#also he has some lore but like this post was lengthy enough as is | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cherry-titz · 11 months

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Hi friends! @1800titz here. This is my contribution to the collaboration, and I’d like to start off by saying that I am so, so, so beyond excited to work with the immensely talented @cherryjuiceblues!! Thank you for working with me Soph :’)

We have loads of goodies planned, and we’d like to kick things off with Mr. Hitchhikerry. (Sidenote: he’s a little late to the party, this WAS supposed to be a spooky piece for Halloween but SHDJDJCJDJD don’t worry about it. Life got in the way a bit, but he’s finally HERE so WOOOO). A little idea based on this reddit post. This one has great big warnings. DARK HARRY. VERY DARK HARRY. With a piece like this, I want to really emphasize: this is purely for entertainment purposes, and there is 0 correlation intended to the real Harry Styles <3 just a spooky faceclaim.

With that disclaimer out of the way, here’s some content warnings: dom/sub themes, choking, (light) spanking, degradation (and praise!) ((some good ol’ LET’S PLAY SIMON SAYS)). THE WOOF WOOF is for humiliation purposes only <3 GREAT BIG WARNING FOR A DISTURBING CONFESSION OF INTENT TO HARM.

Also, I writhe in my seat as I write, wanting to put in lengthy context of prediscussion and safewords and aftercare and everything important I always talk about, BUT. You’ll see. He’s an …interesting character and I tried to keep hitchhikerry true to himself.

PLEASE DON’T HOOK UP WITH STRANGE MEN YOU PICK UP ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AT NIGHT. PLEASE DON’T PICK UP STRANGE MEN ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AT NIGHT. Enjoy ٩(◕‿◕)۶ (WC is 11K)

She doesn’t do hitchhikers.

Not figuratively, not literally.

Y/N was raised outside of the scope of the seventies, post-Bundy and his hitchhiking antics, and since the evolution of serial-killer lore, she’s never been fond of a stranger hopping into her passenger seat and then cutting her up into itsy-bitsy parts to hang around his back garden like string-lights, or something. An ear there, a palm with crooked fingers there. Morbid stuff.

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers, but she doesn’t think about that, hurtling down some back-country road, a poorly lit vale through a field of tall, boundless grass. It’s not the first thought budding behind her skull when she sees his silhouette through the shone of her pearly brights — a blip by the line of tall shrubbery — even a good distance away. And from her distance, he’s just a little blip in a cream, hoodless sweatshirt, feet planted into a bed of patchy grass. Her first sane thought, as she squints through her windshield, has to do with why someone would be out on this road, at this time of night, with no feasible form of transportation, and how. As her Honda nears and passes some fork off, a dirt bend of clearing into the winding field of nature, the man’s hitchhiking, signature thumb morphs into a wave of his arms, and his foot steps out, toying at the edge of the road. It doesn’t quite breach the threshold, but her speedometer decreases enough for her to catch baggy denim, distressed at the knees, and a slow wave of his arms, raised. He doesn’t launch at her car, forlorn, as she passes — thank Christ. But even then, his frame swishes by, out of sight, coated by darkness. She casts her gaze to the rear-view, and the image of him scrubbing over his face with an exasperated palm shrinks in size the further she gets.

The young woman gets about a hundred feet before she nudges the break with her foot to a halt, sighing as the car settles with a subtle lurch. She makes another glance to the rear-view. Now, she can’t see him, not in the shroud of night, but she squeezes her eyes shut for a second, and then twists the wheel until the car curves. A tire slips off onto gravel and grass with the U-turn, but she steers herself back onto the road and drives into the same direction she’s just come from.

He looks surprised to see her reverse, form pivoted toward the same headlights that’d just passed him with a crease over his brow bone. Y/N slows and breaks as she nears, absent-mindedly pressing a fingertip over the lock button on her door. TV Girl is still playing quietly from her car speakers when she cracks the window, stopped beside him across the road, and beckons with her chin raised just enough for her cadence to seep through the opening, “Do you need help?”

“Yes, yeah, I—“ the man makes a quick glance towards the side of the road where vehicles would be incoming, a sharp turn of his chin, and then a step towards her parted window as Y/N twists over the volume toggle. “I just— my car broke down,” he raises an arm and points towards the dirt clearing that slips into the field, “I was coming this way, and my phone’s died—“

He pauses, shaking his head down at his converse, his voice a baritone croon with charming, foreign dialect, “I know this is so odd, and you probably don’t want a stranger in your car. But f’you could just order an uber or something, I could give you the cash for it?” the girl watches his ring-clad palm disappear into the front pocket of his denim hastily, only to retrieve a wallet, “—If that’s alright?”

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers.

And still, her pupils rove over the charming stranger, trailing from his soft dark curls, swiping over his lashes as his head ducks, down the slope of his nose, to the cushiony pink of his lips. Irises graze down his neck and catch a white tee under the collar of his cream pull-over, and they brush down his denim, to his battered, white converse. The young woman watches his hand stretch out, cautiously, a wad of neatly folded cash cupped by pads of fingers with short, yellow-lacquered nails.

“No, don’t— …I can give you a ride,” Y/N tells him, her tone soft as her gaze wanders over his frame.

A downward shift plucks at the corner of his plush mouth and his jaw flexes, a hesitant look shaping over his features, “It’s— I couldn’t— s’like a thirty minute drive, and I don’t wanna take you out of the way…”

His large hand is still stretched out toward her, and she admires the cross inked over the back of his hand, on the fleshy area between his thumb and forefinger. Her brows pinch together, and the window whirs as the glass partition sinks. The girl raises her hand and points back with her thumb.

“Are you going in that direction?”

Wordlessly, the attractive stranger nods — a single dip of his chin.

“I’m going that way, too. I can give you a lift.”

Another look of hesitancy flits over the curly-haired stranger’s face, a soft, dubious touch to his facial features. He purses his strawberry mouth.

“If you’re sure.”

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers.

And still, she slips her hand over the unlock button, and the doors click to signal unshuttering as the man culls his wallet and stuffs the cash back in, sticking that back into his jeans. She watches him wind around her car, his gait trailing behind, and her eyes follow his side profile, bathed in the red of the brake lights, through the rear-view. The passenger door slips open. She rolls her window the rest of the way up.

“Thank you,” the man tells her in his low baritone, raking fingers through his curls as he slides into the seat beside her and shuts the door.

He smells heady and fresh — expensive. But it’s not overpowering, by any means. A blend of tantalizing notes; cologne blotted in increments that mesh well with his natural musk. The pleasant scent is the first thing she notices when he climbs into her vehicle. The second is the sculpt of his side profile — lengthy lashes over the crest of his cheekbones, his nose, a plush, pink mouth, a stray curl splayed over his forehead. He’s a little older than her, at least by a handful of years; there’s this innate, aged quality to him, and she can witness it in the shape of his features, in the soft dusting of stubble over his jawline. Y/N catches glimpses of his side profile discretely as the music track shifts, eyeing the bob of his Adam's apple as he cranes his neck back against the headrest. The screen over the center console reads 1:02 AM.

“Long night?”

It’s a shit attempt at small talk, but the young woman turns the wheel in her palms, hopeful that the man is interested in something more than an awkward silence, sparsely filled with the mellow keys of electronic-indie leaking from the speakers. She heard him expel a breath more than she sees it in her peripherals, and as the car embarks on another U-turn, he tells her, with laughter suffusing his cadence, “Yeah. Yeah, s’been a long night.”

She does make out that he pivots a bit towards her, and his tone is earnest when he says, “But it’d be a little longer without you, I think. Thank you, again. Feels like I can’t say it enough.”

Her mouth quirks softly. The young woman keeps a haphazard left hand on the wheel, vision bouncing from the poorly illuminated road ahead and the phone in the cupholder. The LED display lights alive as she swipes her thumb over the lockscreen and toggles onto the maps app, cueing him by nudging the electronic in his direction.

“Um. If you could just type in the directions— I’m sort of shit in these parts, to be honest.”

She casts a brief gaze toward him and sees a soft divot pinch into his cheek as the corners of his mouth crook up. His fingertips, warm and rough — calloused — brush over the back of her hand with the handoff, and then his thumbs are working over the screen before an address and a winding blue line of directions with an eta of thirty-four minutes teems the screen.

“Hi, by the way,” the man says in his honey-smooth cadence, “My name’s Harry.”

“Hi,” Y/N grins, shooting a bashful glance into the attractive stranger — Harry’s — direction, before fixing her irises up ahead. “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” the man parrots — God. She could listen to him drone on about the most monotonous topics in that voice. He doesn’t. Instead, he uses that same timbre again to say, “S’a pretty name.” And she has to ignore the flurry of butterflies that swarm her innards at the entirely innocuous compliment and the heat that suffuses her cheeks. “Are you from around here?”

“Ish. Sort of,” she slows at a curve through the field. Her brows pinch, “I mean, I’ve lived here for a bit now, but I moved from Oregon.”

“Oregon? That’s sick. Any particular motive?”

Y/N lifts a subtle shoulder, because there isn’t. She pauses before she answers. “Dunno. Just needed a change of scenery.”

Harry twists the ring over his pinky and nods down at the motion, lips pursed with intrigue, “Adventurous.”

The young woman’s mouth crooks, because he’s, evidently, from the opposite hemisphere.

“That’s admirable,” the man motions with his chin.

Her mouth is still smiley when she rounds another curve, in the opposite direction, and mirrors his dialogue, “What about you? Any motive?”

“My motive?” his inflection is cheeky and playful, “You don’t think I’m a native?”

The girl makes a wry sound of amusement; an obvious inclination of disagreement. The handsome man grins, all raspberry-tinted lips and friendly teeth. “Just …visited, and never wanted to leave,” he declares with little expansion on the topic. Simple, short, sufficing.

There’s a little moment of lull between them when she straightens the car out and the track slips into the chorus.

Harry shifts in the passenger seat and asks, in that same deep timbre she could sink into and drown in, “Where are you headed from?”

Where is she headed from? Y/N blinks at the road ahead, digits flexing over the steering wheel. Truth be told, it’s a late hour to be out and about, especially in this deserted neck of the woods. Every cozy little farmhouse in these plains, distant beyond the fields of grass, has lights off. No other car passes.

“I was on a …date,” the young woman tells him.

Harry nods and swivels in his seat to face her a bit. “Good date?”

Y/N pauses, the fragments of the story rolling around behind her skull. And truth be told, …it wasn’t a very good date. But it wasn’t a date to begin with. In all honesty, she’s not about to tell this attractive stranger that she’d driven forty minutes for a routine hook-up with an old tinder match, only to be stood up outside his door.

He was a character whose path happened to cross with hers for purely carnal purposes, and their flings were like rolls through seasons, rendezvous blotted into her timeline where either had a smidge to make room. She’s not going to talk about that. It’s piteous, basically. The young woman doesn’t risk side-eyeing him. This man seems like he’s well off in that department, and she doesn’t want to discuss her shit intimate life and the way that Cody decided, last minute, that he was more interested in going out for miller lites with his buddies than entertaining the idea of sleeping with her.

He didn’t even have that impressive of dick game anyways — that’s the brutal candor. It wasn’t that he had this particular lack of satisfaction guarantee, but the sex was okay. It didn’t tick all the boxes or leave her fulfilled, not in the real sense, but it was sex, and it was decent. Maybe the most brutal part is the way she’d driven all the way to see him, even knowing that the sex wasn’t going to be top notch.

Apparently, her silence stretches too long, and the pause gives away the answer she mulls tactics over hiding.

“Bad date,” the girl hears from beside her — it’s in this thoughtful sort of way, like Harry’s slotting puzzle pieces together in the lull.

Y/N shifts her fingers over the wheel, the sound of skin sliding over leather meshing with the starting notes of a Cage the Elephant track. Her thumb toggles over a button on the wheel. She skips it.

“No,” the girl responds, eventually, but she doesn’t even sound fully convincing to her own ears. There’s this high note to her cadence, and she hears it in her own waver of honesty. She wants to cringe up, a little, at the sound. “Not …bad. Just. Well, you know. What about you?”

For the first time since she’d gotten back onto the road, Y/N casts her gaze to him. A glimpse, a twist of her chin, enough to take in his side-profile for a smidge of a second, more in a way to incite switching the topic and pivoting the point of conversation than the inconspicuous stare she’d made appreciating his features. The corner of his plush mouth curves up, and he makes a little sound; a puff of air through his nostrils like he’s bridling mirth.

“Was my date bad?” Harry says, in this playful sort of way. Like he’s teasing her.

“No— your— whatever you—”

Y/N huffs. She rolls her shoulders back against the seat, a heat teeming over her cheeks. Why was she so nervous? Why did he make her so nervous? Harry makes another sound of amusement, the cushion of his lips unsealing to display straight white teeth.

“I was at a friend’s,” Harry expands, opting to stop drawing out the teasing, enough for Y/N’s shoulders (that’d grown rigid) to relax a little against the seat. “Was actually having a good night, believe it or not. And then, you know.”

Unfortunately, she does know. He’s sitting in her car, after all.

“Do you know what went wrong with it?” she ponders.

“Well,” Harry the pads of his fingers over the door, and it takes every fiber in her not to sneak a glance at the motion, not to admire the yellow polish, washed with darkness, dim in the car, “the check engine light was on for a bit, to be honest. But— no,” the man pauses with a little simper, shooting her a glance, “Cars aren’t my specialty.”

They talk about loads of things — she learns all about his friends and the sort of outing they’d had (game night it’d been, Uno, and he’d beckoned her opinion on a debate that’d arisen — whether a draw four could be stacked onto a draw two). That had spawned another conversation on card games —

(“Is it like Go Fish, then?”

“No,” she snorts, “not at all.”

“Not at all?”

“There’s a board and it’s— more complicated.”

“There’s a board,” Harry parrots, shifting with his elbow brace on the center console like an armrest, “And it’s just, like. Cards, like, in a deck of cards?”

“You’ve never played cribbage?” Y/N repeats in disbelief.)

She learns about his job, and his cat, and his collection of vintage vinyls. He’s amiable, and he answers every question she directs his way with this smooth sort of charm. He’s easy to talk to, and the span of the drive cuts shorter and shorter through intriguing conversation. But she leads the way for the majority of the inquiries.

It’s not until they’re at the halfway mark before he asks his own, rather than redirecting one of hers.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry drums his fingertips over the plush of his mouth, and Y/N struggles to fix her eyes back onto the road once she’s spared him a glance.

It takes her a second to hum out an agreement, too.

“It was a bad date, wasn’t it?”

The girl expels a breath and drums her fingers over the wheel, casting her gaze onto the screen of directions.

“It wasn’t even a date,” she confesses, “he was like—“ she blinks, lashes fluttering as exasperation at the reminder leaks through, “A tinder hook up, and we didn’t even end up hooking up.”

Before he can interject, Y/N tacks on, begrudged, “He wanted to hit the bars with his posse of Mag-con wannabes, instead.”

And then there’s this sort of pause that has Y/N thinking that maybe she’s overshared. The man with the sun-polished nails isn’t an old friend she’s having a gab with, catching up on the phone — he’s a stray man she’s plucked up off some deserted road, and if he judged her for her choices, it’d kind of be justified. Namely, the one where she’d driven out in the middle of the night for impromptu cock.

And anyways, this all feels a bit surreal — the beginnings of a therapy session with a stranger who’d hopped into her sedan for a lift, filling the void of a psychologist in a great, big leather armchair.

Except Harry sounds earnestly disbelieving when he says, “You’re kidding.”

She purses her mouth and readjusts her fingers over the steering wheel. “He sort of …canceled when I was already at his door? Forgot to text me that the plans changed. That’s what he said.”

“What a dickhead.”

“Mm,” Y/N hums.

