#On the other; very stressful for cat and only keeps him clean for so long :(

[selvepnea]

Depending on how big the closet is, keeping BiBi in a enclosed space might be a good idea while you wait for the vet appointment so that you know where he is and can get to him easily. Some cats like to hide when sick or injured, or just plain upset/scared.

Since it sounds like diarrhea, make sure he has water and/or wet food so he doesn't get dehydrated. And if you can fit his litter box in there cats like things that smell like themselves.

I hope any of this helps!

I ended up doing something similar! I was a little worried if he would be more adverse to eating sine I was moving his food so far, but he seems to be eating ok still.

Funny thing, when I checked on him in the morning he was pretty clean, but the closet was a mess when I got home ^^"

Turns out he got some sort of parasite? I think? (I was too tired to ask too many questions :( ) so I've got about a week's worth of medicine before his stools start firming up again u_u

[callofdudes]

Can't sleep, having a bad night so I give you cat shifter Ghostie ok??

Cat shifter Ghost headcanons.

Simon is comforted by the smell of those closest to him. It isn't uncommon for Price to wake up and go looking for his fresh laundry only to find a certain cat has already burrowed himself into the pile.

Especially if it's a chilly morning, without the fur, Simon loves to find the closest familiar laundry basket and slip in for a snooze.

Or if any of you have just done a load and bring it to your bed to sort and fold, sometimes Simon will hop up onto your bed and start kneading your clothes. As if trying to help, or just liking the stress toy.

Simon doesn't like cat toys, you aren't getting him wrapped into that- oh shit a laser! Oh yeah, you can get him with that laser. that pesky laser, his insides scream to catch it.

His belly is extremely sensitive, and he isn't always comfortable with butt scratches, but under the chin?? Oh yeah, that spot right there. If you scratch under his chin he will consider dying for you instantly.

You and Johnny always buy those stupid cat sweaters. Sometimes their scratchy on his skin and other times he just looks stupid. One year you got him an uncle Christmas cat sweater and made him wear it. It was actually very cozy and he still has it.

As you may know, Simon likes to sleep under the blankets with you guys. Snuggling up to Price's side, finding a warm pocket under your fuzziest blankets.

If you have your weighted blanket even better, Ghost loves it.

If there are recruits in Simon's path he'll usually do his best to avoid them. Or just generally keep from shifting outside of the main base because he doesn't know what will happen.

He feels incredibly small when faced with people he does not trust, if Price is with him he'll feel less like he's backed into a corner but it will still be there.

Simon knows very well that he can act as an anxiety pet. And while he's got chronic problems of his own, he knows that sometimes you all just need some comfort.

When you were having a bad night he'd hop onto your bed and knead your shirt gently before laying down, head nuzzled under your chin.

He let's Gaz pet him for reassurance. Tail flicking and smacking as he lays loaf style or completely stretched out, knowing Gaz is a safe person.

He'll come over to Price's desk and run his tail under Price's jaw as he goes by, purring and coming back around to do it again to get Price's attention off his computer or his paperwork.

Price knows Simon needs a safe place he can go and unwind, so he made a perch above the shelves in his office so Simon can go up there and nap or watch the world. And a small cat bed on his desk so Simon can be closer and within arms length.

Yes, Simon will be an asshole and steal food off recruits plates that he doesn't like or has beef with. And most of the time the recruits can't say no to the mysterious cute kitty they don't realize is their asshole lieutenant.

Sun lounger. Yes, he loves sleeping in dark corners where he knows he's not going to be seen, it makes him more comfortable. But if there's a Sunbeam through your window or onto the perfect spot on Price's desk he can't help but indulge.

Simon often has a lot of things to do, and many people in the military skip meals because of mission routines and such. Which is why Simon prefers to bath himself with his tongue than actually baths, especially if he's low on time. Even if it doesn't keep him clean for as long.

Johnny tries to record those stupid TikTok videos with Simon, making him dance. And Simon tolerated the stupidity for 8 seconds before he launches around, hissing and scratching at Johnny who begs for mercy.

Simon does that thing where he sits on one of the chairs at the table and reeeeeaches over a paw to dip it into Price's tea. And Price looks at him disgusted as Simon licks it off his paw. Mm, delicious.

Sometimes he's an ass and if you walk into the kitchen he'll swipe at you from on top of the fridge. Or you'll open up the freeze and Simon will hop up and give you big brown kitty eyes.

Feed me...

When Price lets Simon come back for leave with him to his house, simon doesn't shift for a bit. He doesn't like being small and vulnerable in spaces he doesn't know like the back of his hand. But after about a week Price wakes up to a familiar cat stretching out across his warm chest, curling up and flopping on his side.

Price smiles softly, scratching between his ears, closing his eyes again. Hearing those soft purrs start.

Kitty Simon knows that he can be totally vulnerable around Price, even if it takes him some time.

Snuggling up to Price's arm, between his shoulder and chest, stretching out and snoozing. Huge power nap.

And he trusts you guys too, getting more comfortable. Sometimes Johnny gets jealous of Price before Simon gives Price snuggles and not him as much.

But hell, you all love the little guy. Which you are very well aware is your giant lieutenant on the flip side.

[pinkieclown]

Cats The Musical Autism Headcanons

because these kitties are autistic okay!! honestly i think all the characters can be autistic these are just the ones i have specific ideaz for :3

mungojerrie & rumpleteazer (cause the twins definitely share some traits lol)

- the talking talkers… they’re both hyper-verbal :) while their chattiness can sometimes help with their schemes (they like to engage a friendly policeman in conversation!) but usually they just talk cat’s ears off cause they like talking

- always up in each other’s space, these two have very little sense of personal space and are always grabbing each other’s shoulders/arms or leaning on each other, snuggling, or generally being close to each other

- both love jumping up and down or running around to stim! sometimes they link arms and run in a circle for minutes at a time just to get their energy out

- they’re pretty spontaneous when it comes to their heists, usually jumping into it before fully working out a plan, but both can get very upset when something goes wrong/doesn’t go their way

mungojerrie

- TERRIBLE with eye contact, he’s always looking at everything except the person he’s talking to. definitely adds to his kinda ‘shifty’ reputation

- loves oral stimming, usually chewelry or something of the sort, but will absentmindedly chew on p much anything in his reach (pens, plastic, teazer’s arm, etc)

- has poor volume control, tends to talk just a bit too loud or too quiet depending on the situation

- tends to accidentally interrupt/talk over others cause he doesn’t really understand their cues

rumpleteazer

- very touchy-feely… but only on her terms! she loves initiating snuggles hugs or play-fights, but if someone touches her when she’s not expecting/in the mood, she won’t hesitate to take a swipe at em (jerrie is usually the only exception)

- tippy-toe walks alllll the time. helpful for moving quietly when she needs to but will do it for no reason at all

- loves to give cats nicknames, but doesn’t understand how they work so just decides on random nouns to call her friends

- has a hard time understanding metaphors and sarcasm

etcetera

- THE STIMMER!! she loves to stim! usually flapping her paws, tapping her toes, or bouncing in place, but pretty much any repetitive movement is a stim for her <3

- related to her stimming, she cannot sit still! she’s always moving around, playing with toys, or shifting from side to side even when she’s supposed to stay still

- loves to knit or crochet with jenny, since its repetitive and keeps her hands busy, plus she gets a cute scarf at the end!

- has echolalia, she often repeats words/sounds other cats say, usually just to feel it in her mouth

mistoffelees

- non/semi-verbal, only speaks when he’s very comfortable or around certain cats (like victoria or tugger)

- loves to perform but is naturally quite shy and quiet, so tends to lean on his ‘stage persona’ to express his more dramatic and expressive side! when he isn’t in that mindset though he’s very aloof

- very diligent about keeping himself clean and tidy. he can feel when even one tuft of fur is out of place and it BOTHERS him

- has hypersomnia, he’s always sleepy and gets worn out pretty quick (especially after his bigger magical feats)

- has very specific day to day routines (wakes up at a specific time, visits the junkyard on specific days of the week, etc) gets really frustrated and stressed if they’re interrupted or changed

- he’s a house-cat, but refuses to wear a collar (he hates how it feels)

sillabub

- didn’t speak for a long time growing up, but at like age 4 (in cat years) suddenly started speaking in full sentences. demeter was very surprised

- has a (terrifying) habit of slipping into this wide-eyed hundred yard stare when she zones out. it took a while for everyone to get used to that

- very sensitive to lights and colors, she’s the first to notice when the light shifts ever so slightly, and too-bright lights or colors are very overstimulating for her

- doesn’t like being touched except by her moms and sister (demeter & bomba and electra, respectively) and even then only in certain moments

- special interest is the night sky, she knows all the names of the constellations and can tell you the phase of the moon on any given night

- makes A LOT of eye contact

[donsgraveyard]

hi :3 you don't have to answer this but i desperately want to see your headcanons i love headcanons such a good meal

uh uh ok I hope the selection I have is ok for you thank you for asking I’m like crying also this is a lot I realized so I’m sorry

Nightwolf is like really good at playing drums and electric guitar cause his family is a metal head family so he grew up with his kin always jamming out to metal and rock of all kinds. He gets a little defeated sometimes cause he doesn’t have like any personal time to keep playing…

Also Nightwolf makes his own jewelry like his bracelets and necklace, he made himself. He makes his own bead work earrings too but only wears them to events ….which he like never goes to…

Fujin and Raiden have a library in the Sky Temple that’s full of books they’ve collected and gifted each other over the years and Fujin keeps accidentally getting the same book over and over every few hundred years

Fujin likes to paint sometimes like it’s not smth he loves, loves, but it passes the time and he likes to see how he improves over the years. Fujin likes to lounge around so sitting and painting what he sees really relaxes him. He likes water color and likes to sketch portraits of Nightwolf’s face but Nightwolf doesn’t know that….

also Fujin loves to make bread….. he lived in a village for like five years when he was living among mortals, and the elder women of the village taught him to make bread and pastries so he makes some treats for him and Raiden sometimes

I also like to think Fujin and Raiden have this portrait of themselves hanging in the Sky Temple… many years ago a painter approached them and requested he be able to paint the brothers and they agreed. The brothers look at it some times and think about how much brighter and ‘younger’ they looked those years ago before their responsibilities became more stressful and commanding

Kabal has two moms……… I have no like reason for this one I just think he has two mamas and he loves them very much. He kinda drifted from them, though when Kabal was a teen cause he started getting involved with crime and stuff and when he joined the police force with Stryker, Kabal is still healing his relationship with his moms….

specifically mk1 Bi-Han has a little stuffed cat he keeps clean and healthy, because it was the one thing he had as a kid that like allowed him to be a kid? Yk what I mean? It’s so small he can fit it in one of his palms …

It took a long, long time but Takeda learned how to braid Jacqui’s hair properly and he gets really good at it!! He does her hair and kisses her shoulders and stuff while he does, and then Jacqui turns around and gives Takeda one of those silly on-top-of-the-head ponytails that sticks up and she giggles about it

Cassie and Kung Jin are K-Pop fans and Cassie blows Johnnys money on concert tickets all the time and they come home and crash in Cassie’s apartment to sleep in until 4:00 in the evening cause they are so exhausted

um I can’t think of any others rn……. I hope these are ok and what u were looking for

[writer-freak]

Crackling Tension | Childe x Gn reader College AU

Summary: The undeniable tension between you and Childe had to snap one day and that day was finally here. 

The headcanons and the fic are separate and aren't intended to play in the same universe

Warnings: gn reader, modern au, college au, have never played genshin so could be ooc, fluff, kissing, english isn't my first language

A/n: Wrote this for my bestie's birthday but personally I don't really know anything about genshin, still tried my best because he is my bestie's fav character. I wasn't very confident in writing him so I did some headcanons and also a little fic (they are not really related to each other)

Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated and really motivate me to write more

Childe as a Roommate (college Au):

Childe is that roommate who's always out partying

Whether it's a random weeknight or the weekend, you can bet he's got some plans or is trying to convince you to join him

His room is always cluttered with sports gear, gym bags, and probably a couple of questionable protein shakes

He's the guy who's always hitting the gym or asking you to come along for a workout, claiming it's a great stress reliever

Childe loves cooking, and surprisingly, he's good at it

Expect to come back to the smell of some mouthwatering food he's whipped up for the both of you.

And yes, he will brag about his cooking skills

There's a constant stream of friends coming and going from your shared apartment. Childe is social and has a wide circle of friends, so your place becomes the unofficial hangout spot

He's a bit messy but somehow manages to charm his way out of any cleaning responsibilities. You'll often find yourself picking up after him, but he'll make it up by treating you to his latest cooking experiment

Childe is surprisingly good with plants. He has a couple of potted ones in the shared living space, and he's convinced they respond better to his presence

You're not entirely sure if that's true, but you don't mind the greenery

His music taste is all over the place, one moment, you're hearing classical music and the next, it's heavy metal

Childe says that he believes in appreciating all genres

━━━━━━☆━━━━━━

The atmosphere around Childe and you crackled with an undeniable tension, one that seemed to intensify with each day of your college life. From the moment Childe decided to sit in the seat next to you, the spark between you two was inevitable.

It all began innocently enough, with friendly exchanges and polite smiles. However, Childe's teasing nature couldn't be suppressed for long. He can't recall the specifics of that day, the one where he shifted from pleasant banter to outright teasing. All he remembered was the scowl that adorned your face in response, and for some reason, that scowl did something to him.

From that moment on, Childe made it a point to tease you relentlessly. It became a daily routine, a game of cat and mouse where he was the mischievous feline and you were the feisty mouse. The scowl on your face only seemed to fuel his determination, and your responses, though annoyed, held a subtle hint of something more.

