still always down for a quickie where he can get it

Sorry everyone, but the idea of aftercare is lost on him. When you're both finally spent he's literally tossing you a damp rag while he steps out to smoke a Fantasy Cigarette

Cuddles in his sleep, and doesn't even know this about himself. But you will wake up in a near-suffocating bearhug if you fall asleep together

[save-the-villainous-cat]

hero x villain, they usually get bruised, bloody, and hurt after every fight. one day, the hero staggers half dead through the city, trying to escape someone or something, and hide.

their own nemesis, the ruthless villain, discovers them limping about, easy pickings. they begin with their big bad speech w/ threats until they see that the hero wasn't wounded, they were tortured.

hero sees a side of the villain they had never seen before. villain approaches, says, "who did this to you" ಠ⌣ಠ

They counted themselves lucky when they found an alleyway.

Away from the busy street and the chatting people, they pushed themselves into the darkest corner, into the probably filthiest part of the city.

Fucking hell, it was raining cats and dogs and the hero was sure this was some sick and twisted joke. They’d infect their wound here.

Hospital wasn’t an option. Even if they did reach it in time, announcing themselves and risking their family’s and friend’s safety was something they couldn’t allow.

Their apartment was south, too far south for them to reach. And a hero base hadn’t been constructed in this district yet.

They groaned and threw their head back, putting more and more pressure onto the wound until they had to bite back a scream. What a fucking night.

For mere seconds, they closed their eyes and allowed themselves to rest, despite the ringing in their ears, despite the blood loss and despite the shortening breath. Could they leave a message? So their family could at least get the body? The hero doubted it. They’d lost their phone somewhere during the struggle. Or did it get smashed? They didn’t remember.

When they opened their eyes, the villain stood before them, looking at where the hero had slid down the brick wall.

“What a pretty catch,” they said.

“Sorry, not for sale,” the hero rasped. At this point it didn’t matter, did it? If the villain wanted to kill them, fine. At least the ugly truth wouldn’t come out.

The villain gave one of their cruel, unforgiving smirks and tilted their head. It was a game to them. A game that was too cruel for the hero.

“Well, I’m a big fan of theft.”

“You’re funny.” The hero didn’t laugh. Maybe they would’ve. But the blood loss was killing them. Oxygen. They needed oxygen. Their organs would shut down pretty soon.

“I’ve been following you for like twenty minutes.” The villain observed them slowly, eyes going up and down, inspecting the wounds as if it was their job.

“Ever gotten that checked out? Bit possessive.”

“Aren’t we all, when it comes to you?” Now it was the hero’s turn to smile and to their own surprise, it was real. They meant it. The villain had made them smile.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re pretty popular, don’t you think? People love you, villains hate you. You’re the hot stuff. End boss of my personal mini game.” The hero let out a whimper and squeezed their eyes shut. Having superpowers didn’t free them from pain. The villain frowned.

Exclusivity wasn’t a privilege that also jumped over to their medical condition. Unfortunately.

The hero cursed in their mind. They should’ve been smarter, should’ve seen this coming. What a waste of their own potential.

“This is just a mini game?” the hero asked, wheezing.

“My favourite one.” The villain squatted, closer than they’d ever been to the hero and for a second, the hero expected to be murdered with a knife or worse, tortured even more with the villain’s finger twisting and turning in their open wounds.

But the villain lifted the hero’s arms gently, looked at the wounds, made a grimace and gazed back at the hero.

Something in their face screamed confusion. And something much subtler, whispered anger with the promise of action. It made the villain unpredictable and the hero hated that.

“What?” the hero said.

“Who?” They stared at the wound, brows knitted together. “Who did this?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m dying.”

“I can save you,” the villain said. No hesitation, no second-guessing, just an idea that sounded more like a promise. “But you’ll have to give me the name. Now.”

The hero stared at their enemy. Stared and stared, hoping this was a dream or a sick joke. They couldn’t afford to like the villain, couldn’t afford anything but hate for them.

And yet…the hero’s family, their friends, the city…You’re pretty popular, don’t you think? The city needed them. Obligation.

They had to live. Had to survive to protect. To fight. Not for their own sake but for others. For those who couldn’t protect themselves.

“My sidekick,” the hero said. “My sidekick is trying to torture and kill me.”

[yanderes-galore]

Hii!!! Literally so excited for this!!! How about Rdr headcanons for a yandere romantic Jack Marston with the self-aware au? I remember seeing a post about how he probably feels a little upset that he’s essentially the sloppy seconds of the protagonists, and I really wanna see more on it! (I apologize if this isn’t within the request format, I tried)

This poor man is so underrated. Rockstar gave him trauma and then just left him to his own devices.

Yandere! Self-Aware! Jack Marston Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Self-Aware Yandere, Possessive behavior, Jealousy, Violence, Isolation, Dubious relationship.

Jack is a... neglected protagonist by most.

Compared to his fellow Self-Aware protagonists, he isn't given much affection from his player.

Think about it...

Arthur gets his own story in RDR2.

John, Jack's father, gets RDR2's Epilogue and RDR1's main story... AND Undead Nightmare.

What does Jack get?

RDR1's Epilogue and whatever sidequests John left him.

It gets on his damn nerves.

Jack's left with what amounts to table scraps in terms of what he can do with his player.

Arthur and John are the spoiled protagonists who get to bond with their player the most.

But there's a good chance Jack will just be abandoned when you finish his Epilogue mission.

The most Jack gets is minigames, outfits, roaming the map...

All small 'tying up loose ends' tasks.

Even Jack knows you're just playing him to finish things.

You just want to do Stranger quests and challenges...

Jack almost wants to resent you.

But deep down, he knows he's too attached and nervous that you'll shut off the game and not come back.

That's the curse Jack bears.

He's given sentience... Only to have his player leave him.

Truth is, he's felt your presence for a long time in his life.

He probably felt it through Arthur and John.

You really are a guiding force... Even if you don't guide him for long.

I imagine all of this makes Jack desperate to keep you entertained.

I can see him trying to alter the game by undoing quests or making certain guns on sale.

Do you have all the horses yet? The outfits? Quests?

Did you finish all of your challenges?

Come on, won't you 100% the game to spend more time with him?

Jack would eagerly let you dress him up in the outfits.

It shows you care when you put him in your favorite outfit....

Jack would keep trying to add content for you to play.

PLEASE don't try John again...!

Just... spend more time with Jack!

He really is the neglected child of the protagonists...

Which makes him push the game's limits.

Jack has the highest chance of leaking his code out of the game.

He'd do it when he realizes you aren't going to play anymore.

He can tell you're getting bored...

Even when he tries his best to convince you to stay.

He starts by trying to break the fourth wall a bit to make you intrigued.

He makes small compliments seemingly directed at you.

He refuses to acknowledge other people at times in any way but is passive aggressive.

If you're having trouble with bounties, he makes things easier by making them unable to flee.

If you want to have him show more violence, he allows it and even tweaks the Wanted meter to prevent a huge bounty.

However... His efforts appear to be fruitless when he notices you no longer on your save file.

This behavior would make him work to infect your device like a virus.

He either forces the game and save file open to make you play.

That or he corrupts other games or saves....

That's the more "realistic" option, him forcing your attention back on him so he can properly greet you.

Imagine if he greets you like a cutscene, looking at you dead on as he greets you warmly.

Even worse, imagine if he confessed while you aggressively try to find a way to shut the game and console off.

Even if you try to turn it off, it never shuts down.

Jack only ever seems annoyed when you act like this.

Then there's another option to consider that I don't typically do...

Jack traverses to your world once he gets fed up with your panic or you ignoring him.

He would probably either travel to yours or lock you in his.

Honestly, you neglecting him is so rude.

Even worse when you cower away from him as the outlaw steps closer.

He tries his best to calm you, claiming he'd never harm you.

In fact, he's in love with you!

He knows that you used to spoil Arthur and his father...

But look who's winning now!

Neither of them could come here to see you.

He's quite excited to see you, smiling as he tries to pull you closer.

Stop crying, will you?

Jack would probably drag you to his world since he's used to it.

He doesn't understand your world much.

Imagine Jack dragging you back to his world with you in his arms?

He holds you close, kissing your forehead as he promises to take care of you.

Do you want him to pamper you?

He can give you dates, buy you outfits, surely you need to look like you belong here....

He may be an outlaw now, but he still tries to promise that he'll get you two a home together.

You aren't going to be harmed by anyone on his watch.

Jack has Dead Eye like the rest of the protagonists.

Any NPCs that threaten your life are immediately put down.

His gaze is so cold towards them... especially since he knows they aren't real.

You're the only person who's truly real.

You're all his and his alone, too.

The best part about taking you here?

You can't run from him.

Unless he allows it, you'll never go home.

Jack at first seems like the unluckiest protagonist of this AU.

Yet if he manages to make this breakthrough before the others...

He may just be the luckiest AND last one to have you after all.

He won't have you neglecting him anymore.

[ladybugsimblr]

Rolling Stone - Fall Bailey Kay, One of One

-

Shoutout to @soulsimmin for the other musical artists noted on the cover and general Team BK shenanigans. Somebody cut the check.

Article Below

Category: Baaad Bitch

10.59pm The initials BK pop on the screen indicating Bailey Kay has joined the Soom call. The camera flashes on and my heart skips a beat. I hear her soft but firm voice say “Kiss” and another face appears in the view. Bailey’s husband Quinton leans in for a kiss as requested. The two quickly exchange “Love you’s” and adoring looks and then he’s gone as fast as he appeared. Bailey Kay turns to me and I now have her undivided attention. She flashes that gorgeous smile and my heart skips a beat again.

“Sorry. Hi! Thank you for agreeing to meet with me this late. I hope you’re a night owl too.” Absolutely not. I’m normally in bed by 10pm, but who says no to the Queen B when she agrees at the last possible second to her first interview in ages. I awkwardly reply “I am tonight!” and she laughs, exclaiming “I like you!” Phew! Any remaining tension and nerves are gone. Let’s get into this.

Channeling my glitteriest of kitties I jump right in and ask “Where are the visuals? We the butterflies are begging for the music videos and performances.” Honestly I expected a glare or an eye roll in return, but I get a sly smirk instead. “You are the visual”

I instinctively look at the small image of myself on the screen thinking I did too much with my look for this call. Bailey must have sensed my confusion and continues: “Butterfly is about celebrating life, love, and freedom, overcoming struggles and transforming into your best, highest self. I didn’t want to dictate how anyone experienced those things with the typical visuals. But I did want to get the party started so I gave you the first step- the music.”

“So you dropped the album and bounced to let us party and figure it out for ourselves?”

“You are funny! But yes, kinda. And look what happened! You all started your own challenge and created the visuals, and all I had to do was sit back and watch. Also I really didn’t leave y’all empty handed. I thought we killed it with the pics in the Butterfly Box. But I can’t forget the hive is the hardest to please and I love that. Keeps me on my toes.”

“Ok, I see the vision, but why literally leave the country and go on vacation during an album rollout? That’s unheard of!”

“Ok two reasons. The first is that was what I needed to do. That was my way of celebrating. I told my baby girl that putting out an album was like graduating. I fought hard to overcome my own issues and dark places and now that the project was out to the world, I needed to release and just be with my family, my babies.”

“And the second?”

“Because I can. I’m THAT girl! Deadass!” Again with a smile and a laugh. BK might be the nicest bad bitch I’ve ever met.