“He’s a moron for passing up the opportunity,” Harry tells her. It’s not in an awkward way, or anything creepy, either. He’s got this air to him, she finds — an ability to make a comment like with effortless delivery of charm. He’s not even looking at her when he says it, only risking her a brief glance that she catches in her peripherals. She still side-eyes him from her seat in surprise, the edges of her mouth curling up bashfully.

“M’serious,” Harry says, dimples pinching into place beside the upturned-curl of his plush mouth.

And the thing is, Harry is so friendly. He’s kind, and interesting, and despite the way Y/N had assumed allowing for his presence in her car would be the world’s greatest chore, she’s pleased to be in his company.

That’s why she lifts a wry shoulder and tells him, “The sex was bad anyways.”

The man’s face pivots to face her, then. “Yeah?” he coaxes for expansion in his molasses-slow croon of a timbre.

“It was just a little boring.”

“Boring?”

“Not— maybe not boring. Just, you know. There was nothing…” Y/N drums digits over the steering wheel, “I don’t know.”

The man beside her clears his throat.

“Was he a missionary in the dark type of bloke, then?”

“Yes,” she responds, almost instantly. Because missionary in the dark is, perhaps, the best way to describe Cody’s sexual nature. Down to the T, practically. She can’t fathom how many times she’d lay there, hoping he’d switch up into something different, something where his hands weren’t resting shallowly on the bed sheets beside her shoulders, something where his face wasn’t tucked into the crook of her neck, his mouth biting back everything but soft hisses of air as his hips rocked at an mediocrely slow pace.

Harry’s mouth quirks.

“But not even that, it’s like. He wasn’t bad at foreplay, or anything. It wasn’t the best. But, you know. It was all sort of… plain.”

The young woman pauses before she continues with an apathetic, one-shouldered shrug, “And there’s nothing wrong with plain. It gets the job done, and, you know. That’s what some people like.”

There’s a shift in energy, from there. It’s subtle, but Y/N can feel it, and she wonders whether the morph is a one-sided experience. It happens with the honesty of the context, with the way she swears jade winds over her figure from beside, with the rasp of his voice beckoning something playful.

“But that’s not what you like.”

Y/N takes a second to answer. “No.”

“What do you like?”

Maybe that phrase is where it hits her. Where she recognizes that the subtle shift in energy is not one-sided. Not by any means.

Y/N risks a haphazard glance into his direction.

“Not …that,” the girl laughs. It’s a nervous, giggly kind of sound, but it’s not because of him.

It’s different now, she thinks. He’d been so timid at first — all bashful gazes through lashes glimmering under the beam of headlights, hesitancy shaping his features. Friendly dialogue — alluring, but curt in anything beyond friendly. This is different. This is blunt and forward. This is his eyes raking over her, this is his tongue swiping out over the plush of his pink mouth, this is his dimples peeking as the corners edge up.

“What do you like?” Harry asks again, a note of flirty, lighthearted amusement to his smooth cadence.

Y/N sighs, the corners of her mouth tipping up. “I don’t know. Oh my God. Why are you interrogating me?”

Harry laughs. His brows rise, and he tips his chin down so the green sparkles at her. “You don’t know what you like?”

“I don’t know,” she huffs, good natured. And then she gives. “Something… rough. Something exciting. I don’t know, pull my hair, make it hurt a little. Don’t… lay there in the dark and…” her speech morphs into giggles, “Groan into my ear about how tight I am while I’m laying there like a dead fish.”

Y/N doesn’t know how she ends up pulled over in some deserted parking lot. She doesn’t know how her headlights end up off, how the stranger’s hands sew into her hair, how his lips mesh softly with hers, hungrily. Well. She does know, but she doesn’t care about the details in between. Because he’s hot, and he tastes of mint, and the tips of his fingers press into her scalp and tug a little when they brush through, when he slips a palm over the nape of her neck through the work of his cushiony mouth. It’s thrilling, and it’s sexy, and it’s dangerous, she thinks, but that thought becomes clouded and pushed back to the dells of her mind.

“Such a pretty little thing,” Harry murmurs when they disconnect, fingers splaying over her cheeks. Her heart hammers in her chest, and his irises trail after the motion of his thumb, bumpily dragging over the side of her lips, all the way to her cupid's bow. That same pad of his thumb pauses and tugs, drawing her bottom lip down to show the slightly parted seal of her teeth.

And then he’s taking his thumb away and nudging the tips of his index and middle finger, coaxing, “Open your mouth, open your mouth.”

The pads of his digits meet the tip of her tongue and prod in, brushing over her taste buds, until he’s tapping onto the center of the muscle and crooning, “Stick it out. Tongue out for me.”

A little hum escapes her, plucking at her vocal chords when she complies, only for him to trace further with his fingertips and nudge until he strokes the back. He holds them there and makes a little motion with his chin and a soft tut when her irises stay pinned on him, glazing with a sheen of watery protest at the depth of the intrusion.

“Ah— don’t you gag,” he tells her softly, every syllable of every word coated with these notes of dominance that almost seem …innate — like the headspace is a pair of shoes for him to slip into with ease.

It’s filthy, it’s so filthy — this stranger’s fingers in her mouth, this man she’s never seen a day in her life, a complete, nameless stranger, not even an hour prior, prodding into the warm wetness behind her lips. And her, following his aimless direction, just to please him. She doesn’t gag through the way his fingers crook, her tongue twitching and her throat bobbing, her sight growing blurry with the coating of sheen. It’s worth it, immensely, when Harry hisses out a soft curse and groans softly, his brows pinched.

It’s worth it when he takes his fingers away, and Y/N’s jaw is coated with her drool, when her tongue is still out, when Harry says, in this soft, strained voice, like it’s praise, “Christ, you’re a filthy thing.”

She finds that this impromptu rendezvous sort of gives her whiplash. She’s parked in some empty parking lot with her lights off, and an alluring stranger’s just untucked his fingers from her mouth. Maybe someone would deem this a new low — having a shag with some hitchhiker she’s scooped off the side of a back-country road. But he’s eyeing her like she’s prey, and he rolls from one action like pages flitting and flipping in a book, and every detail keeps her on her toes. She can’t keep up. Y/N pants wetly, like she’s not sure whether to slip her tongue back into her strawberry mouth, because she’s not.

Not until he swipes another thumb over the tip of the lax, twitching muscle and beckons, like he’s a little amused, “Aren’t you?”

Slowly, her tongue retreats, and that’s when his hand slips and cups over her throat, and that’s—

Her pulse thunders like it’s straining to beat out from below her skin, and Harry adjusts his grip, that same, wet thumb drawing short, slow lines over the point like he wants to test the race of her heart, like he wants to know that the pattern has skyrocketed since his palm has made homage over her windpipe. The man hums, pupils trailing and lingering slowly.

“Tell me—“ Y/N shifts in her seat, spine straightening out against the cushion, and something wracks down every individual knob when his blown gaze pins her the same way his palm pins over her neck, “Tell me you’re my filthy plaything.”

The press of his hand isn’t harsh by any extent, not until she parts her lips to answer — that’s when he nudges a little firmer. A little harder. He cocks his head at her in this condescending way — like her stifled sound of surprise entertains him, like the subtle, almost unnoticeable jolt of her eyelids, widening, pleases him. Judging by the slight quirk at the edges of Harry’s plush mouth, it does.

Her tummy coils with unanticipated desire. This feels almost scary. This feels like traipsing over a rope, like teetering over dangerous territory, and the sudden spike of adrenaline only has her thighs clenching together harder. Because this is sweet Harry, the friendly hitchhiker, in his cream sweater with his nice smile, and his charming dimples, and his loose, clean curls, with his warm palm cupped over her throat and the pad of his thumb digging into her pulse. He looks fucking hungry.

“I’m—“ her statement’s muzzled by the press of his hand, an increase in only a slight increment. It’s enough to wrest a garbled sound from the back of her throat. He tips his head.

“What’s that?”

“I’m your…” she pauses when he presses harder, again, and this time’s enough to have her feeling lightheaded, her bleary eyes wandering over his face and every muscle of her face battling the light flutter of her lashes. She thinks a dimple peeks from his cheek. Harry lets up.

Y/N siphons breaths like her lungs have been deprived for ages, and not just partly for the timespan of a short fifteen seconds. Still, his palm is glued over the front of her neck — just there. His thumb strokes over her pulse gently.

“I’m your …filthy plaything,” the young woman confesses in this pathetic little voice that’d have her ashamed in every other setting. But in this one, it doesn’t.

Arousal creeps through every fiber of being, instead, crawling through her arteries and settling into her veins like a twisted, dark goo. It thrums through her and sinks through to the trench of her tummy, frothing as chills teem down her back. He’s got this glint in his eye, like a dance around a bonfire in the deep of the night — but it’s just a stray street light that casts its shone as a spotlight when he ducks forward a tad, just enough for it to. When he tips forward, his gaze growing half-lidded, lower and lower the closer he gets, it feels like he starts to siphon every breath from her own mouth as his cushiony lips ghost over her cupid’s bow. Even for the smidge of the second it takes for their mouths to mesh again, it feels like the movement is in ultra slow motion.

The mold of their mouths together, this time, feels a lot less like she’s got her hands on the wheel — the first time had been almost testing, sweet — something soft that’d shifted into something headier, something firmer. This feels like something he guides, something he takes the clear lead in, from the pace of his hungry lips to the exploratory nudge of his tongue against the seam of her own mouth. Her fingers flex over the center console aimlessly, palm straying, and fingertips catching on a part of his cotton sweatshirt. They twist into the fabric softly when Harry’s tongue strokes over her own. A hand settles onto her thigh. It’s not her own.

“Get in the backseat,” he hums into her open mouth, squeezing over her flesh when she doesn’t immediately comply. He’s got this way of dulling her reflexes, crumbling the semblance of her mind to mush, and Y/N is convinced it has more to do with his touch than it has with the time of night, despite the way exhaustion wears at her tired muscles. “Get in the fuckin’ backseat.”

When her arms strays and she reaches for the door handle, though, he squeezes at her thigh again, and hums out a displeased note of disagreement. “Not like that.”

Bemused, Y/N shifts in her seat. A glint of something playful glows in the jade when Harry tells her, “You can find another way, can’t you, pet? Go on.”

Y/N sits in confused silence for all of three seconds before the man sits back a tad and cocks his head, irises flashing towards the backseat with a playful, little grin quirking at his lips. Like he’s suggesting.

It takes her longer than three seconds to clamber into the back from the driver’s seat, through the slot over the center console, but it satisfies Harry, evidently, judging by the way he palms over the globes of her backside through her stretchy mini-skirt. It’s not very graceful, and if she was less aroused she’d probably find it in her somewhere to be a bit embarrassed, but. She doesn’t. She wriggles over the cushion, instead, settling back.

Harry has smarter ideas. He toggles the gear on the side of the passenger seat and sets the whole top of it back, like a makeshift day-bed, and scoots into the back of the sedan through the opening. And there’s not much leg room — not for the two of them, not with the whole back of the seat splayed — and there’s not much room for their heads, either, but they manage to squeeze back, and he’s gripping onto her shoulders and twisting her on his own whim before the young woman has a chance to shift around, herself.

“Get—“ the way Harry manhandles her with a grip on her hips, (once he’s got her slumped, at least somewhat) — with ease, like he’s flipping a page in a book rather than rearranging her whole position in the cramped space of a sedan backseat — that lights something fiery in the pit of her belly. “Hands and knees, baby,” Harry tells her, grunting softly while her limbs scrabble over the pleather. He pulls her back into him, by the hips as she’s physically molded into it, parroting, quieter, “hands and knees.”

“Itsy bitsy skirt… so easy to just—” Harry hums, this sort of mischief to his cadence — and it becomes blatantly obvious, the reason for it, when his digits creep under, from behind, and his colossal palms hitch it up, “Oops.”

She’s wearing tights under it. They’re not the fleece-lined kind, despite the bite of chill in the air outside, but they are there, and Harry spans the pads of his fingers over the barrier like he doesn’t have plans to discard them the practical way.

He doesn’t. The man stripes a fingertip down her core, from behind, over the fabric and the faint hue of cheeky purple that peeks through, and makes this devious sound of mirth when her whole body twitches. And then he draws the same fingertip back up, in the same line, and nudges a bit.

“What am I gonna do with you?” Harry coos. The third, slow drag has her arching her hips back. “Hm? What am I gonna do?” He takes almost a thoughtful second, tongue peeking out to swipe out over the cushion of his pink bottom lip, before Harry splays his palms over her bum, “Pretty girl… pretty arse…”

And it’s so calm — he’s so calm, so casual, so nonchalant — Y/N doesn’t even sense it coming until he sighs, and then he’s digging the tips of his digits into the nylon, stretching it from her core, and just tearing. Casually. Nonchalantly. The sound of fabric ripping apart coaxes her jaw to slip open, and her pupils stick to the inside of the door, unblinking, as he just tears, and tears, and tears.

And she’s not even upset, is the thing. She’s not irritated that this stranger’s just torn the crotch of her tights apart — she can’t be, not when he hums devilishly and strokes over her core, a layer closer. Maybe that’s pitiful. Maybe that’s sad, that she’s so fucking horny that she doesn’t care that her tights have been split open with no prior discourse on the topic, but this direction of impulse — the way she’s not even able to try and guess his next move, it kindles something hot and hungry.

And if she ever has Cody to thank for anything, Y/N thinks maybe it’d be that he’d inspired her to shave and slip on a pair of decently attractive underthings.

“These are pretty, too,” Harry tells her, thumbing at the crotch of the thong, just over one side. The young woman gives this dreamy little sigh and arches back up into him further. “What d’you want, sweetheart? Want me to give some attention …here—“

Her spine jolts when he nudges the pad of his index right up against her clit, lightly, over the purple fabric, “Maybe? Is that it? Eager girl.”

He draws a featherlight circle over it, and then another, and another until her thighs are trembling. The tip of his digit taps. She nudges back, and he takes it away altogether. An amused sound slips from his mouth.

“Say please,” Harry demands.

Y/N jumps as his fingertips trail to her inner thigh, crooking and tickling in the line they draw.

“Please.”

Again, he makes a disapproving tut, and Y/N rolls her cheek onto on a forearm, tucked over the seat.

His eyebrows climb up his forehead, and his fingertips drift up and down the back of her thigh, drawing closer and closer where she needs him most with every lap. Each word is covered with notes of firm dominance. “Not like that. Like you mean it — like you’re pleading.”

Y/N mulls over the words, her heart thundering.

“How d’you beg?”

It takes a second for his words to sink in, but then when they do, she croons out, softer, more desperate, “Please.”

There’s a soft sound of a breath being expelled, the seat crinkling quietly as, she assumes, Harry sits back on his haunches, head ducked. Like it’s not good enough. Her tongue traces out over her lips and she beckons, “Please, please,” each plea prompting a spiral of unfamiliar humiliation — glazed with arousal — to unfurl.

“Please, please, please—“ each word emphasized with a rock back of her hips. And finally, he touches her.

His palm cradles a cheek, and he doesn’t sound even slightly impressed. Instead, his voice comes out exasperated when he tells her, “That’s not convincing. You’re desperate. You want something — you need it, you’re pleading.”

“Please— please—“

“Louder,” he scoffs, “Beg. Beg.”

“Please,” she tries, desperation creasing her voice strained on the syllable, and Harry drags fingertips, airy, across her inner thigh, from bottom to top. “Please, please, please—“

And finally, something clicks. Something slots together, at some point, when she ditches the inhibitions and her cadence starts to border on a delirious sort of desperation. Finally, something works.

“That’s better,” Harry says softly, swiping his thumb over her clit, “Much better.”

She doesn’t pick up on that, though, and she’s still begging, pleading, quietly. Quieter, quieter, quieter — the words growing more sparse the longer he spends time honing on her clit, the firmer his touch becomes.

