#and i feel like its just. bad and weird. in a weird way. i feel like i dont recognize my personality and thats good sometimes but its just.

[strwbmei]

summary: what could've happened if angell chose to be selfish for once

contains: desperate/emotional sex, transfem!angell, fem!reader, angell tops, marking, creampie, cunnilingus, fingering, angst no comfort, whatever the opposite of reunion sex is, parting sex???, mentions of crying but not in a sexy way, mentions of blood (also not in a sexy way), tw kidnapping, but you kind of learn to live with it, whatever the hell is going on in angell's event, everything is consensual and soft despite the alarming tags, mentions of drugs but it's unrelated to the smut, unresolved feelings on both sides, tw murder unrelated to smut, devirginifying sex i forgot what it was called, set in between Ditty Nightsong and Angell's interrogation

pairing(s): angell x chief!reader

a/n: I HAD to write this after finishing her event. Seeing Angell and the chief slowly get along despite their circumstances was such a treat. Also, first PTN fic!

You're tidying Angell's room up, careful to not make any noise since you don't want to wake her. Seeing the piles of pillows and clothes on the floor, you can't help but sigh. How has she lived like this for so long?

A faint song plays in the background. It's obvious the record player has seen better days—it's one of the more used appliances in this house. The song playing is the one Angell listens to while on the job. Huh.

Days are passing by, living this lie,

Not knowing what we're looking for,

As you dust off the furniture, you can't help but smile faintly. A change of pace like this is nice once in a while. Your only worries are preparing meals and doing maintenance around the house, which Angell doesn't even require you to do. Just something to keep you busy, you suppose.

It helps that she isn't a picky eater. Despite your lackluster culinary skills, Angell finishes each meal without complaint. She's even made a few positive comments lately. Maybe you should try making a meal for the sinners once you return to the MBCC.

Oh. Right. You're returning to the MBCC.

Gray, these walls are gray and there's no sky.

There is no hope, there is no soar.

I know somewhere there must be more.

It feels... weird to admit, but you've grown fond of this lifestyle. A domestic life with Angell like this is comforting, as long as you don't consider the fact that she'll definitely hand you over to her client as soon as she gets in contact with them.

Maybe you're just like the goldfish in her apartment, swimming blissfully in their tank as they stay oblivious to the outside world. You doubt Angell would be able to take care of them if she moves houses again.

You gather the clothes from the floor, catching a whiff of dried blood and sweat. Yikes. You wouldn't be surprised if the tank top you were holding had a whole ecosystem inside of it. It wouldn't hurt to wash these later, you think to yourself.

Just as you're about to finish putting the clothes away, you feel someone suddenly pull you into a tight hug, as if you'd escape from their grasp otherwise. It's Angell. You can hear how shaky her breathing is. It seems she had a bad dream.

"Don't go,"

The words Angell had been holding herself back so desperately not to say inevitably leave her, like a clock knowingly marching towards the hour of its death. She's glad that you can't see her right now with how her lips are quivering. You can still feel her hands trembling around you, though.

It's all so stupid. Angell so stupid. She let herself get used to you, your warmth, and your kindness akin to sunlight so bright it hurt her eyes. And where has that gotten her? Naive; borderline delusional. Possibly dead, too. What have you done to this assassin, Chief of the MBCC?

"Please."

You feel as if you're meeting Angell for the first time when she says this. She has never acted like a dangerous hitman at home, but she has never acted so... desperate, either. You don't mind seeing another side of her, but the sudden change in demeanor is perplexing.

"Angell?" You call out. The woman's grip on you gets ever so slightly tighter in response. "Everything's okay. I'm here." You're not going anywhere—or so you'd like to say. Your relationship with her, if you could even call it that, is already far too filled with lies for you to add one more.

You can feel Angell's muscles tense around you. She holds her strength back, protecting you as if you were but a candle flickering in the wind. You feel safe. "Sorry. Did I wake you up?" Although most of Angell's actions are obscured from your vision, you can feel her shake her head.

"Don't leave me."

The two of you are captive and captor. Not roommates, and most certainly not lovers for Angell to say such things. She could end your life at this very moment if she so wished. So why is it that Angell is the one who finds herself powerless in your grasp?

You stay silent. If you were being honest, you don't want to leave her either. But the world doesn't work that way. You have responsibilities; the both of you. There are more pressing matters for you to handle than adjusting the hands of a clock and feeding goldfish.

Angell knows this. She values professionalism and credibility far more than her personal preferences. That's the only reason why she kept you here in the first place. Which is why you don't understand what exactly has gotten into Angell; what has pushed her to give up her creed like this.

Sensing the mutual hesitation in the air, Angell pushes you down onto the bed. Her eyes are slightly swollen and red, as if she had just been crying. You wonder what she had been dreaming about. You want to comfort her.