“What do you say to the critics who say the album is going to fail? There are rules to the game if you want to succeed.”

“I say check the streaming numbers and sales.” That eye twinkle and smile return one more time. “Rules are meant to be broken. Sometimes. Note to self: Redact that line before my terrors read this. But seriously if we did the same thing, the same way, every time, art, music, life would all be extremely boring. Tackling the unheard of and never been done before is my shit. I live for that. As far as succeeding… I’ve been lucky enough to have more success in my entertainment career than I ever dreamed of. Whatever I do from here on is the extra sauce and will not be measured by industry standards.”

“Speaking of the future, what more can we expect for Butterfly? Please say tour.”

“Ha! Ummm performances are coming. It’s time for me to party with the butterflies.”

“Ok, will they be on multiple stages in cities near all of us?”

“I can't with you! But I can say I’ll perform songs from Butterfly and the rest of the catalogue, on stage, soon. Stay ready.”

And ready we will stay. Ready for the Queen BK. One of One. Number One. The Only One.

[reincrimination]

stop waking me up in the middle of the night

9-1-1 | eddie diaz x evan buckley

content warnings: nightmares

collection: buddie week 2021 (reposting sept. '24)

read on archive of our own

“Do you not like sleeping with me, Diaz?” Buck hazards, taking a swig of his nearly-empty bottle. Chim parts his lips like he’s going to make a comment- but Hen hands him a chip instead to occupy his mouth. “If you would stop waking me up in the middle of the night, I might like it more,” Eddie sighs, half-genuine in his annoyance. “Buck kicks like a racehorse.”

Eddie doesn’t mind sharing the bed with Buck, not really.

The comforter is that crisp kind of down that he’s only ever had in hotels, and the sheets are some Egyptian cotton that he’d never consider buying, even if they went on sale. Eddie’s not sure, and he doesn’t want to ask, but he would put money on the mattress being one of those fancy ones he sees TV ads for. 

When Eddie bought his mattress, he went to the store, found the cheapest one, and then bought the next one up from that. 

So, no, all things considered, sharing the bed with Buck is not that bad. There’s also the added element of having another living, breathing human next to him that soothes his PTSD hyper-vigilant tendencies, and the fact that his other options are the downstairs with either Hen or Chimney- and Chim snores horrifically. Hen is fine, but he’s not totally ready for her to see him when he��s just woken up, hair looking the most like Christopher’s it’s ever going to get, and a trail of drool down his chin. No, that version of Eddie is reserved for himself, God, and, these days, Buck.

That said, there is a slight problem.

Buck kicks.

Not all night. He doesn’t do it on purpose, Eddie is certain. Yet, every few hours, a cold foot will kick against his shin, and he’ll be startled out of whatever sleep he’d fallen into. He’ll shift away and look to see if Buck is awake- he never is- and then another kick will come a few hours later. It’s like Buck is intentionally doing it, the entirety of his body still except for his legs, and only for a few moments per night; but that’s not his style, so Eddie is sure it’s unconscious.

It’s enough to start wearing on Eddie, especially after long shifts. He doesn’t want to insult Buck’s hospitality, and complain about sleeping in the queen-sized but fit-for-a-king bed he’s lucky enough to share. 

So, he shoves an extra pillow between the two of them and it’s enough to mostly stop it, except for on really bad nights. Buck got him under the kneecap once, and he swore loud enough that he woke up Hen from downstairs. When he sits up and looks over at Buck incredulously, the only clue to what he’s done is a slightly agitated expression on his very asleep face.

A week of long shifts seem to wind Buck up even more, and while he sleeps soundly, his limbs knock into Eddie at least twice a night. Eddie’s used to waking up a lot during the night, but not being startled awake by flailing legs, and he’s pretty sure the bags underneath his eyes can’t solely be attributed to the overnight shifts they’ve been pulling.

After the last of a string of shifts, preparing to enjoy a very boring, lazy weekend off, the four of them are gathered on Buck’s balcony with beers and snacks. Hen and Buck are arguing about something trivial, a movie or a sports game, and Eddie is zoning out as he stares out over the lights of LA. Everyone being stuck inside only serves to illuminate the skyline more, almost every single bedroom light on even at seven in the evening.

“Eddie? Did you hear me?”

He snaps his gaze over to Buck, who is waving a hand in front of his face. “Sorry. Tired.”

“We all are,” Hen sympathizes, patting his shoulder, and Eddie scrubs a hand over his face.

“Do you not like sleeping with me, Diaz?” Buck hazards, taking a swig of his nearly-empty bottle.

Chim parts his lips like he’s going to make a comment- but Hen hands him a chip instead to occupy his mouth.

“If you would stop waking me up in the middle of the night, I might like it more,” Eddie sighs, half-genuine in his annoyance. “Buck kicks like a racehorse.”

Chimney barks out a laugh, a few chip crumbs spewing out- he puts a hand up in apology and finishes chewing-, “Are you saying Buck is… bucking?”

“I said kicking, moron,” Eddie shakes his head, but a little smirk takes over his expression.

Buck remembers to laugh just in time to keep it from being awkward.

When Eddie steps out of the shower, steam-warmed and almost asleep, he’s ready to fall into the luxurious bed and sleep for as long as circumstances will allow. With no shift on the horizon, tomorrow’s looking like a great day to catch up on the sleep he’s lost thanks to work… and Buck.

Which is why he’s a little dismayed to see Buck striding around the upper loft, with blankets in his arms like he’s in the middle of rearranging the bedroom.

“What-?” Eddie mumbles, tossing his dirty laundry into the (now) communal hamper. He’s pretty sure he’s wearing some of Buck’s clothes as he speaks, and wouldn’t be able to differentiate between their t-shirts if there was a gun to his head.

“I’m gonna sleep on the floor,” Buck explains, sheet making a snapping noise as he fluffs it out vigorously. He doesn’t meet Eddie’s eyes, instead focuses on picking a feather out of the pillow tucked under his arm. “So I don’t wake you up.”

“What? That’s- no, Buck, it’s your bed,” Eddie sits down on the edge, leaning over to size Buck up. He’s being weird, he thinks. “Look, I was just kidding around on the patio. It’s no big deal. I’ve shared a bed with Chris enough times to get used to being kicked.”

Buck pauses, but then tosses the pillow down onto the shitty bed of blankets he’s made himself. It’s bound to be almost rock-hard with how little padding he has. Since Hen’s on the air mattress, there’s not anything else for him to use. 

“At least for a few nights, man,” Buck reasons, hands out placatingly. “You look dead on your feet.”

Eddie narrows his eyes discerningly. Buck raises his eyebrows, as if asking if Eddie’s satisfied with that reasoning.

“Alright,” Eddie grumbles, crawling up to lay his head on the pillows. “But if you’re uncomfortable, you get back up here.”

Buck turns out the light and shuffles around as he gets comfortable, but Eddie’s already on the fast track to unconsciousness.

A sigh is the first thing out of his lips when he’s woken with a loud smack. Nothing has kicked him, this time, but the bed frame did jolt. He sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes- it’s just past midnight, so at least he’d gotten two solid hours in first- and leans over to look at Buck.

The man is sat up in his makeshift bed, hunched over and rubbing at his shin. His face is turned away from Eddie, but the silver light flooding in from the windows reveal that he’s biting down on his lip, hard, and his eyes are a little shiny.

“Buck?” Eddie murmurs, squinting to see him better.

“Shit,” he hisses, glancing at Eddie and then hiding his face, again. His voice wobbles as he says, “Sorry, I’m sor- shit. Go back to sleep.”

“Is your leg okay?” Eddie asks, sitting up fully and shuffling over to swing his legs over the side of the bed that Buck is beneath.

It’s his bad leg that he’s clutching like it’s been crushed all over again. Even in the gray-scale of the night, Eddie can make out a harsh, red line where he’d hit it. It doesn’t look like it’s bleeding, but it’ll bruise pretty bad.

“It’s fine, just- gimme a minute,” Buck hisses, clenching his teeth as he rubs his fist over the angry divot in his shin. He tips his chin up, blinking back tears. “Kicked the- fuck- the bed.”

Eddie reaches out and smooths a hand over Buck’s tousled hair, the movement practiced as it’s something he does to Christopher often. His unruly bed-head curls bounce right back into place after the pass of Eddie’s hand. Buck’s eyes flutter closed at the contact, and Eddie doesn’t even pretend that it doesn’t prickle at something inside his chest. In the privacy of the night, Eddie finds himself thinking a little freer, a little more honestly.

“What’s going on, Buck?”

Eddie rests his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, looking down at Buck like if he looks hard enough he’ll be able to parse out whatever is bothering him.

“Just a bad dream,” Buck mumbles, stretching out his leg and trying (failing) to hide his wince.

Eddie’s brain comes to a screeching halt.

“Just tonight, or-?”

“Forget it, it’s nothing,” Buck rolls over and reaches for his pillow. “Go back to sleep, I’m sorry.”

“Buck. Buck,” Eddie hisses, “Stop it. Look at me.”

Sheepishly, he turns back over. His head is resting on his folded arm, looking up at Eddie with the glossiest puppy eyes he’s ever seen from anyone except his kid. He’s wondering if Buck got it from Chris, or the other way around.

“You’ve been having nightmares?”

Buck just nods. Then, he turns onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, like he can’t make himself meet Eddie’s gaze. “Yeah. Since the bombing, since the tsunami, everything. Worse since- since COVID, but, we’re all struggling, I figured.”

“Sure, but not having nightmares three times a night,” Eddie reasons. “Is that why you kick?”

Buck passes a hand over his eyes, scrubbing a little too harshly. They’re a little wet around the edges when he pulls away. “I’m always either getting my leg crushed again or trying to swim through the tsunami, so, I guess that’s why I kick. I am sorry, I’ll try to- to stop.”

“Buck. Listen to me,” Eddie snaps, but at Buck’s flash of fear he softens his tone. “Hey. I’m not mad. Just… why didn’t you tell me?”

A touch of genuine confusion floods into Buck’s expression. “I mean, why would it matter?”

“Because I care about you, Buck,” Eddie exclaims. The words come out a bit loud, a bit harsh for the hour, but he needs Buck to know he means them. “I want to know when you’re hurting.” Buck’s bottom lip twitches, almost indistinguishably, but Eddie clocks it. Normally, he clocks everything about Buck- how he missed this, he’s not sure. Guilt hangs heavy on his heart, tripling in intensity with every glimpse of Buck’s wet eyes he catches.

“I’m hurting,” Buck whispers, voice cracking, and then Eddie is slipping off the bed to kneel down next to him and pull him into his arms. 

Buck goes willingly, melting into Eddie’s embrace even despite the awkward angle, hands tangling in the fabric of Eddie’s (his) shirt and folding himself as small as possible to fit as much of himself in Eddie’s arms as he can. Buck’s hurt leg sticks out awkwardly, and his back aches from how he’s sitting up, but God, is this what he needed. His nose presses against the soft skin of Eddie’s neck as the latter rocks him back and forth slightly, arms tight around his middle, one palm smoothing up and down Buck’s spine.

“Come on, get in the bed,” Eddie says, voice gruff from the guilt building up in his throat. His chin is tucked over Buck’s shoulder. “You’re not sleeping on the damn floor.”

He wrestles with Buck until he’s able to maneuver the pair of them into the middle of the bed. Buck lays, curled on his side, watching Eddie with glossy eyes as he tugs the blankets up and over the both of them. Eddie ends up facing Buck, one hand outstretched and resting under the other man’s head. His fingers curl in the hairs at the nape of Buck’s neck; petting, soothing.