“Good girl,” Harry coos, his fingertips latching up under the hem at the crotch of her panties, before he tugs, “Good girl. You ask nicely, and I’ll give it to you. S’that easy.”

He slips a thumb against her gushing entrance and drags it down, tracing careful shapes over the bud of nerves, before he tugs down on the hood and emphasizes on the new exposure by reigniting the touch with the thumb on his opposite hand. Two hand task — very dedicated.

“S’this all for me?” the man teases, pinching her clit, lightly, between the pad of his thumb and the side of his index. He sounds a little self-satisfied when he declares, quietly, “I’m flattered.”

Her lips part as a silent, breathy moan wrests from the back of her throat. It happens when the pad of his long middle digit prods at her entrance and nudges in. The thumb on his other hand sweeps, side to side, over where she’d most sensitive, and he stuffs into her further. And they are lengthy — his fingers. She’d seen them drumming over the center console, and smush over the raspberry tint of his lips, felt them coat her tongue, and felt them press against her throat. They can reach further than her own, crooking against her spongy walls, curling when he adds a second before straightening out and scissoring for the stretch.

“Christ, you’re gushing,” Harry says, and as if on cue, the pornographic squelch of his fingers working crowds the cramped space, “Jesus— d’you hear that?”

Y/N buries her face in her arms to muzzle the little sounds of bliss that he pries from her mouth. It’s not until he’s proper fucking into her with his digits, the pad of his thumb dragging tight, little circles over her clit, that those sounds escape her. And when they start, they pour in a flood. Because he works so expertly, so deftly — from the pace, to the angle, to the way he hones on her clit with his other hand, and the filthy dialogue he spews in his honey-smooth baritone. It’s everything, everything, and it prompts the coil in her belly to circle and squeeze, tighter, tighter — a telltale prior to its inevitable snap. She clenches over his fingers helplessly.

But then he just— stops.

The nudge of his digits skirts to a stand-still within her, and his thumb stops drawing circles, and Y/N just squeezes over him like a silent plea. He makes this sound — this mirthy, deviously pleased hum, like her displeasure at his pause amuses him. It’s pure sadism.

It’s not until she rocks her hips a bit, a shallow, desperate kind of back and forth, that the amusement seems to slip from his tone.

“Don’t—“ Harry tuts sharply, taking his thumb off her clit altogether to grip at her hip harshly, “Stay still. Naughty, little minx.”

And she does. She stays still when his voice gets hard like that. There’s a bit of quiet between his snap and the subtle freeze-up of her rocking. Soft breaths sew through the lull, but then he talks again, his tone a little nicer.

“We’re gonna play a little game, yeah?”

That’s …intriguing. Y/N shifts over the cushion. His grasp over her hip has softened considerably, but there’s still this humiliating heat that swarms her face at the fact that the crotch of her panties is still tucked against her skin, that everything’s out in the open, that Harry’s practically ogling in lieu of touching her.

“It’s a bit like Simon Says. Except, when you play Simon Says, you hesitate a little, right?”

The man’s thumb presses back to her clit, and she buries her face in her folded arms.

“And I don’t want you to hesitate. I’ll tell you something to do, and—“

His fingers sink into her, and her shoulders grow tense from the bliss. Y/N muzzles her groan.

“You’ll do it. Sounds easy enough?”

It does. It’s easy enough instructions, and when Harry pats at the same hip he’d been clutching over and beckons, “Hands back here,” Y/N obliges easily enough.

Her cheek presses to the cushion, cool against the warmth teeming beneath her skin, and she lets him manhandle and move her splayed fingers to his liking, arms stretched behind.

“That’s good,” Harry croons in his low timbre, the warm, lewd praise of it drawing chills up the nape of her neck, “Now spread a bit for me.”

Y/N does that, too. Her finger pads nudge and press into her flesh, coated with the tights, and her digits crook as the tips dig in to splay — to follow his direction, to please him. And it’s shameful, a pinch in her shoulders as her arms reach back, fingers twitchy, imprinting into her own backside with little divots as she opens herself up for him to do nothing. But his satisfied little hum sends an unfamiliar sense of accomplishment spiraling through her veins. The way his warm palm rests on and pets over the back of her thigh along with it feeds something new and starving.

“Good girl. There you go. See? S’easy.”

Y/N makes a little sound into the seat, and her fingers flex as Harry pumps his own digits, a steady rhythm of in and out, paired with a hum from him that sounds absolutely pornographic.

“Such a good girl,” the man tells her, fingers crooking, but the praise isn’t enough to muffle the bemusement that wracks her when he says in this devious hush, “Let’s try another. Bark.”

Bark.

It takes a second for the command to register past the immediate threshold of the pleasure curling in her belly as he strokes at her spongy walls. And when it does click together, his word settling past the membrane of bliss, her initial thought is that she’s definitely misheard him. Because that’s …sort of a ludicrous request. The young woman sounds strewn between groggy and muzzled when she cranes her neck a bit over the cushion and beckons with a confused hum.

“Bark,” Harry repeats, “like a dog.” Simple and nonchalant.

Bark like a dog. She’s midway through creased brows, a strained raise of her head, and a baffled what, before the man stills his fingers and takes a grip over her wrist, sliding her hand away.

And then he smacks her, hard, with his palm on one side, in the same place where her digits had dug in to spread herself open.

It’s loud, and it stings, and it sends a shockwave through her nervous system, strong enough to have everything buzzing on alert as her forehead pastes to the seat and the parted gap of her mouth struggles to mute a gasp. Maybe the most surprising part is that the hurt feels good, that the sting morphs into something else as it fizzles and ebs, that the hammer of her heart spikes this famished, unfamiliar arousal coursing through her when he doesn’t even bother stroking over the bruised skin. It’s definitely hard enough to leave a ruddy mark under the tights, and Y/N blinks down at the faux leather, wordless and a little gobsmacked.

And then Harry sighs in this way that’s so …disappointed. And the calmness of his inflection, grouped with the irony of the harsh hit… that has a chill climbing up her spine.

“That’s not how you play the game, pet.”

He says it in this eerily nonchalant note of disdain, like he’s not just casually tattooed the shape of his hand onto her backside with a blow. Like he expected better. Like it’s a little mishap they’ll gloss over. She doesn’t even realize she’s still got a vice clamped over his fingers until he shifts the digits in her, coaxing her core to flutter around him. Harry sighs again.

“Did you forget the rules, baby?” he asks, cadence soft and basked in condescension. The man strokes over the heated skin, the same spot where Y/N is sure a subtle welt has peaked to the surface below the thin veil of the sheer tights, “I tell you to do something and you do it, right?”

Her knees are starting to ache a little, a soreness settling into the joints, but she doesn’t even mind it when his fingers pump again, slowly.

“That’s how the game goes. Right? I need an answer.”

She makes a soft sound. A little sound that’s not protest. A little sound that’s not outright agreement. It’s a whimper into a void, but everything about him and his touch lights something alive in her. And she wants more. She’s dizzy off of it when she manages out a breathless, “Yes.” It’s a short word that comes out in a breath, like she’d been holding the air in her lungs.

Maybe that’s why she’s dizzy.

“Are we on the same page? Let’s try again, then. Bark.”

Y/N shifts over the seat. The hand he’d moved has splayed helplessly to her side, and the fingers curl and uncurl as the weight of the suggestion hits her. Because that’s— it’s humiliating. It’s demeaning, and it’s strange, and the fact that he demands it has the tips of a fire licking up at her insides. The young woman makes an uncharacteristically pathetic noise.

Harry sighs.

The split second of hesitation is enough, apparently, for another slap, just as hard, in the same spot. It has her rocking forward and clenching over his digits again. Harry’s quick to correct her posture with a hand on her hip, guiding her back in a way that lacks gentleness.

“I said, bark.”

This time his voice is harder. Meaner. Y/N gives.

She gives because the tips of his fingers prod at this heavenly spot inside her, because her skin smarts in a way that has her practically drooling, because she’s dizzy, and hungry, and desperate. Her thighs are quivering when she gets out a half-hearted woof, her lips shaping over the word like the task is a chore to get out.

“Better—“ another slap, aimed lower onto the back of her thigh, has her hips jutting and the straight line of her spine twisting up, “—but not what I’m looking for. Try again.”

She doesn’t even aim to please, is the thing, when her yelp overlaps with another smack. But it morphs into something surprised and deliciously pained, and evidently, it’s enough, judging by the way his touch smooths over the stinging skin.

“Oh, baby,” Harry tells her, his fingers stroking like he’s smudging the pink-tinge of bruising, “That’s pathetic.”

And it dawns on her then, that there’s no winning with this game. When he tuts and tells her, absolutely patronizingly, “So desperate for it, she’s barking like a stray.”

It dawns on her that she doesn’t want to win. She doesn’t care, because his filthy dialogue, as demeaning as it is, just draws her wetter and closer. As if to highlight on it, Harry crooks his fingers and tacks on, “You’re leaking all over the seats, pet.”

And she is, she’s sure. It’s a dirty game he plays, and she loves every part of it and more. It has her writhing when he draws circles over her clit, it has her aching for more when he guides her hand back to her backside with a squeeze and a wordless coax to keep spreading.

“Gonna let me fuck you?” Harry pulls the digits out, dirtying what’s left of her tights and smearing sticky wetness over the back of her thigh, “Hm? Gonna let me—“ his belt clinks as he unbuckles it, and then comes the soft sound of a zipper, its teeth unlatching, “—fill you up?”

“Glovebox,” Y/N mumbles, hips shifting back when he pets at her thigh.

His pupils flit, sticking to the back of her head, before they jump back down to his handiwork. Harry’s tone sounds absent-minded and mirthy when he asks, “What’s that?”

“There’s condoms in the glovebox,” she expands, a little louder than her prior murmur, bracing on her forearms to cast her gaze back at him over her shoulder.

And he looks rugged in this boyish, youthful way, then, is the thing. The corner of his mouth jolts, lopsided, and a stray tendril has flopped over his forehead. His hands are on the undone buckle of his belt, and his fly’s down, and he sounds absolutely amused when he says, “Are there?”

There are.

“You’ve prepared for this, then, have you?” Harry sets a palm onto her hip, squeezing as a dimple pinches into his cheek, “Condoms in your glovebox …like a proper dirty whore?”

Coyly, she blinks, cheek nuzzled to the seat, and she watches him stretch his arm out for the glovebox as he knees away.

“I’m always prepared,” Y/N settles on, softly.

The glovebox slips open. There’s rummaging — his torso turns to face it entirely, and then he gleans a shining, golden little packet, tucked between the pads of his digits. The young woman wriggles her hips. There’s this glint of fiery …something. Something playful, something lewd, something hungry in the jade, when he clambers back over, steadying himself with a palm on her tailbone. It coaxes her spine into a pretty, sharper arch.

“You do this a lot, do you?” Harry teases, “Pick up strange men, let them fuck you?”

She hums in agreement as the man takes the little gold square, snug between his teeth, fingers working quickly, pushing buttons through slots and tugging his cock out.

“Maybe I do.”

He tears at the wrapper with his teeth. She knows, because his next words come out a little muffled.

“Is that right?”

It’s not. It’s so out of the norm, so far from the usual, but Y/N would be a masochist to string out the arousal that’d built between her thighs in lieu of letting Harry span his palms over the globes of her ass in the backseat. Harry, with his cheeky smile and his sunshine, short-trimmed nails. Harry, with his denim-tethered bulge dragging over the back of her thigh and his filthy tongue shaping crude dialogue.

She doesn’t see him as he tuts from behind, but she can picture it; his palm cupped over the base of his shaft as he rolls the condom over and then presses the tip against her teasingly.

“Wanted to be fucked like a dirty whore, is that it?”

Her “yes” stretches and ebs and splinters into a whispery hiss when Harry nudges forward and stretches her out. And then he’s beckoning for her hands, one hand splayed over her hip and the opposite coaxing at her shoulder, tugging and jolting in gentle nudges, mouth shaping over firm, “Hands, hands, give me your hands — behind your back— that’s— just like that.”

Barred from scratching at the seats with his firm, warm grip binding the joints hostage, Y/N presses her cheek to the cushion. She slumps into his willpower, gives into him, the smush of her face sweaty on the cushion, jolting with every rock forward. The young woman clenches over him helplessly. Soft sounds slip past her lips, pried out by the nudges of his hips, over and over, again and again. Her fingers stiffen and flex, and the arch in her spine shifts when the head of his cock bumps that delicious ridge so deep in her — and it’s like Harry senses it, the way her entire body grows taut like a string. He goes at that too, prodding, again and again, until a whine plucks at her vocal chords. Every shallow jolt of his hips sends waves of paralyzing bliss licking over her insides. Every nudge forward has her slumping more. And when he talks, Y/N barely registers it over the rush of blood in her own head.

There’s been little things that fall from his mouth — soft curses and hisses as he slides in, hums and groans when he bottoms out, readjusting his grasp over her wrists. Words, though — now he’s saying words. They’re still in that gentle baritone, this sort of luring croon.

“Come on, baby. Come on — got a stranger’s cock in your pretty, little pussy—“ Harry’s voice catches on a strained note as he pulls out—

…A sigh as he rocks back in, “—and …you’re not gonna struggle?”

A warmth stems from his grasp, behind her back, and as if on reflex, her digits crook and flex. The danger of the words don’t even register. Because, yeah, he’s right. She’s got a stranger holding her restrained, rocking up against her, and all that peaks in her at the filthy dialogue is a bud of deranged arousal. She doesn’t shoulder forward though, doesn’t try to pull her hands apart, doesn’t sag forward, not even a little, too concerned that even a minute shift will alter the delicious intensity of the angle.

“Not even a little bit?” Harry tuts, grinding forward, one more time, slow, and then he squeezes over her wrists hard and picks up in pace. Just until he settles into a hard tempo of short, deep thrusts, and her shoulders are aching from the way he pulls her arms back.

His words blanket her with this patronizing sort of humiliation — the kind that has her spongy walls pulsing over his length and chills erupting from the nape of her neck to the creases between her shoulder blades. “You make it so easy.”

So easy for a stranger to fuck her — so easy, pulling over in some desolate parking lot. So easy, letting him wrap a palm over her throat and stick his fingers past her lips. So easy, following his every command for the reward of his hips pummeling against her own.

And it’s easy to get close with the way he works into her, tip bumping into a spot that sends waves of pleasure coursing through every millimeter of her nervous system. The kind that has every muscle stiffening to stone until the wave ebs. It’s so easy to lurch higher and higher, closer and closer, when his touch digs into her joints, rendering her helpless to his crude affections. When strained grunts and sordid words fall from his mouth, when his other hand slips from her hip and knots into the hair, at the roots, on the back of her scalp, only smushing her cheek into the seat with more pressure.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, the pace of his thrusts stuttering as he picks up the tempo into something merciless, his digits flexing into her hair and his body weight sagging onto her frame.

Every time his balls slap against her clit, teasing where she wants that attention the most, she feels the spring draw tighter, lips smushed to and gaping against the seat. And then he readjusts his grip, lets one of her hands free while he keeps the other pinned, and he coaxes, “Touch your pretty clit, baby. Make yourself cum all over my cock.”

Y/N makes it to the crest before he does. It’s her fingertips sloppily winding loose shapes over the bud of nerves, it’s his cock hammering down into her, it’s the pinch in her shoulder, and the way Harry’s grip grows harsher over the hand he still has pinned, the closer he gets himself. The way his digits are still flexed at the roots of her scalp, the way his moans and curses are garbled with pleasure with each pump. The way her helpless fluttering, when she tips over the peak, draws this long, sordid groan from him as he cranes his neck back. And then he slows, ducking his chin to watch below through slow thrusts.