In this state, she'll listen to whatever you say, whatever falsehoods you feed her. Tell Angell everything will be alright and that your time together won't end. She'll believe you this once, even if it leads to her death.

You're pinned under Angell's weight, but you aren't afraid. There's something about her that ironically makes you feel safe, despite how aloof she can be. Angell doesn't shy away from your touch, either, even if she knows that you could use your shackles on her. "Angell..." Your hand reaches up to cup her cheek. She instinctively leans into it. "You're not alone anymore."

Angell's eyes widen uncharacteristically from your words. She tries to act unaffected, but you feel her breath hitch. Is it true? The walls she had built around herself to shield herself from others had eventually turned into a prison isolating her from the rest of the world. Could Angell... really break them down?

She does what feels most natural and leans in to seal your lips in a passionate kiss. It's desperate like a symphony of sorrow, yet as gentle as if she were handling a delicate flower. Angell's inexperience is clear.

How unfair. A kiss is something that you should only share with someone that you love.

And still, you return it just the same. You mirror her fervor as you chase after her lips, your elbows propped on the mattress to hold you up. Its softness and warmth is a pleasant surprise. Most likely because Angell only used to sleep on the couch before you came into her life.

She detaches herself from your lips after what felt like forever and a day. Angell's brows are furrowed, and her eyes are hesitant. She gazes at you as if to ask, is this really okay?

Whether she's asking if this is okay with you or if it's okay for her to indulge in her desires for once, you have no idea. It doesn't matter. The answer to both questions remains the same.

This time, you're the one to pull her into a passionate make-out. Angell groans, eagerly savoring each kiss as if it'll be her last. You brush her hair away from her face.

"Everything will be alright." You promise, both to yourself and the to woman in front of you. But you're wrong. How could Angell ever be fine without you?

She can abandon this house, her pride, or even her life if need be. But you? Oh, god, not you. How could you get Angell used to your warmth and kindness, just to rip it all away from her?

It'd be less cruel to treat her with mockery and disdain. It's what Angell is used to and it's what she believes she deserves.

"No," she says firmly. She buries her face into your chest, her arms wrapped around your waist. "Don't go." For some unknown reason, Angell is convinced that you're going to leave.

There are still a few days until the "gig" she took expires, and even then, she can choose what she wants to do with you afterward. Angell could keep you locked up here for as long as she wants, and you wouldn't be able to do a thing.

But she isn't that kind of person.

Angell doesn't belong with those scum on the dark web. Her heart is unadulterated by the filth surrounding her, and despite how she acts, you know Angell loves helping people deep down.

"I'm here." You comfort her. Once again, you have to stop yourself from telling her that you'll stay. It seems you accidentally said that out loud, though. "...Liar." Angell mumbles, lips now trailing along your jaw and neck.

Sighing in bliss, you remove your coat to give her more space to work with. You toss it to a corner of the room. You'll clean it up again later. Her hands roam around your torso, exploring to find the buttons of your shirt.

Frantically, Angell works to remove them. She rushes as if she's going to lose you any moment now, not even bothering to remove her own clothes yet. "Don't go..." Angell pleads again before her mouth bites softly from your collarbone to your breasts. She unclasps and removes your bra as she goes.

"Angell..." You sigh her name as she fondles one of your breasts. She touches you with a gentleness she's never shown anyone else. When Angell looks up at you, her eyes reflect an emotion that you can't identify.

Longing? Regret? Lust? You can't tell. Honestly, you don't know how you feel about her either. You thought that Angell was weird at first, but you always believed that she had a good heart. You've grown fond of her as time passed—too fond. Angell isn't the only one wearing her heart on her sleeve, apparently.

For the first time, she calls your name. Not "Chief," but your name. God, it's stupid how such a simple thing has your heart racing when you're literally about to fuck. Since when has your kidnapper gotten you so smitten?

Angell's hands, strong albeit a bit slim, map out every plane on your body. She savors the feeling of each curve and dip and takes her time etching it into her memory. Lips work to kiss every inch of your now exposed skin, occasionally leaving small bite marks.

Not once has Angell treated you like the Chief of the MBCC. She knows of your identity and the good deeds you've done, yet she treats you like any other person. It's one of the many qualities you've grown to love about Angell.

The atmosphere in the room gets warmer, and you use it as an excuse to take off her leather jacket. The other woman is left in her tank top and pants. The prominence of her collarbones sadden you, although it's gotten better since the first day you were brought to this safehouse. You wish she'd take care of herself more.

Angell's hands stop at your belt. You enjoy the few seconds of her struggling with herself before she speaks up. "Can I...?" You smile at her consideration for you, making sure that you're fine with what she's doing. "Yeah. Go ahead."