The teasing became a dance, an unspoken agreement between two individuals who refused to acknowledge the magnetic pull drawing them closer. It wasn't just about the words exchanged, it was about the charged glances, the stolen moments when your eyes locked, and the unspoken understanding that lingered in the air.

Onlookers couldn't help but notice the palpable tension. Friends whispered about the chemistry, the undeniable attraction that hung between you two like an electrified thread.

Yet, neither of you were ready to admit it. Pride and uncertainty danced hand in hand, keeping the unspoken truth buried beneath layers of playful banter.

Then came the night of the frat house party. The air was thick with anticipation as the music played in the background.

Childe, ever the provocateur, couldn't resist pushing the boundaries. The teasing took a different turn that night, the playful banter evolving into something charged with desire. Perhaps it was the dim lights or the energy of the party, but the tension that had been building finally reached its breaking point.

Childe's teasing became more daring, and your scowls began to transform into smirks and witty responses. Amid the crowded party, the world around you faded into background noise.

It started with hands wandering, you don't even remember how you ended up in a corner together with Childe.

But it didn't matter how you ended here, the only thing important for you was to finally feel his lips on yours.

Childe on the other hand wanted to prolong the teasing for just a little longer, seeing you so desperate was his favorite look on you.

Instead of connecting your lips with each other he purposefully stayed away from them deciding to ghost his lips around your ear.

While he continued his ministrations, you knew that there was a way to finally make him buckle. You leaned closer to him and breathily said his name into his ear, and that just snapped something inside of him.

The tension that had defined every one of your interactions finally found release in the searing heat of that unexpected kiss, leaving both of you breathless.

As the kiss deepened, the world outside of your moment faded into the background. The music became a distant echo as you and Childe started to completely get lost in the moment. His hands found home on your waist, drawing you closer, while the teasing glint in his eyes transformed into a more earnest hunger.

For a moment, everything melted away, leaving only the raw, unfiltered desire that had simmered beneath the surface for so long.

Childe's lips moved against yours with a fervor that mirrored the intensity of the tension that had led to this moment. Every touch, every sigh, became a testament to the unspoken connection that you finally expressed.

In this moment you completely lost yourself, intoxicated by the feeling of Childe against you.

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

[lasbiarez]

Cat Owner Hua Cheng AU

This is really long BUT HEAR ME OUT

Modern setting: Hua Cheng lives alone in an apartment and he hates life, hates his job, hates his neighbours, and literally everyone he meets. He can't get out of bed most days except to go to work and he doesn't have any friends to talk to

One day he finds this filthy cat in his room who's taking shelter from the rain. The cat has a name tag that reads: Xie Lian

Hua Cheng really wants to kick this cat out, but it's still raining so he supposes Xie Lian can stay until the rain stops. Which took longer than he anticipated, but he won't add animal cruelty to his many list of horrible actions by throwing it back in the rain

While waiting Hua Cheng might as well clean this cat up so it doesn't get mud everywhere! The cat sits still as he scrubs a concerning amount of dirt off of it. He realises that its fur is,,, really soft??? Huh.

Despite being relatively well mannered for a cat it's flighty and hides a lot, flinching and running away at any loud noises. Hua Cheng is more than happy to be left alone

The rain eventually stops. By then Xie Lian is already sleeping so Hua Cheng can't really just kick it out, right? Fine, it can stay a little longer. ONLY until it wakes up!

The cat wakes up the next day, by then Hua Cheng needs to go to work. He can handle Xie Lian AFTER work, surely. But once he got home he was too tired to do that, so the cat gets to stay another day

Three days passed. Hua Cheng can't just leave this cat to starve or eat whatever leftover is in the fridge, that's basically chipping away his own ration of food to eat! He buys cat food

A week passed. Hua Cheng came back from work stressed out of his mind. Xie Lian seems to notice this and decides to sit on his lap. He purrs. Hua Cheng doesn't know how to move him and fumbles around awkwardly in his seat before eventually petting him. Okay. Maybe this cat is a little bit cute

A week and a half in, Hua Cheng notices this cat is Insane

Xie Lian is clumsy and Hua Cheng has started to wonder wether this cat enjoys endangering his own life on purpose. He knocks over vases and then jumps down on the shards, slips on the floor when he runs around, crashes into walls, bites cables, jumps off multiple story buildings

Hua Cheng is surprised that this cat is still alive!

But... it's a change of pace, it's certainly a motivation to get out of bed every morning and make sure he hasn't accidentally killed himself. He's Surely Not worried about the cat's safety, he just gets a little fussy whenever Xie Lian almost walks into traffic, fretting over whatever poisonous thing Xie Lian decides to put into his mouth this time. But that's IT. He Does Not Care

...He bought a carpet for Xie Lian so he doesn't keep slipping when he runs around

Three weeks in Hua Cheng brings Xie Lian to the vet. Xie Lian is scared of needles and hisses at the doctor, Hua Cheng laughs at the display. That's probably the first genuine laugh he had in years

He's... leaving the house more often now to bring Xie Lian on walks and buy cat food and toys. Maybe he enjoys the many detours Xie Lian would accidentally drag him to, a change of scenery once in awhile is good for him—He needs the exercise anyway.

Hua Cheng befriends a pet shop owner. He thinks liking fish out of literally any other animal is a little weird, but He Xuan's a decent guy to talk to when he's bored

A month later Xie Lian gained weight and isn't as flighty as before, he approaches Hua Cheng more often and demands (meows at him and lightly scratches his thighs) for his attention. Maybe Hua Cheng chuckles a bit whenever he does

It also doesn't slip his attention that despite being very well mannered and polite Xie Lian does not do as he's told. Ever. He'd actually do the complete opposite of what Hua Cheng tells him to do and then look at him innocenly like he didn't know what he did wrong

Hua Cheng finds it endearing

A month and a half in. Dry cat food has been upgraded to various meats and maybe a couple of fancy cat meals, Xie Lian has his own scratch post and towers to climb on and jump safely from. Xie Lian also gets his own bed, but more often than not sleeps curled up against Hua Cheng

Two months in... Hua Cheng bought a cat backpack... he starts bringing Xie Lian to work

His coworkers adores Xie Lian. Coos at him, pets him. Hua Cheng grows slightly protective over the cat, threatens anyone who so much as touches the cat wrong. He gets snappy and quick to anger whenever someone mistreats Xie Lian, but he no longer feels absolutely unapproachable with such a cute cat by his side

Some of his coworkers... actually likes him. Hm.

Three months later Xie Lian comes over whenever Hua Cheng calls for him. Hua Cheng successfully made his apartment room cat friendly. Xie Lian no longer accidentally set his fur on fire trying to watch Hua Cheng cook

Four months in. Xia Lian accidentally licks Hua Cheng's finger while feeding. Hua Cheng realises he would die for this cat

A week after Hua Cheng finally admits that he cares about this cat and he'd watch the world burn if something happened to him this Random Man (/neg!) shows up at his door, looking for Xie Lian. How dare he not take care of this cat for months and now demanding him to be returned!

The man asked very nicely, Hua Cheng is just being dramatic

Hua Cheng is obviously defensive about this. He accuses the man with pet negligence and is very unpleasant and rude the entire conversation, dissing the man's lack of style, insulting his eyebags and dishevelled look. The man doesn't seem to mind and actually looks... resigned towards Hua Cheng's verbal assault

Until the man introduces himself as Xie Lian

"...You named your cat after yourself?" Hua Cheng was ready to poke at this man's apparent self importance and vanity

Human Xie Lian laughs awkwardly, "No, he's actually my cousin's cat but he doesn't take care of him very well. He thought it would be funny to name the cat after me."

...okay, Hua Cheng isn't suddenly going to feel bad for the man just because his cousin makes fun of him. The man still didn't take care of cat Xie Lian when it's apparent that he should step up!

"—And I really should take better care of him, but I was in a car accident and got into a coma for a few months. I just got out this week so I've been looking for him while catching up with my own work. I'm sorry for the inconvenience." Xie Lian continues like he's talking about the weather, sounding... weirdly sheepish for a man who was in a life threatening situation

Oh... OH. Now Hua Cheng feels a little bad for being so unreasonable considering the man was literally dying and apologising about it

Hua Cheng sighs, opens his door wider, and says, "Let's talk about this inside."

"Of course, I'm sorry again—"

That's when human Xie Lian realises Hua Cheng's room is filled wall to wall with cat things, he has portraits of cat Xie Lian on every furniture—a lot of them. It should be concerning it this point, but human Xie Lian just chuckles, albeit awkwardly

"You seem to be attached to him..."

Then they get joint custody over this cat, they slowly fall in love, then they got together and Xie Lian moves in

Hua Cheng, with all seriousness, replies calmly, "I will kill you if you try to take him away from me."

The end!

[drpeppertummy]

@ that one anon who wanted someone havin dinner after a rough week: this one fits the request way more than the one i responded with. its a little clunky but What Ever

[super super mild group stuffing, very brief mention of past drunk driving & death]

"Max, honey, would you sit down for a moment and relax?"

"I'm nervous! You know I get nervous."

"I know that, but you are gonna give yourself a heart attack if you don't take it easy! Keonda told me how tough work's been on you lately. Junie's fine, I promise." Marsha caught Max in her arms mid-pace and held him tight.

"I know," he sighed defeatedly. He draped his lanky arms around her, and she laid her head against his chest, listening to his heart anxiously fluttering away. A sudden ping from his pocket nearly sent him through the ceiling, and Marsha jumped at his sudden jolt. He quickly whipped his phone out with one hand and clumsily threw on his reading glasses with the other.

we're here. not going anywhere else tonight. promise. night dad💗

Marsha felt Max relax a little in her arms. He slowly typed out a reply, doing his best to keep it brief, and slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"Now will you sit down?"

"Yeah, I guess I can sit down." That would be a first for the week. Apart from scattered and restless sleep, Max had barely had a moment to stop and breathe all week, let alone relax. Between what felt like endless testing, juggling a lot of restless, rowdy students and irate, exhausted teachers, and cleaning up after his deranged principal's poor choices, work had been brutal. He'd been running around so much that he'd barely had time for lunch during the days, and he'd spent much of the week even hangrier than usual. He regretted ever having taken an administrative position--being the only reasonable person on the team didn't exactly pay off--but the way things seemed to be going, he wasn't sure being back in the classroom would be much better.

Outside of work, he'd had to make an emergency run to the vet after the cat had gotten into a dessert he'd been saving. Marsha had been surprised to see him turn up at her workplace, and he'd been mortified at the situation, though she would never have blamed him for it. The car had broken down and left Junie stranded an hour away, and he'd had to call up Alfie to go rescue her. Fortunately, his mouthy little mechanic had been able to fix the car up without issue, but ever since an accident with a drunk driver had halved his family, car troubles made Max terribly anxious, especially when Junie was concerned.

It had been something just about every day, an endless barrage of stress and trouble and problems, and Max, who was jittery on the best of days, was just about at his breaking point. Today was Friday, though. The end-of-the-year testing was over, the cat was fine, Junie was safely at her friend's house, and Max was limp on the couch with Marsha by his side. Alfie, who made up for his abrasive demeanor by coming to the rescue time and time again, was in the kitchen making dinner. Max would have liked to help, but Marsha wouldn't let him go, insisting that he rest for at least a few minutes.

"I'll pin you down if I have to," she teased, squeezing him gently around the waist. "You're not goin' anywhere, Stringbean." With the amount of energy he had left, Max wouldn't have been able to fight if he wanted to. He pecked her on the cheek and dropped his head back against the cushion. He trusted Alfie well enough in the kitchen by this point anyhow; he and Marsha both embraced the Kestlers' gluten-free diet as their own the moment they stepped through the door. Max had always insisted that they didn't have to as long as they were careful, but his partners were adamant on keeping him and Junie safe. As long as they were in his house, they said, they'd eat the same as them.

"Hey, you assholes better not be hoggin' up all the lovin' in here," said Alfie, leaning against the door frame.

"Don't worry, we'll save a little bit for you," giggled Marsha.

"You better. Dinner's almost ready."

"You're a saint, Alfie," said Max, lifting his head. Alfie laughed.

"You're delirious. Come on, a little chicken'll do you good."

The trio sat down together for dinner, a nice big plate of chicken, rice, asparagus, and potatoes before each of them. Max doubted he'd be able to finish his--it was more of an Alfie-sized serving, and Alfie, small as he was, had a remarkable appetite--but it was the most inviting sight he'd seen all week, and his belly rumbled at the smell of it. Marsha smiled and gave it an affectionate pinch.

Max hadn't realized just how much he needed a good, filling homemade dinner until he dug in. He'd been undereating all week, and his meals had mostly consisted of hastily thrown together ingredients which weren't very substantial at all. Most of his cooking efforts had gone to Junie--he would never leave her without three square meals a day--but he just hadn't had the time or appetite to eat much himself. Alfie's cooking was an absolute godsend tonight.

"Y'know, Alfie, you may be a royal pain, but you sure can put together a good dinner," said Marsha, sticking her fork into a big hunk of potato. She smiled playfully at him, and he threatened to flick a forkful of rice at her.

"Play nice, you two," Max warned, smiling fondly. He was already beginning to feel markedly better. Marsha was right; the food was delicious. The chicken was tender and well-seasoned, the potatoes were crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside, the asparagus was perfectly cooked, and the rice made a hot, filling addition to the meal. It wasn't long before Max began to feel full, but, unable to resist eating a little more, he decided to push it a little. When he saw Marsha quitting, though, he supposed it was time to stop; her capacity was bigger than his, and he knew he'd give himself a tummyache before long. His belly felt comfortably stuffed now, and he leaned back in his seat with a contented sigh, resting a hand on his stomach.