“Dirty girl, cumming all over a stranger’s cock,” Harry swipes with a thumb where the mesh, toying at the seam of her hole when he goes deeper, again, slow.

And then his grip on her wrist gets hard again as his fingers flex, and he holds onto her hip and guides her in a steady-paced, back and forth bounce over cock. He chases his own releases, every motion rough, and full of control, and so brimmed with this unfamiliar hunger. She’s mush by the time his head tips back, and he gushes ribbon after ribbon into the condom. She’s mush when his grasp over her wrist grows lax, when he knees back clumsily on his knees, when he discards the condom, wrapping it into the confines of its wrapper, when he fixes her purple panties back over her crotch and strokes over the back of her thigh with an amused huff.

“Alright?” Y/N vaguely hears Harry say from behind when she doesn’t instantly sit up, his voice bordering on amused.

That’s. Yeah, Y/N thinks. She’s great. There’s still this rush of blood in her ears, and an ache in her joints that interweaves with the soreness of her muscles, but it’s all in such a good way. She makes a barely coherent hum of agreement and rolls her shoulder forward, planting her palms onto the seat to sit up and glance at the time over the display in the front of the car. It’s nearly three in the morning now, and it hits her then, that she’s so tired. She’s so tired, she feels like every piece of her energy had been strewn up and pulled tight on a rope, and now it’s all wasted away.

Harry gets it. Or he seems to, at least. Sleep beckons her with a whispery croon and a soft touch. The corners of his mouth crook up, and he pats at her hip.

“Hop up, pet. D’you want me to drive the rest of the way? S’just a little bit, now.”

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers. She doesn’t let strangers into her car in the middle of the night from some empty road, she doesn’t fuck them in the backseat, and she certainly doesn’t let strange men drive her car to some unfamiliar location, only lacking being undisclosed from its visible street name on the GPS. Y/N doesn’t do any of that. But she nods weakly and lets their roles flip. She’s mid-raising the back of the passenger seat by the time Harry jogs around to the driver’s seat and slips in.

In the rear-view, her reflection greets with her unshed tears and bloodshot eyes, mascara smudged below. He turns to face her and strokes a hand down her thigh. He picks the same hand up and sets it onto the gear-shift. Switches to reverse.

The first thing he says from the front of the car, strawberry mouth quirking as his eyes direct to the back-up camera, is, “I’m sorry about your tights. I hope that was alright.”

When they pull up to the motel, Y/N doesn’t ask questions. There’s only been a span of, maybe, ten minutes passed between the parking lot and their final stop of the night before Harry pulls into a parking spot and shuts the car off.

He tells her, “This is my stop.”

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers, and exhaustion wracks at every sinew of muscle in her body. She half-expects him to wordlessly hop out of the car. He doesn’t. The man fixes her with a smile, and says, “Could I get your number, maybe?”

It’s not an odd request by any means, but if she weren’t so tired, maybe she’d ask more questions. Her pupils would wend over the shoddy motel sign, and the shit cars parked beside them, and she’d wonder what the hell they were doing parked in front of some abandoned-looking motel. She’d ask why this was his stop, and not a home. Instead, she pulls a napkin from her glovebox and digs for a pen. She scribbles her digits and hands them off. In the brush of the cool air, from the night, when she clambers out to swap spots with him, she wraps her arms about herself. When she takes a seat into the driver’s side, she expects him to walk away. He doesn’t do that either. Instead, she rolls her window down when he beckons, and Harry leans onto the car and tells her, “Get home alright, yeah?”

It’s a miracle when she hobbles up the steps of her apartment complex, when she pries open the front door and crashes into her sheets. The blankets envelop her like a warm hug, and she doesn’t even bother pulling off her tights.

It’s a week before she gets a phone call. There’s no texts, and the morning after, when she’s greeted with radio-silence, she thinks that maybe she’d dreamt the whole thing.

Her tights, ripped at the crotch, prove otherwise.

She’s in bed, days later, when her screen lights up with a call. It’s an unfamiliar number, and curiosity peaks before she swipes over the answer toggle.

“Hello?”

A gap of silence, a breath, and a familiar, smooth baritone on the other end of the line.

“Y/N.”

There’s a little sound of the bedsheets stirring as she freezes up. He’s caught her off guard. A little laugh plucks at his vocal chords, tinny on the other end of the line, like he’s amused by the stretch of lull. Her lips part, the corners of her mouth inching up as she hears a sigh from him that seeps in all the way to her eardrum. But she doesn’t have time to contemplate what to say or how to say it, because he doesn’t let her get a word in before he’s talking again.

And his next words are not a playful jest at her lack of response, or anything friendly, really. In fact, the confession, said so nonchalantly, causes chills to erupt down her arms.

“I was going to kill you that night.”

The chills aren’t the initial reaction. The initial reflex is the crook of her mouth to morph bemused, the pinch between her eyebrows, and this sullen feeling of dread that twists up in her stomach. A laugh bubbles in her chest, because, what the fuck?

But then he keeps talking.

“Thought about draining the life from those pretty eyes the second you rolled your window down,” the voice on the other end sighs, and it’s got this sort of …reminiscent quality to it. Like he’s tracing the steps of the night back to its starting point. Reliving it when he tells her, “It’s such a thrill, you know. Taking that from someone. So intimate.”

The young woman doesn’t make any sounds, kind of appalled by the sick joke. Because it is sick, it’s disturbing, and it’s a twisted way, at the least, to strike up a conversation if he’s …looking to do what they did again. This isn’t the Harry she’d met on that night. This isn’t the same one who’d worn the cream sweatshirt, and talked all friendly with this smooth, wholesome charm — this wasn’t the man she’d let into her car, this wasn’t the man she’d let do all those filthy things to her, in the backseat of her sedan. This doesn’t feel like the same man at all, and she wishes she’d been aware of the sick sense of humor to his character before she’d let him …violate her. Y/N’s just about to budge in with a disgusted comment, tell him off for calling her so late at night to mess with her, but he beats her to the edge of the gap, yet again.

Except this time, he sounds sort of frustrated, and the phrase comes out like a scolding, the tone of his cadence firm and irate. “Didn’t your mum ever tell you not to talk to strangers? …Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to trust strange men on the side of the road? S’just …bloody stupid.”

He laughs. It’s this soft sort of chortle she’d been so charmed by that night — it’s identical, except then, it was this sweet sound full of wholesome mirth. Now, it feels cold. Odd and detached. Surreal.

“But you… you made it so easy,” Y/N listens to every word that comes through the line, hanging onto every syllable of the empty threat as dread churns her stomach. His words from that night crowd behind her skull. You make it so easy. “So friendly, so sweet. Just wanted to chat on and on. I was going to kill you, and you wanted to have a shag—”

Harry tuts. Her heart hammers behind her ribcage, and she only realizes that her breathing has slowed and that her grip on the smartphone’s grown white-knuckled when it shakes against her cheek. She’d let him drive her car. She’d let him get into her car, she’d let him lure her into pit-stopping in a deserted parking lot, she’d locked the doors, and dimmed the lights, and let him open her up with his fingers and his cock. And then she’d let him drive her car, and take down her number. There’s a moment of mortifying silence.

Harry sounds deadly serious when he tells her, “Don’t you ever pick up another hitchhiker.”

The line goes dead.

Y/N calls back. The number she reaches belongs to a payphone, unanswered.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles halloween #dom harry styles x sub reader #harry styles one shot #dark harry styles #harry styles one shots #harry styles writing

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splitster · 10 months

Text

answering ASKSSSSS

featuring: headcanons, mspaint yonny, and more

check it out! ↓↓

UHH the timeline is already hard enough to follow for 4 it's a little messy... I imagine for the pom wraith AU, it's mostly the events of pikmin 4 with some extra bits tacked onto it (like Olimar encountering the plasm at some point on his lonesome).

WAHHH THANK YOU... heres some secret mod lore, yonny is the HARDEST motherfucker to draw for me. he was ever since i started drawing the rescue corps and he still is!!!!!!!!!!!! his stupid face is so HARD GRRUUAUUGGHH

THANK YOU!!! i have a few bernard drawings/doodles in the pipeline to post eventually

(ive done a few ask masterposts at this point so forgive me if i already answered this one) AHHHHH i mean pom DOES really like Olimar. he challenges her skills out on the field when she's trying to track him down as a leafling which she finds engaging, and she finds him quite charming from the logs she reads. after he's cured, he's nothing but kind and supportive.

i don't think she'd try to take off with him like the plasm, but she'd feel protective over him if something were to threaten him

WAUUGGHH THANK YOU!!!! putting my favorite fictional characters into an enclosure and watching them

THANK YOU!!! you get it, he's so wet and pathetic

YEAH i have more bernard incoming!!! he's so genuinely supportive and it kinda freaks pom out because she can't tell if he has ulterior motivations or not (he doesn't. he's just a really cool dude. they'll become besties💖)

i'll perform the summoning ritual for you anon

there he is. what a jolly fellow

THIS IS A REALLY GOOD QUESTION... i had to consult with my friends for a lengthy food discussion (big hearts to @cosmicocoffee who helped me with like literally all of them)

for Pom, she's a wraith, so she just likes interesting and strong tastes. she's very partial to sweet things, and she LOVES chocolate (because that's one of the first sweets she ever tasted). although, she also like really spicy things because it's a neat feeling. as for least favorite, uh... i mean, the girl will literally eat soap for fun. it's very rare for her to have a food item she despises. they DO exist though, she fucking hates raisins

Dingo likes MANLY food, like MEAT and RIBS. well, he mostly likes being seen eating it. he does have a fondness for sweet things and smoothies. the town he grew up in could get pretty cold, so he grew up eating quite a lot of hot meals like caldo de res (he's especially fond of soups made the way his mama used to make them). he also picks up a fondness for hot tea from growing up with yonny, but he always puts extra honey in his cups. dingo HATES some foods though, especially sushi. the last time he tried to impress people by eating sushi, Dingo was hunched over outside the restaurant with Yonny rubbing his back...

shepherd! likes coffee. @soupvnova said she'd go to starbucks (spacebucks?) often to get the pup cup for oatchi which is very good. she has the healthiest diet out of all of them with routine exercise, protein shakes, lots of fruits and shit. she does have a weakness and a bit of a sweet tooth though, especially for cake. it hardly puts a dent in her diet though given her metabolism, she's a very built captain. she's not a fan of steamed vegetables... too squishy for her.

while talking about shepherd it is imperative to share that Oatchi will eat ANYTHING. if something hits the ground it is in his mouth immediately, shepherd has had to wrestle him to get space dog-unsafe food outta there before. although she will also constantly sneak him stuff from the dinner table

collin's fun because he enjoys eating healthy, he's a fan of fresh spring salads and stuff like pineapples and watermelon, but he also has to live off of a lot of processed/vending machine food because the man pulls all nighters frequently. he's also prone to stress eating... you can find him demolishing a watermelon and he's just. covered with seeds. he likes crunchy foods and seeds-- he's very hamstercore. he comes to Despise instant noodles because of how often he has to rely on them for food in the dead of night

fucking uhhh yonny, he likes foods that pair well with reading, he has pretty "mature" tastes and enjoys tea, maybe a glass of wine if he's feeling it. he often gets tunnel vision with his work and will neglect to eat, and as their doctor he'll have to set reminders on his phone to go have a meal so he doesn't fall ill. i can imagine he's not too into sugary things...

we already know bernard has some very expensive tastes, but he might just struggle with some textures or tastes in food. like, he enjoys pizza, this man is just a very picky eater... i can see him having tastes all over the board though. also he's protective over his stuff, he cared more about dingo eating his pizza than abandoning him

russ. uh... russ. yeah

olimar and louie are not part of the rescue corps, but i could see olimar joining (and louie following) sometime after the events of 4! he'd get a much better benefits package... he'd be good at providing logistical support for rangers out on the field, although his achy back would probably keep him off the field himself

AHH THANK YOU!! i have written some things but i don't have anything published -- to be honest, i'm not much of a fic writer. most of my writing is mostly just me talking through ideas/stories/cool character moments with friends, which is not a very shareable format unfortunately💔

i will say, talking about ideas with buddies gives me a shit load of ideas/motivation for drawing, and a lot of the stuff i've posted probably had that as an origin

THANK YOU!! and yeah of course that's fine! every artist is a collection of inspirations, and i'm no exception. my style comes from studying what i like in art and media (made by other people). i'm honored you find me as an inspiration💖

AUGH AUGH THANK YOU!!! i appreciate the anatomically correct hearts 💖💖

YEAHH i have designs that i've been meaning to flesh out but i'm lazy... i've been sitting on a dingo and yonny wraith design for like a month now, i should just bite the bullet and post them as-is if i ever want to share them... oh well! it's all for fun, i'm not gonna stress about it looking good

---

thank you for reading this far!! and thank you all for the asks, i will continue to slowly get through them...

#modask #modpost #thank you for the asks!! sorry this one took a while

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redgoldsparks · 6 months

Text

March Reading and Reviews by Maia Kobabe

I post my reviews throughout the month on Storygraph and Goodreads, and do roundups here and on patreon. Reviews below the cut.

Delicious in Dungeon vol 4 by Ryoko Kui

I'm reading these books so fast I can barely remember which parts of the plot happened in which volume but know that I am still having a great time!

Delicious in Dungeon vol 5 by Ryoko Kui

Oh, this story has taken a darker turn, and also just introduced a whole bunch more characters. Will I be able to keep track of them all? I hope so!

Dragon Keeper by Robin Hobb, read by Anne Flosnik

Unfortunately, this is definitely the weakest Robin Hobb book I've read so far. I was expecting to like it less than the glorious, 5-star previous trilogy, but I actually think I'm going to skip the rest of the Rain Wild Chronicles and read summaries online to get to the next Fitz books. This book follows five main POV characters. This works fairly well for the first half, when the characters are all in different physical locations. However once all of the characters meet up, we start getting the same scene from multiple different POVs, which feels extremely repetitive. Also, almost EVERY SCENE includes a flashback, often a lengthy flashback, sometimes to something that happened only the previous day and could have been told as present-moment action. This writing choice baffled me. It's something I can't remember struggling with in any of Hobb's previous books, but by the end it was driving me up a wall. The book also moved very slowly; the stakes feel lower, and the character far less emotionally true than in the two Fitz trilogies. Disappointing, but I will keep moving forward towards the next part of the series I want to read.

Delicious in Dungeon vol 6 by Ryoko Kui

Damn, a lot of characters get murdered in this volume! Good thing almost everyone who dies in the dungeon can be revived. Also, very excited to finally meet the cat ninja I've been seeing fan art of since before I even started the series :3

Delicious in Dungeon vol 7 by Ryoko Kui

I am still completely caught up in this series. I love the glimpse of Senshi's past revealed in this volume, and the lore of the dungeon that is still being revealed. There was a line in here about how the dungeon leaves you alone if you don't ask much of it, but that if you have strong desires it throws even more obstacles into your way. Our heroes have such big goals right now, but they're marching ahead regardless!

School Trip by Jerry Craft

A satisfying new installment in the New Kid series from funny, talented, charming Jerry Craft! I appreciated how this volume started to complicate some of the students who had been left a bit one-dimensional in previous books. Several people stood up to and called out a bully; new friendships were built; and Jordan Banks left Paris even more inspired than ever to follow his dreams of becoming an artist. This series has a lot of jokes, but also a lot of heart!

A Frog in Fall (and Later On) by Linnea Sterte

Minor frog is less than a year old, and is dismayed when winter begins to steal all of the light and warmth from his world. Instead of bunking down safely with his mentor to wait for spring, he sets out on a journey with two vagabond toads passing by on a quest to make it all the way to the tropics. They tramp through the Japanese countryside, encountering tree spirits, new friends, dangers, and views the likes of which minor frog had never even imagined. This is a gorgeous book; every page worth pouring over, an economy of line and detail building a beautiful and mysterious world of talking animals and miniature packaged foods. Made me want to draw.