Buck falls asleep quicker than he’d like to admit, even as the bruise on his leg still throbs, and his eyes still sting. Eddie keeps watch, playing with the short strands of hair, scanning Buck’s expression for the slightest amount of discomfort.

He’s barely drifted off himself when Buck twitches, and before it can get worse, Eddie is shuffling closer and wrapping his other arm around Buck’s shoulders. Eddie tucks Buck’s head underneath his chin, trying not to think about the way Buck’s hair brushes against the stubble of his beard, or how Buck’s lips ghost over his neck when he mumbles out, “…Eddie?”

“Right here,” Eddie whispers, tucking his chin down to press a not-kiss to Buck’s hair.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” Buck mumbles like a confession, curling tighter into Eddie’s grip, stretching out his legs to interlock them with the other man’s.

Eddie cards his fingers through Buck’s hair. A fond sigh escapes before he can stop it, as he tries to wrangle his feelings into some palatable words. “I know you’re hard on yourself, and I can’t stop you from doing that, but, I wish you’d give the rest of us a little more credit. You assume we feel about you how you feel about yourself, but that’s not true.”

Buck’s breath stutters, and Eddie thinks the long-brewing tears have finally spilled over when a little spot of wetness blossoms on his neck.

“We love you- I love you, Buck. I want to be there for you, but you have to let me in,” Eddie breathes. Another not-kiss is pressed to Buck’s head.

“Same goes to you, Diaz,” Buck chuckles, voice wet. “Okay. I love you, too, you know?”

“Yeah,” Eddie buries his nose in Buck’s hair, lets his eyes flutter closed. “I do.”

[cambot77]

When you mentioned Becky doesn’t know how to budget, I came up with this short caption.

Anya: So, how’s living like a “commoner”?

Becky: Oh, it’s been great actually. I’m shopping for my own food and getting stuff that I like and good for me. Don’t know why you make things so hard?

Cashier: That will be 200.

Becky: Okay, just put it on the blackbell account and bag it up please.

Cashier:…I have no idea what you’re taking about.

Becky: I-Oh! I forgot, you see my dad is making me live like a working class person as a punishment and usually when I buy something I told them to put it on the blackbell account. But I forgot about that.

cashier: That’s great, you still own 200 for all the food.

Becky: I don’t have that much money, can I pay the what I have and pay the rest when I’m done with my punishment?

Cashier: *Baffled* I’m sorry but we don’t give stuff away.

Becky: So what can I do to pay this bill?!

*Later* Anya:…That uniform matches your…socks.

Becky, in a cashier uniform: I feel remorse for you Anya.

Aaah, Anon! This is great! So sorry for the late response - I've been thinking about this for a long time, though.

----

Becky shut the locker door with a snap and took a moment to rest her head against the cold metal. The employee breakroom was deserted at this time of night as most of the other closers were either finishing their final tasks or had already gone home for the night, but Becky being new (and therefore slow at her job) still had to mop the aisles of the store and put the go-backs on the shelves. She had slipped into the breakroom to take a breather, and the pounding at her temples echoed the pounding of her feet where they pressed against the still-stiff pleather of her new work shoes.

To say the day had been hellish was an understatement. She had thought that this last day of her first week would be a bit easier than previous days, but she had been wrong. The milestone meant nothing, because even though seven days had passed, Becky was still struggling to master even the most basic tasks of this, her first job, ever. Which she shouldn't even need to have in the first place! How was she to know that Daddy had been serious about his threats to cut off her access to the Blackbell money if she moved in with Bill while they were still in college? It was ridiculous to still think like that these days, but he had actually meant it! She had been shocked when she had tried to make purchases at her usual stores and been denied, and a quick trip to the bank had just confirmed that Mr. Blackbell was playing hardball with his rebellious daughter. Well, two could play at that game. Becky had always prided herself on her resolve, and if her father thought he could bring her to heel and give up her independence and love using money, of all things, then he was sorely mistaken.

That still left the matter of how to afford things. Bill had his own savings but Becky had never saved because she had never needed to. That had been a very frank conversation between them, but Becky had been confident that she would be able to contribute. Getting a job had never been a goal of hers, but after all, people went to work and made money every day. How hard could it possibly be?

Apparently, very, if her aching back and oncoming headache were any indication, and that didn't even begin to touch on the positively awful way some of the customers had talked to her that day. Who knew people could be so terrible over trivial things? Was it her fault they had run out of sale items, or that all the cashiers had decided to go on break at once? No, and yet she had borne the brunt of their anger just because she had been close by at the time! She wasn't even a manager! It just wasn't fair!

But she'd persevere, because the alternative was just too awful to think about.

Her father would pry her housekey with Bill out of her cold, dead hands.

Filled with fresh resolve, Becky stood up straight again and slapped her cheeks to get some life back into her. Just half an hour to go, and then she could go home to the apartment she and Bill now lived in. It was modest (to her eyes, it was still larger than most family dwellings in the city) but nicely furnished, and Bill would be home, waiting for her, to kiss her and tell her she had done well that day and make everything worthwhile again.

She smiled to herself. Yes, it was all worthwhile just for that. For him. Because she knew that he would work jobs like this - or even worse ones - if it meant they could be together. How could she do any less in return?

"Becky!" someone called before they opened the breakroom door, and she looked up just as Dwayne, the manager on duty, came in.

"There you are," he said, and rifled through a stack of envelopes in his hands. "Thought you'd left already."

Becky shook her head. "I still have to do the mopping. What are those?" She gestured to the envelopes in his hand. Dwayne looked at her curiously.

"Our pay packets? Today is pay day, you know."

"Oh!" Becky exclaimed in surprise and delight. "We get paid in envelopes!"

"Uh... yeah." Dwayne handed over the envelope with a raised eyebrow. She had put a different last name on her hiring paperwork, so her lack of general commoner knowledge sometimes caused her co-workers to look at her strangely because they did not know one of the richest heiresses in Berlint was stacking cans amongst them. She knew they thought her an escapee from a boarding school or some such thing, but in that moment, she did not care. Becky ripped into the envelope eagerly. Finally, all of her hard work was paying off!

Then, her face fell.

"This... this is it?"

Dwayne was already going back out the door. "If you have an issue, call corporate payroll. And don't forget to leave out the wet floor signs when you mop this time."

Becky slumped against the lockers, not in defeat, but in something very much like it. How could a week of work only earn the sum in the envelope? She did the mental math, but each time, the numbers didn't lie.

She had spent more than this on a single meal in the past, and now looking back, she cursed herself for her wastefulness. Money wasn't just numbers in a bank account or an intangible, invisible thing to her anymore; it was hours of work, discomfort, and real, hard proof of her efforts. It meant food in the cupboard, lights in the apartment, heat, hot water, all of it. It wasn't a certainty anymore but it was still a necessity, and as she stood there and counted her pay one more time, she realized something equally important.

This was the moment her father had been counting on to break her. He had probably hoped that when she tallied up her pay and expenses and saw the imbalance, she would be swamped with hopelessness and come crawling back. Becky Blackbell, after all, was used to nothing but the finest, and there was simply no way that her meagre paycheck could sustain even a fraction of that lifestyle no matter how much Bill could supplement it with his own money.

And there was a moment (brief yet fierce) where her soul did quail, and a small voice whispered that a simple phone call would make it all go away. She could be back home in her huge, luxurious bed before midnight, snuggled up and safe with all the Blackbell fortune like an invisible wall behind her...

But she would be alone in that bed, and no fortune, however large, could replace the strength and security of Bill's arms.

Becky swallowed down the fear and uncertainty and firmed her resolve once more. She would just have to work harder, or even get a second job, whatever it took to make it work. She was sure that plenty of people had survived on less than this, and besides, once she was graduated and had her degree, why, she could earn even more! There was nothing saying she had to work at grocery stores for the rest of her life! And Bill's career in the Army was also pretty much guaranteed, so really, there was no reason to buckle now! They were just getting started!

And they would stay together. That was what really mattered to her.

Of course, they would have to tighten their purse strings a bit... maybe she could forego her morning coffee to save some money...

She mopped the store as quickly as she could, plans and budgets spinning in her mind while she worked, and by the time she stepped outside she was full of her usual cheerfulness again.

That cheerfulness only doubled - no, quadrupled - when she saw who was waiting for her.

"Darling!" she cried out happily as she took a running leap into Bill's arms. He caught her easily and she reveled in how tightly and happily he held her. How could she have thought, for even a moment, that she could survive without him?

"Hi, sweetheart," he smiled as he held her with her feet dangling off the ground. "How was work?"

"Horrible," she said with a smile, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Have you come to take me home?"

"Of course, you know I don't like you wandering around by yourself at night." He looked stern and protective and Becky felt her heart melt just a little.

"You're so sweet," she sighed. She squirmed to be put down. "Let's go home."

Bill did not let her go, though. "Actually..."

"What is it?"

"Well... your dad called."

Becky stiffened. "Oh?" The last time she and her father had spoken had been the day of their blow out fight, and she didn't like to remember it if she could help it.

Bill's expression gave nothing away. "Yeah. He wanted to talk to me, actually."

Now Becky was really alarmed. She knew her father had nothing against Bill in particular, had even been happy when the two of them had started dating, but still. He had also been adamant that only a wedding ring would allow Becky to live with a man, and as she and Bill were still only "engaged to be engaged," she didn't think her father had called to chat with Bill about the weather.

A horrible idea came to her.

"How much did he offer you?" she snarled. Bill looked taken aback behind his glasses.

"What?"

"To give me up. How much? One million dalc? Two million?"

"Becky, that's--"

"Don't tell me he offered less?" Now she was really outraged. "Oooh! Put me down! I'm going to march straight to his office and tell him just where he can put his bribe money!"

She fought her way back down to the pavement and Bill lowered her, but he kept his hands around her arms to keep her from storming off.

"Listen!" he insisted over her ranting, and she huffed into silence. "He didn't offer me anything."

"So he threatened you instead?!" If Becky had had fangs, they would have been out. How dare her father even think--

"No," Bill said pointedly. "He called because he wanted to talk about you and me -- not like that! Listen, sweetheart! -- he wanted to make sure my intentions are pure and honorable, basically. And he wanted to know how you're doing. He's really worried about you, Becky. When I told him you were working overtime at a grocery store, I think he just about fainted."

"Well, he probably thought I'd come home by now," she allowed as she crossed her arms. "But the only home I want is with you, so the sooner he realizes that, the better."

"I think... I think he realizes that now," Bill replied hesitantly. "I told him the truth: we are definitely getting married and I'm absolutely serious about our future together no matter what. And he knows you're serious, now, too. So, he wants to come over tomorrow to talk it over with us, and maybe he'll give us living together his blessing after all."

"I don't need his blessing," Becky retorted, then softened. "But it would be nice to have."

Bill gathered her close again. "I know how much it means to you to be on good terms with your father, sweetheart. And who knows? Maybe if he gives us his blessing he'll give you access to the family bank account again."

Becky pulled back to insist once again that she didn't care about the money, but she saw the twinkle in Bill's eyes and knew he was joking. She batted at his chest ineffectually.

"Even if he did I certainly wouldn't spend like I used to! Did you know, things cost actual money? Like real, tangible sums?" She looked up at Bill and saw him stifling back laughter. She pouted.