"Anybody want the rest of mine? I don't think I can finish."

"Not me, I'm stuffed," said Marsha. Alfie raised his hand, and Max slid the plate over to him.

The three sat and chatted for a little while as Alfie finished off Max's leftovers, bitching and laughing and finally beginning to unwind. Marsha, tired of her snug high-waisted jeans, decided to undo the button and give her full tummy some space. Max would have liked to do the same--his belt was squeezing him just a smidge too tightly around the middle--but he felt less inclined to do so at the table.

Marsha stood up and left the table for a moment, giving Max's cheek a gentle pat as she passed him, then returned with a foil-covered plate.

"I know we're all a little stuffed, but I made some girlfriend cookies earlier," she said, setting the plate down and uncovering the dessert. "Don't worry, I only used stuff you already had, so you know they're solid."

"You two are such a pair of angels," said Max, slipping an arm around her waist and bumping his head affectionately against her side. She leaned down to kiss his forehead, then returned to her seat.

"Think you can squeeze one in?" She took a cookie from the plate, smiling slyly.

"Maybe just one," Max agreed, joining her in taking one. Alfie watched them, making no move of his own. Marsha tilted her head at him.

"You're not gonna have one?"

"I'm a little full," Alfie confessed, resting his hands on his belly. Marsha stared at him with amused surprise.

"Why, Alfie Shannon," she exclaimed, laughing. "Since when do you ever get full?"

"Oh, shut up and eat your cookies," he said, unable to hold back a sheepish grin. They gladly did, and Marsha even ate a second. Max stopped at one, his stomach teetering just on the edge of discomfort. He was worried he might topple over that edge, but he never did. His belly remained comfortably stuffed, and he supposed it would be even more comfortable once he put away his now-too-snug belt and traded in his work pants for pajamas.

They rested at the table for a moment, giving their full bellies a chance to settle before moving around, and then got to cleaning up. Alfie, as good a cook as he was, was awful at cleaning as he went and had left a tremendous mess, but between the three of them, they had the kitchen back in order in no time, and they were free to retreat to the couch. Max excused himself to ditch the belt before joining the other two and returned feeling a smidge more comfortable than before.

"Look at you, all indecent," Alfie teased, tugging at Max's belt loop as he sat between them. Marsha reached across Max to give Alfie's belly a firm pat, and he groaned in response. Her eyes moved to Max's belly, which was pressing out against the waist of his pants.

"Y'know, you'll feel a lot better if you do this," she said, unbuttoning Max's pants. The fly parted under the pressure of his uncharacteristically round tummy, and a blush crept onto his face. She smiled and patted his belly gently.

Max draped an arm over each of his partners' shoulders, and they leaned in close against his chest. It was chilly for May, and the warmth of snuggling up together was pleasant, as was the soft sound of their sleepy breathing and the gentle gurgles of their digesting tummies. As they sank into the couch and each other, the long, difficult week faded into a distant memory for Max, and, feeling full and cozy, he finally began to truly relax.

[warpfive]

HAVING A SECRET ADMIRER

when the snw crew has a secret admirer, and how they handle it

CW: gn!reader

CREW: chris pike, una chin-riley, spock, la'an, erica ortegas, nyota uhura, christine chapel

CHRIS - first and foremost, chris would be absolutely flattered. he thinks the little gifts or poems left behind for him are really adorable and they always brighten up his day. he wouldn’t try to go out of his way to find out who his secret admirer is - he likes the mystery, as well as wanting to spare his admirer any embarrassment of being discovered. chris would also not really try to hide it. he’ll put the flowers in a vase on his desk, or share the delicious chocolate with friends who come to dinner. when others lightly tease him about it, chris would be a very good sport. or if someone like erica wants to help him find the identity of his admirer (because she’s so nosy), chris would forbid it. though, as all things do on a starship, you’re eventually caught and the mystery is over. still, chris would try his absolute hardest to try and prevent you from being humiliated in some way. he’ll thank you for all of the little gifts, ensure that he won’t say a thing to the crew, and finally asks if you’d want to have dinner with him - just the two of you. he’s still got some more of those chocolates you left for him, and chris is eager to share.

UNA - she knows you’re her admirer almost immediately, but continues to play dumb to prevent you from feeling embarrassed or foolish. she’ll let the rumors circulate, finding it amusing what the rest of the crew thinks of her secret admirer. una will resist any plans of trying to sniff out the mystery person, as she enjoys the days some new gift arrives for her and the rest of the senior staff are super eager as if it’s another clue to the mystery. in the meantime, una does treat you just a little differently. not enough to be too noticeable, but the knowledge of you being her admirer softens her. there are times when una thinks about just coming clean and telling you she knows everything. when the cat is eventually out of the bag, una keeps it all lowkey. she tries not to make a big deal out of it, making small jokes or smart comments to ease your embarrassment. but when she gets more serious - so warm in how she thanks you for the gifts, it makes you wonder why you ever tried to keep it a secret. then una suggests you two take some time together the next time the enterprise is in port somewhere, and she doesn’t miss when you ask the captain the next day when he thinks they’ll come across a starbase.

SPOCK - doesn’t really understand the concept of a secret admirer at first. he has a loose understanding, but only through the wire of human culture and spock doesn’t even really pay much attention to that. at first, he may just ignore it, thinking it’s simply a passing infatuation and will fade, as human emotions are prone to do. but the gifts left for him don’t cease, and it isn’t until a rather passionate poem comes along does spock finally decide to do some investigating. he’s a scientist, he doesn’t like a mystery to be unsolved if he can help it - plus, he stresses with nurse chapel, his secret admirer must be slacking in their duties on the ship. it really doesn’t take spock very long to discover the culprit, and once he’s face-to-face with you…well, he doesn’t know what to say. he’s never had a secret admirer before. you start apologizing, hoping you hadn’t embarrassed spock because you knew how private and introverted he is and you didn’t wanna scare him off with any grand gestures and- he cuts you off there. tells you that vulcans are incapable of embarrassment and it was actually very thoughtful that you wanted to spare his (nonexistent) feelings. plus, the poem was a very beautiful one, where did you learn it from? do you know of others that are similar? it kinda evolves into you spending time with spock via showing him your favorite poet and made you thankful you went the route of a secret admirer - it seems to suite spock a lot better.

LA’AN - she’s usually pretty good at letting her icy exterior discourage any hijinks, and this includes secret admirers. most of the crew wouldn’t even think about doing something so brazen and wholesome to la’an - to be honest, she intimidates a lot of her crewmates. so when news starts spreading of somebody secretly crushing on the security chief, la’an had no idea how to respond. for a time, she thought it was simply just a sick joke. maybe some of the junior officers were making her the butt of a prank, which la’an has absolutely 0 tolerance for. the captain and a few others tried to explain that it was harmless, and la’an eventually came to terms with it. no prank can so worth it as to intently learn all of her favorite desserts, color, flower… okay, once la’an was sure there was no funny business happening, she absolutely wanted to find her secret admirer. why? she didn’t have a solid answer - it changed from person to person. it took no time at all to find your identity, and once she came to confront you… she was barely able to speak. it was a little humiliating for la’an - she just had no experience with this sort of thing and it blindsided her like nothing else. she let you ramble on, eyes averting whenever you talked about your feelings. but when you started apologizing, that’s when she cut back in with her usual blunt words, insisting you did nothing worth apologizing for. in fact, she really liked those flowers, and she wants to know how you got a hold of them - you know, for future reference. 

ERICA - honestly, erica would probably get a little cocky about having a secret admirer. it’s one thing to have someone crushing on you like school kids, but it’s different when erica keeps finding gifts and letters left for her, only her, and she can flaunt them around. of course, she’d be super curious about her admirer. i imagine she might bring it up to those she works closely with, hoping they saw or heard something that might lend a clue. once the newness wears off, erica’s curiosity would get the better of her, and she would actively try to investigate. though, she isn’t exactly subtle - discovering the identity of her admirer came as a complete accident. quite literally catching you in the act, and when you try to deflect, erica knows she’s caught her admirer. though, her victory is cut short when she sees just how embarrassed she’s made you - it didn’t really occur to erica that you wanted to be secret for a reason. so she softens up, thanks you for all the little gifts you left her, and she genuinely wants to discuss it. erica isn’t opposed to taking things further, but only on one condition - you gotta keep supplying the sweets you’ve been leaving for her. they’re really good, and they taste better when they’re gifted.

NYOTA - is immediately very shy about the whole thing, even when others are excited and curious and lowkey pushing nyota for as many details as she can give. and she does tell the stories of each time she discovered a new trinket or treat or letter, much to the pleasure of her nosy friends. but there’s something she keeps hidden from them, knowledge that nyota wants to keep to herself - she recognizes the words on the letters. she’s got an ear for language, as well as an eye for words. at first, she definitely tried to ignore what her gut was telling her. trying to spare you and herself the embarrassment, even though the knowledge was kept to herself. but it was the knowledge that slowly warmed her up to the idea of perhaps returning your affections - it’s quite hard to read such passionate words and not begin to feel something for the person you know is writing them. though, nyota isn’t quite as skilled in being subtle, and it’s easy to tell when she started acting different. that’s when your letters ceased, nyota got anxious, and she just had to say something. assure you that she wasn’t upset or uncomfortable - just the opposite, in fact. she very much enjoyed everything you’ve given her, and she knows they’ll stop now that she confronted you, but she wanted to clear the air. and of course, you care about her, so you ask her if she wanted you to keep writing letters. just because she seemed to enjoy them so much. nyota didn’t even realize she had nodded her head until you smiled and walked away.

CHRISTINE - equal parts flattered and shy. flings are one thing - no strings attached, no warm sentiments, and absolutely no rumors. christine was actually the last to know about her first gift, which was foolishly left by her corner of sick bay and discovered by everyone else. she was immediately bombarded with questions and theories and christine wasn’t even able to fully enjoy and inspect the gift until she brought it to her quarters. for a time, she attempted to ignore it. but small gifts grew into more personal objects that only someone who knew her would know. and those eventually evolved into letters and poems and christine was a little fed up at this point - not that these gestures weren’t unwanted. they always put her in a little better of a mood. but christine doesn’t like being purposefully excluded, and she’s definitely not used to more intimate gestures of affection. it was only a matter of time before the identity of her admirer was revealed - the ship wasn’t big enough to keep such a secret. she’s the one who confronted you, and admittedly, came off kinda strong at first. you apologized, promised it would stop, and that’s not what she wanted. instead of sneaking around, how about grabbing lunch, she offered. or maybe dinner, since your shifts don’t exactly line up. and when you agreed, christine couldn’t tell if she was relieved or even more on edge.

[dragonsaltartales]

So I keep getting distracted with HCs on the crew's fur while working on commissions, so I'm gonna get it out of my system.

This is long, so...

Lizbert: Very thick and not quite coarse, but not very fluffy either. Great protection from rough surfaces.

Eggabell: Short and fuzzy. Like a peach almost. Not great for keeping warm, but she has more mass to combat that.

Filbo: Soft like a short-hair cat. Not long, not super short. Also not super fuzzy or coarse. Just...ideal fur, really.

Beffica: Silky and smooth. Even on Snaktooth, she finds a way to condition it and keep a perfect sheen. She's not as particular as Wiggle, but does like to look nice. Can't have anyone catching her looking bad, after all.

Wambus: Like Lizbert, thick and kind of coarse. Only he's more fluffy than she is. He keeps it well groomed to combat any sort of insects that might get on him while farming.

Gramble: Thin and a little patchy. His stress and lack of both nutrition and sleep makes his fur fall out a bit. So there's some parts where you can see his skin under it. It is, however, very absorbent and fluffs up easily, so it makes the patches a little less obvious.

Wiggle: Also kind of silky, but longer than Beffica's. She's very well groomed and is particular about her fur care routine. Also hates getting it messy.

Triffany: Short and scruffy. She tends to not bother with the upkeep of her fur, but the dust and sand from dig sites help keep it soft and maintained naturally. (Kind of like hamsters and chinchillas and their sand/dust baths respectively) Wambus will groom her to make sure she doesn't get any sort of parasitic insects on her.

Cromdo: His fur is very fluffy and soft, actually. But it's also kind of short. He tends to groom himself to keep it looking sleek and clean. Going as far as trimming himself methodically. Gotta look nice to be a nice salesman, after all. (-Insert Matilda's dad here-)

Snorpy: Thin and short. In times of high stress, it would get patchy, but since it's already so fine and short, it's hard to tell. With Chandlo's help, he manages to keep his anxiety down enough to not get many bald patches. He has trouble with the sun because of both his fur color and how fine it is, needing things such as sunscreen to prevent burns.

Chandlo: Surprisingly very soft, fluffy, and clean. Gotta take care of yourself to feel good and keep chill, bro.

Floofty: Also thin, but kind of wiry. Definitely thicker than Snorpy's and provides a lot more protection. It can also handle their experiments, regardless of how dangerous they turn out to be. Significantly more fire-proof than other Grumpuses, but that doesn't mean they purposely try to straight up handle fire.

Shelda: Thin and fine, velvety even. In her older age, her fur is a lot more thinned out. It's fairly short and doesn't provide a lot of insulation. Thus being out in the desert feels great on her joints and she doesn't complain about the heat so much.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[everlastiingiimmortals]

When it comes to Ratio's appearance, the first thing one might notice about him will probably be his bicep (hard not to. he just has it out there like nothing), but really I think the more striking thing about his appearance is his eyes. Though not as obviously feline in appearance as Jing Yuan's, there's something that seems distinctly, if vaguely, cat-like about them all the same. Perhaps it's the way the rings of pale gold in his inner irises pierce through the dark, or the shape of his pupils, or perhaps his stare -- regardless, there's something distinctly unsettling, even intimidating about them.