Dark Rise by CS Pacat read by Christian Coulson

In 1820s London, orphaned Will tries to earn enough as a dockworker to survive- and evade the killers pursuing him. Violet dresses in her half-brother's clothes and sneaks onto a ship in the Thames to watch a man be branded with his master's mark. Katherine excitedly anticipates her engagement to one of London's richest and most mysterious lords; his gallantry nearly makes up for the fact that he's twice her age. And in the bowels of one of that lord's ships, James tortures a man for information. All of these characters are 16 or 17 years old, but all of them are tangled in an ancient conflict between the Light and the Dark which stretches back into an age of magic before history. This is CS Pacat's YA fantasy debut, and it contains a lot of tropes very familiar to both YA and high fantasy- there are shades of both Tolkien and Rowling in this. Its fast-paced and action-packed, but especially in the first third of the story, the characters all felt fairly thin. None of them have quirks, hobbies, career hopes, relationships outside of immediate family, school, or work; or much more than a brief sketch of past. It took until the mid-way point for what I consider Pacat's major strengths as a writer to emerge: intense, homoerotic interpersonal sparring between characters operating under major power imbalances. Every scene in which the seductive, manipulative, powerful evil gay faced off against the good boy chosen one crackled with energy. Unfortunately, there were only four of these scenes in the whole book. It ends on a cliff-hanger, because of course it does, with a tempting set up for book two; but that doesn't entirely excuse the fact that the first 50% felt like set up. I will definitely keep reading, but long-time Pacat fans should take note that this is toned down version of what I expected based on Captive Prince.

Feeding Ghosts by Tessa Hulls (re-read before event)

What an accomplishment! I savored every page of Feeding Ghosts, absolutely floored by the labor and courage that went into the writing of this book. The inking is gorgeous, the history is clear, digestible, and devastating. This book threads the line between honesty and compassion in a way that I appreciate so much in any memoir, but especially one dealing with family. Hulls lays out the story of three generations of women starting with her grandmother, Sun Yi, a Shanghai journalist who faced intense persecution during the rise of Communism in China, who penned a popular and scandalous memoir and then suffered a mental breakdown. This left her only daughter, Rose, a student at an elite boarding school with no parental figures and no other family to lean on. Eventually Rose earned a scholarship to an American university and in the end moved her mother into her California home. Sun Yi haunted that home during the author's own childhood. The unexamined trauma and codependency of Sun Yi and Rose drove the author to the extreme edges of the Earth, seeking freedom from their ghosts. But in the end, she stopped running from her family history and turned, instead, to face it. Shelve this book with Maus, Fun Home, Persepolis and The Best We Could Do. Re-read it for a second time and got even more out of it on a second pass.

Delicious in Dungeon vol 8 by Ryoko Kui

Laios and company realize that their encounter with changling mushroom rings had more consequences than they'd realized- its the body swap episode! This visual humor is contrasted against increasing dangers from both above and below, as nastier monsters and political machinations begin to close in on our heroic adventuring party. I'm now over halfway through this series and almost feel like I should start reading it more slowly to savor it, but I'll probably just keep devouring it instead.

Lunar New Year Love Story by Gene Luen Yang and Leuyen Pham

High school senior Val grew up knowing her family was unlucky in love; for generations, relationships in her family have ended in heartbreak. Her childhood love of Valentines Day ends with a shocking family revelation and what feels like the beginning of a curse. Then her Vietnamese grandmother sweeps her off to a Lunar New Year celebration in downtown Oakland and a pair of cute lion dancer boys catch her eye. Could one of them break the spell on her heart? This story offers a classic and satisfying rom-com, with Val torn between an outgoing, rich, but flaky boy and a broody, shy, loyal one. The story takes several kdrama style twists and includes ghosts, saints, red envelopes, confessions, fights, reunions, tears, and kisses. For a comic, its wordy; the pages are dense with small panels and thick with dialogue, but also illustrated with such warm, humor, and realism. I really liked that the story included as much of Val's relationship with her family and best friend as romance. And the lion dancing scenes practically leap off the page with color and energy!

Witch Hat Atelier vol 10 by Kamome Shirahama

This series remains as visually stunning as ever but I'm struggling with how every single book expands the cast. There are so many characters now that I don't care about that much, and have trouble remembering from volume to volume. I wish the story line would stick more closely to Coco, her classmates, and their main mentors!

Delicious in Dungeon vol 9 by Ryoko Kui

Oh the stories are all converging! The savior at the bottom of the dungeon is probably a demon! Ituzumi saves the day! I am still having a great time reading this series.

A Dowry of Blood by ST Gibson read by Abby Craden

A short, very queer, very poly retelling of Dracula focusing on his coven of enthralled lovers. I liked the way the book breezed through history, as the dysfunctional little family moved from one major European city to the next, with snatched moments of glittering joy interwoven with violence and plague. The story is fairly simple, and has a happier ending than I expected, or honestly think the characters deserved.

City of Dragons by Robin Hobb

I DNFed the previous book in this series and just read a summary online before skipping ahead to this one. I think that was a very good choice for me. This third one was more engaging and a bit more action packed, with some cool discoveries about the city of Kelsingra and the nature of Elderlings. But the Rain Wild Chronicles as a whole do not stand up to the quality of the Farseer books. There are so many POV characters that a few of them get only two or three scenes in this whole book. I don't feel that I deeply know any of these characters; while at the same time watching Hobb pair them off at an extraordinary rate- in the last book five sets of characters got together and in this book an additional two couples are developing feelings for each other. Between this and a kidnapping, a birth, a murder, and a lot of blackmail, this series feels like a soap opera.

Delicious in Dungeon vol 10 by Ryoko Kui

Almost two TPKs in this volume, yikes!

Delicious in Dungeon vol 11 by Ryoko Kui

You know shit's getting serious when the character who has been the series main villain up until now is partially devoured by a different, worse villain. Exciting changes coming to this dungeon under it's new lord and master!

Squad by Maggie Tokuda-Hall and Lisa Sterle

When Becca gets invited to sit with the popular girl clique at her new high school, she's thrilled. But the friendship turns bloody and complicated when she learns that her new friends are actually werewolves who need to kill and feed on a human once a month. If she joins them, Becca will gain superhuman strength and a pack; she'll never have to fear a male predator again, because she will be a predator herself. I loved the queer rep and the twist on werewolf lore; I wish it had been a little longer and more developed. Give me multi-page transformations sequences!

Delicious in Dungeon vol 12 by Ryoko Kui

I love seeing all these plot lines come together! Building towards a wild climax.

Delicious in Dungeon vol 13 by Ryoko Kui

I went out and *bought* vol 13 of this series because my library didn't have it yet, that's how hooked I am. And now I have to wait until JULY for the final volume! (But also, thank goodness I didn't get into this series any sooner or I'd have a much longer wait).

#book reviews #books #reading #comics #manga

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idyllic-affections · 10 months

Text

MORAL INJURY — a non-romance genshin impact series. ♫

act i, chapter i "silence."

➤ CHAPTER SYNOPSIS :: it's quiet. it should not be quiet. why is it quiet?

➤ CONTENT WARNINGS :: mild depictions of blood, human experimentation, dottore is always his own warning 🙏 (he is there for. literally only 2 seconds LMFAO), use of painkillers in the form of pills, etc.

➤ WORD COUNT :: 2.8k.

➤ AUTHOR'S THOUGHTS :: it's hereee 🤭 thank you all sm for your ongoing support in the lengthy amount of time i took developing this series.... i don't remember what anon originally sent the request that inspired it (i believe it may have been 🐱 anon?), but nevertheless, i hope that anon is astonished in the best way possible seeing what their request has gradually evolved into! this chapter is largely worldbuilding, so dialogue and lore will improve starting chapter 2. also sorry to disappoint you guys. natalya isn't real i made her up for the plot 💔💔💔💔 a little note, be sure to click around on the words and symbols that are underlined at the top of this post! the word MORAL INJURY will take you to the series masterlist/navigation post, and the music note will take you to the spotify playlist.

➤ TAGLIST :: @zeldadou, @umgatochamadopercyval, @starryshinyskies, @lucid-lilium, @pookiebearcave, @lesanyanyas. contact me through messages/asks/etc non-anonymously to be added.

"It's quiet today."

It was merely a murmured observation, perhaps nothing more than a thought that was accidentially spoken aloud, more or less directed at the only other… conscious and coherent individual in the room.

In their many years of employment, there was never anything that unsettled them quite like silence did. The lab was never completely quiet. There was always something to occupy the air—whether that be the absentminded flow of conversation between them and their Lord, the distant bickering of his Segments, or something far worse like the screams of the lab's more permanent residents. They supposed it wasn't entirely quiet; the periodic clicking of metal against metal was… present, but not enough, and the shuffling of the papers they were handling was hardly adequate. It was still too quiet. It was hardly ever this quiet. If it was, usually…

Usually it signalled unfavorable conditions.

"Hm. Does that disturb you?"

Some of which were tolerable—some unfavorable conditions could be dealt with, given the person dealing with them had enough skill and grace to do so, like the death of a promising test subject.

Some were less managable.

…But perhaps it had nothing to do with them today, given how little hositility Dottore held towards them. They couldn't quite place why it worried them so much, then.

"Somewhat," they admitted. "It's hardly ever so quiet, no?"

Their gaze flickered to the map of Teyvat haphazardly hung on the wall. Blue thumbtacks pinned in various spots on the map—some in the further reaches of Snezhnaya and others all the way in Sumeru or Inazuma—indicated mission distributions.

Ah… they supposed the silence could be attributed to that. Come to think of it, they hadn't seen any of Il Dottore's other segments that day in particular.

They were thankful, then, that at the very least, the looming silence was not due to some circumstance they needed to be concerned about.

The silence in its entirety returned. Dottore—this Dottore—was rarely much of a talker; that is, he hardly ever held a conversation with them. They could practically hear the seconds ticking by in the quiet.

One, two, three… five… seven…

It didn't last too long.

"[Surname]."

At least there were no unfavorable conditions to manage today. The death of a test subject, the failure of one of their coworkers…

"Yes, my lord?" Their gaze flickered from the desk they were busying themselves with organizing to the cold, metal examination table. The woman on it looked half-dead. Poor thing. "How may I be of service?"

Today, there was nothing they needed to fix. Good. They weren't sure if they were really in the mood to deal with one of their coworkers' failures. The death of a test subject would have at least given them time away, time to themselves, while they sought out an adequate replacement—the failure of a coworker, however… Archons, in that case, they'd have to deal with a pathetically snivelling agent begging through the tears for them to help repair whatever fatal error was made before the Second ever had a chance to find out about it.

"Clean her up, will you?"

No, they weren't really in the mood to deal with that; it was as taxing mentally as it was physically, given that the kinds of mistakes leading to their coworkers to break down sobbing tended to be… larger ones.

(For example, the time when Krupp accidentially wrecked beyond repair one of the Ruin Guards that the Segment he worked under was fixated on. They spent one of their free days seeking out a replacement and even then, the difference was still noticeable.

At least Krupp is still living, despite the fact that they threw him under the bus—so to speak—immediately upon being confronted about it. They're certain he's still sore over their alleged betrayal… but the last time they checked, they had absolutely no completely safe or trustworthy allies, so they're unsure of what "allyship" Krupp is always nagging about.)

Anything else, any other job or request, would be more favorable than having to fix something like that.

"Very well."

As they were finishing up with the mess on the desk in front of them, they noted that the click of heels gradually grew more distant. Then, a door opened and shut with a slight echo.

Just like that, the Harbinger was gone.

A deep sigh left through their nose. After being certain he was gone, they called out with a relatively light tone, "Hey, you alive over there? Don't die on my watch. You know that'll get me in trouble."

The unsettling silence returned, and for a brief moment, their heart sank into the endless pit of their stomach.

Was she actually gone?

Then, with a cough and a wet splatter that made them grimace slightly, the woman replied.

"Haha. Very funny, [Name]."

"Just making sure you know that your actions have consequences."

"My actions?" she huffed incredulously. Despite her tone, a tired smile played on her lips as the lab assistant approached her side.

They gingerly brought a hand up to her face, brushing the hair that was sticking to her forehead away with their calloused fingertips, causing her to flinch but she made no attempt to pull away. She was sweating. Worrying, but not unexpected. "Yeah. Your actions."

Again, that vile silence that they so despised returned.

"Are you cold at all? Having chills?" they inquired softly, leaning down to examine her face more closely—most importantly, the size of her pupils. It would indicate if she were suffering any brain injury. Thankfully, it didn't seem like she was. "Please describe to me your symptoms in detail."

"Right, yeah… um," she hesitated, clenching and unclenching her fingers in what seemed to be an attempt at pushing through the pulsating ache rhymically striking her whole body. They ran a hand up and down her upper arm soothingly, encouragingly. When she drew away from their touch with a pained sob, their chest squeezed, but they said nothing and obliged by her wordless request, withdrawing their hand from her arm. "It's cold," she managed, though her words were heavily strained.

They hummed.

The Pyro delusion secured on their hip emitted a pulsating red glow, and they slowly raised their open palm to her forehead. The steady flame produced by their delusion hovered just above her skin, where it could not burn her or harm her any further than she already had been. "Better?"

She nodded wordlessly. For a moment, she sat in the silence, simply basking in the warmth of their palm.

A point came, however, when the hushed whispers of the long-deceased deities—audible to their ears alone as the sole user of their delusion—used to craft the weapon at their hip grew utterly overwhelming. They swallowed thickly, fingers twitching with barely-restrained ill intent above her face. She did not seem to notice.

"Natalya… symptoms?" they reminded as gently as possible, lowering their hand—much to her dismay; Snezhnaya was cold and unforgiving, and the Doctor's lab was hardly any warmer than the outside was. Their delusion was the only warmth she had. For them, the whispers thankfully dissipated as quickly as they arrived. It was as if those voices had never been there in the first place. They tried not to focus on what they might have done to her if they hadn't withdrawn. "I need to know."

"Everywhere hurts, [Name], I can't… I can't think straight…"

"It's alright. Don't worry. I'll just put down the normal symptoms people have after… that. Do you need painkillers?" they whispered, as if afraid that, should their voice be any louder, it would shatter the fragile, shivering woman.

Of course, another concern was that someone may hear them offering something they shouldn't be.

"Do you have any?"

"I do"—they offered her a weak smile, standing up straight once again—"I always do. I don't have water available, though. Can you dry swallow them?"

"Yeah, hand them over, honey. Don't worry about it."

"Alright."

For a moment, they fished around in one of their pants' pockets. Then, they pulled out a small plastic bag. Inside were two small pills.

'I'm running out… I'll have to get more at some point.'

"Here," they murmured, gently opening the bag and handing her the two pills. They shoved the little empty bag back into their pocket. "Take them quickly, before someone walks in. I'll start stitching your incisions once you do."

"…You can't wait until they kick in?"

A wave of regret and guilt washed over their chest.

"I'm sorry. I have a meeting with Lord Beta's assistant soon… you know, the segment that runs Haeresys? I can't wait that long. The risk to my safety is far too great. Maybe if it were someone else's assistant, but… we all know what Lord Beta's track record looks like, and worse, I have to run basic maintenance on Lord Sixth later, since Lord Dottore isn't available for some god forsaken reason…" they sighed. "I'm really sorry. The things I have to do today are just… too important to risk delaying."

Her eyes, hazy and vacant, were filled with a sudden life as she came to and realized the situation she was in.

It wasn't over, she had realized.

She stared back at them shining with nothing but gut-wrenching terror. Her gaze was quick to flick away from them, however, so they couldn't linger on it for too long. It was probably for the better. Lingering on things like that was never particularly healthy.