"I mean it! I worked my butt off all week, and the paycheck barely covers our food bill! I tell you, when we get home we are going to have to make some changes."

"Who are you, and what have you done with Becky Blackbell?" Bill laughed tenderly, and then tugged her close as they turned and walked towards home.

--------

Well, this certainly spiraled out of control! I do like the idea of Becky working some crappy job and realizing, oh my gosh, this is how normal people have to live every day. How does anyone do it???

Of course, Bill's money is probably more than enough for them to get by, but it would still be finite and so horrible customer service job for Becky AU is born!

Lol, thanks for the idea, Anon! :D

[artsybelle1015]

Suicidal in Twisted Wonderland

Grim found your calendar, and it all goes downhill from there.

Genre: Angst/Hurt Comfort

trigger warnings(!!!): the mc is SUICIDAL, talks of suicide and plans, heavy topics not for the faint of heart or odd mindset, spoilers only if you haven’t gotten that far into the game, reader uses they/them pronouns

•••

“[Y/N]?”

“Yes, Grim?”

“Why doesn’t your calendar go to next month or any month after that?” Grim scoffed. “I needed to put the tuna sales there to remind you.”

Ignoring his comment on tuna, your eyes widen. You had never expected him to bother looking at a calendar, especially yours since you usually filled it up with test dates. But as of lately, you had planned to take your own life by the end of the month, exhausted of dealing with this school and your inability to go home.

“Henchmen!” Grim hollered.

You shot up out of your seat, emotions swelling in you. Yes, you had planned this out for awhile, but being confronted by someone other thank yourself about your calendar sting a part of your heart. Without thinking, you ran to the door, tears welling in your eyes.

Panic ensued within Grim, he saw this unnatural reaction and leaped back, getting on all fours and hunching his back up. Heavy pants emerged from his mouth.

He had never seen you behave like before. In specific terms, he was worried and scared. You ran off to who knows where.

Getting back into shape, Grim rushed to the door, jumping repeatedly to pull the doorknob down.

“Stupid legs,” he uttered, coiling his body and springing up, catching the handle and weighing it down.

Finally, now the door was open he ran out in search of you.

Grim felt terrified, you ran off wordlessly. Although he doesn’t like to admit, he cares about you, and he doesn’t want you getting hurt.

Having no sense of which way you went, he first ran onto the campus because that’s where you two frequented most. He wondered if you went to Heartslabuyl since you’re closest to Ace and Deuce, and without thinking much further he bolted to the Mirror Chamber,

Whilst he ran and entered, he wondered why some stupid incomplete calendar made you react this way. Or was it something he said?

“Grim!” called a confused voice, the voice belonging to Ace. “The hell are you doing here?”

Followed behind was Deuce, both in dorm uniform as it was the weekend.

“My henchman is gone!” Grim hollered.

“Wait, what do you mean?” Deuce inquired, slowly and gently picking up Grim.

Taking a panicked breath, Grim exclaimed, “I showed them a calendar and they just ran off…”

“That’s odd,” Ace commented. “Why?”

“Well no matter, we have to act on this now!” Deuce declared, voice shaking. “We must do what it takes and find them!”

“Shit, how?” Ace inquired.

“Yeah they could be anywhere! And I want my henchman back!” Grim hollered, wiggling out of Deuce hold.

Deuce let Grim hop to the ground, standing up straight and proud, right hand over heart. “I know just the guy.”

___

Pathetic. You were pathetic, sitting in the woods sobbing on the ground.

You thought you hid yourself well, but Grim has to snoop through your calendar, revealing that you wouldn’t make it past next month.

It was so tiring, you were so tired, you had been there for everyone, but who had been there for you? No one, that’s who. Ever since coming to Twisted Wonderland, you had been thrusted into dangerous situation without warning, hurt way too many times to count, and Crowley is abusing your desperate state. You were so sick of it, you loved your friends so much, but you know they would never understand your pain. The overblots you faced has scarred you.

Even so, a part of you knew Grim didn’t understand what the calendar meant, he was simply confused and asking why. Oh God, you thought. How would he live without you?

That was the reason you broke down, you didn’t want to face people about your problems. You only kept it deep down and inside, maybe if you had talked to people they would recognize your pain. They’re all eighteen or younger, it’s unfair to expect them to know so much. Now it felt humiliating to go back.

“Child of man?” a voice spoke.

You whipped your head over to see the friend you called Hornton. Normally he stayed around the house, why was he so deep in the woods?

He seated himself next to you, staring at you, he looked concern. “What troubles you?” he inquired.

The setting sun and shadows of the tree swallowed his face, but his eyes shone. They reflected hints of yellow and pink as they bored into you

Tears walled up more in your eyes, so you looked down in the ground in shame. The grass was your best friend now, the only thing that wouldn’t look at your in judgment.

You were a horrible friend, making Grim and possibly now Ace and Deuce worried, running off out of nowhere. You should have sucked up the feelings and lied out of your teeth, it would’ve been for the better and you wouldn’t have to be here.

Hornton just kept staring though, making you want to cry even more. You decided to curl up and hide your face between your legs, in hopes he would leave.

But you could feel the eyes staring at you, intensely. He was still waiting an answer from you.

“It’s stupid,” you blurred out in a weak voice.

No, you didn’t want to die, that was dumb of you to think. You’re fine, it’s fine, you won’t leave them. Just hold on another few months, you could manage that, right?

“Is it?” he asked.

The question shocked you a bit, making you raise your head up and look straight at him, his facial expression seemed rather lost. Your eyes were bloodshot and wide, staring straight into his neon green ones. It wasn’t, if this has been anyone else you would’ve told them it’s okay.

He spoke again, “If it is what you can ‘stupid’ why are you crying a lot over it?”

Wiping your eyes, you looked away and chuckled a bit. “In your time of living, have you ever wished to be dead?”

“I feel that is natural to think.”

“No,” you uttered. “Like you really want to be dead so you planned it out.” It wasn’t a question anymore, you know that he most likely didn’t.

“Why do you wish to be dead?”

“I’m so exhausted all the time, and i’m not getting better. I already came into this world feeling horrible and it’s only gotten worse.” You looked back to your closest ally, the grass. “And I feel like no one cares.” It felt like you couldn’t control the words coming out, like they were itching a way to escape, all you needed was to tell someone even if you necessarily didn’t want to.

A soft sigh sounded, not of being upset, but it felt like it was empathetic. You faced him again and he slowly lifted his hand, rubbing the top of your head softly.

There was no time to question this sudden affection, you lunged towards him and tackled hug. Sobbing into his chest. His arms were so comforting it was unreal. He cared.

“I do not wish for you to die, child of man,” his voice softly rang. “So please, stay a little longer.” Though his pitch started to sound broken, like a part of him was hurting.

“I’m sorry!” you cried, grabbing at his blazer. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He only rubbed your back and remained silent.

As your wails began to fade, he held you closer and spoke once again, “It is time for you to rest.”

Everything faded to a comforting black and silence.

___

It was a peaceful moment, you were content, you felt rested. It was a perfect state.

Now, it was time to awaken unfortunately.

You expected to wake up in the woods, but instead what awaited was the Ramschakle ceiling and the familiarly feeling of your bed.

Questions rang through your mind if you had dreamt it all, but was quickly shot down when Grim lunged at your chest whimpering.

“Henchman!” he choked. “Don’t leave me like that again!”

He curled up into you, nuzzling his face against yours which flabbergasted you. You never expected him to be so affectionate like this, much less care as a whole.

“Oh sevens, finally!” You looked over and saw Ace, his breath quick with panic.

Deuce came up too. “I’m so happy you were found.”

“It’s a good thing I remember your scent well,” called out Jack.

They were all in the room with you, they were waiting for you to wake up, they tried to find you.

“Why did you run off Prefect?” Ace questioned, leaning besides you. “Did Grim say something dumb?”

“I said I just asked about the calendar!” Grim hissed, standing in defense.

Right, the calendar, what started this mess. There was no dreaming this, it was time to face the truth, which caused you to cry once again and feel pathetic.

Grim jumped back into your stomach in surprise. Ace eyes widened in horror.

Deuce cleared his throat, though he sounded shaky. “Clearly there was something important on that calendar and we shouldn’t push them about this, it isn’t right!” he announced.

“I agree.” Jack nodded.

But you just brought your hands to your eyes and bawl every tear that held back against your waterline. It started with a dam having minor leakages, to full on breaking. You wanted to tell them everything.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Ace mumbled, standing up. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Before he could walk away, you grabbed his hand, holding it tightly that is showed you were begging him to stay. You looked at him, lip quivering, staring into his unmoving distressed yet confused face.

You had to tell them, they were your friends and they clearly cared. All eyes laid on you now.

“I was planning to kill myself next month!” you blurted out, heart stopping because of the silence. Now you were horrified you messed up. “That’s why… the calendar upset me, I cut the other months off because I didn’t want to plan anything to keep me alive.” You were about to pull the covers over yourself to hide again.

“Don’t leave me!” Grim howled, tears in his eyes, he jumped at you again, closer this time, pouring all his own tears out.

You quickly hugged him.

“You can’t die on us!” Ace retorted, but quickly he grabbed onto you and pulled you for a hug.

“Prefect we need you,” Deuce anxiously said, staring at you with pleading eyes.

Jack even stood up, rubbing the back of his head a bit. “Life wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Yeah!” Ace was not tearing up too. “We’re all suppose to be a group, remember? We wouldn’t be here without you.”

“You helped us through so much…” Deuce looked to the ground in shame. “But we failed to help you! We’re horrible friends!”

Grim was staying desperately close despite Ace’s tugging. “Who will I have to feed me and wake up with me and go to class with me!”

“You’re important to our lives, [Y/N],” Ace muttered softly. Despite his personality, he can quite soft and comforting.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to utter. “I’m sorry that I’m also making you feel like horrible friends.” More shame and guilt rose into you.

Deuce ran over and answered, “No! We’re the ones who should be sorry!”

“I think we pushed you too much,” Jack exclaimed, sitting next to you on the bed.

“You took care of us,” Deuce whimpered, he also began to become a sad mess, “now let us care for you.”

“Yeah! You don’t need to buy me that tuna!” Grim whimpered. “I just don’t want you to leave me.

Although you spent way too long sobbing in their arms, you knew you had people who cared for you.

___

It remained an oddly peaceful night, it seemed everyone was on their best behaviors. Of course, that only lasted a short amount of time. Though, it was relieving since there was a sense of normalcy in that.

You looked out from the porch, staring at the closed off gate. The reason for your stares was thoughts of your friend rolled by. You wish he would come and visit soon, but that seems to be not the case.

Even so, you knew it had meant nothing personal about you, he did find himself in different places at different times.

You only wish to thank him for his comfort and the restful slumber.

Peeking back inside, you could see Grim on the kitchen table with a box of crayons. He resembled a little kid, he was making more months for the calendar that he declared you must live through since he’s working so hard to create it.

Everyone in there you had told you felt guilt over them going through all this, but they assured you they would rather know so you don’t hurt more.

Although, you still felt the same about your suicidal feelings, you at least had the comfort to know people knew how you felt and would stop you. You were loved, a fact that you would now have to start drilling into your head, and that was a reason to keep going.

•••

a/n: shockingly, i have not seen people play around with this concept and it was such an inspiring thing for me. it was also for some self indulgence, i may do it more in the future with other characters and optional crushes.

also i don’t know much about malleus so i’m going on gut instinct here sorry if he’s ooc!