While I don't think Ratio is necessarily adverse to eye contact, I do imagine it's rather hard to get a good look at his eyes because. well. gestures to the headpiece. That, and the fact that he very much favors his personal space. But if anyone were to be fortunate enough for him to allow them to study his face, they'd find he has beautiful long lashes, and in certain lightings the maroon of his eyes seems more purple than red, and vice versa -- yet the yellow of his inner irises never changes. Somewhat in contrast to the rest of his form, the angle of his jaw, cheekbones, and the tall shape of his nose give him a rather slim face, rather than the sturdier, squarer face shape that I give Jing Yuan. His lips are also a little on the thinner side, usually set in a frown.

I somehow have a penchant for fluffy haired muses -- Jing Yuan is not my first, Ratio will definitely not be my last -- but I'm sure you all can tell from the way I draw him that his hair falls in waves; though not as curled as Jing Yuan's, without proper care and with too much humidity his hair definitely starts to curl in a more unruly, frizzy manner (common in the summer of his home) and he hates it. Mullet. Wolfcut? Whatever. Yes. Moving on.

Ratio definitely has an athletic build, with a low body fat percentage mostly due to his pickiness and aversion to heavy foods. That being said, he is very conscious about how he eats, and is as diligent in exercise as he is any of his fields of mastery. A healthy body begets a healthy mind, he'd say, and I do imagine when particularly stressed he has a bit of a tendency to be excessive in his exercise, despite his acute awareness of moderation, if only to sweat out all his agitation and have an even more rewarding bath -- another overindulgence of his. Well defined trapezius muscles, side shoulders, and strong arms, of course, both due to carrying heavy things all the time and working with stone. Otherwise, he has something of a swimmer's body; swimming is one of his preferred means of exercise, though he'll also go on runs, and yes, discus and javelin are things that he can and will indulge in on occasion, as he does appreciate traditional sports. Powerful legs! Good for swimming and walking with stone! He doesn't train so much with weights, as marble is enough of a weight on its own. Don't ask him to do boxing. Don't ask him if he does παγκράτιον (pankration) either. Those are too brutish for him. (And before you ask, no he's not very flexible. Yes, he stretches to warm up before exercising but he is also SO stressed ALL the time because of PEOPLE so his muscles tend to be quite tense. Tension headaches are, as much as he does his best to care for himself, unfortunately common)

The efforts of his labor show in his hands-- though deft (he twirls a piece of chalk between his fingers in his trailer), he does have callouses on his palms and the sides of his fingers from his chisel, hammer, and pen. I'd say his hands are slightly rough due to stonework, too, but it's not like woah, your hands are rough levels. He keeps his nails short and neat, because the buildup of chalk and marble dust underneath gets easier to manage and clean that way. No manicures/pedicures that aren't his own care, though, because he doesn't want other people touching him.

Due to how much time he spends outside, though, he's definitely got a warmer skin tone than in canon, also because I like it that way. He is a man of the coast and you can pry mediterranean Ratio from my cold dead hands.

[hankwritten]

A Tavern Named Keep [2/6]

Demoman-centric Modern AU

[1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6]

In a small uni-town in New Mexico, DeGroot Keep serves liquor and succor to an eclectic yet loyal group of patrons, and has for many years. The Keep owes its success to its equally colorful owner, who always seems to know what you need—whether that be a stiff beer or a word of advice. But, between setting up his patrons or sifting through his friends’ problems, will Tavish remember to take care of himself?

“I think it’s about time we put our heads together on this, lads,” Tavish says lowly to the three men before him, cleaning out a glass as casually as he can.

Jane, who has no concept of an inside voice and would attempt to fistfight the word ‘discretion’ if given the opportunity, replies, “PUT OUR HEADS TOGETHER FOR WHAT, MAGGOT?”

“For something discreet, Jane. You know, a secret mission?” Tavish says, trying to urge the ranger back into a state that isn’t turning every head at the bar, including the two people he’d been watching very intently before fielding the suggestion. “I think it’s time we all did something about Doc ‘n Mikhail.”

“Yes, I see,” Jane ruminates, thankfully lowering his voice down to his own personal version of a whisper. (Still above speaking volume, but Tavish will take what he can get.) “It is about time we ‘did something’ about the Kraut and the Ruskie, so that they are ‘taken care of’, and ‘the operation can proceed smoothly’.”

“I’m really starting to regret teaching him air quotes,” Jeremy says, one elbow on the bar and the other tilting back his beer.

“If you really need someone taken care of, I’ve got some pretty good rates,” Mick offers.

Jeremy eyes him, suddenly dubious. “…What exactly you doing for work in Teufort again?”

“That’s between me ‘n the blokes that pay me.”

“I really should not have to clarify this, but I did not mean having them killed.” Tavish sets down his glass and leans on the bar. “I mean do something about the two of them. Y’know. Together.”

“Together.” Jeremy’s mouth is a flat line.

“Yes, together together. I mean, just look at ‘em!”

Near the admittance to the auxiliary room (which due to being half a floor below the rest of the bar and grotesquely dominated by the Elephant, is almost never used except on particularly busy nights and when Tavish rents the Keep out for events), the pair of doctors are deaf to the world. It's an amazing sight: Ludwig not the least bit twitchy, not shuffling papers in his hands, not occupied with some experiment. He’s wholly enraptured by whatever Mikhail is saying, watching the way his mouth moves as he gestures one giant hand through the air with ease. A casual acquaintance of Ludwig’s would be flabbergasted to see him interrupt not once during the entire winding conversation, to value the words of another person so highly. When Mikhail says something amusing, Ludwig laughs uproariously, and there’s the barest twinge on the Russian’s face that lets one know he’s pleased about it.

Jeremy turns back to Tavish. “I don’t know man. Doc and the Professor? Kinda a zebras and horses thing there.”

“A wot?” Mick asks.

“A uh…cats and dogs living together you know? Or maybe like pigeons and really bad tempered grizzly bears living together.”

“The nurse keeps doves, not pigeons,” Soldier declares ever so helpfully, slamming his fist down. “Pigeons are a noble species, who risk life and wing to carry messages between their fellow combatants, driving themselves to extinction out of pure patriotism! I will not have you confusing them for that man’s glorified pillow stuffers.”

“Pretty sure they’re the same species,” Mick says.

“Lads,” Tavish stresses. “Can we focus?”

“About them having the hots for each other?” Jeremy looks over his shoulder again. “Really?”

“Dunno,” Mick muses. “I can see it.”

“What do you know, you’ve only been here two weeks.”

“They give each other longing looks sometimes. Oi! Like that!”

Ludwig has reached behind him, taking a beer off the seashell-inlaid standing table. As he takes a sip, Mikhail’s mask of attentiveness slips just for a moment, and he stares at his friend while the other man is distracted. It’s an utterly at peace expression, like nothing in the world quite matters the way they do.

“That was definitely a longing look,” Mick states triumphantly. Tavish gestures at him in vindication.

Jane squints. “…Are they not already dating?”

“Uhg,” Jeremy scoffs. “Fine, I’m out-freaking-voted. But that doesn’t mean it’s our job to get them together.”

“Oh come on, they’ve been dancing around each other for ages,” Tavish protests. “At the very least do it for your own sanity, if it’ll stop them making moon eyes at each other.”

“Ages?” Mick raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t Doc just get divorced?”

“Aye, but they’ve been separated for four years now. And if I’m being honest, I think he’s been in love with Mikhail for at least three of those.”

“Scout’s point still stands!” Jane says. “If they cannot tell each other how they feel then that is their own failing.”

“Oh c’mon Doe.” Tavish leans over the bar, gently nudging his friend in the side. “This is for the sake of true love. Don’t tell me there’s a more noble, patriotic cause than that.”

The omnipresent, wide-brimmed hat that’s already covering a good portion of Jane’s eyes is pulled even farther down his face. “Hrmm. Fine. You make a good point. Consider me drafted into your inane scheme.”

“Like you don’t love an inane scheme.”

“So we’re just skipping from longing looks to straight up ‘true love’?” Jeremy asks. “Y’know what, I don’t care, shenanigans or whatever. Just promise me this won’t take too long, Pyro has this gay-ass club thing that they want us to go to tonight.”

“A gay club?” Tavish more betrayed than surprised, though there’s certainly that too. “You’re stepping out on the Keep, boyo?”

“No! Not like a clubbing club, like a school club. Mumbles is like, vice chair or something, and I’m supposed to be there for support.”

“So it’s…what?” Mick asks. “A GSA?”

Jeremy's oncoming distress plays acutely across his face. “Aw man, c’mon there’s already so many letters, I can’t memorize any more.”

“GSA?” Jane rubs his chin. “Goose Savant Academy? Generous Squid Association? Gyration Saves America?”

“You’ll get to your club just fine, Scout,” Tavish assures. “This shouldn’t take long after all, they’re practically making out with their eyes whenever they look at each other. All they need is a little nudge.”

With his kill squad assembled (to ‘kill’ the awkwardness that has haunted DeGroot Keep for nearly half a decade, that is), Tavish shuffles behind the bar and pulls out an assortment of utensils, spare stock in case the usual table-fare runs out, but now being put to good use. He puts a ketchup bottle on one side and a mustard on the other, then splits up the silverware into pairs of two.

“Mundy and I will talk to Mikhail, try to get him see reason. Scout ‘n Jane, you handle Ludwig. I have a feeling he hasn’t even admitted to himself yet, so what you have to do is persuade him there’s a get-together tonight at the Keep. When we convince them both to show, we all amscray, and force them to face their newly realized feelings for each other. Eh? What do you think?”

“Why’re Misha and Doc matching things but the four ‘a us are a knife, a fork, a spoon, and a pepper shaker?” Jeremy swirls his finger at the assembled objects.

“Well there isn’t a fourth silverware, now is there?”

“Spork,” Jane, Mick, and Jeremy all say at once.

“Screw the lot of you,” Tavish says. “Are you in or no?”

“Eh, why not.”

“Fine. Sure.”

“Affirmative!”

“Fantastic! Mundy, let’s go try to pin Mikhail before he heads to his next class.”

“Godspeed soldiers,” Jane salutes as the bartender slides out. “Do your duty, and should you fail, make sure your end is glorious! Preferably also bloody: such as detonating a hand grenade and taking out several doves with you, bringing them along to the cold, unforgiving grave. I want this to be a closed casket twenty-one gun salute, maggots!”

Tavish smiles. No matter his penchant for getting things off track, Tavish finds it hard to stay mad at Jane. “Aye aye, sir.”

As the pairs split, Jeremy and Jane breaking away to pursue Ludwig out the Keep’s front door, Mick watches them depart thoughtfully. “He wasn’t really in the army, was he?”

“That’s his business, and I wouldn’t dishonor him by talking behind his back,” Tavish says firmly. “Though, do yourself a favor and don’t ask which wars he’s fought in. You’ll catch a headache, right then and there.”

“Fine,” Mick holds up his hands in surrender. “Won’t hear a word from me. Though that’s not a military uniform in the first place, is it?”

“The one he always wears? Nah. For all the things Jane may or may not be, he is employed by the forestry service. He’s a park ranger up at Valles Caldera Preserve.”

“Really. Huh. Where’d you even find a bloke like him?”

“It was more like he found me.” Tavish rubs his neck. “It’s…complicated. But we’ve got a mission to do, so why don’t we stay focused, eh?”

It’s apparent Mick’s noticed the obvious change in subject, but thankfully he doesn’t press it this time around. And a good thing too, Mikhail is slipping books into a satchel that looks like it’s straight out of a 1950s boarding school novel, complete with a brass button he closes with a satisfying snap.

“Oi, wait a moment there professor,” Tavish says. “Wanted to chat with you before you headed out for the morning. You ‘n Mundy here never got properly introduced.”

“Were introduced,” Mikhail grumbles, knocked out of a morning routine that is all but sacred to him. He wakes up, he buys coffee and a sticky bun from the shop down the street, he brings it to the bar (which Tavish allows because. C’mon. You try telling Mikhail “Heavy” Zakharov he’s not allowed to bring carry-ins) and then he converses with Dr. Ludwig until it’s time to head for TFU. To be broken from this lockstep onsets a bad mood. “Mikhail gives his name. Is all you need to know.”

“Oh there’s more to you than that big guy.” Tavish pats him on the arm, which comes up to about the bartender’s head. “I think Mick’s proving himself to be a decent fellow to have around, aye? You don’t have to avoid him.”

“Mikhail does not avoid,” Mikhail says, clearly avoiding Mick’s eyes.

The Australian, uncomfortable with his whole place in this charade, gives Tavish a look of where the bloody hell is this going?

Just stick with me, Tavish’s own look shoots back. To Mikhail he says, “c’mon lad, open up a little. Why don’t you tell us both how you got your teaching job, eh? That’s a nice little ice breaker.”

Mikhail eyes him as though, somewhere, deep in the animal part of his brain that lets us all know that someone is trying to scam us out of our portion of the kill, that this is about to lead somewhere he would not like. However, proving that is going to be difficult with how earnestly Tavish is looking at him.

He sighs. “Fine. Mikhail tells.” To Mick he says, “in Teufort. There is university. Mikhail is tired of looking for many jobs in many places, so he walks in and says ‘you will give me this’. Hale says he likes Mikhail’s gumption.” A rumble that might be a slightly mellowing laugh washes from the back of his throat. “Tried to fire Mikhail once, and Mikhail tells him that is good office, is good job. If he wants Mikhail gone, will have to remove him. Tried to. Mikhail won. Hale amused by this.” Mikhail thinks on this a moment. “Hale is strange man.”