"Right… okay. I understand," she reassured sincerely, before shifting slightly so that she was at least sitting up on her elbows. The strain on her abdomen made her wince. They were quick to support the majority of her weight, curling an arm under her back. Thankfully, the thin layer of cloth draped over her body provided some kind of reprieve for her overworked nerves, and their touch did not seem to affect her as terribly. It was then that she brought the pills to her lips and swallowed them without so much as a complaint. "Thank you for the medicine, [Name]."

"Of course." They reached for disposable gloves as she cautiously laid herself back down. "As usual, as a general rule, you are free to scream or cry or damn me to hell and back. I would not hold it against you. I know it hurts. Whatever helps you manage your pain, save from squirming—please try to be as still as possible—is permissible. You are not being disruptive. You are not being uncooperative. You are not being difficult. Scream if you must. It's okay. You are human and in unreasonable pain. It's okay. I promise."

Her eyes glittered with the sheen of unshed tears—they briefly wondered if it was because she was afraid of the prospect of more pain, or if she was afraid of them.

They sincerely hoped it was the former.

With as much gentle tenderness as they could muster in spite of the way she was looking at them, in spite of the utterly betrayed expression on her face, they gingerly cupped her face. "Okay?" they whispered. "You're okay. You'll be okay. I will take care of you, okay?"

Her hoarse voice came in a raspy whisper: "Okay. Do what you need to do."

They nodded, withdrawing their hand. "Remember: deep breaths. It will be okay."

— flower of the universe !! 🌸

There was never a time during which they could honestly and confidently assure victims that "it would be okay."

Nothing was certain. The concept of "being okay" was never certain. All they ever did within this aspect of their job was lie. It was… regrettably, part of what made them so skilled.

(A much younger Fatui agent in their unit once, with an awestruck expression, told them that they made their job look effortless—looking back on it, they're certain that she meant well, that she meant it as a compliment, if anything. They ended up shooting her a nasty glare, however, that ultimately contributed to her transferral to Tartaglia's unit, a work enviornment with much lower stakes. They sometimes felt bad when they looked back upon it.

…But perhaps it was for the best. If she could not navigate their complex social cues, only the Tsaritsa could possibly know what might happen to her if—when—she came into contact with Dottore or any of his Segments. Everyone in his unit did, does, and would at one point or another.

So, yes, perhaps it was better like this. Tartaglia was far more forgiving, after all.)

To lie to the test subjects and put them at ease… it was all they ever did. It was all they could ever do, because they knew that the majority of those people would not live long. Lying was an unfortunate but necessary skill in their career.

Subsequently, dissociation was also a hell of a skill to have in a career such as theirs.

They could not afford to let anything weigh on their conscience—not guilt, not regret, nothing. Nothing could weigh on their mind, for if something were to do so, they would end up putting themselves at risk. Performance, work related or otherwise, often dramatically falls when one is troubled.

In truth, they could get away with more than what others could. Small slip-ups, simple errors, accidents that didn't lead to any serious damage to any research—these things were often overlooked with a hypothetical slap on the wrist.

…Of course, that didn't mean they were ever going to voluntarily push their luck. They would much rather dissociate when their mind deemed it necessary than risk suffering severe punishment.

Knowing when to detach was surely what kept them sane. It didn't make their job any less horrible—it just made it managable enough so that they could keep it. In their position, at their rank… quitting or losing the job they had was not an option. Maybe if they worked under another Harbinger, it would be, but for them?

(They should have submitted a transfer request when they first joined the Fatui. It was far too late for that now, but they still lamented the fact that—against their better judgement, and against the warnings of older, more experienced agents who knew firsthand the horrors that went on in Dottore's unit—they did not at least try to switch divisions.)

Losing their job was a death sentence because the only reason they would ever lose it was if they did something punishable, and quitting may as well have meant the same, depending on the mood the Second was in at the time.

Knowing when to detach was surely what kept them alive.

Halfway through their cleaning and stitching of her open wounds—they briefly had wondered what could possibly be so urgent that Dottore could not have been bothered to finish what he had started, but it was not their place to ask or question—she had fainted, which was… better than her being awake, at least. She likely would not recall most of the process when she woke up again.

After checking for a pulse, just to be certain that nothing problematic had happened to her, they sighed.

As they pulled their disposable gloves off, they turned the latex inside out so that no blood got anywhere else… not that it would have mattered, they supposed. The lab was bloody and they would have to sterilize it all regardless, since the janitor had seemingly disappeared under mysterious conditions they did not want to think too deeply about. Still. Anything to make their job even slightly easier.

…The lab would surely fall apart without their guidance—or, at the very least, the deaths and "disappearances" of their coworkers would tragically skyrocket.

With quick and purposeful steps, they strode down a hallway branched off of the main lab towards a pair of heavily guarded doors. Four agents lingered there armed with delusions and guns. They all seemed to stand up a bit straighter as the lab assistant approached.

"Hey, listen, I'm going to need two of you to take Natalya back to her room," they instructed, absently fidgeting with their uniform as they rehearsed the rest of their day's schedule internally. "I've got places to be, otherwise I'd do it myself."

One of the agents rolled his shoulders—perhaps in preparation, though Natalya was not particularly heavy even in a state of complete unconsciousness—and nodded.

"Sure. No problem, [Surname], but what's her number?"

"Hell if I know"—they shrugged—"I call them by their names, not their numbers. Everyone knows that. Check the tattoo on her wrist. That's what it's there for, no? Look, I'm running short on time. Just… do what I've asked, okay?"

The agent threw his hands up defensively, and they rolled their eyes, crossing their arms and leaning most of their weight on the wall.

"Don't be dramatic," they scoffed. "I'm not going to gut you."

"I don't know. You might if you're in a bad mood," he accused. Well, they weren't going to before, but now they were considering it… "Anyway, no need to get short with us. Really, [Surname]. We'll handle it. What do you take us for?"

"I have a million reasons to be short with you all. Just get it done, please."

With that, they turned on their heel and left.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot! written by aphelion & banner by @lucid-lilium. do not plagiarize, copy, ai train, or otherwise use my work -☆

#: [ moral injury! 🌸 ]#genshin x reader #platonic genshin impact #platonic genshin x reader #platonic genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin platonic #platonic genshin #genshin series

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giatreagapite · 13 days

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#DR VERITAS RATIO

A heavily headcanon-driven, canon-divergent, and independent portrayal of Dr. Ratio from Honkai: Star Rail.

| DR. RATIO

[ Age ]

Early-mid 30s

[ Pronouns ]

He/him, They/them, Star/starred, Luna/lune, Dawn/dusk [ Transmasc Nonbinary/Demimale ]

[ Sexuality ]

Bisexual (masc lean)

Note: This portrayal depicts a Dr. Ratio with Halovian features! Specifically, an artificial Halovian with Eurasian Eagle-Owl features (including the ear tufts), but excluding the halo. He also has psychic abilities, but they are rather basic and minor. (You may ask admin or the character itself as to how this happened)

| ADMIN

Hi!! Call me Dango, Apollo, or Hermes! My writer tag is going to be “🍡.” I am 15 and can do lengthy writings, but often, I will do short crack posts for the fun of it! My timezone is UTC+8 and my pronouns are he/they/lune/moon/star. I also do art commissions!! See @thedangoratio (my main/art account) for info on that

| TAGS

#ratios mail = ask responses

#pride comes before a fall = solos

#mundanity of life = open starters

#dango the admin = admin posts

[ This section will be updated periodically ]

| HEADCANONS

| Visual headcanons (minus the halovian features)(those will get a proper drawing)

Some things I imagine him with, but didn’t add here because I don’t quite know how to edit those onto official art well enough yet

Hooked nose

Eyebags (I just forgot this actually)

A few wrinkles (I forgot those too)

| Ratio’s Cats

Dr. Ratio lives alone and loves animals dearly, so he’s often fostered lost cats he meets outside and cares for them as much as he can, fighting loneliness with them in return. He has gotten attached to many, so.. That’s why he has at least 10 adopted cats and 3 critters (the cat cakes).

The cats

Eurydice

Orpheus

Ethos

Logos

Pathos

Prometheus

Epimetheus

Rhiney

Achilles

Patroclus

The critters

Sesame Cake

Lambda’s Friend

Trash Cake

| Headcanoned Lore

Dr. Ratio was a medical doctor at one point of his life, when he first graduated from university. Though, he quit after the number of patients that died in his care had reached over 10 in total over the course of a 17 year long career (including residency) at 26 years old.

Dr. Ratio hails from the planet Amphoreus, The Eternal Land. (Until proven otherwise)

Dr. Ratio is a lightweight, having never touched alcohol until 1 night when he was 26. He hasn’t had a drop since then.

[ MTBA ]

| Miscellaneous

Dr. Ratio has been known to carry a few peculiar behaviors that are notably “owl-like”, as his students say, such as being able to rotate his head over his shoulder much more than the average person and displaying a wider gaze when presented with a topic of special interest.

Dr. Ratio is also known to exclaim with peculiar (again) noises when caught off guard. Such noises are those of a rubber duck when he is poked or squeezed spontaneously, a purring sound when comfortably sleeping, and an owl’s low “hoo” when called for (again) spontaneously.

Dr. Ratio owns a wide collection of rubber ducks in many designs, sizes and colors, each with a backstory of how he acquired them and often extremely long and.. Interesting names. Veritas can go on for hours about each one. He also collects stationary, but not as seriously.

Dr. Ratio made the marble statues used in his technique himself, a result of his stone masonry hobby. He also has a few black and white practice self portraits in the charcoal medium.

Dr. Ratio frequently collects hair accessories and rings, maintaining a wide collection of these in his bedroom. Yes, he is open to sharing the hair accessories with those he befriends.

#hsr rp #hsr rp promo #hsr rp blog #multifandom account #multifandom roleplay #multifandom rp #hsr roleplay #honkai star rail roleplay #veritas ratio #dr ratio #hsr dr ratio #hsr ratio #hsr veritas ratio #new to tumblr #roleplay #parody #canon divergent

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newwarriorsocworldobsession · 2 years

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FAMILY TREE, EVERYONE!

Alright, so, we're also gonna talk genetics here. This is gonna get lengthy so buckle up. I posted all the videos on making this darn thing on my TikTok, but one cannot explain genetics enough in five 10 minutes videos. Or at least I can't, and the family tree that shows how the original founders of my five clans get to the point of Floodclan's current leadership was the best (and longest) family tree to show how weird cat genetics can get! Also gonna get into some lore on this that I had no time to add in the videos.

Do note: I will not be talking about fur length.

Starting with Thicketstar, she's a chocolate ticked tabby with no white spotting. Both of her youngest children, Embercloud and Sunnystar, have at most 50% white spotting and are calicos.

Embercloud is a chocolate caliby (a tabby calico) while Sunnystar is a carmelized blue calico (fun fact a carmelized diluted red/cream is an 'apricot' for those who didn't know.)

So, basic cats colors to look at here alone:

Black is most dominant (dilute is blue)

Chocolate is recessive to Black (dilute is lilac)

Cinnamon is recessive to Chocolate (dilute is fawn)

Red is sex-linked (dilute is cream). Red cats pretty much are a 'hey, let's not let the eumelanin(what's responsible for Black, chocolate, and cinnamon) show and let the phaeomelanin (what's responsible for red) shine on through!'

So if a tom inherits the black gene thanks to having a chocolate dad and a black calico mom, but also gets that one X chromosome that's red from mom, that's going to be a red tom than, if they have a calico daughter, could still pass on that black gene and make that daughter a black calico. Probably a better way to explain it, but that's how I'm going to.

So then, starting with Thicketstar, she's a chocolate ticked tabby with no white spotting. Both of her youngest children, Embercloud and Sunnystar, have at most 50% white spotting and are calicos.

Embercloud is a chocolate caliby (a tabby calico) while Sunnystar is a carmelized blue solid calico (fun fact a carmelized diluted red/cream is an 'apricot' for those who didn't know.)

So already, the previous explanation is in play.

Sunnystar being a caramelized blue means both Thicketstar and Sunnystar's father carried both the dilute gene so that Sunnystar could be blue, but also the caramel trait. The caramel trait is also recessive like dilute. In order for Sunny to be blue, means her red tom dad who also has a lot of white spotting would have been a black or blue tom if he didn't have that special red 'X.'

Sunnystar is mates with Moonstar, a seal Bengal spotted lynx colorpoint. This means Moonstar has the colorpoint gene, obviously, but is also genetically a black cat. Since he's a tabby though, which is dominant to Sunnystar's solid, that means if we assume he carries a recessive solid gene, it's a 50-50 chance for their kids to be solids.

Which is true! Their daughter Blueclaw is a solid blue! Moonstar doesn't have the caramel gene, so Blueclaw isn't caramelized like Sunnystar. HOWEVER, because Moonstar has the gene that causes the Bengal pattern and passed that down to his kits, Blueclaw's solid coat does have muted markings regardless. (Bengals are weird and this won't be the first time it messes with this family tree)

Sunnystar's and Moonstar's other daughter Leopardheart isn't dilute and has inherited Sunnystar's whitespotting, though it is a lesser amount. Since Leopardheart is a tabby, she displays the Bengal pattern Moonstar passed on down. Both Blueclaw and Leopardheart are genetically black like both Sunnystar and Moonstar are.

Back to Embercloud.

They have a son, Sleekstride, who is a chocolate mink tabby with a small amount of whitespotting. In order for Sleekstride to be any type of colorpoint, Embercloud has to have a recessive colorpoint gene, along with Sleekstride's father. For future reference, we will assume that Sleekstride's father was either a cinnamon or carried cinnamon.

Sleekstride then has Palestar, a fawn ticked lynx colorpoint with no white. This is why we must assume that Sleekstride's father is either cinnamon or carried it, along with Sleekstride's mate. The cinnamon cannot be from Embercloud, because as we discussed earlier, Embercloud's father would have been a red cat, hiding a black coat, and would have had to carry chocolate in order for her to have chocolate like her mother Ticketstar. We can also assume Sleekstride's mate either was a colorpoint or also carried it.

Palestar's mate is Fallowspark, a black tabby with little white spotting. However, Fallowspark carries chocolate! How do we know this?

Because none of their children are cinnamon/fawn and one of them, Fernrunner, is a chocolate-ticked tabby.

We also know both Palestar and Fallowspark carry solid because of Shadowrapid is a black solid tom with small white spotting and Fallowspark carries dilute, colorpoint and both carry the caramel trait because Creekstar is a caramelized blue lynx colorpoint and their daughter Mothstar is a seal lynx colorpoint.

We good? Good.

Creekstar has a total of six mates, but only had kits with three, so let's just look at those.

He and his first mate Heavyheart, a black twilight charcoal tabby have Doespot, a lilac charcoal tabby. This means, since Creekstar would be carrying cinnamon from Palestar, Heavyheart is carrying chocolate and dilute.

Creekstar's next mate Amberstream is a fawn tortie. They have OWlcry, a solid blue mink, which means Amberstream carries a sort of colorpoint. Since both Creekstar and Amberstream are diluted, this means Owlcry has to be diluted as well. There are no other options.

Creekstar's last mate TImbercall is a black tabby, and they have Lakepaw, who is a blue tabby.

Heavyheart and Shadowrapid hook up after Creekstar dumped her and they have Fernpelt, a black midnight charcoal tabby with a small amount of white.

Fernpelt then fathers Lionstar, who is a solid fawn with the same amount of white spotting. Now, we know that since Shadowrapid is a solid, Fernpelt would be a carrier. We also know that it's a 50-50 chance that Fernpelt would have also been a carrier for both the cinnamon trait and dilute trait, has both would have been inherited from Shadowrapid being a carrier after inheriting those traits from his own mother Palestar.