[dumbmusclehypnojockboy]

Odds & Ends: The Muscle Shirt, a Sk8ter Dreams story

9,900 Subscribers SPECIAL

Thank you everyone! In the lead up to the big 10,000 subs, I'm going to be posting some of my oldest original stuff. I used to be a tf writer known as LanceFan2001 or Ikaika. I frequented cyoc.net and the narcississ archive (i think it's the predecessor to the current GSS.com) and the original gay muscle story archives.

These were the days that we had to put warning lables before we posting gay stuff. It was a time before network admins or parental controls, It was a different world. But maybe not so different.

I was lucky to find a community, and someone important to me, whom I have lost contact with was O'Melissokomos: The Bee Keeper. He had his own site, that was part transformation stories part political news blog. It just worked. Anyway, he illustrated this story. I am so thankful that CYOC still has those images. So, I present,for the first time with illustrations , Odds & Ends: The Muscle Shirt.

Odds and Ends: the Muscle Shirt

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction depicting gay sex. If reading such material is offensive to you, or if you are under the legal age to read such material, please read something else.

Author's Note: This is a tale in the Sk8ter Dreams universe spin- off, "Odds and Ends". Special Thanks goes out to Reaver who started this universe.

Second Author's Note: This story is not meant to offend ANYONE. It is FANTASY, and should be taken as so. Thank you! >>>Ikaika<;<<

Trent Stephens dried his hair with a towel he had taken to storing in his school locker-yet again. This time, some freshman jocks had the pleasure of "flushing" him. You would think that as a high school senior, Trent would be the one administering that particular rite of passage, or at the very least would garner a little respect from the incoming freshmen. Sadly, he did neither.

Perhaps it was because of his appearance that he faired so poorly with his peers. Trent stood at 5'6", and weighed 235 pounds, most of it fat. He never wore any trendy clothing, instead, sticking to a wardrobe consisting of thrift store finds. Perhaps, adding to Trent's position on the bottom of the social ladder, was the combined fact that he was the new kid, who had no backbone.

Trent was also a nerd. Growing up, while the other boys were outside, playing tag or participating in sports, he preferred to sit in the library and read books, or sit in front of his custom-built computer, and play games. He really had no friends either. He obviously didn't fit in with the jocks or trend setters, and even the computer nerds felt that he was too geeky for their clique.

Trent slammed his locker shut, and with a clumsy, jerking movement, swung his book bag over his shoulder. Just as he was leaving the school, his backpack, filled to the brim with books for school, and "a little light reading", ripped at the seams, causing one of the straps to tear, and littering the deserted hallway with his books and folder paper. "Shit," he silently cursed, "What else can go wrong today?"

It took Trent about 15 minutes to pick up his things, and find a plastic bag to put his stuff in. He exited the school, and made his way to the bust stoop. As he approached the stop, he heard the bus approaching. He ran for it, only to be left behind in a cloud of dust, as the bus zoomed past.

"Great," he thought to himself, "looks like I'm walking home again."

Luckily for Trent, he only lived a mile from the school. He began his trek home, huffing and puffing in the hot and humid August sun.

He passed the many banks, stores and strip malls that were a common sight in suburbia, not paying too much attention to what he was seeing. He walked by a bakery, enjoying the smells waffing in the air. He pressed his face against the glass to see what treats were available for sale inside. As he glanced back towards the sidewalk, he noticed something unusual. The lot next to the bakery, that had been empty ever since Trent had moved to town, was now filled. In it, a store had appeared, almost overnight. Green awning lined the front and the sides of the store, and a sign reading "Odds & Ends", displayed the name of the establishment.

His curiosity piqued, Trent entered the store, and he heard the jingle of a bell ring overhead. Trent took a moment to look over the shop. It looked like a thrift store, with shelves piled high displaying miscellaneous artifacts. There were also a few racks, tables and bins of clothing, and a shoe rack in the corner. His eyes fell upon one item in particular... a sleeveless, Navy Blue, Abercrombie & Fitch shirt. Trent walked towards the rack, his palms sweating in anticipation. The shirt looked oversized... Really oversized! Just as eh was about to reach for the shirt, a voice called out to him, "Can I help you, sir?"

Trent jumped in surprise. "Where did he come from?" he wondered as he got a look at the person the voice belonged to. He was a teenager, looking both innocent and mature. The shopkeeper was dressed in a baggy green shirt, and had a backwards, sized, baseball cap on with a logo that was unfamiliar to Trent.

"Hi," Trent said, a little shakily.

"Hello," The shopkeeper said, "looking for anything in particular today?"

"Well, this shirt intrigued me," Trent answered. "I've never seen such a large A & F shirt before. Is it genuine?"

"Indeed it is, sir," the shopkeeper said, as he calmly walked to the rack, picked up the shirt, and showed Trent the sewed-in labels.

Trent looked at the labels, the shopkeeper presented. Stitched into the material of the shirt was an original label. It showed the size of the shirt as being a XXL. It also had a second tag sewed in above the main tag that read "muscle."

"I never knew A & F made shirts in a XXL size," Trent quasi-asked, quasi-stated.

"If I'm not mistaken," the merchant replied, "They tried it once, but found that it didn't fit in with their marketing campaign."

"Heh," Trent thought, "their marketing campaign. All those hot models in, but mostly out of their tightly fitted clothing. Those hot bodies... how I wished I had a body like that.

"How much?" Trent asked.

"Only $5.00," the storekeeper responded, "but, I think that it's a little too big for you. Why don't you try it on? The fitting room's right there," he added as he ushered Trent into what looked like a closet with a shower curtain in front of it.

Trent shrugged his shoulders, took the shirt the teen held out, and slid the curtain shut. Feeling a little strange, he shucked off his sweaty polo shirt, and put on the Abercrombie & Fitch tee. Trent looked into the mirror. He felt that the shirt fit him just fine. It wasn't baggy at all. In fact, the vertical white stripes down the sides of the shirt, actually helped Trent look a bit simmer. It was his slight paunch, however, which stretched the shirt out a little, that kind of ruined the effect.

"How does it look sir?" The storekeeper asked, breaking Trent from his train of thought.

"It's a little tight," Trent said.

"Nonsense!" The teen replied, opening the curtain and ushering Trent out of the room, and in front of a mirror mounted on a wall. "Let me take a look."

"It's a muscle shirt," the shopkeeper said, "so, it's supposed to be a little tight." He tugged the shirt in a few places, adjusting a few folds, and smoothing out the shirt. "Looks like a perfect fit to me," he said, admiring his work.

"How can you say that?" Trent asked, a little irritated.

"Look in the mirror."

Trent did as the shopkeeper asked, and was taken aback by what he saw. His stomach wasn't protruding as much as it was just a few moments ago... In fact, his belly seemed to be diminishing, the accumilated fat, just melting away.

"How did that happen?" Trent asked.

"What do you mean sir?"

"That," Trent said, as he pointed to his stomach in the mirror. Trent let out an audible gasp as he was in for another surprise. His once flabby stomach was now gone. He stood transfixed as ridges formed on the shirt, holding tight to his body, and revealing slight definition. The crevices deepened as a four-pack developed into a six-pack which then morphed into a highly defined, ripped eight-pack.

"Whoa... What was THAT?" Trent asked dumbfounded.

"I still don't know what you're talking about sir," the shop keeper said, ignorant to the fact that Trent was changing before his own eyes.

Trent realized that he was now looking down on his companion. He could have sworn that he was eye to eye with the shopkeeper when he had walked into the store.

"This is so fucking cool," Trent said.

"Sir," the shopkeeper responded, "I still don't know what you're talking about..."

But the shopkeeper's remarks were cut short, as Trent doubled over, and reached for his legs. They were cramping... BIG TIME! As he put his hands around his calves, he thought to himself, "They're growing!"

And he was correct in his analysis. Trent's claves were growing. In fact, his whole leg was expanding in both directions. Rock hard muscle developed on his calves and thighs, as they both lengthened. They were engulfed in pain, until finally, the growth stopped. The results were diamond shaped calves, the definition impeccable, and the size of a football. His thighs were so thick, they resembled the trunk of a coconut tree.

Trent then began to feel a pressure around his feet. They felt squeezed into his shoe all of a sudden... suffocating in the tight quarters in which they were contained. Quickly, Trent bent down to take off the shoes. When he did so, he found that his feet were also growing. Creeping past a size 11... slowly stretching, elongating past a 12 �... the bones crunching, crackling and reconstructing themselves, finally stopping at a size 15. His socks then reshaped, and readjusted themselves from knee high tube socks, a pair of Nike no-show socks.

"Are you okay sir," the shopkeeper asked, not really understanding what his customer was going on about.

"I don't kn..." Trent cried out, "But.. but... ARRGGGHHHHHH..."

Trent's comment was cut short by a new pain, this time centered in his chest. On the one hand, he felt like he was being massaged, yet on the other hand, he felt like his chest muscles were being pulled apart. He started sweating profusely, as he gawked in the mirror. His man-tits were disappearing! They were restructuring themselves, turning the once jiggly fat reserves, into solid plates of steel. His pectoral muscles (that's what they were now, not fat, but pure muscles) stretched his shirt to the limit. Trent realized that the shirt he was wearing began to shrink. The bottom hem creeping up, revealing the cobblestone bricks he now had for abs. Trent watched as his nipples shifted, now facing outwards, instead of the downward direction they once faced.

His pecs now pumped, the pain moved to his sides, back and shoulders. Trent's traps, lats and back muscles grew out, forcing his arms to hang at an angle, instead of straight down. His shoulders widened and broadened. The changes finally stopped when Trent's frame looked like a doorway: intimidatingly looming.

Trent didn't have time to comment on this, however, as the pain moved to his arms. Bones crackled and muscles elongated to keep up with his lengthening arms, which grew in proportion to his new physiology. Then, as they stopped their downward journey, his arms began to swell. Like a balloon inflates, Trent's arms blew up, but unlike a balloon, Trent's biceps and triceps were filling up with strong, hard, potent muscle tissue.

Trent's arms continued bulking up, finally reaching a point when his upper arms resembled basketballs. His skin was stretched tight, that it appeared his skin was no more than a sheet of paper. The feeling shot from the arms, down to the forearms. They pumped up, increasing in size, finally looking like miniature legs of lamb, but without any of the fat.

Next, Trent's hands expanded. Growing to mach the size of the rest of his body... HUGE! Joints popped, bones broke apart and reformed, and ligaments and tendons realigned themselves until Trent could more than easily palm a bowling ball... yes, a bowling ball!

At this point, Trent looked into the mirror, and realized what was happening. He saw his solid body, rippling with newly formed mass and muscle. He was turning into a jock. He was becoming one of those jocks he had always fantasized about being. One of those jocks that had always picked on him. The very jocks he detested, yet, subconsciously longed to be.

With that thought, an erotic rush came over Trent's body, centered in his groin. He accepted these changes... No... not accepted, he embraced them... welcomed them. Then, he felt movement on his thighs, and realized that his briefs were turning into boxer briefs... The underwear inched down his thighs, and fit tightly over the densely packed muscles of Trent's thighs and bubble butt. Then, he felt more movement, and an electric shock in his penis. "No, not my penis," Trent corrected himself, "My cock... my fuck stick."

He felt his cock snake down his thighs, and was surprised when the growth seemed to complete itself when it reached about three-quarters of the way down his thigh. Another erotic rush shook his body, as his balls swelled in size from the size of grapes to the size of golf balls, and even then, a little bit bigger. Trent's nutsack dropped, and met expanded to match the growth of its contents.