“…What do you teach?” Mick asks, as customarily perplexed as people are when they find out Mikhail earned tenure by winning a wrestling match with his dean.

“Eighteenth to Modern Russian Literature,” Mikhail replies.

“They offer that? At Teufort? I’m pretty sure they don’t even offer calculus.”

“Do now. When Mikhail demand job, he say, ‘you will have this, and Mikhail will teach’. So class is taught. Not big surprise.”

“Ah mate,” Tavish butts in, vibrating from the anticipation of the undirected tale. “You skipped the best part! After all, how’s a bright lad like you end up in a place like this? You could’ve gone anywhere, but you stayed in Teufort.”

Discomfort rises in Mikhail’s shoulders once again. “Like said. Was tired of looking.”

“Oh dunnae try to pull that on me,” Tavish says. “Before you were busting down Hale’s office door, you strolled into this town on a whim. When you wandered into my bar, you said you were just passing through, and it was only a few drinks in before you were in love.”

The empty coffee cup just about shoots out of Mikhail’s hand as he jerks, squeezing it like a Bug Out Bob. “W-what? What is little man talking about?”

“With the Keep!” Tavish says proudly, both superficially oblivious and acutely aware of Mikhail’s reaction. “The tavern’s an alluring mistress, I can understand how she convinced a wayward traveler to stay, even when he had better prospects elsewhere. Even I’m a bit in love with her.”

Tavish pats a nearby support beam proudly, so covered in years of black paint it’s gone smooth.

“…Da. Keep is good place.” The awkwardness is practically sweltering. “Maybe...was part of staying.”

“I still remember that day you know,” Tavish grasps the distant memory with his eye turned heavenward, in a rigorous performance of reverie that Mick can’t help but think he’s laying it on a little thick. “So shy you were, ‘t was almost funny. Doc didn’t notice though. Just struck up a conversation with you right away, the two of you chatting away for hours over in the lower bar area.”

“Everyone is equally ‘shy’ to Doktor,” Mikhail admits. “He talks, expects people to listen.”

“Ah, but good company is the keystone of the Keep’s charm,” Tavish says. “After all, it takes a truly special place to make a man give up the hunt and decide this backwater town is worth sticking around for.”

Mikhail opens his mouth, hesitates, then closes it again. “Da.”

“Ah, but you have to get to morning classes. Sorry we kept you so long professor. Glad you ‘n Mick got more acquainted.”

With that, Tavish wraps a firm hand around Mick’s upper arm and frog-marches him away from the slightly bewildered Russian. You can practically see the gears turning in the man’s head, his flimsy paper cup now a crumple in his palm as his concentration is elsewhere. As the pair watch discreetly over their shoulders, Mikhail shakes himself, quickly disposes of his breakfast remains, and flees.

“That’s it?” Mick asks. “I thought we were going to confront him about confessing his feelings or something.”

“That’ll be enough,” Tavish assures, still watching the door. “Mikhail’s a smart man. And the thing about smart men is that once they get something into their head, they think on it until it drives them crazy, like a mutt with a chew toy. He’ll be back.”

“D’ya not consider yourself a smart man?”

“Goodness no! I, lad, am a worldly man, much more practical. I’ll give you this advice: never date a man who’s insane enough to go back for an advanced degree.”

“I don’t really date.”

“Ah, then maybe you’re wiser than all of us.”

“Still not so sure that’s going to get him to do anything,” Mick says. “It honestly sounded like you were negging him.”

“Trust me on this, alright?” The chiming of the bell brings Tavish to the reality that there are still many pressing concerns to be handled before tonight. “And while you’re trusting me, excuse me as well. My Most Valued Customer just walked in.”

She is not, by most definitions of the word, the customer Tavish values most, but it’s an indubitably good idea to treat her like she is. Helen steps cleanly over to the bar, placing herself upon a stool with just barely enough time for Tavish to slip into his usual position himself. They arrange themselves to their spots, like actors before the curtain rises.

“Miss Helen,” he greets studiously.

“Mister DeGroot,” she sniffs coolly back. “Gin on the rocks, if you would.”

“Daring today, aren’t we?”

“I pay for you to serve me drinks, DeGroot, not for your glib tongue.”

“The glibness is free o’ charge.” With a flourish, he finishes pouring her usual, sliding it away to be snatched by a well-manicured claw. He sets about to business with, “your star employee fell asleep at me bar again yesterday.”

“I am unsurprised. She once told me that she finds mattresses overly soft, and that they must be ‘up to something’.”

“Is that something getting people to sleep?”

“I assume so. Miss Pauling is not fond of the activity.”

“She might not have such anxiety about falling asleep if her boss wasn’t putting the load of ten assistants on her,” Tavish says. “Cannae ye lay off the girl, just a tad? You know she’d jump off a cliff if you told her to.”

“If I did, it would be for good reason.” Helen’s already quite narrow face sharpens to a point keen enough to draw blood. “Miss Pauling is aware of our duty, and what is at stake if we fail. The Facility must persevere, even as we burn ourselves out to keep it alight.”

An eye roll seems the least that spiel deserves. The Facility, in the Proper Noun of it all, is mostly known around Teufort as TF, in reverance to its complete inscrutability of purpose. Helen likes it that way. She’s very gloat-y when she knows something you don’t.

“Don’t start torching all your employees in the street, lassie,” he says dourly. “Think of the smell.”

“We must all make sacrifices, DeGroot.” And oh boy, here we go. “I, more than anyone. There are games that are played, behind the scenes, above the clouds, games of power and money that you cannot even fathom the rules of, and it is our job that you never have to. It may not be moral, or right, but it is necessary, and you should thank Miss Pauling for what she does so that you all can keep living your pitiful little lives.”

“Pitiful little lives?” Tavish raises a brow. “The kind where one has a gin on the rocks at eleven in the morning?”

Helen purses her lips at him. He refills her glass.

“Pretend all you like, you’re just as mortal as the rest of us,” he goes on. “Pauling too. She thinks the world of you, you know.”

“I treasure her for her loyalty.”

“I mean on a personal level, Helen,” Tavish says. “Whatever goes on in The Facility I won’t hazard to know, but Pauling believes in it because you do. Just make sure her devotion isn’t misplaced, aye? That’s all I ask.”

Helen doesn’t respond, but nor does she go off on another dismissive rant about the unwashed masses or whatever, so Tavish will take this as a win. Another comes thirty minutes later when Jane returns and relates that Dr. Ludwig will ‘report for duty’ at nineteen hundred hours. There’s plenty of time but also plenty to do, and Tavish sets to work on making the best ‘get these sorry excuses for lovebirds together’ bash he can strangle a chicken about. Jane isn’t on duty today and keeps him company, a complimentary beer to thank him for his troubles while he moseyes on about how the true American way to confess your feelings is to do so while crossing the Chesapeake while your foot is raised majestically on the bow in total disregard for boat safety. Tavish tries to tell him that’s not what that painting is about, but he’s having none of it. The ambiance continues in comfortable companionship as Tavish pulls out all the stops: streamers, tiny umbrellas, everything he needs for when the Keep hosts a special event. By the time Ludwig comes through the door with the evening slithering on his heels, he is not the first patron to be struck by the tavern’s transformation.

“Why is everything so…moody?” he immediately asks of the new lighting.

“National Candle Appreciation Day,” Tavish says stoically. “Doe assures it’s a very important American holiday. I wouldn’t want to offend any ‘o my customers by not dressing her up for the occasion.”

It speaks volumes that Ludwig doesn’t immediately pounce on the bald-faced dishonesty of this, first and foremost the fact never has the holiday come up in all the other years Tavish has kept DeGroot Keep on its wheels. Ludwig merely shakes his head, as though clearing his ears of buzzing jingoistic bees, and takes a seat at the bar. Whatever Jane and Jeremy said to him must have taken a real number. He’s practically jittery as Tavish mixes a few teaspoons of honey into his drink, not noticing what’s right in front of him.

“For courage,” Tavish says as he sets it forward.

“Courage?” Ludwig gapes at it, then lifts his eyes to his bartender. His mind calls back to his mysterious encounter earlier today, and for the first time wonders who could have put those two idiots up to it. “Are you-?”

Whatever threads of suspicion he was about to pull on will go uninvestigated, as the moment is heralded by Mikhail banging open the door. Ludwig turns, the silhouette of the Russian glowing slightly as a light rain follows him inside, the sunset setting the backdrop afire. Mikhail is equally nervous, his eyes scanning the bar for whom Tavish could reasonably guess.

“Gott,” Ludwig gulps. He swings around, downs his drink with several fearsome chugs, then rises while wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Doktor,” Mikhail says, locating where the doctor has been milking that courage to the best of his abilities, like the bartender has the key to salvation. “I have been looking for-”

“Misha there is something I need to talk to y-”

They both cut off abruptly.

“Doktor can say what he wants to say.”

“No, no you can go first I just-”

“Something Mikhail should have said long time ago-”

Sputtering into silence once more, Tavish looks on and summarizes that he’s never seen two men more terrified of each other. They’re now hopelessly caught in a veritable web of indecision, candlelight flicking around them, once again unaware of anything else as they stand paralyzed by the full recognition of the thing that they’ve been unknowingly cultivating between for years.

“…Could I steal you away for a moment, my friend?” Ludwig says sheepishly, finally, blessedly breaking the awkward silence.

“Yes. Can…Yes. Is good idea.”

And they part from the bar, pulling aside down the half-stair for a long awaited conversation.

The rest of the revelry spins on. Some—like Tavish—spare a glance at the pair of old friends hashing out something clearly of import and leave them to their business. Others don’t notice at all so weirded out are they by the sudden change in décor. Pyro is in the second camp, wandering about like a Dalmatian puppy during its first snow. Jeremy is oddly disinclined, having shown up with Pyro and promptly slunk to a corner, an uncharacteristic glumness about him. Before Tavish can even wonder at that, Dell appears for the impromptu party.

“They’re getting along even better than usual,” Dell says as Tavish passes him a Blu Streak, indicating the two men forgotten by the revels. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say-”

With no grace, no planning, no care, Ludwig lunges upward and kisses Mikhail on the mouth.

“-Oh,” is all that comes from Dell’s mouth, (so apparently that’s what he’d say if he didn’t know any better.) “I guess…heh…I guess they’re really getting along then- oh.” His jaw works silently for a moment as the vigor of the kissing increases. “Oh. Really getting along…over……there.”

Tavish pops an elbow on the bar and puts a chin in his hand. “Ah, isn’t love wonderful?”

Dell’s face has gone completely red, but despite himself he can’t look away. Tavish does not have this problem, and when he’s satisfied with a job well done, he peels himself from the engineer and heads further down the bar to congratulate his fellow conspirators. However, Mick’s on a job tonight, and it appears Jeremy’s slipped out between now and the last time Tavish saw him. He’s checking around some of the tables near the restrooms when he feels a slap on the back.

“You did good work tonight, sergeant!” Jane greets him warmly.

“Thanks lad,” Tavish says as he pats the hand that’s moved to his shoulder.

To his surprise, it doesn’t leave. After a moment, where Jane’s brow is furrowed in concentration, he rumbles out, “no, I mean it. This was a good thing you did. You’ve made your comrades…very happy.”

Tavish locks eyes with him, what that he can with the brim of the ranger hat in the way.

“I do try,” he says slowly. “I’d do the same for everyone if I could. Barkeep’s job is to make sure you’re all as well off as you can be.”

There is a brief, indescribably odd second (that hours later Tavish will still not be sure how to describe and therefore will put out of his mind entirely) where Jane looks like he’ll say something different than what he does.

What he ends up with is this: “that is the spirit! Now! I recommend you return to your friends and bask in this glorious victory. And maybe also keep your chef from putting their fingers in the ambient lighting.”

“Aw shite.” Tavish turns to see Jane’s sizing of the situation is correct. “Really should have known that would happen.”

“You cannot be perfect Tavish. No one expects you to be.”

But Tavish is already rejoining his customers, taking Pyro’s hand out of the nearest candle and being regaled with various drink orders. Jane sighs. He goes to join him.

[estcaligo]

thoughts on sebek x chenya and sebek x vil? this is mostly sponsored by my LOVE of purple and green together but also vil and sebek both judge others appearances harshly. while chenya would have a blast messing with the poor crocodile.

Ah yes purple and green! Not the easiest colour combination. But I love it yes! What comes to mind is Maleficent and purple cabbage/broccoli salad lol

Anyway

X Chenya???

This is hilarious omg. Sebek can't have a single normal day, can he? Worrying about Waka-sama, carrying Silver back to the dorm, Master Lilia keeps sharing his wisdom messing with him...and now Chenya?? Some local cats already cause him enough stress (Leona won't show respect to the Illustrious one! Lucius must disrupt silence during the lectures, and Grim causing troubles every day! And now one more cat??

hdshjkds but seriously though it's so cute.

Imagine

Sebek was diligently cleaning the stables after the club practice when, unexpectedly, a storm broke out. So he just had to wait inside. It was getting really cold and he eventually found himself shivering. Then suddenly Chenya appeared (he was looking for Riddle) and stumbled upon poor crocodile. So he wrapped his fluffy tail around his neck.....And they fell asleep like that :3 (it was a long storm) Riddle and Silver found them in the morning, curled up on a pile of hay :3 mm but considering this post, they may not have just slept together >:)

But mostly Chenya just messes with Sebek yes haha

x Vil??

MMMmmmm delicious 🤌

Started absolutely love this ship after the 2nd Sam's New Year Sale event and Sebek's New Year card!