In case anyone needs a sum up of that:

Palestar( dilute cinnamon) --> Shadowrapid (carriers cinnamon and dilute) --> Fernpelt (could carrier cinnamon and dilute) --> Lionstar (dilute cinnamon)

Good? Good.

Lionstar fathers Marshrunner, who does not have white spotting and is a solid chocolate tom. Since cinnamon is the most recessive of the non-red colors, this makes sense and points to Lioncry's mate being either a carrier of chocolate or chocolate herself.

Marshrunner then fathers Finchstar, who is a solid chocolate tortoiseshell, having no white. Since Finchstar is a tortoiseshell, her mother is either a tortie herself or a red she-cat, in which said the mother could only provide red 'Xs'.

We know that Finchstar's mate would have to be a red tom since she then has a daughter Fireflight, who is a red colorpoint. Now, regardless if a cat is solid or tabby, red will always display stripes. Genetically, however, Fireflight is a solid.

We do know her mate has to be a tabby with whitespotting because then her son Gorsestar is a red tabby colorpoint with whitespotting. However the color of Gorsestar's father does not matter in this case, as since Fireflight is red, then so too must be Gorsestar.

Gorsestar first is mates with Ravencry, a solid black tuxedo. Since Ravencry is genetically black, their son Tigercall then is also such, but he's a tabby like Gorsestar. He gets whitespotting from either Gorsestar or Ravencry, but not both since he's a tuxedo as well.

Tigercall then mates with non-clan cat Jane, a solid chocolate bicolor. However Tigercall still passes on the black gene onto their daughter Shadowfoot, and this time both parents give a white spotting gene to their child, as Shadowfoot has a massive amount of white on her.

Shadowfoot has a kit with Snowmask, a blue tabby bicolor. They have Junipercloud, who also turns out to be a blue bicolor. This means the dilute trait Shadowfoot is a carrier for is either came from Jane or managed to be passed on secretly through Gorsestar's family since Lionstar. We will see it could be either later.

Now, Snowmask had a previous mate, Riverbelly, who was a seal lynx colorpoint.

Both of their sons Darkpelt and Loonwing are black tabbies, but Loonwing inherits Snowmask's white spotting and neither of them is colorpoints. Loonwing is mates with Hornetsting, a cream tabby she-cat with whitespotting, making any son they have red or cream and all daughter calicos.

Now let's go back to Gorsestar.

Gorsestar later mates with Spottedstream, a gray tortie.We now know that Gorsestar does indeed carry a dilute gene because their Stormfrost is a dilute/blue tortie colorpoint. We already know Gorsestar carries solid from his mother and paired with solid tortie Spottestream, this lets Stormfrost be the solid she is as well.

Stormfrost hooks up with two toms, Riverthorn (a seal point) and Lioncry (a chocolate wideband tabby). Wideband makes a cat's coat, aside from stripes, look golden.

Stormfrost and Riverthorn can only produce more colorpoints. Riverthorn also carried dilute as evidenced by Falconstar being a blue colorpoint. Their daughter Mudmask is a seal colorpoint just like her father.

Stormfrost's son in the same litter. Redwing, could be either Riverthorn's or Lioncry's son. Redwing is a colorpoint, as since he's red, he'd still show having stripes regardless if he was a tabby or a solid. Lioncry's wideband gene is a dominant trait, but it'd also be reasonable that Lioncry could have a recessive gene where a kit of his wouldn't get that trait.

Mudmask is mates with Bluetalon, a blue tabby. Their kits will more than likely be black or blue, it is a 50-50 chance since Mudmask would carry dilute from her mother Stormfrost.

Falconstar is mates with Flyflight, a black smoke. If the two of them could have kits, it'd be a 50-50 chance of their kits being smokes or regular solids. However, both Falconstar and Flyflight are cis toms, so not possible.

So now, there is only one mystery in this whole family tree. Who is Redwing's dad? If you want to make a guess, go on ahead and give a reason.

And if anyone wants me to put down another family tree from my characters on here or the canon warrior cats (I might regret that) the ask box is always open. Also, for those of you who made it this far, thank you. I appreciate you reading through this whole lengthy post.

#family tree #warrior cats #warriors worldingbuilding #warriors designs #warriors ocs #warrior cats family tree

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theforgottenmcrmy · 2 years

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initial thoughts & reactions to episode 9

SPOILERS for Episode 9 of House of the Dragon below the cut.

Nobody asked for this, but I wanted to jot down my own thoughts for future reference. Thought I might as well post it here in case anyone could relate. WARNING: kinda ranty and very lengthy.

If anyone wants to discuss any of this with me, pleaseeeee do not be a stranger. Shoot me a message. Send me an ask. I am actually dying to talk about this stuff. I beg of you.

Birds chirping- immediate chills.

“He told me he wished for Aegon to be king.” “He mumbled gibberish, coincidentally mentioned AN Aegon, and I perceived it as I wanted to.” There. Fixed it for you, Queen.💁🏼‍♀️

Viserys has obviously been sick for YEARS. Why is no one questioning the context of his last words when he could’ve passed on at any time for literally for a while now? It’s not as though he was in some accident and had the forethought to understand that he was about to pass.

Lord Beesbury is a real one.

Criston Cole had to have always had a darkness in him. A rejection from a woman in his youth is not enough justification to explain the man he has become.

Lord Jason really is spineless, isn’t he?😂

I NEEEED Ser Harold to flock to Rhaenyra’s cause.

Ser Criston: “Every woman is an image of their mother, to be spoken of with reverence.” ALSO Ser Criston: calls Rhaenyra a c*nt.

GODDDDSSS I detest Otto and Larys.

It is kind funny how light-hearted the search for Aegon feels, despite everything going on.

Maybe Aemond and Larys should commiserate about being second sons.

GODDDSSSSSSSSSSS somehow I detest Otto and Larys even MORE.

Say what you want about Alicent, but I do think she loved the King. Might not have been in love with him, but loved him as the father of her children.

Just as I feel kinda bad for Alicent, she really tries to put on the charm with Rhaenys. Rhaenys’ eyes when she started talking were EVERYTHING.

Things are definitely not over between Otto and the White Worm.

I love how the conflict between the twins is essentially reflective of how the rest of Westeros is likely to be very shortly.

I’m just counting down the days til Otto bites the dust at this point.

Larys has no loyalties. Larys has no side. Larys: a true agent of chaos.

Can we talk about how Alicent knows damn well what she’s doing when speaking with him though?👀 pleasantly surprised.

Oh gods🤮

😧

🐑

Aegon knows what’s up. It’ll be interesting to see his character development between now and the end with this in mind.

NOOOOO, not the song of ice and fire blade!!!😭

Okay, this version of The Green Dress/Hightower/We Light the Way theme playing as Aegon enters is SO. DAMN. BRILLIANT.

Interesting that it looks like both Helaena AND Aegon have been crying.

The fact that it’s Ser Crispin crowning Aegon and making the announcement irks me. It couldn’t have been anyone else? I can already think of several more appropriate people off the top of my head.

The cheers of this poorly informed crowd are just inflating this boy’s undeserving ego like a damn balloon.

Rhaenysssssssssssssssss❤️❤️❤️ And Meleys🙌🏻 Nevermind the Greens and the Blacks. I’m team Red.❤️🐉

The only complaint I have is she could have ended it all before it even began right then and there…

Okay, so if Aegon gets Aegon the Conqueror’s crown, I’m curious if the crown Rhaenyra gets has any history/lore as well… and if so, what that is.

I’m not ready for this next episode y’all😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 (if you know, you know)

#house of the dragon #HOTD #house of the dragon spoilers #hotd spoilers #game of thrones #got

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demcnsinmymind · 2 years

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most important headcanons/char beats for my blog nav/pinned post and easier understanding

another master post? why?

after working on my blog nav I’ve realized that my blog is filled to the brim with wordvomits upon wordvomits about Lance and my ideas for him, so I figured that next to my very lengthy headcanon masterlist, I’d make another shorter-ish post with the most important bullet points that I consider essential for possible threads and interactions with the boy.

Two most important headcanons

The lore is somewhat canon divergent on my blog. The building was alive and sentient with an agenda just like in canon, but my most important headcanon is that the entity possessing and distorting it has been H.P. L/ovec/raft’s demonic outer god Azathoth instead of just some nameless invisible thing. (see detailed possession lore and azathoth info)

Azathoth is bound to Lance on a physical and emotional level and it’s the only thing keeping him from turning into this - a severely impaired, insane and numb shell. (more here)

- The cut him being trapped in 1948 plotline is canon on my blog and I will die on this hill because it’s so awesome!!!!!!!!!!!! =(

Lance

- Lance is not a villain character. He’s not a hero either. He is a grey character and very flipfloppy. He can be the most loyal and protective friend, but he can also be the most selfish, vain, outright asshole. He’s very complicated, but I cannot stress it enough that he’s not a bad guy. (Best said by Sean (the actor who plays him) in this gifset. See more detailed HC posts about it here or here or here) Read: there is no need for excessive hostility towards him. When Azathoth’s in charge? Totally fair game. But him? Consider him more of a victim, please.

- Pre-canon, he did not believe in the paranormal. He wasn’t an outright denier, but pretty much a skeptic in need of some serious convincing. So even though he’s making an entire show about ghosts and the paranormal, off camera and out of character, he’ll tell others it’s all bullshit and think they’re bullshitting as well if they start talking about it being real, or reveal that they themselves are in fact supernatural. That is pretty much canon (see more here) Read: Pre-canon, he’ll react surprisingly douchy and somewhat naive to anything involving his own genre. However, a part of him wants to believe, so he’ll need little convincing :)

- Lance has Stockholm’s syndrome and is trauma bonded to the building/thing possessing him aka Azathoth. (See more here) Read: There will be questionable reactions on this blog that might sound defensive of the thing/trauma, might even play it down. But that is on purpose. Not me condoning what happened to him. The opposite. He’ll work his way through this and learn sooner or later that it’s bad to defend it. However, be prepared to see him get angry with the helper instead of the abuser at first, which might be perplexing at first. He’ll need a lot of convincing on that front.

- He’s filled to the brim with charisma and fake friendliness and he does have a silver tongue, but he does not have many friends be that before or after canon, pretty much none post canon after losing his team inside Collingwood and losing 13 years to his ordeal. Read: He’s all talk and no bite. Expect a lot of bitter sarcasm and a lot of pushing back. He isn’t used to the idea of people caring about him. He’ll get there.

- I headcanon him to be aromantic. Couple that with his lack of interest in deep and lasting relationships, and you got someone who is very prone to casual hook ups and what not. He has no interest in anything romantic, and neither will he ever pursue the family/marriage life. (See more here) Read: I won’t write romantic plots. Smut and regular booty calls with very tight friendships behind them are more than fair game, I love them. But there won’t be any exclusive monogamous ships here.

- He’s incredibly guarded. I don’t know the right word/explanation for it and “emotionally unavailable” doesn’t quite match how I portray him, but basically one of the most important aspects about my portrayal of him post canon is that it will take a lot to break down his barriers. It’ll take a lot of patience and time until he starts trusting people, and even more of it until he opens up to them and accepts help. This is due to his obvious trauma, not due to toxic masculinity or the fact that he’s incapable of emotions or empathy. He has a whole palette of both, but he keeps that under very tight wraps. (see more here or here or here) Read: He’ll react like an asshole when it gets down to people offering their help and comfort at first. This is not because he is one and wants to hurt anyone, but because he’s very afraid of being vulnerable and getting hurt. But it is a fact that he very much wants help and needs help and that you’ll get him there eventually. It just takes some time and trust. Kind of like a kicked wet cat in an alley.

Azathoth

- Azathoth is an it. Please do not refer to it as “he”. It’s a thing that looks and acts like however it wants to be. It is called the nuclear chaos. It is so beyond our human comprehension and most certainly beyond the idea of genders. Read: Azzy isn’t male. It’s a chaotic wildcard. It won’t ever be refered to as “he” by me and I’d very much appreciate it if you kept that in mind =)

- As stated up above, the most important thing to keep in mind is that Azathoth is like a plug in Lance’s brain. If you pull it, he’s a goner. They both know it. Thus, they’ll react harshly and negatively to any attempts of banishing it from his body. (read more here) Read: Unlike most other depictions of possession in media with the possessed being helpless victims horrified by the ordeal and more than grateful to see their possessor gone, Lance won’t react the same way to the prospect of getting rid of it.

- Azathoth is a demonic outer god that was once exiled beyond time and space. It more or less adheres to some of L/ovecraft’s lore and canon, not to any Supernatural or biblical canon. It has no weaknesses and cannot be exorcised. It can only be bound to other buildings/universes/places beyond time or put back to sleep with ancient flutes. (read more here, also see cool videos like this) Read: Azathoth is an overpowered Mary Sue. Please do not assume it can be put in demon traps or hurt with holy water/hex bags and what not. That’ll just get Lance’s clothes wet and dirty and piss the both of them off. Fear not though, I very very rarely write out its OP powers and am more than happy to piss it off.

- It has a lot of cool powers. Though it technically isn’t canon that it’s what did all the things, whatever is possessing Collingwood did do a lot of cool things. See here. Read: Just me wanting to share my fav gifset hehe

#text post #mobile resource

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youredreamingofroo · 7 months

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I'm finally doing it. 100 OC questions with Roo.

-> 100 OC questions by the-moon-dust-writings

under the cut to save yall from a lengthy dash - also spaced it all out so its easier to read mainly cuz im dyslexic and its impossible to read tumblr text half the time 💀

also if there's anything that's unfinished or illegible, im really sorry, its 1 AM and my eyes are starting to go cross-eyed 😭😭😭

1. How do they present themselves to others? ▷ Roo tends to completely shut off any form of his real self when initially meeting people, he fears coming off as weird to others, however as he gets to know people more and gets closer, his mask slowly fades. In general, he presents himself as tight and sometimes stingy and/or jumpy (to lesser known people), or he'll present himself as silly, loose and able to laugh, and better at communicating (to more well known people).

2. Do they like animals?

▷ He absolutely LOVES animals, he loves just being in proximity of them and literally wishes he could take any and all animals he sees home (the lovely cuddly ones anyways LMAOOO).

3. How do they dress? ▷ He dresses like he just fucking got out of bed most of the time. 4. How many languages do they know?

▷ 2- technically, He's fluent in english and knows very little swedish (he's trying).

5. How big is their family? ▷ Just to avoid me going off on an INCREDIBLY draining journey, I'm going to list off only immediate family: He has two parents, Reese and Virginia He has one immediate sister, Jordynn He has three half siblings, Devan, Deliahna and Juniper Devan and Deliahna's Father (Sort of Roo's Step/Half-Dad???) is named Noah and Juniper's Father (also sort of Roo's Step/Half-Dad?????) is named Mateo Roo has a nephew named Evan and a Niece named Josey (Both Jordynns) and he has a Brother in Law named Sean (Jordynn's husband). 6. What is their purpose in the story? ▷ Roo has no purpose, he's intended to just be a character, he's intended to be a character that I do my best to develop as almost real, he will never be real, of course, but I like to treat as though he is, additionally he's meant to show growth, and just letting characters grow and develop flaws, if you read/saw his Roo-seum post, you'd have seen just how different he was 10 years ago RT (Roo's timeline). I mean, 10 years ago RT, he was literally homophobic, and now hes VERY gay. I never intended to make roo grow as much as he has and at the end of the day, hes just a persona who was lucky enough and interesting enough to become his own character. 7. Do they know how to fight? ▷ LMFAO No. 8. What is their back story? ▷ Not typing all that, you can find his backstory (Roo-seum) on the Roo page of my blog. 9. Why is their name, their name? ▷ From a literal sense (why I chose his name), I initially chose Roo as his name, why is that his name? I dont remember. I remember I wanted to also give him a real name, and funnily enough, I REALLY like/d Harvey from SDV, and I LOVE the name Harvey its really cute, so I gave it to Roo. From a lore sense (why Virginia chose his name), when Virginia had Roo, she didn't really GAF what she named him, she was still mourning Reese's death, and she just needed a name to give Roo, and was reminded of when Reese and Her were thinking of boy and girl names, Heather? No, it's a boy. Heath? ...Uhh.. No. Melody? Still a boy. Arthur? That's a silly name (no offense to any Arthurs out there).... Harvey... It was a name that had Reese grinning from ear to ear, She'd never seen him smile that big for a name... besides her own, it was the perfect remnant of Reese. 10. Do they have any nick names? ▷ Yes. Roo. In canon, his siblings call him Harv or Rooey (like kangaroo and joey???.... LMAO), his mom used to call him Havvy as a kid/baby, but now he hates that nickname and sometimes Virginia tries to use it to get him to forgive her for the way she treated him, although he never budges. Some joke nicknames I have given him, is Rookie pookie and if I'm ever making a genderbent Roo I call him "Roo-ella", all of which are not canon names in HIS universe, but are canon names in other universe.