"UUUGGGH!" Trent grunted, his now deep voice, echoing with a bassy resonance. "Oh, fuck!" he exclaimed, a new sensation spreading across his face and neck.

"Sir," the shopkeeper said, "If you're going to be a while in front of that mirror, I'll just be doing a few things that need to get done. Just call me if I can help you with anything." And with that, he disappeared from Trent's view.

Trent watched in the mirror as his face rearranged itself. First, his eyes lightened, going from a dark brown, to hazel, passing pale green, and finally stopping at a bright, mesmerizing blue. His cheekbones and facial structure transfigured, giving Trent more angular features, raising his cheekbones higher, and squaring off his jaw. Then, his nose collapsed, and reconstructed itself, giving Trent a nose that appeared to have been broken a few times, yet still having a shape that perfectly matched his other facial features. The pieces of the puzzle coming together, Trent looked into the mirror, and marveled at the fact that the face looking back at him was a face that could be on billboards, magazine covers, and even in the Abercrombie and Fitch Quarterly!

Trent's hair lightened in color. Changing in a few seconds from black, to a sun-highlighted, bleached blond look. It filled in fuller, and thicker than ever before, and all of a sudden, his scalp started itching, as it all started receding back into his skull. All that was lift was a short crew cut, with the sides and back faded down, and his bangs up-turned and spiked out. Then, he watched as his sideburns filled out.

The itching exploded all over his body, as all the hair on his chest, legs, arms, abdomen, back, underarms and crotch, retracted back into his skin. The itching continued as fine blond hairs, started filling in creating just a very slight treasure trail that lead to a very well trimmed and maintained patch of hair. His balls still remained hairless, as did the rest of his body, which would forever remain so. Trent's skin then started darkening. It changed from the pasty white that he once was, and darkened into a rich, golden tan. His complexion was simply perfect, and his whole body just radiated a glowing aura.

All of a sudden, Trent clutched his chest. It felt like something was moving in his heart. He felt something crawling under his skin, and in a moment, he realized that the sensation was veins. Veins snaking their way across his body, down and across his chest and abdomen. Veins popped along his legs, and arms, forming obvious webs and patterns here and there. And then veins started popping along his newly muscled neck.

Trent was feeling pumped! He felt the strength that he now possessed welling inside of him. As he made a double bicep pose in the mirror, he froze. He wanted to stop posing, to go into a most muscular pose (something that he never knew about before), but was frozen in place. Something was wrong... something was tickling him? Trent looked into the mirror at his stomach, and saw that his clothing was now changing. The shirt he tried on remained the blue and white sleeveless Abercrombie and Fitch shirt that it was, however, bottom hem crept up, and took on the appearance of a cut-off tee-shirt.

His former jeans, which now looked like ridiculous high-waters, tied on with a cloth belt (which seemed to have tightened itself throughout the transformation) altered themselves. They grew longer to match Trent's new height. Then, they changed colors. In some places it got darker, turning into a dark brown or black. In other areas, the jeans lightened, turning olive or light green. Then, as a whole, the jeans began to fade, looking as if they had been washed many, many times. Rips and tears appeared randomly, and Trent's belt's excess length hung in front, perhaps hinting at the massive organ that Trent now possessed. The pants had become a pair of waist 28, vintage wash cammos from Abercrombie and Fitch.

The shoes that Trent had cast off earlier now faded out of reality. They disappeared from sight! A brand new pair of black and white Nike cross-trainers formed on his feet.

Trent's book bag then began to flicker. It elongated and widened, darkening to black. A logo appeared on it, finally revealing itself to be the Adidas logo. Trent's backpack had become a gym bag. The books that were in a plastic bag next to the backpack disappeared, gone from Trent's memory, and the memory of the world. The new gym bag filled itself with workout clothing, a pair of shoes, and a jock strap. Not to mention a few other items... condoms and lube!

Suddenly, a sharp, throbbing pain erupted in his head. Trent quickly reached for his temples. It was like a vise was pressing his head, squeezing tighter and tighter. "ARRRRGH," Trent screamed in anguish, "My fucking head! What the fuck is happening to m... ARRRGH!" The pain was incredible!

A new feeling was added to the torture he was enduring. From somewhere within his cranial cavity, it felt like his brains were being forced through a small sieve. Trent's natural ability to learn, and hold knowledge of the world decreased. His very IQ lowered, nearing 90. Things Trent learned from school and books seeped from his head, leaving an empty brain. "Fucking A man, make this stop," Trent cried out, still in pain.

As the torture continued, Trent's brain rewrote itself with information. It filled with knowledge about working out, nutrition, and sports. Trent could no longer tell you the state capitols, but he could tell you that he worked out everyday for two hours, doing bench presses, cable flies, and bicep curls. He could ramble of rosters from sports teams. He didn't know anything about foreign trade policies, but he now knew that the Camero was a bitchin' ride.

Trent's attitudes changed. He now had an aversion for geeks and nerds. His life revolved around, hot guys, hot cars, hot sex, and flexing his muscles on and off the sports field. His world now focused on keggers, and his vocabulary now only encompassed simple words and phrases. Trent no longer would be the sniveling coward who just took everything that came his way. He would now be a cocky jock, who had an air of arrogance and confidence in everything that he did. And his voice, no longer would Trent be confused for a woman on the phone. Instead, his testosterone charged voice boomed with a bassy resonance.

And, as suddenly as the pain started, it stopped in an instant.

"Whoa," Trent said, "That was one nasty trip. I wonder if that's the ephidra in Xenadrine or somethin'."

The sales person came back to the dressing area. Not having heard or seen Trent in a while, he was a little concerned about his customer. "You still doing okay, sir?" he asked.

"Yeah, dude," Trent replied, "I'm okay. That was one hell of a rush!"

"Sorry sir."

"Not your fault guy," Trent said, "what do I owe you for the shirt?"

"Let's see now," the shop keeper said, "Five dollars for the shirt."

Trent reached into his pocket, and retrieved his money, having a little difficulty counting out five ones.

"Thanks man, that's fucking cheap! Let me know if you get anymore in." Trent said after handing the kid his money. "I gotta go to the gym... There's a stud waiting for me, and he's gonna be in for the pounding of his life," he added, thinking about how the star quarterback was his own personal boy toy. Man, this shirt is gonna look awesome on me tomorrow when I start going to my new school `Trent Hall's School for Young Adults'."

"I'm sure it will sir," the shop keeper replied.

And with that, Trent Stephens picked up his gym bag, and walked out the door, the bell overhead jingling one last time, and headed out to his new life.

"Another satisfied customer," the mysterious shopkeeper said to no one in particular. •

`

Please let me know if you liked this retro post. I have some others that are in reserve, so if you would like to see me post more, like and comment!

[5eraphim]

tf2 mercs: least to most fun to go shoplifting with-

(unedited/rent lowering gunshot post) 

10. Heavy

he’s not too observant and can’t help but draw attention, though it’s unlikely anyone would try to stop him even if he was caught trying to make a get away.

while he might not stop you, he wouldn’t encourage this kind of behavior. in his eyes it’s just a silly way to get into trouble, and has a hard time understanding the appeal of this.

he’s a hunter, not a gatherer an is at a natural disadvantage here. heavy is a simple man, he lives within his means, and is content to abstain from this practice.

9. Engineer

like heavy, engie doesn’t really get the appeal, but would be able to get away with stealing way easier than heavy. 

he was probably brought up taught this sort of thing was very, very wrong and disrespectful to the employees or something- or like, maybe he was caught when he was really young trying to steal idk, a toy or a snack or something in school and got in trouble and he’s never been able to shake the guilt. (he’s not a cop or anything, but would have the “I’m not mad, just disappointed” reaction if you were to proposition going lifting with him. and if he were to see a stranger trying to get away with stealing, he’s not gonna snitch.)

he’s always wearing those overalls and his work belt, so theoretically, he could empty all those out and go in with a ton of free pocket-space. he’s also on the shorter side and could easily keep his hands below the employee’s eye level.

might have a bit of fun tinkering with ways to disable security mechanisms. might randomly decide to disable a bunch of security devices and walk out without taking anything with him. just to sow a little chaos for funsies.

ok with stealing things like food if he were in an extreme situation, so long as you were stealing from some corporate chain store, and not a smaller independent location.

8. Soldier

HE IS NOT SNEAKY, HE DOES NOT WANT TO BE SNEAKY, PLEASE DO NOT MAKE HIM BE SNEAKY

the best strategy you could hope to use with him would be to just straight up ask him to go beat the fuck out of the cashier while you grab what you want and make a run for it. 

7. Pyro

it’d be fun to convince them to do this with you by pretending it’s all some game, and whoever can walk away with the most without getting caught is the winner.

when you put it to them like that, they can do quite well for themself, but prefers to stick closer to you, rather than stray too far on their own. it’s impossible to get much of a bounty with pyro, but they want to win the “game” so earnestly it’s hard not to have a good time despite the lack of reward.

always rips off soft security tags, but also likes to wear them on their clothes like stickers, completely defeating the point and getting caught as a result.

6. Spy

realistically, he’d be the best lifting partner you could ever hope for, but he’s too aware of this and would be really fucking annoying about it. you would walk away with some great loot for sure, but that doesn’t exactly mean it would be fun.

exclusively goes for ridiculously expensive items he hardly even wants or would realistically use. he doesn’t even really have anything to prove, he just does this for the bragging rights.

spy knows he has the huge advantage of being the kind of person sales associates wouldn’t assume would try to steal, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

to people he doesn’t know- he’ll lie and say he paid for all his luxuries bc he can afford it, but people who are tighter with him know he’s stolen a decent amount of his finer treasures. 

5. Sniper

he lives in a campervan and doesn’t have too much space for cargo/personal belongings, but he’d really be in his element here, even if he doesn’t completely get the point of “the fun of stealing for the sake of stealing”

while he’s sneaky, he’s also real lanky, and would draw attention on account of being so tall, making him a solid diversion. 

he’s pretty fun to go out with, but he also only wants to go out once in a blue moon, so you’d better savor the time with him while it lasts. (he was simply not built to compute with capitalism, though he can handle small doses for the sake of a good time)

4. Scout

he’s done this all before. scout’s the little guy and has always felt the need to prove himself, especially to his older brothers/teammates/friends growing up. scout was probably hazed/dared into stealing a lot during childhood and adolescence, and has gotten remarkably good with practice. (unfortunately much like spy, he too knows he’s really good at this and won’t shut up about it.)

as the one who’s been at this forever, he likely has his own hook, a neodymium magnet, and is really good at the tinfoil trick. (you know he’s got them fast lil’ fingies) 

he’s surprisingly good at keeping his tracks covered and getting away with stealing. excels with a blitzkrieg, “get in quick, get out quicker” strategy. he’s not in it to steal expensive things, just likes to stir up a little trouble every now and then.

though, with all that said, just because he’d be great at shoplifting, he’d also be great at getting himself caught. he’s the biggest braggard, and would be way too likely to get cocky and brag about his heist before it’s over, and get himself caught and banned.

he’d be the most apt to, and grateful to accept gifts from you if he knew they were stolen. likes the idea you’d risk getting in trouble for him, and would want to try and one up you, and get you something he stole himself.