But I wouldn't say that Sebek harshly judges others' appearances in general? I think it's rooted in his dedication to maintain a perfect image in Waka-sama's presence (if you're around Waka-sama or even mention his name 🙃 you must look impeccable)

The way Sebek styles his hair is likely heavily influenced by Baul, who shares a similar hairstyle? And he definitely played a huge role in instilling in Sebek the belief that this particular hairstyle is a reflection of how a Royal Guard must present themselves (certainly not Lilia lol)

As for clothes, Sebek himself says that he doesn't care much about such things, and he simply wears what is necessary. (one of his Dorm Uniform Card lines, translation by @mysteryshoptls)

And even if he takes time to decorate his clothes, he does it only to pay tribute to Waka-sama, his homeland, and other significant aspects of his life (e.g. his Outdoor wear's and Union Jacket's patches). (Union Birthday voice line, from @mysteryshoptls 's translation here)

Ok, I can go on an on haha, let's go back to VilSebe

I absolutely love to imagine a certain dialog between them when they were working at Sam's New Year Sale together. Imagine they're on a break and doing some hair adjustments in front of the mirror.

"Sebek, I admit I am quite surprised - we've been working quite hastily, and you've been running back and forth since early morning, and yet your hair looks perfect and still...to think about it, it always looks like this, even in Flying class. You must use a really nice fixative spray" Vil said curiously.

"HMPH! OF COURSE I DO, HUMAN" Sebek huffed.

"As a retainer of LORD MALLEUS I make sure I don't bring shame upon his name!"

"Ah yes...Malleus, right..." Vil sighed, knowing where this goes.

"I make sure I look ABSOLUTELY PERFECT" Sebek continued, ignoring Vil's now less interested expression.

"So, in order to ensure NOT A SINGLE HAIR is out of order, it isn't just fixative spray, but THE STRONGEST hair gel I was able to acquire!" he proudly puffed his chest and pulled out a small acid green bottle with a lightning bolt on it.

And at that very moment, the world might have lost one of the most beautiful models and actors because Vil nearly had a heart attack.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND??????!!!!" He grabbed the bottle out of Sebek's hand and squeezed his shoulder, eyes burning with rage and despair.

"Listen to me closely, cucumber. If you don't want to lose all your hair and become bald by the age of 30, NEVER ever use this thing again, do you understand me?" he was speaking slowly, making sure each word would reach Sebek's consciousness.

The green-haired man was taken aback for a few seconds but then regained his composure and shook off senior's hand.

"Vil-senpai, what are you talking about?! I must maintain the perfect image of Waka-sama's guard so I-"

Vil puts his hand over Sebek's mouth, silencing him, and leans closer, looking right into his eyes.

"I will hear no objections. This thing goes into the rubbish bin, now. You're a good-looking man, Sebek, and I cannot allow you to abuse your natural looks. If you truly want to look perfect for your King, I will teach you then..."

.......

So Vil started teaching Sebek about all these things, what is harmful, what is useless etc. :)

Ah, love them beauté 100 points!

[wedreamedlove]

[FIC] I Love You 115 (9/115)

Rating: Explicit Characters: Osborn/Reader Word Count: 6129

Summary: "How many rounds can he go?" You know curiosity killed the cat... but satisfaction brought it back.

A/N: For everyone who keeps asking me for smut 囧.

"Can you believe he just rolled over and fell asleep?!"

You make a sympathetic noise through the phone, knowing your friend needs a listener more than anything else right now.

"When I brought this up, he said—and I quote—that I was being inconsiderate because he's tired from work. As if I don't work and do all the chores in the apartment?!"

You inhale sharply and, as you turn around to walk to the other end of the living room again while you're having this conversation, you see Osborn leaning against the kitchen entrance, watching you with a small smile on his lips that the man himself probably doesn't notice.

The two of you had been about to make dinner together when you received this call from your friend. Unfortunately, she had just fought with her boyfriend, so what you thought would be a short call became an increasingly long, comforting session. Not that you aren't willing to do this for your friend, but it certainly puts a wrench in your evening plans.

Catching Osborn's eyes, you mouth to him that this will probably take a while. He pushes off from the wall and walks over to you to lean down and whisper in your other ear.

"I'll start cooking then, take your time."

You apologize with your eyes, but he just rubs your head and turns to disappear into the kitchen. You focus back on the call.

"—and he never asks, he just assumes. The more I think about all the annoying things he does the angrier I get!"

"Why are you still with him then?"

"..." There is a long silence at the other end of the line before you hear a tremulous sigh. "Maybe because it's not easy to drop a two-year relationship. I don't want to admit that all the time and effort I invested has been wasted."

"But you're not happy, are you?" You gently point out.

You think you hear a sniffle before your friend clears her throat and asks, "What about you and Osborn?"

"Are you sure you want to hear about another relationship right now?"

Your friend gives a wet laugh. "I need to know that true love still exists in this world. Does he ever do anything inconsiderate and treats you more like a mother than a girlfriend?"

The sound of sizzling food, clinking kitchenware, and the range hood comes from the other room. Osborn probably can't hear what you say, but you still lower your voice when you answer your friend truthfully. "No, he makes me very happy."

"And how is he in bed? How many rounds can he go?"

You choke on air.

"I've seen pictures and videos of him on the championship podium. With a body like that, he must have stamina for days, unless you're telling me that's all for show?"

He probably... does? He definitely isn't like you, exhausted and unwilling to move a single finger afterward, and there were a couple of times where it felt like Osborn was still hard, but he always goes to the bathroom to clean up first and so you can't be sure. To be honest, you don't have a lot of experience so it isn't like you know what's common or not. All you know is that he can keep you up late into the night and come out energized at the other end. Not that you'll say any of these private things to your friend. In the end, you only squeeze out, "... He always makes me feel good."

"Does he have a twin?" Your friend asks plaintively, startling a laugh out of you.

The conversation returns back to her own relationship and by the time the call winds down, and your friend is resolved to take a break from her source of stress, you go into the kitchen just to find that the only things you can help out with are the finishing touches for dinner. But your friend's words linger in the back of your head.

How many rounds can he go?

It's there when you look at him across the kitchen table and catch the flash of a tongue that licks up the sauce on his lips, leaving a wet shine on them that makes you feel the urge to kiss him.

How many rounds can he go?

It's there when you two curl up on the couch to catch up on a TV drama after dinner and you're tucked against his side, feeling the shift of solid muscles in the arm that's wrapped around you as he unconsciously plays with your fingers in his hand.

How many rounds can he go?

It's there when you're tucked under the bed blanket and see Osborn come out of the bathroom together with a waft of steam, dressed in pyjamas that do nothing to hide his broad chest and narrow waist. Incidentally, his pyjamas are a matching set with yours—his are black with a cartoon white cat on the shirt while yours are white with a black cat.

Osborn gets into bed from the other side, lies down, and then naturally reaches out to scoop you onto his chest. You go without resistance and splay yourself over him, rubbing your cheek against his collarbone but also reaching up automatically to confirm that he dried his hair.

"So, when are you going to tell me what you want to say?"

His sudden question startles you and, as if feeling your jolt, he slides a hand to the back of your neck, kneading it.

Except, feeling guilty for some reason, you feel that his hand seems to carry a pressure which makes you move yourself so that you can prop a hand on his chest to rise up and look down at him, dislodging his hand. "What makes you think I have something to say?"

Despite you having the high ground, the man below you merely squints his eyes, looking like a big cat sizing up its prey, and you're abruptly reminded of what he does outside of being a professional racer. "You've been staring holes into me since dinner."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you insist.

"Something I can't know about?"

"Impossible," you reflexively say and then, realizing all your reactions have given you away, you chew on your bottom lip. He reaches up and pries your lip free from your teeth with his thumb.

"No chewing," he chides and then pulls you down again so your head is nestled under his chin, and you can feel the vibration of his chest and throat when he speaks, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

You shake your head. "No, it's fine, I'm just searching for words. You know I was talking to a friend earlier, right? She got into a fight with her boyfriend."

He hums in acknowledgment.

"I guess the biggest factor in their fight is that he's inconsiderate to her, especially in bed. And then... and then..." You squirm a little in embarrassment and Osborn pats you on the back in encouragement. "She asked how you treated me in bed."

The body below you clearly pauses for a second but then you hear a chuckle come from above your head. "Ooh, is this what girls talk about? Your conversations are more wild than I imagined."

You don't even need to see him to know what sort of expression he must have on his face, so you hammer his shoulder. "No! I didn't—! Don't you talk about me to your friends?"

"I do."

His casual answer catches you off guard and you stiffen, suddenly running through everything you've done with Osborn in your head and wondering what sort of things he's shared with his friends.

As if sensing your unease, he pulls you up so you can look into each other's eyes and taps your nose. "Dummy, you've seen everything I say to them on my posts. I don't talk about anything else."

"Oh," you give in reply, and then add onto that lacking response, "I don't say anything private either!"

"I trust your discernment. So, what did you say to your friend? I don't think answering that would make you stare at me for the rest of the night..." A slow, dangerous smile appears on his lips as he gives you a considering look. "Unless you have criticisms for how I treat you in bed?"

It's entirely unfair that, even after all this time, those amorous peach blossom eyes can still make your face flush instantly. You avert your eyes and cough. "Of course not, Boss Osborn's service is top-notch. I told her you always make me feel good but she also asked... how many rounds you can go."

You see the moment realization clicks with Osborn, and then his shoulders shake with his laughter. "So that's why a lecherous kitten was staring at me all night? You were wondering this?"

Embarrassment turns to anger and you lean down to bite at his lips. Osborn hisses at the sting, but one of his hands has already cupped the back of your head and he keeps your mouth pressed to his, rubbing the petals of your lips against his in a chaste but affectionate kiss.

And then he rolls the both of you over.

Osborn ends up on top, caging you below him between two arms full of muscles that get put on display as he holds himself above you. He picks up the conversation again. "Curious?"

Despite his aggressive position, the air around him is languid and his eyes are full of amusement. You reach up to curve your hand over his neck, running your palm over the shaved hair at the back of his neck and feeling the prickle, before you answer with unexpected seriousness. "Not so much curious as worried that you're unsatisfied. I want you to feel as good as I do."

The playfulness in Osborn's eyes recedes like a tide and instead his eyes darken to a color you can only call sea-green, tempting you to step foot into his depths. "Here I was being considerate of you."

"You don't need to hold back on my account. I can keep up with your pace," you remind him.

"I'm not going to stop then, even if you cry or beg." He lowers himself closer to you and deliberately makes a sinister face, but you're not afraid at all because of the tenderness that brims in his eyes.

Instead, you lick your lips and ask, "Do I need to do anything?"

"Just leave it all to me," he laughs softly and then sinks down to kiss you.

You love kissing Osborn, and a large part of this probably comes from how he seems to love kissing as much as you. In contrast to how speed defines most aspects of his life, he takes his time in kissing you, as if savoring every step. First, he just brushes his lips against yours, enjoying the feeling of your lips swiping each other, as well as licking your lips or sucking them into his mouth until they're damp and glossy. Then he presses his mouth to yours harder and feels the smoother glide of your lips against each other.

It's only when your lips tingle so much from his caresses and you can't help but part your mouth that he goes onto the second step and slips his tongue past your teeth and into you. He makes a beeline for your tongue, tangling around it, playing with it, and even naughtily pulling your tongue into his mouth to hold there.

Gradually, the wet sound of saliva being exchanged starts to overpower your pounding heartbeat. Whenever the wetness feels like it's about to leak out of the corner of your mouth, Osborn pulls back just enough to let you swallow and catch your breath before kissing you again.

By the time you can't tell up from down and your tongue feels paralyzed, he moves onto making his rounds through the rest of your mouth, like a predator patrolling its territory and marking every nook and cranny, rubbing his tongue on the sensitive roof of your mouth and teasing the underside of your tongue.

Your trembling intensifies and you rub your thighs together, digging your fingers into the hem of his pyjama top that you don't even remember clutching. "Osborn..."

"I'm here," he responds as he possesses your mouth again.

You wriggle underneath him and press your knee against the bulge that's already between his legs. He grunts, low in the back of his throat, at the touch and understands your unspoken words. Osborn shifts his weight onto one arm and moves his other hand down to slip into your pyjama bottoms and underwear.

"We've only been kissing and you're this wet already?" His breath scorches your lips and there's a trace of laughter in his voice.

You turn your head to the side and bite his cheek, grazing your teeth over the beauty mark below his right eye.

"Hss! Looks like this kitten bites when she's not fed quick enough." Osborn sinks a finger into you before you can say anything, turning your retort into an indistinct moan.

One of your favourite parts of Osborn is his hands; they're much, much larger than yours and, at normal times, they provide you endless security. He makes you feel as if you're cupped in his palms like a precious pearl. However, at this time, he pushes a strong finger inside you deeper. You can feel the prominent joints of his finger press against your channel and, with his familiarity of your body, it doesn't take him long to find that spongy and bumpy spot at the top of your inner walls.

He curls his finger, tapping this spot with the bottom of his finger, and it feels like electricity zips through your body, making you dig your toes into the sheets and cry out.

Osborn keeps his head beside your ear, knowing the sound of his voice as his breathing deepens and becomes rough turns you on. "I'm going to need your help. Lift your shirt up for me."

His lips brush the rim of your ear and every time he exhales, burning air seems to pour into your ear straight into your brain, melting your thoughts into a pool of pleasure. You shake even as you release him and pull your shirt up past your breasts, revealing them to him.

"That's my girl."

He praises you between peppering your chin with kisses as he moves down, licking your throat, tracing his lips along your collarbone, following the path of your sternum, and then covering a nipple with his mouth. Molten heat rushes into you from his lips around your breast and from your nether region as you feel him add another finger and pump them in and out.