11. Do they have a romantic interest? ▷ uhhhh yes and no, it's complicated, he's only now realizing his feelings for a certain someone. 12. How do they cope with struggles? ▷ he cries, and he vents, he doesnt really know how to cope (in a healthy manner, like seeking therapy or doing stuff to calm him down). 13. Do they have anyone they can lean on? ▷ Yessirrr, He's got Rylan, a friend of his that I STILL need to introduce............ He also has his siblings. 14. How do they react to someone dying? ▷ ???? In sheer horror?? I'd assume he probably would be 1000x more devastated than the average human though cuz he hasn't properly experienced a loss of a loved one (like actual death loss, not like a family member leaving thats a WHOLE different story). 15. Can you name 5 personality traits they have? ▷ Introverted extrovert ("thats just an ambivert!" hes INCREDIBLY introverted, until/unless he gets to know someone who really clicks with him, at which point he becomes super extroverted, and they HAVE to click with him, otherwise he remains relatively introverted, and I do not see that fitting into the ambivert definition) Insecure (in a sense that he doubts a lot of his decisions) Overthinker Very oblivious A daydreamer. 16. How did they become a character? ▷ I don't want to keep explaining this, but in short, he's a persona that is also separately an OC. 17. Do they get along with others? ▷ He's often called charismatic cause hes such an enjoyable person to talk to, he often thinks people dont like talking to him, but thats only because he never fucking talks to people and usually only talks to someone when they initiate conversation. But yes, he does get along with others, even if he denies it. 18. What flaws do they have? ▷ Can't cope in a healthy manner, bad at initiating conversation, mega procrastinator, not super good at emotional control and often isolates himself without letting anybody know, making everybody worried, especially considering his isolation track record. 19. How do they influence the story? ▷ N/A idk cuz his life is the story and i mean like, what he does influences the story LMFAO. 20. What do they look like? ▷ We all know by now but:

21. What are their hobbies? ▷ He likes to game, and as introverted as he can be, he likes to go out to places even if he's not gonna buy something, he likes to take walks, and he likes to just laze around, and ponder. 22. What are their ticks? ▷ Idk he doesn't really have any out of the ordinary ticks, yk, like, he hates homophobic people? and transphobic ppl? So... yea. 23. Do they like children? ▷ No. 24. How do they react to being around wild animals? ▷ He gets super SUPER nervous, but at the same time bubbles with joy cause he loves animals and wants to touch the animal, except hes fucking terrified of getting killed and ends up, of course, not touching said animal. 25. If they were given the task to prank someone, who would it be, what would they do, and would the prank work? ▷ He just wouldn't do the prank to begin with tbh, he's a little bitch like 😭😭 26. Do they have any survival skills? ▷ HAH Nope. 27. Are they more book smart or street smart? ▷ Idk, He's self-taught most of the things he knows, but I guess book smart? 28. How do they get out of a difficult situation? ▷ Roo doesn't even know how to cope in a difficult situation, he's just gonna panic and run around like that one spongebob gif of all the little spongebobs running around with fire everywhere iykyk. 29. Do they use their body, mind, personality or force to get what they want? ▷ No- hello?? LMFAO. 30. What music do they enjoy? ▷ Honest to God, he enjoys whatever music I enjoy, not saying this out of laziness, I mean like he, as a character, would genuinely just enjoy the music I enjoy. Although I will say, he'd definitely prefer more somber-esque songs.

31. How do they overcome obstacles? ▷ He just... idk, overcomes them, eventually tho cuz he's a procrastinator (as someone who doesnt know how I overcome my own obstacles, I dont know how to describe overcoming obstacles so this is a difficult question). 32. When faced with a difficult decision do they get stronger or break? ▷ When Roo is faced with a difficult decision, he freezes, or I guess in this case "breaks," he can't really handle the pressure of having to make big decisions and may even just subconsciously/stupidly answer (which is prominent during the Reo sub-plot). 33. Do they have any special powers? ▷ Nope. 34. How do they change throughout the story? ▷ Another situation where I point you towards the Roo-seum and also say that his story IS the story. 35. Do they have any friends? If so, are they close knit? ▷ Yes. Him and Rylan are VERY close, they met when Roo was attending College 36. How is their family life? ▷ Pretty fucking messy, you can find pretty much most of your answers in the respective posts of his siblings introduction posts. He fucking hates his Mom for leaving him, however there's two sides to this as Virginia was initially expecting to be caring for Roo with Reese, and didnt expect Reese to die so suddenly and so soon before the birth, depression sucked the life out of her and she progressively became less and less willing to live (she's doing better now, but yeesh), So it wasn't her fault, however Roo still holds a bit of a vendetta just cause she left Jordynn to care for him when she [Jordynn] was 7 He LOVESSS his siblings, except for Juniper. Jordynn raised Roo, Roo has been an off and on translator for Devan (because he cant speak fluent english), and Deli treated Roo as... basically a father since Roo showed much more love and care to her than Noah [her father] or Virginia, and he also got rid of her bullies (not in THAT way, i mean like just got them to stop bullying her) He's a hit or miss with Juniper, as he hasn't heard incredible things about her, but is warming up to her as he learned that she was recovering from her bad habits. 37. Are they likable? ▷ I mean, yea. 38. Are they the hero, or anti-hero? ▷ neither, his story does not involve that kinda stuff LMFAO and even if it did, he'd be neither cuz he'd suck at BEING BOTH 😭. 39. Do they make questionable choices? ▷ All the damn time man, as I reveal certain tidbits of his life (especially with him and leo), you'll really see his questionable decisions come to fruition. 40. How do they become who they are? ▷ Explained in his Roo-seum post 😭😭

41. How was their childhood? ▷ Pretty shitty, because of his Mom, but got better as he was "properly" taken care of by Jordynn. 42. Are they close with anyone who is going to screw them over? ▷ He used to be close to Hayden and He did something a little worse than screwed with him/screwed him over. 43.How do they adapt to different situations? Do they adapt at all? ▷ He's kind of like a sponge... I guess? While he may be uncomfortable in different or new situations/environments, he can adapt pretty well, although adapt doesn't necessarily mean comfortable for him, that just means he puts on a silly little autism mask and pretends to be comfortable. 44. How do they speak? Examples - Are they soft spoken, hot heated, vulgar ▷ I'm gonna take this as an opportunity to share my sort of voice claim for Roo, which isn't even that clear cuz I haven't found someone with the perfect voice claim yet but: His voice is a mix of Danny Gonzalez (25%) and Kryoz (75%), with Mr. Click's accent (all of these are youtubers just as a heads up ahdbsj) In general tho, I'd say he's more soft-spoken, he does swear and does get vulgar, but its funny when he does it cuz his voice does not fit the shit that comes outta his mouth sometimes. 45. Are they opposed to violence? ▷ ...Yea?? 46. When is their birthday? ▷ 10/05/95. 47. Are they quick to judge? ▷ Yes, but he usually keeps it to himself, and his judgements are often proven right, but he still prefers not to say it aloud because he feels bad. 48. Do they have anything they are trying to hide from others? ▷ His condition, otherwise called Piametia (check the linked page if your confused), although its not prominent anymore, he does find it a bit embarrassing, even though people usually find it cool, he doesn't share that bit of his life since it reminds of him when he was bullied. 49. Do they act different around different people? ▷ Every person is another personality for him. 50. Do they enjoy the arts? ▷ Yes. He LOVES art, he wishes he could draw, but as much as he tries, he always ends up getting burnt out and not drawing for several months if not entire years (art [roo] imitates life [me]).

51. Do they like science? ▷ YES. He is SOOOOO obsessed with Science, had he been successful in college and continued his course, he, looking back on it, would've gone with a major in Science (he's flexible and literally would take any area of science except for maybe Entomology). 52. Are they more emotional or logical? ▷ Emotional for sure. 53. How do they deal with their emotions? ▷ He just lets it overcome him and honestly just waits for it to go away or until he forgets he was even feeling that emotion (in regards to negative emotions, for positive emotions, he tends to repress it a bit to not come off as overbearing, but sometimes his bucket of silliness overflows). 54. How do they cope with sadness? ▷ He doesn't. He just gets really sad, lets it consume him and waits for it to go away or until he gets distracted and forgets he was even sad to begin with. 55. What is something they care about? ▷ Probably his apartment, the placement of everything and all his stuff is literally sacred to him, and he hates it when people touches his stuff. 56. Would they die for anyone/anything? ▷ He'd die for his siblings (mayyyyybeee..... not Juniper tho), any day and any hour of the week. 57. What do they do when they are happy? ▷ Listens to music and/or goes out and does stuff/gets stuff done. 58. How would they come across to other characters? Examples- messy, lazy, childish, caring ect ▷ Depends on the character and their personality, but typically charismatic, childish, carefree and maybe even a little bit annoying, but also easy to get along with. 59. Do they have a phrase they use over and over? ▷ "your mom" 👏👏👏👏 60. In a crowded room are they in the corners, sides, or in the middle? ▷ Probably wherever his friends are, but if he doesn't have any friends with him, he's probably in the corners or on the side.

61. Are they comfortable being in a crowded room? ▷ God no. Maybe if he has a friend with him, but the flat answer is just absolutely not. 62. How do they relax? ▷ He likes to walk and just appreciate his surroundings, it's very quiet and somber(?) where he lives, and he views it as cozy where some people would say overgrown, taking in nature is, while cliche, very relaxing for him, otherwise he'll just listen to music or lay on his bed and just do nothing. 63. Have they ever harmed anyone and regretted it? Verbally or physically? ▷ He left marks on Hayden physically and has never fucking regretted it and if anything wishes he left deeper marks. 64. Do they like to dance? ▷ Dancing makes Roo unbelievably uncomfortable, he tries to dance and always gets embarrassed with himself, so dancing is a NO. GO. Unless it's slow dancing and someone guides him. 65. How do they get around their environment? Examples - horses, bike, vehicle ▷ Bus, or just public transportation, he can't fucking drive. 66. What is their pet peeve(s)? ▷ Just your standard pet peeves idk. 67. Do they have a disability? ▷ No. 68. How do they react to getting flowers? ▷ He literally weeps, sobs, cries, and probably would fall to his knees and ball up. 69. Would they ever wear a flower crown? ▷ ABSOLUTELY (his ACNH AU version of himself used to wear a flower crown) 70. Do they like themselves? ▷ So-So, some days he does, some days he doesn't, it really depends on how depressed he is idk.

71. Who do they dislike? ▷ Hayden. 72. What is their motto? ▷ "Different doesn't mean wrong." Considering he literally grew up different from others and always being seen as "wrong," He's began living by that motto after his major depressive episode, and it's been slowly but surely working for him. 73. Do they have any markings on their body? ▷ No?? I mean, freckles I guess? 74. Have they ever been abused? ▷ Yes. Sexually. I will not elaborate further, that's for another post on another day. 75. What is their biggest fear? ▷ Having what happened to him (referring to the previous question) before, happen again. 76. What are their goals? ▷ Just be a cool little guy idk LMFAO. 77. How do they go about achieving their goals? ▷ By being a cool little guy (i dont know how to set goals if you couldnt tell). 78. Do they have a fight or flight response? ▷ He has flight and then immediately freeze. 79. Is there someone in their life that they care about more than themselves? ▷ Probably Deliahna, he loves her like no other. 80. How would they fair in zombie apocalypse? ▷ He would not fair in an apocalypse, he would be frozen in fear and balled up, and would never be able to un-ball himself (this is not counting AU versions of Roo, this is only applicable to CANON Roo).

81. Do they have any tattoos? If so, are they significant? ▷ Nope. 82. Are they good at mental math? ▷ Uhhhhh No. Not at all. Despite the fact that he's doing a lot better now, he's still bad at managing his own mental health, he tends to forget about self-care, like eating meals at proper times, and getting laundry done. 83. Do they get along with others? ▷ I feel like I answered this already, but yes he does, although he doesn't feel like it, thats mainly cuz he overthinks and assumes they just hate him. 84 Are they lazy? ▷ No, he's pretty active (surprising.) and is pretty stingy on the cleanliness of his apartment, especially after his MASSIVE strike of depression. 85. Are they self motivated? ▷ I'd say yes and no, it's hard to explain, but he's often motivated by himself, but being motivated by others will get himself to motivate himself even more if that makes sense. 86. How do they cope with anger? ▷ He physically releases the anger, usually by punching something, but if he can't punch something, he'll just let the rage boil inside of him til he blows over, he has poor anger control. 87. Have they ever been in a situation where they were helpless? ▷ He has been in one situation where he's felt helpless, which was he was sexually assaulted. 88. Are they organized or messy? ▷ An interesting mix of both, his apartment is VERY cluttered but in a almost in a nice organized way? 89. Can they remember a lot of information at once? ▷ Not really, He'd get to pre-occupied trying to remember whats currently being said to him to remember what was initially said to him 90. What is their occupation? ▷ Whatever fucking job he can find LMFAO

91. Do other characters respect your OC, if so, is it out of fear? Or do they respect your OC because they like them? ▷ The latter. He doesn't like it when people are scared of him, it actually makes him really sad. 92. If they were given minutes to live, what would they do? Who would they want to see and say? ▷ He would text Leo about how he truly feels about him. 93. How do they deal with stress? ▷ He doesn't. Stress often consumes him, and the only thing he really does to deal with stress is just... ignore it... or in some cases actually do the thing he needs to do to alleviate the stress (like turning something in) 94. Do they have a more submissive or dominate personality type? ▷ I don't know, look at this and tell me what you think.

95. Do they have a pet? ▷ His ass cannot afford to keep a pet, nor does his apartment complex allow him to own a pet (a big one anyways like a cat or dog) 96. Do they have a stash of weapons? ▷ wtf no 😭 97. Where do they live? Who do they live with? ▷ He lives in a small town with a couple of apartment complexes (idk the actual location, but Washington ig idk), and he lives in said apartment complexes, he does not live with anyone. 98. How do they calm themselves down? ▷ He cries and cries (or does whatever hes doing) until he gets distracted and forgets he was even upset to begin with. 99. Are they co-dependent? ▷ He relies on himself mostly and doesn't really find himself needing someone (at least in a co-dependent way?), mainly cuz he's always been single and hasn't had a partner (or friend) close enough to become co-dependent of them. 100. Are they a day, or night person? ▷ Night person for sure.

If you made it this far and would like to do this, feel free to tag me i LOVEEEE reading this of people's sims/ocs!!

#i initially tried to colorcode this but tumblr hates me and it was so wack #IntervootheRoo #100 and counting questions for Roo #Roo #100 oc questions #oc #my oc #oc interview #simblr #ts4 #ts4 simblr #sims 4 #sims 4 simblr #the sims 4

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