3. Demo

he wouldn’t exactly be good at this, but it would be fun. he wouldn’t shoplift alone, but is into the idea of doing it in a pack, or just with you.

realistically, he’d get a couple lifts in before he starts to get overconfident and gets himself and everyone he’s with caught.

specializes in liquor lifting, but likes to pick up little gifts for his buddies. (maybe one of the only guys who genuinely likes to gift stolen goods, rather than receive them.)

having one eye puts him at a serious disadvantage here, and he’s not too sneaky, but he’s usually pretty good at scoping out the area before trying to make his move.

2. Medic

able to strike a perfect balance of stealing expensive items, but wouldn’t take himself too seriously, and wants to have a good time above all. it’ not about stealing expensive things, so much as it is about getting loot from as many different locations as possible.

he’d likely have the coolest little cashe of the weirdest stuff he’s stolen. he’s much like a magpie in that sense, medic likes the idea of pilfering and bringing treasures back to his “nest” and having his own little secret hoard. (he likes stealing and gifting for others too, but prefers to be able to keep what he takes)

his morality is completely relative and fickle- there’s no way he would have reservations about stealing from corporations or “big money” stores, or just about anywhere he thinks he could get away with

would hide stuff in his underwear bc he is a WHORE

1. Miss Pauling

would be the most fun to go shoplifting with. she has so much stress to burn off from work, and she could have a lot of fun winding down from a long day of mortal sin and heavy crime with some lighthearted crime.

would be willing to get tipsy or stoned before going out because she’s more interested in having a good time, rather than the bounty itself.

she’s feral, she’s evil, you know her hunter-gatherer instincts go fucking CRAZY.

women be shopping

[chronicowboy]

temptation tuesday

tagged by @try-set-me-on-fire (i have such a big fat creative crush on you btw) <333

so i am trying to focus on my original fiction (my queer (mainly wlw) pirate novel, my play called GENDERENVY, my sitcom about my evil hellhound of a dog) for my last summer before i graduate but obviously fic is an unmoving parasite on my brain so you can have a little extract of the fic i most want to write but absolutely cannot continue for some reason:

Somebody sits down beside him. A woman of around his age who is beautiful—no other way to put it—and only vaguely familiar like an itch in the back of his skull. She's short, probably wouldn't even reach his shoulders if they were to stand, pale skin and a freckled face, piercing green eyes and red hair so dark it almost looks purple until the sunlight catches it. She smiles at him when she catches him looking, something searching on her face like she's trying to place him just as much as he's trying to place her.

"Oh, you're Buck, right?" she asks with a dazzling moment of realisation. "Christopher's dad?"

Ah.

"Oh, um, no, not exactly," he mumbles. "I mean, yes, I'm Buck, and I'm here for Christopher." He wrinkles his nose at himself, squinting slightly in the glare of the afternoon sun. "Not, like, here for him here, you know? I'm not, like, kidnapping him. And I'm not-not his dad?" He clears his throat and glances back at the entrance, checking his watch as his leg starts to bounce. "I mean, I'm not his dad. I'm his dad's best friend. And Christopher's best friend too." She tilts her head at him, eyes narrowing with a scrutiny that only makes the words keep coming. "But, uh, not in, like, a no responsibility way. I'm also kind of his guardian? Or, well, not yet. That only ever happens if Eddie dies. Which, um." He swallows loudly, fear bitter as bile and thick as mucus in the back of his throat. "Fingers crossed that that won't happen." There's an awkward laugh as Buck rubs at the back of his neck. "I'm..." He sighs, shoulders drooping. "I'm Christopher's Buck."

When he turns back to her, he's expecting her own awkward smile or amused laugh; that's normally how these things unfold. Although Buck has never quite beefed it that spectacularly before. Instead, when he returns his attention to her, there's a dazed sort of understanding on her face. That's when he sees a glimpse of her with one of Christopher's friends at the last bake sale.

"You're Charlotte's mom, right?" he asks, immediately cursing himself when her cheeks turn red in much the same way he's sure his did at her own assumptions.

(Ass = you and me, Buck thinks.)

"I'm, um, Dina." She introduces herself with a nervous nod, folding her arms over her chest. "Charlotte's mom's best friend," she clarifies with a meaningful look. "And Charlotte's best friend. And, also, a kind of co-parent, I guess?" She bites her lip and looks over at the school doors just like he had. "Legal guardian in the event of Morgan's death too." She nods once again, short and sharp and final, turning to him with something scared and hopeful on her face. "Are you in love with Eddie?"

Before Buck can even splutter in reply, the school bell rings and the doors fly open on a crowd of over-excited children ready to go home and watch TV or play video games until their heads hurt. Buck should probably be looking for Chris, but he can't tear his wide eyes away from Dina's anxious anticipation as she waits for an answer.

"W-what?" he breathes out. For all of these misunderstandings he's been through, even outside of the school, nobody has ever called him out on it before. "I'm not... Why would you... He's not... We're not—"

"Oh, thank God." She sighs happily, a sad grin stretching across her face. "I'm in love with mine too."

tagging my usual lovely legends @shitouttabuck @butchdiaz @diazass @danielsousa @alyxmastershipper if u have anything to share <3

[grievedifferent]

basing directly off sam raimi for a) the fact that he's primarily known as a horror director, b) is a huge name in the industry, and c) is likely on the level of josh's dad, here is roughly the "net worth" of the washington family.

by 2015, his dad is worth $45,000,000 USD if you liquidate all assets entirely down to what they're directly worth.

why this number? sam raimi is worth $40 mil. robert (bob) washington is described so heavily as this movie mogul in hollywood and this huge hotshot producer / director figure who has all these awards, has a significant sized family (it's not cheap raising three kids), and literally bought a mountain (ie enouigh property of the mountain for the peak to be considered "mount washington" after razing an entire hotel to build a lodge atop it, among other little things to keep everything operational (including lighting, sheds, electrical gates, etc) among other things.

which, just really fast, what is the cost of buying a mountain? or buying a mountain that way josh's dad did? there's a couple of answers:

a) it was likely cheap. it doesn't have a functioning ski lodge, it's not farmable, it's not commercial use, none of that. bob had to put the work in making the land "viable" or even usable to his family. it was also bought for personal use. this wasn't a lodge to rent out, this was another home. anyways. b) it's "cursed". which comes with cheap. there's been a ton of history about this, which likely drove away other sales, and allowed him to negotiate. c) he didn't actually buy the whole mountain, just enough of it to really claim "social full ownership" (if that even makes sense? he owns a bunch of it, just not all of it).

cost: roughly anywhere from $2mil USD (least) to maybe $10mil USD (most). likely between $4-6mil USD with a promise to raze the hotel for him. also, my cost-estimates are actually going off of the modern market, not in the late 1990s when he purchased it, so it was probably even cheaper tbh.

"After a successful career in Hollywood netted movie mogul Bob Washington fame and fortune, he purchased an extensive amount of land atop Blackwood Mountain to serve as the idyllic vacation retreat for his family in 1997. The manor house he built there functioned as an ideal getaway and a testament to his wealth and prosperity, and thus the Washington Estate was created. However, the site would prove to be anything but relaxing. Trespassers, protestors, and an enigmatic figure seen on the property would unnerve Bob's wife Melinda. The ultimate tragedy came in the form of the mysterious disappearance of his children." - source

so, bob was likely always in the industry in an "indie" way, then really popped off in probably 1994-1996. more money, more movies, more prestige, more connections, more everything. it happened somewhat fast, though he had always lived comfortably. this would make sense, as i have josh being born in 1994 just based off of his age and the timeline of UD.

so ... josh is a nepo baby, that's just how it is. he was born into wealth that just continued amassing before he can even fully remember being alive. he has a trust fund. he's always going to be taken care of. any kids he has will be taken care of even if he decides to never work again or expand the empire.

i've called him that from the start. he's definitely not in the 1%, but he's definitely likely one of the wealthiest (and most famous / famously connected) people his friends know currently (and might ever know tbh, he's such an exception to the rule in a way which is why we find his friends also being generally in the upper class).

also, just being real, josh is this way strictly so he can do this entire prank for the story of the game. he has to be that rich and also connected in the way of hollywood to pull this off, it just makes sense. otherwise, it's a lot of explaining when it's just much easier to say "he's rich, he's connected, his dad is in the industry, and he wants to be, too" than going "well, he got this x way and this y way and did this z way". until dawn was never meant to get that deep for the length of game, we see these constrictions all over the game because it was originally made to be a "couple's game" where couples passed the controller and played together.

however, he's very interesting as a character when "wielding his wealth". he can't help but "be rich". by this, i sort of mean like ... being invited over means seeing that wealth on open display, but it's not exactly his display so much as his parents. we can argue josh's aesthetic style later, but he definitely is rich in blood. he likes the nicer things, but he's super simplistic at the same time? he's fine to hang out in a house that isn't a mansion, he doesn't think he's "slumming it" by hanging out with anyone that isn't a millionaire, but he is used to that lifestyle. he has this sort of balance he's found, which is a good thing about josh, he does have good traits.

it's like this: josh both does and does not "fit" into the world he was born into. he's likely known by others in his sphere as a sort of eccentric, maybe a bit aloof or weird, and definitely as a creative type. but he doesn't always "get" this stuffy vibe, this sort of facade, and he likes to think of himself as "real" by comparison.

but we see in his choice of friends that they're still pretty wealthy, so there's a comfort there. we could argue that maybe chris? potentially ashley? are more "middle class" (still doing well), and i see matt as coming from the sort of family where he's the first that's "born into" some sort of wealth (from his parents), but it's made to be clear that most of these kids are basically rich kids, such as sam, mike, em, jess (her parents bought her FOUR PHONES in ONE YEAR, that is EXPENSIVE).

chris's general personality but comfortability with the washington family's wealth tells me he could be kind of either? hard to really say unless i was writing him myself, but this is the general vibe i follow and thus otter follows. chris and ash are middle class by comparison. it goes up from there.

josh follows a very personal motif of "if i say we're eating, i didn't ask for money, i asked for your order" or "if i'm eating, you're eating" which extends into a "if i'm smiling, you're going to be smiling" or "if you're not smiling, then i'm not smiling".

[cerastes]

Top 5 written words moments that speak to you, from books, novellas, visual novels, goold ol' vidyagames, anything. the words that hits like a brick

“Faith, n. Belief without evidence in what is told by one who speaks without knowledge, of things without parallel.” - I beg your pardon for opening with some edge, but for angsty teenager Drimo, who was positively going through it, and yet who thought himself above simply lashing out at the world around him, the words of Ambrose Bierce's "The Devil's Dictionary" were practically an oasis. This is but one of many such quotes from Bierce's work, most of which are not intending to be edgy or cutting, and more than anything, humorous. Humor has been my strongest tool in dealing with pretty much everything, and I think it's due to The Devil's Dictionary influence on me.

“Ponemos barreras para protegernos de quienes creemos que somos. Luego un día quedamos atrapados tras las barreras y ya no podemos salir. Solo las lágrimas de auténticos sentimientos te liberaran de tu armadura”. -> "We put up barrier to protect ourselves from who we believe we truly are. Then, one day, we find ourselves captive behind these selfsame barrier and we can't leave. Only tears charged with authentic feelings could free you from your armor." - Robert Fisher's "Le Chevalier à l'armure rouillée" (The Knight in Rusty Armor) is one of my favorite books ever, the one, in fact, that taught me how much I could love reading. I'm glad it was the one. The context of these lines is that the Knight, the main character, is trapped in his rusted set of armor, which is a metaphor for his conscious lack of personality beyond what he ever wanted to project. When he couldn't get out of it, it took a long journey for him to realize just how much he hated being "the Knight" exclusively; he is the only unnamed character in the book! He is only ever, The Knight. It is ultimately, after many trials, that he manages to shatter his helmet when he cries about it, because the tears shatter the rusty armor around him. The way I'm speedrunning the description may make it seem on the nose, but throughout the narrative, this is perfectly well done and it led me to a lot of... Personal realizations about myself.