Osborn shifts his weight to his knees and then raises the hand he had been using to support himself to fondle your other breast. He knows you like the feeling of the calluses on his fingers rub against your areola and the rosy bud there.

You twist your hips, gasping breathlessly at this onslaught of pleasure, and feel a tightening coil in your abdomen. Osborn releases your nipple from his mouth, flicking his tongue over it one last time before he returns to pant next to your ear.

"Remember to let me know when you're close. You're doing so good."

"I'm... I'm almost..."

Dimly, you can hear the slick sound of his fingers diving into your wet hole, but it's all lost in an explosion of pleasure when he removes his fingers the next second and presses his palm against your clit, hard, and drags his hand up.

"Osborn...!"

Fireworks bloom in your mind like pretty, little, white flashes before your eyes and when you come down from your high, trembling, you see that Osborn has made quick work of his pyjamas, yanking his top over his head and pushing his bottoms down along with his underwear.

He helps you take off the rest of your clothes too before he reaches over to pull open the bedside table drawer, fishes out a condom, tears it open with his teeth, and then rolls it down over his rod that's standing at attention. All of this is done smoothly in a way that shows just how familiar he is with this stream of actions.

Osborn places the head of his member against your entrance. "Good to go?"

The tide of pleasure from your earlier orgasm has already receded and now you just want to plug the hollowness in you. Your legs instinctively spread a bit wider and, when he presses in after seeing your nod, you can't help but throw your head back, inhaling deeply at the immense pressure that pushes you open and fills you inch by inch.

Osborn always enters you slowly the first time, letting you accustom yourself to his large size. After a while, when you feel like you can't be any more full, you ask around a ragged breath, "Are you in?"

He casts a glance down, lips curving helplessly. "About two-thirds."

You grab at Osborn's arms when he places them beside your head to lean down and the thin layer of sweat on his skin makes the hills of his muscles smooth to touch. You can't help but glide your hands up and down them as you welcome his kiss to take your mind away from his entry.

When he finally pulls back and rests his forehead against yours with a sigh, his damp bangs sticking to yours, you know he's completely inside you. One of your hands comes down to search blindly for his and the moment you touch him, he turns his hand over and entwines his fingers between yours, pressing your palms together, before pulling your clasped hands up to your head while his other hand grasps your waist.

Osborn makes small movements at first, more rocking than pulling out and pushing in, until you start nudging your hips into his, and then he starts to move in earnest.

Maybe it should be expected of a professional racer, but his grasp on speed is flawless. He doesn't keep to a single pace or rhythm, instead changing it between slow and fast and deep and shallow to give you novel sensations the entire time.

But it's also not enough and so you gasp out, "Osborn... mm... faster..."

His laugh is low beside your ear. "Remember, you asked."

Osborn leans back and adjusts your posture, pulling your legs over the crook of his elbows, before he grabs your waist in both hands and flexes his waist.

You're certain his slam into you is on purpose and so you sink your nails into his hand even as you dig your free hand into the sheets and cry out at the pleasure that spears through you. His hips ram against yours and you can hear the sticky slap of skin accompanied by wet sounds as he drives himself into you again and again.

Before long, your mind gets consumed by flames of white-hot bliss as your second orgasm greets you. A few thrusts later and Osborn also follows you over the edge with a gritted grunt, breathing jagged enough to turn into something that sounds more like a growl.

As you come back to yourself again, you suddenly notice that this is pretty much the same setting as all the previous times the two of you make love. He makes you come first with foreplay and then makes you climax again as he spends himself in you. Just as you're about to remind Osborn to keep going—although you have to catch your breath first—you see him tie off his condom and toss it into the nearby waste basket before he lies down on his stomach and hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, exposing your still-twitching entrance to his face.

"W-wait! It hurts—mngh!"

"Shh, I know. I won't go anywhere sensitive."

Osborn keeps to his word as he only presses his tongue to your labia, licking these folds and avoiding the swollen and red nub at the top of your vagina. But still, the searing heat of his mouth down here right after your orgasm makes your waist twist and rise as you reflexively try to flee this sensation. One of his arms is placed over your lower abdomen though and keeps you held in place like a steel bar.

The sound of him lapping and sucking at the entrance of your hole comes off obnoxiously loud and, through a thick haze of pleasure, you ask with a choppy gasp, "Are you doing that on purpose?"

"Finally noticed?"

You feel his smile against you more than you hear it in his voice, making you curl the leg that's over his shoulder to try and dig your heel into his back in an expression of unhappiness, but he just laves his tongue over your clit in response and your legs automatically straighten into the air as you mewl at the pleasure that rocks you.

You reach down to tug at Osborn's hair. "Osborn... please..."

Once again, Osborn seems to understand the sentence you don't finish and he pulls away from your soaking mound, sitting up and grabbing another condom to tug over his erect member again. Just as you think he'll enter you like this, he pulls you into sitting up beside him.

"Come onto my lap."

Normally embarrassment would make you hesitate here, but you're driven by a desire that throbs in time to your empty hole, and so you place your hands on his shoulders which are slick with sweat and position yourself above him. Osborn's large hands hold your waist—a necessary support—as you slowly sink your trembling hips down onto his large pole.

However, maybe because you're not used to this angle, after taking in about half of his member, you stop moving and shake your head repeatedly. "I can't go any lower."

"Yes you can, you took all of this in earlier, remember?" Osborn encourages you, pressing his lips lightly to your forehead, eyelids, nose, and mouth.

Although that may be true, you still can't bring yourself to go down. There's an irrational sort of fear that you'll be split in half if you take all of this in. "W-why do I feel like you're larger?"

"Xiao Five... don't you know not to provoke a man like that?" Osborn's eyes darken with a beastly desire, but he doesn't pursue the topic and instead says, "Do you trust me?"

You have an inkling of where he's going with this and your body tenses, but you won't ever lie about your answer. "I do but—"

He cuts you off, "I'll count to three. Just breathe in and out."

You desperately try to follow his instructions, relaxing yourself as much as you can.

"One, two..." And then Osborn drops you down on his cock.

A strangled shout slips out of your mouth at him tricking you before his large member enters you deeper than ever. For a second, you can only arch against him uncontrollably, and then it's as if all the nerves in your body fire off in a disorganized chaos, making you squeeze your legs as hard as you can around his thighs while you drown in the molten pleasure that floods you.

The next thing you know you're slumped against Osborn, arms hanging limply over his shoulders, and shuddering.

"Don't squeeze so hard." Osborn gives a strained groan even as he runs his hand up and down your back soothingly. "Did you come just now?"

The tiny spasms from your body are your response.

He waits until you collect yourself before asking in a low pant, "Want to try moving?"

To be honest, you're not sure you have any strength left in your waist, but you can still feel the thick rod inside you and your small orgasm just now only seems to stoke the fires of your want even more, so you bite your lower lip and start to move, rocking yourself on him and rising up and down in small motions.

Eventually, your movements grow bolder as you discover the spots that make sparks of pleasure burst before your eyes. But then Osborn lowers his head to lick and suck on your breasts, prodding and flicking a pebbled nipple with his tongue, and the combined stimulation happening above and below makes you whimper even as you grind yourself against him, "No more..."

Osborn releases your nipple with a wet pop and raises his eyebrow at you. "Who was it who said she could keep up with my pace?"

"I can't move with you doing that." You shamelessly act spoiled and loop your arms around his neck to press your chest against his and hide it.

Osborn's mint-green eyes flicker and then he smiles, slow and dangerous. "OK, if you can't move then just hang on tight and leave the rest to me."

You only have a second to think 'Not good!' before a switch seems to flip in Osborn and he lifts you up until the tip of his member threatens to slip out of your hole and then drops you back down onto his lap. You cry out but he doesn't give you the time to acclimatize before he's bouncing you up and down on his cock, exhibiting the strength of his arms as he raises and lowers you with ease.

Obscene whines and gasps are dragged out of your mouth, so you slip a hand free from his neck to cover your mouth. But this displeases Osborn who begins to thrust from below in time with his arms. "Does this feel good?"

You nod vehemently.

However, he presses you down hard against his cock and rotates your waist with his hands, grinding the head of his member against a spot deep in your vagina that causes stars to appear in your vision. "I want to hear it."

Osborn sends you flying up again with his hips and loosens his hold on you. The momentary weightlessness startles you and you automatically reach out to hug his neck, exclaiming. When you come back down and he hits the same spot that, this time, makes the stars implode in your vision you don't even know what words come out of your uncovered mouth as you babble about how good he feels, how he's so large, and how he's the best. A tsunami of pleasure builds in you.

"Osborn, mn...! I'm...!"

"Wait for me. Can you hold on a little longer, baby?"

You wish you can say that you will but the fact is that in the next second your orgasm sweeps over you like a riptide and drags your senses out of your body. You can't think of anything else as your whole body is washed out into the utter pleasure of nothingness.

This time, when you slowly regain awareness, you hear Osborn making reassuring noises and kissing away the physiological tears that spilled from your eyes. You can feel his throbbing and hot pillar still rock-hard inside you and veins stand out in his neck as he clenches his jaw and patiently waits for you to come back to yourself.

Despite how hoarse his voice is with restraint, he asks, "Can you still keep going?"

And you just know that if you shake your head and want to stop right here then he will listen to you. He will pull out of you and deal with it himself in the bathroom. Overwhelming love wells up in you for this man and you lean forward to kiss him. He responds immediately and you two share a long, tender kiss that is filled with gentle warmth instead of raging desire.

"I can," you exhale against his lips.

To your surprise though, Osborn still pulls himself out of you. But before you can question him, he tugs a pillow to the middle of the bed and then makes you lie down on your stomach with your hips resting on that pillow.

"This should make it more comfortable for you."

When he slips back into you from behind, you clench around him automatically because this angle makes him bump against your inner walls in new ways. He hisses through his teeth at your action and then leans over you, placing both of his hands over yours that are clutching the sheets. Once again, he asks, "Ready?"

"Mhm."

Even though you say you're ready, every one of his thrusts still jars your body. Fortunately, his grip on your hands stops you from sliding anywhere.

Right now your body is oversensitive to the point where you can't even tell when pleasure ends or begins.

Your whole body shakes.

Osborn breathes, ragged and heavy, beside your ear.

Sweat drips from him and you can feel it land on your back, branding you with his essence.

Every time he drives his hips into you, you can hear a squelch as your hole greedily welcomes him. You're embarrassingly wet even though your whole body feels like it's coming adrift, and one particular slam even makes you feel like your soul is going to get knocked out of your body.

You cry out his name instinctively, muffled in the pillow.

"I'm here, I'm here." Osborn drops his weight on your back and this crushing sensation grounds you, giving you security. "Just a bit more. You're doing amazing. I'm almost there. Stay with me, OK?"

He nuzzles his head against yours and kisses your ear, repeating praises and encouragements between his pants.

You think you orgasm at the same time as him because, when he finally finishes with a stuttered groan, hips jerking against you, the universe seems to fracture and you black out briefly. The next time you're conscious, Osborn is turning your head to the side to push your sweaty hair behind your ear. He gives you a languid kiss.

For a while, the two of you simply breathe in each other's air before Osborn eventually shifts off you, cleans himself, and grabs tissues to wipe you down. Then he picks you up and all you can do is loll your head against his shoulder, boneless, as he carries you into the bathroom and directly into the shower.

It's only after he finishes washing your hair and his own that you feel like you can move a finger instead of just leaning on him, so you squeeze out body soap and run your hands down his broad chest. There's no sexual desire in your touches as you two wash each other in comfortable silence.

You do take this chance to cop a feel of the firm muscles of his abdomen though, enjoying the way they tighten under your touch. You snicker proudly. He retaliates by kneading the soft fat of your belly, laughing as you yowl and slap his arm.

However, when your hands drift lower to his Adonis belt, he makes a muffled grunt and you see his member slowly rise up again.

"Osborn..." Your voice carries a little fear.

He rubs your head. "Ignore it, it'll go down on its own."

Easier said than done when it's just there, bobbing and occasionally poking your stomach when Osborn leans in to wash your back. Your nether region is slightly numb in a way that tells you how sore you're going to be in the morning, but when you see him erect like this and recall your commitment to let him enjoy himself as much as you, you cannot just ignore it. And so you reach down to wrap your hand around his cock, although your fingers barely wrap around half of its girth.

"Lil' Xiao Five..." Osborn inhales sharply. "Don't tease me."

"I'm not teasing. Can I help...? Although I don't know what I'm doing."

Osborn looks down at you, eyes dark with surging desire. The way he licks his lips before he replies makes you suddenly feel like prey before a starving wolf. "I'll teach you."

He covers your hand with his and then moves your hands up and down together.

"Harder. Faster."

You try to remember everywhere he takes your hand and the speed and pressure that makes his breathing hitch. Eventually, Osborn lets go of your hand to rest both forearms against the wall behind you, caging you in his shadow, as you pleasure him with your hand.

Touching a penis is strange. It's large, thick, hot, and you can feel the bumps of its pulsing veins. But it's also smooth and slick, especially when the head weeps with evidence of his desire. Unexpectedly, your lower abdomen starts to tingle again. It doesn't help that Osborn's breathing, chaotic and heated, lands in your ears again and again.

He must see you rubbing your thighs together because he suddenly laughs lowly, "Do you want some help too?"

You'll be lying if you say you aren't tempted. "I'm sore."

"Don't worry, I have an idea." He removes your hand, nudges your legs apart with his knee, and then sandwiches his cock between your thighs. "Keep them pressed as tight as you can."

Despite already having done so much earlier, there's something extremely indecent about the feeling of his rod rubbing against the skin of your thighs and occasionally brushing against your folds. You can feel your thighs gradually growing wet with something that isn't water from the shower, letting him slide between you easier. Your clit also bumps up against his taut abdomen and you end up leaning on him again, making little gasps.

Eventually he starts to piston his hips and, seeing that he's getting close to his orgasm, you try to squeeze your thighs even tighter for him. But he seems to know that you aren't close at all and so he reaches down to push back the hood of your clit and pinch it between his fingers, tugging and stroking it like you were stroking his member earlier.

You feel something swell in you. "Nngh, s-stop! Something's... going to come out...!"

"Let it out, it's OK, we're in the shower."

You shake your head, crying out, and desperately try to hold his arm still, but your strength has never been a match for his and so you're helpless as he continues his actions until that pressure in you bursts and you come with a wail, squirting over his abdomen. As you convulse against him, he comes as well with a muffled curse and staggers when he has to catch you with shaky legs after you begin to slump down.

For a moment, the only sounds in the bathroom are heavy breathing and the running shower, but dimly you think you can hear the drip of other liquids sliding off your bodies.

"Looks like it's still dangerous to do things in the shower. Maybe we should install a grab bar in here," Osborn gasps out.

"In your dreams!"

You hammer his chest, but there's no strength in your arm at all and so it's more like you just weakly place your fist on his chest. Osborn still cooperatively "grunts" at the impact and chuckles.

Clinging to him, you're entirely limp as he washes away everything on your bodies and carries you out of the shower to sit on the toilet, carefully towelling you dry and blow-drying your hair before he dries himself off with rough and efficient movements.

You manage to muster up some energy to cooperate with him in getting dressed. He grabs one of his shirts to slip over your camisole, afraid that you'll catch a chill, and then throws on a white sleeveless t-shirt and briefs for himself. By the time he changes the bedsheets, you're already nodding off and you're barely conscious when he finally carries you into bed and pulls you into his arms.

Struggling to hold onto the last threads of your awareness, you ask him sleepily, "Did you enjoy yourself?"

The rise and fall of the warm chest beside you pauses for a moment and then you feel his body shake with a quiet laugh. "I should be asking you that. Is your curiosity satisfied?"

"Mm..." Unconsciously, your hand drifts down to touch the bulge in his underwear, as if trying to check to see if he's still hard or not. But Osborn catches your hand before you can examine him further and brings your hand back to his chest.

"Little rascal, you can't take any more," he says in a helpless voice, "Go to sleep."

You can't say your curiosity is entirely satisfied, but you drift off to him softly patting your back anyway.

[vancilocs]

30-39 for any blorbos you have 0.5 seconds away from bursting out of your nogging?

my parents ambushed me and took me out to get some chicken nuggest. also you get the vampire n the king

30. Do they exercise? Regularly? Or only when forced? What do they act like pre-work out and post-work out?

Raven makes sure to move a bit every day, usually a few pushups and crunches and plenty of stretching, and goes on nighttime walks with his cat. No difference from how he acts.

Fenrir mainly just walks around the castle or goes horseback riding, mainly to work out his anxious energy, if he's very twitchy he will go out for an hour or so and be more relaxed. He's banned from riding saddleless and he's a bit pissed about it.

31. Do they drink? What are they like drunk? What are they like hungover? How do they act when other people are drunk or hungover? Kind or teasing?

Drinks very little because his liver is already so fucked up, at most he will have a tiny bit of wine. If drunk, lays around and cries. If hungover, lays around and cries. Not a fan of looking after drunk or hungover people either, but won't complain, will hold their hair back and say nothing.

Drinks a bit too much though he has cut back a whole lot from his youth, still will down a bottle of wine in a night three times a week. When drunk he's sleepy and cuddly and giggly, when hungover he's like a bear that's been shot in the ass, don't talk to him. Gently makes fun of drunk or hungover people, especially if they're his kids

32. What do they dress like? What sorta shops do they buy clothes from? Do they wear the fashion that they like? What do they wear to sleep? Do they wear makeup? What’s their hair like?

Mainly wears black work clothes, buys from any retailer that has clothes that fit at a reasonable price. Sleeps in a hoodie and boxers. Wears eyeliner and eyeshadow on gigs, keeps his hair mid-length and clean, tucked behind ears or swept back

Wears the finest finery, embroidery, leather, jewels, velvet cloaks and gold buckles, but adds his own rougher style with leather gloves and chokers and needless straps and belts. One good part of being king is that people can't tell you what to wear. Always compensates his tailors well, so while he doesn't buy new clothes often, when he does they're the best quality. Sleeps with just pants on. His hair's real long and luscious, good for braiding and buns and ponytails if he's feeling sassy

33. What underwear do they wear? Boxers or briefs? Lacey? Comfy granny panties?

Simplest black boxers money can buy

34. What is their body type? How tall are they? Do they like their body?

Tall (like 190 cm), thin, kinda sinewy? He's a bit too skinny compared to how much muscle he's built. He doesn't particularly like his body, mainly because he's so chronically ill, but weight and heightwise he's fine.

Also around 190 cm and way more built, he's got some chunk ontop of the beef, no abs here no sire. Thick boi, can't knock him over with a pail of water. He thinks he might have gotten a bit too fat but that's nonsense.

35. What’s their guilty pleasure? What is their totally unguilty pleasure?

Sleeping with Vikas is a guilty pleasure, as is sometimes smoking (he only does when very stressed). Unguilty pleasures are sleeping late because he has a night shift and just laying in bed petting his cat

Smoking and drinking are guilty pleasures, old bad habits die hard. Feels no guilt over delegating small responsibilities to his underlings and laying in bed with his wife or spending time with his toddler, like bitch why do you think I hired you

36. What are they good at? What hobbies do they like? Can they sing?

He is a singer and a keyboardist, very good at both. Doesn't have the energy for other hobbies.

The best horserider in the castle (closely followed by Rawk), pretty good at swordfighting. Not a great singer.

37. Do they like to read? Are they a fast or slow reader? Do they like poetry? Fictional or non fiction?

He enjoys some reading, especially gothic poetry, writes some songs himself so those are inspirational. Likes to take his time reading and analyzing. Sometimes indulges in nonfiction.

Doesn't like reading and is slow at it but also doesn't destroy books on sight anymore. Mainly reads important letters and documents, sometimes children's books for Nepheli.

38. What do they admire in others? What talents do they wish they had?

Admires assertive people (Lyssa shutting Orion up made her a legend in his eyes) and wishes he was better at managing his own emotions. Unfortunately your upbringing left you with some attachment issues

Doesn't understand how people can stand long meetings without going insane or falling asleep. Or how people like reading. Or how his wife can talk with people with a smile on her face and then later say that she doesn't actually much like that person

39. Do they like letters? Or prefer emails/messaging?

Communicates via text always, receiving a letter would be kinda romantic tho.

He doesn't write letters because his handwriting is ass, he dictates them instead

[number1yisuchongfan]

A long list of Yi Suchong Headcanons

Suchong has scars on his back that he got when he was a child. They cause him some back pain that flares up when he picks up a heavy object or Jack up

Suchong chews on his nails and sometimes on his wrist when he’s stressed out

Suchong wears 2 jade rings around his neck that his father used to own, it’s to remember him by

Suchong cooks in his free time to help himself calm down whenever he’s stressed (Jack does this too), he usually makes mandu with multiple types of Banchans on the side and some soft boiled eggs

Suchong is Autistic and has ADHD

Suchong was very close with his father and has a Jesa or 제사 in his late father’s honor

Suchong needs a structured schedule for his day, or he gets extremely stressed out

Suchong heavily despises romance novels but buys them for Jack (along with some chocolate)

Suchong has moles over his body and they’re ticklish

Suchong sleeps in sleeping position 16 when alone but does big spoon with Gilbert and holds a young Jack whenever he has nightmares

Suchong enjoys board games

Suchong deals with extreme Survivor’s Guilt and has horrible nightmares, this is further pushed with his use of plasmids and the Ghosts that follow with Plasmid use

Suchong and Lamb hate each other to the point they can’t be in the same room without sending petty and rude comments at each other

Suchong hates and thinks astrology is idiotic

Suchong uses Telekinesis, Incinerate!, and Geyser Trap in everyday life and for unlikely purposes (i.e. using telekinesis to hold books and coffee, using Incinerate to boil water for coffee instead of using a stovetop, and using geyser trap to clean pots, pans, and Jack)

Suchong has an extremely dark sense of humor he uses to cope with the trauma he faced in Korea and what he’s seen in Rapture

Suchong’s favorite flower is the Papaver Rhoeas or Red Poppy and he keeps vases of them in his home, office, the Free Clinic, and his labs

Suchong is allergic to cats

Suchong doesn’t realize that staring at people isn’t seen as being nice so he ends up just looking at people, right in the eye, for an awkward amount of time

Suchong would’ve liked Wham!’s “Everything She Wants” if he had lived to hear it

Suchong puts “I’m A Fool To Want You” by Frank Sinatra on whenever he and Alexander are having a date at his apartment

Suchong is Bisexual and Grey-Romantic

Suchong hates long sleeved button ups and only wears short sleeved shirts for that reason

Suchong enjoys making encoded languages

Suchong’s well versed in how to properly take care of, load, and use a shotgun but with any other weapon; he’s dumb of how to use it without hurting himself and others

Suchong and Jack McClendon, the guy who created the security cameras, turrets, and robots of Rapture, both share a burning hatred for Stanley Poole but only know each other through Alexander

Suchong has names for the people in his life, Fontaine is “Bald Egg”, Tenenbaum is “Mozart”, Jack is “Ace”, “Little Seedling”, and (when Jack gets on his bad side or otherwise is being annoying) “Little Shit”, the Rapture Council is “Sons of Bitches”, Ryan is “Cheap Son of a Bitch”, and Alexander is “Beanstalk” and “Poppy Flower” + he calls Lamb a “Psycho Bitch”

[g-l-o-w-y-l-i-g-h-t-s]

Tag yourself, Dracula (novel) characters edition:

Arthur:

Would die for his gf

Abraham Van Helsing:

PhD. Md. Esqu. Fuck. you.

Nobody is sure wtf he's talking about

Schlemiel

Let's talk about corn 🌽

Constantly spewing ominous vague shit

I'll get over it I just have to cry about it first

Will trust one (1) person with his problems and only even that if he's reached a complete breakdown

Will quote absolute bullshit at you as if it is proven fact

"Parrots can't die. I'm an expert."

Currently in a foreign country

Would commit a crime

Genre savvy

Mr Swales:

Death is inevitable 😊

Incomprehensible speech

Renfield:

Weird diet

An outlier

Clingy

Eldritch princess

Ambitious

🥺🥺🥺🥺

Should not be allowed to have a cat

Cleans by just eating the mess

Eats a lot of meat

You can control him by giving him food

Probably a sub

Mentally ill

Lucy:

Polyam

Hot Girl Summer

Voluptuous

Miiiiight have eaten somebody

Quincy Morris:

Cowboy! 🤠

Infinite Swag

Can handle the wackest situations perfectly

Hottie

Has a gun

The Wyrd Sisters:

Read (3:21 pm)

Seward:

Desperate

Owns/runs a lunatic asylum

$$$

At least he's pretty

Straight A student

Least cool guy you've ever met

Mad scientist

Podcaster

Wtf is even happening rn

Something is Very Wrong with this man

schlimazel

Desperately needs a Nap. Exhausted

Down bad for Quincy Morris

Very proud of himself for having a thought that will almost be a whole idea any day now

"there must be a reasonable explanation"

Undiagnosed mental illness

Needs his comfort items

Needs validation so bad

Ableist af

Keeps a diary

Mina:

Loves her significant other so fuckimg much

Journals

Homoerotic best-friendship times!! ❣️

Knows her partner better than anyone

My best friend is soooooo pretty and funny and cool

Goth

Protective

Repressed bisexuality

Repressed in general

Romantic ASF

Same taste as Dracula

Has read Dracula

Owner of all the Team Braincells(tm)

Says shit like "Everyone loves me" and she's right

Gets shit done

Secretary and the whole operation would probably collapse without her

Dealing with sexism

Gets left out

Feral devotion to her partner

Traumatized

Special interest in trains

Train fiend!

Girlboss

Dislikes garlic ever since the incident

Dracula:

"please assume I am normal"

Lizard fashion

"I PROMISE I'm normal"

Teaboo

Cooks for his friends

"I am so normal"

Graveful and elegant in public but as soon as you look away he has to do 19828291 things to maintain his image before anyone notices

So many red flags

Likes bearded men

Will just grab something from you and yeet it away

Fucked up little guy

Rock/Wall climbing expert

Wants to be liked so bad

Fraudster

Identity theft

Unhinged

Very effective beauty routine

Did not think this through

Cannot pace himself

Does fucked up horrendous shit just for the fuck of it/to fuck with people

Terrible/non-existent decision making skills

"Anything is free if they don't catch you stealing"

Grumpy idiot

Same taste as Mina

Hairy

Self obsessed

Will do anything for meat

Hates garlic

Edgelord

Cringefail

Gives up immediately

"If I avoid the problem long enough it will go away "

Ugly/can't make that hat work for him

$$$$

Jonathan Harker:

White boy - has spices for the first time and it affects him like drugs

Never shuts up about food

"Ridiculous but also uncomfortable"

British (derogatory)

Red flags are so sexy to him

Wife guy!!

Going through it!!

Logical

Doing his best not to get murdered but it is a Task

Everyone wants him

Racist 😕

Someone please help him

"Not again"-his response to the wildest shit you've ever seen happen

Will hit a bitch with a shovel

Badass survival horror protagonist

Loves his wife!

The Horrors are neverending

Cinnamon roll

Mentally ill but refuses to fully acknowledge it

*gets money* Bribery time!

Feral rage unlocked!!!

White hair early from stress