“Los animales aceptan y los humanos esperan. Nunca oirás a un conejo decir: espero que el sol salga esta mañana para poder ir al lago a jugar. Si el sol sale o no sale, no estropeara el día al conejo. Es feliz siendo un conejo. El caballero pensó en esto. No recordaba a ninguna persona que fuera feliz simplemente por ser una persona” -> "Animals accept, whereas humans expect. You'll never hear a rabbit say: I hope it's a sunny morning today so I can go play at the lake. Whether it's sunny or not, the rabbit's day won't be ruined, it'll be happy just being a rabbit. The knight pondered about this. He did not remember a single person that was happy simply for being a person" - Another one from Le Chevalier à l'armure rouillée. Every day of my life, I want to go to bed thinking "that was great" or "I learned something new" or something like that. And accomplishing that starts at the beginning of each day. No matter what, I don't want to let me make excuses, I don't want to let me ruin my own day before it even begins. Unstirred by circumstances, unmoved by temperaments, I firmly believe that your happiness is your responsibility first and foremost, and other things getting in the way of it are things you simply must rise up and surpass. I used to complain about things and blame others for my circumstances. I stopped doing that. I've been happier ever since.

"Seek adversity. Seek strength. The rest will follow." - You can say whatever you want about Dark Souls 2, but it had very clear and congruent themes. Of the lines and messages of this game, it's this line of dialogue, spoken by King Vendrick, that stays with me more so than any other. Because, yes, indeed... Life isn't easy, but it isn't necessary complex, either, and a lot of things are tied to one another... Sometimes, it's as simple as walking down a road, you know? And if you seek self-improvement, you will invariably face off with your inadequacy, and if you beat your inadequacy, if you rise up and acknowledge it and don't hide from it and fight it and win it... Well, the rest will follow.

"¿Cuántos, en la vida, huyen de otros porque no se ven a sí mismos?" -> "Just how many people, in this life, flee from others because they don't see themselves in them?" - From "La Vida de Lazarillo de Tormes" comes this moment that I always think about a lot, particularly in the present day: Even supposedly open-minded people tend to like echo chambers. People with the same opinions and same tastes, and, yes, it's important to be able to relate to those you are closest with, or to people in general... But not for the life of me could I stand an echo chamber. It's comfortable, but it ultimately leads to stagnancy, and a reinforcement of a status quo in which one must always Think The Right Thing. No. I detest that. I refuse to partake of that. If having different opinions or not being mirror images of each other is a deal breaker, I hope there's no deal to break in the first place between us. And after realizing this for the first time, thanks to this book, yeah, I made much better decisions regarding who to fraternize with.

[prophbuilds]

Buying through Buyee

OR!

How I Found a Pair of Unobtainium Kits and used a Proxy Service to Increase My Backlog by Two

First and foremost, this is not sponsored. I don’t even take sponsors for my comic – the thing that is effectively my career – so there’s no way I’d do so for the thing I do as a fun hobby. This is all me and my personal experience using a proxy service to buy stuff from Japan.

Anyhoo! What follows is my experience using the proxy buying service called Buyee to purchase a pair of Catsith kits on the Japanese version of the Mercari website. I went into this knowing that many a Retro Tech and Gunpla YouTuber I’ve watched has used it to get stuff. Figured I’d give it shot.

I have had on my old “Kits to Buy” list the HG Catsith – a cute looking grunt suit from the series Mobile Suit Gundam: Reconguista in G (G-Reco for short) – for a while now. It's been sitting on one of my Amazon Wish Lists for so long it’s kind of become a marker for old stuff that never really comes up for a decent price. I say “Decent" because the lowest price it’s ever popped up at was around like $40? It usually runs around $60 or more if it ever pops up for sale.

This is a kit that's Supposed to be priced between $15 to $24 give or take where it's coming from.

Unlike the Hero suit, the G-Self, the Catsith is stuck in relative obscurity thanks to Bandai never reprinting the thing. It may be a Grunt suit but it’s not like a GM or a Zaku. Most of the other characters ended up with fancier mechs that got their own kits. That and G-Reco isn’t all that popular compared to some other Gundam series so you don’t end up with random reprints for the toy hungry fanbase.

Time passed and I’d recently found that it’s harder to find neat stuff for my various family members and myself for the holidays and whatnot. My getting the younger folks into Anime and video games is proving to be double-edged sword. Now… I've known about proxy services like Buyee for a while now. They tend to be talked up in Retro Tech and Gunpla videos as a place through which the various YouTubers have purchased stuff. Having seen their results so many times, I figured it was time to give it a try.

Setting up an account was easy enough. Nothing really too different from setting one up at any other online shop. The one thing that’s really different is it's more akin to the old Metacrawler search engine. You can select the shop you want to search but I kinda’ just winged it and tried out Mercari. No rhyme or reason to it. Just the one I though might have something neat that wasn’t a straight up auction site.

At first, I just kinda’ popped in “Gundam" and saw what dropped. Then I remembered something important: It's searching Japanese sites. It makes more sense to use the language of the folks who post things there. So I took a leap and looked up the Catsith’s Japanese name and BAM! I got a whole bunch of hits. Not just the usual “This is a Gundam Kit” results that I normally get searching English language sites but actual kits – both prebuilt and unbuilt kits. It was here I found a listing for two unbuilt kits.

Needless to say, I bought it as soon as I could.

Now things get fun.

Whenever I do something like this (buy something through a site I’m personally unsure of), I use my PayPal account. It acts as a buffer between my personal bank account and the site if things get squirrelly and, if it works, acts as a buffer between my personal bank account and the site if I decide to go on a spending spree. The more steps I put between myself and buying things, the better I am at not putting myself into debt.

I say this because I’m kinda’ to blame for the added time on getting these into my grubby little hands. It took a bit to transfer funds into my PayPal account to use on both buying the items and paying for shipping. -.-

The price for the two kit bundle came out to 4300 Yen or $30.50 at the time of purchase. That’s 3800 Yen for the item, 300 Yen to Buyee to buy the item, 500 Yen for their in-house checking and a 300 Yen coupon to save a Little bit of money on the whole dealie. This all gets the package to Buyee’s warehouse. They can hold stuff there free of charge for 30 days. You can also buy more and consolidate it later… but this time I did a single package.

After some doing and some waiting on money transfers on my end, we get to the hardest part of any international buying: Shipping!

Buyee gives a Bunch of options for shipping. Everything from fairly quick choices to ocean shipping that will take months. Needless to say, I took them up on their Buyee Air service that would take around a week to get here. It cost me 5188 Yen or $37.05 for the one package. Again, Proxy Services (or just international shops that let you consolidate items) tend to work best when you buy multiple items. That’s when shipping gets low enough to not be more than the original item.

All in all, I’m in $67.55 for two kits that would’ve run me about $7 less if I could find and buy just the one on a site like Amazon. The time from start to finish was a little under two weeks. I ended up with not one but Two unobtainium kits and a way for me to shop for the Holidays when my nieces and nephews ask for items that just never come to or came stateside. = )

[ghostgirlvii]

A love letter to Mass Effect

( ft. my OCs; Daryus, Alexis and Kirr :3 )

Today (27/10) mark the 11 year of me discovering Mass Effect. A little more than a decade later, this game still hold a very special place in my heart. I say this knowing full well that I have been jumping from fandom to fandom, hyper fixation changing over the years, posting less about ME. Yet, it is the only consistent thing throught out the years. The one happiness that keep dormant and some times come back. Like every N7 day ❤️

Mass Effect means more to me than just a game. I discovered it in a time where I was a little lost in life. I recently finished highschool, had dropped college, worked a whole year and was actually trying back to go to school. Bakery class. I was a little lost overwhelmed by all that was going on. One day my best friend came over and she had this game, she got on sale on Steam. It looked interesting. Space, fight, action, futuristic, stuff I like. Peaked my interest and the same day I decided to buy it. And so I started my Mass Effect journey.

I tried the first game, you know the OG one, not the amazing remake of Legenday, and god I hated it. So I gave up only started from the second. Eventually bought the third game later on. Mass Effect 2 was my first introduction (or a re-introduction) to RPG style game. I never really had played a game where your choices mattered and had consequences (at least aware of it. Sorry Legion and Miranda!) but also romance?! Totally discovered that by accident. I thought I was casual, nope apparently I had accepted to sleep with the big lizard man 😂 Rambling a little but, ME really gave me an idea of what game genra I like. Even today, my most favorite game are RPG ones (Dragon Age, Cyberpunk 2077, Fallout (althought I did play it before but never really grasped the concept till ME)) The more I played the more the characters started to feel like family. Back then I probably did 5 playthrought in a row. Probably burned me out in restropect but I enjoyed still.

This game also came at a moment where I was trying to distance myself from Transformers. It had helped me throught a hard time in my life and most of my highschool years, but the fandom was getting to toxic. I had to escape. With Mass Effect, I started new. I met awesome people. Some who just passed by, other who stayed who are still mutual till this day even if we talk less and I'm jumping fandom, but... It's also thank to Mass Effect that I met my partner. Because he saw art I made of my OCs. And while it all started as just randomly talking throught ask on tumblr (back in the days where DM didn't exist lol), nerding about ME and eventually other thing, it turn out that 10 years later we are stuck with each other still ❤️ For this I owe Mass Effect a lot. Around the same time I also got my first dog ever which obviously I had to name after one of my favorite character. Tali 😌 Althought she had more a character like Jack. My big girl who stayed with us for 8 years, I miss her dearly.

Talking of OCs, these three as seen above here are my first, and for a long time, most thought out ones. Today it might be blurry but back then, my Mass Effect lore knowledge was off the chart. You know all the Star Wars or Trekkie geek who know all? That was me with Mass Effect. So I was able to really make them more fleshed out, connected them to the canon without be completely depend, they had their own adventures. Today my CoD OC has the same work put into her, if not more 🫣 Still my little trio still hold a place in my heart even if I draw them much less.

Mass Effect by itself is a game with great aspects for the time it came out, but also as its flaws, nothing is perfect. But I'm not here to give an analyse on that, enough people do it. Yet I do understand that it wasn't perfect. Even if it sounds like I put on pedestal, it's only for the reason above. How it changed and helped my life. This is my love letter to it. Because I don't think I would be where I am now if it wasn't from it. If I had never knew the game, I wouldn't have make OCs. No OCs, my partner never find about my blog, we never talk, I never move to Belgium and I never have the life I have now. Today, most of my playthroughts are left unfinished, a little bit like the drawing above. For various reason, but the main one is I always play till the Citadel DLC and then I can't bring myself to finish. It's like leave it in a constent state of happy time, of cherished parts and nothing sad happen. My happy place.

Ok I'm not to sure where I was going with this, I'm probably rambling and it's hard to put in word what I feel about this game, how much it means to me. I feel like this text doesn't give it justice but it's all I can say.

TLDR: Mass Effect changed life, I meet amazing people because of it and even if the game as its flaws and I'm not as active as I was about it, I love it with all my heart and nothing will ever change this.