Office wear is such a hassle to take off, you think to yourself as you help Angell take off your pants. Are all those layers really necessary? Again, the piece of clothing is tossed away to god-knows-where.

Immediately, the woman pounces back on you, now leaving kisses along your stomach as she holds onto your hips. You trace her scars softly with your fingers. You can't imagine the hardships that Angell has been through. You're happy to provide any sort of respite to her.

In the moment Angell stops to look up at you, there is an undeniable air of sadness and guilt. In an attempt to cheer the woman up, you tuck her hair behind her ears and attempt to tease her. "Don't miss me too much."

As you expected, Angell stays silent. You can feel her relax a bit, though—that's a win in your book. She finds comfort in how you never change. Angell slowly dips the pad of one of her fingers into your folds, careful not to hurt you. "Mm... Angell..." You bite back a moan.

"You can go faster. I can take it." You reassure the woman through heavy breaths. It's honestly embarrassing how wet you are, but Angell takes it as a sign that she's doing good. She's become more confident; now thrusting her finger inside of you all the way, albeit still at a gentle pace.

Angell is observant. She looks for what motions earn the most positive reaction from you with an almost deadpan look on her face as if she's not literally fingerfucking you into the mattress. It shows how focused she is on making you feel good.

"Is this your first time?" Angell asks suddenly. She doesn't look at you. "Yeah... Why?" You respond. Angell stays quiet, continuing the movement of her fingers. The question caught you a bit off guard. She didn't seem like the type to refuse to mess with virgins or care about the status of anyone's virginity in general.

Just when you let out a moan from her grazing your g-spot, a realization hits you. This is Angell's first time, too. You doubt she's ever had any real romantic experience before, much less sexual. It's no wonder she seems so nervous. You make a mental note to reassure and praise her.

Angell takes notice of how you let out a sound whenever she grinds against a specific place and abuses the same location with each thrust of her fingers. When she sees you trying to grind against her hand, (because of how good it feels, but she doesn't know that) she takes it as a sign that you need more.

"I'm going to add another finger," Angell says more like a statement than a question, but she waits for your approval before doing so anyway. You've never felt so full. Her years of experience using a sword have calloused her hands ever so slightly, and although you feel bad for what led her to a life of crime, damn did it feel good rubbing against your walls.

Angell loves the way you moan her name. She can't get enough of it; she wants to hear it roll off your tongue like a starving wolf longing for prey in the dead of winter. She listens to the sound of each letter eagerly, as if engraving it into the very essence of her soul. She wants you to say her name over and over again, and only hers. As is in the present and as will be in the future.

Angell's own selfishness surprises her. Maybe she's just like the greedy criminals she has both killed and worked for. Angell has never denied the possibility—she's not the saint that you think she is. There is blood on her hands, and not even the purest of oceans can wash it away. She has long since come to terms with her fate of isolation.

You arch your back into her touch, your arms wrapped around her back. If not for the tank top she was wearing, you're sure you would've left some claw marks along it's broadness already. You have to stop your legs from closing on their own, the overwhelming pleasure proving to be too much. Soft moans and the scent of sex fill the room. "Feels so good, Angell..."

She takes a deep breath, the only things filling her senses being your sweet voice and the feeling of your warm pussy stretching to accommodate her fingers. You have no idea how long Angell has wanted to touch you like this. You do things to her that she can't explain.

Your moans increase in frequency, getting higher pitched as you feel yourself nearing release. It seems Angell is a natural at using her fingers, seeing how she's about to make you cum quicker than you could ever get yourself to. "Angell... I'm-"

Before you can warn her, your legs tremble and you cream all over her hand. After continuing her movements to help you come down from your high, Angell pulls her digits out, fascinated by the string of cum connecting them. Much to your surprise, she puts both fingers into her mouth.

"...I've never tasted anything like this before." Angell remarks. Her sense of taste is dull—she isn't exaggerating when she says she can't tell apart food that's edible from food that's spoiled, or raw from burnt. But you? Your taste is as distinct as it can be to her tongue. You've ignited a dangerous fire in the woman.

"More." Angell demands, positioning her head between your legs. Just as you're about to protest that you're still sensitive, she speaks up again. "Can I?" Angell tilts her head as she asks for permission. Fuck it. You know you wouldn't be able to refuse her and her annoyingly adorable personality anyway.

You sigh at your lack of self discipline when it comes to Angell. "Yes, you can." Those words are all it takes for her to dive headfirst into your dripping sex. Angell's tongue explores your warmth with a newfound confidence, using what she's learned from fingering you to eat you out as skillfully as possible.

God, she's absolutely addicted to your taste—to you. Angell can't get enough of how you squirm under her touch; how you moan her name so wantonly. She'd stay in between your legs for forever if she could, but forever is not a luxury that the two of you have.

Angell wishes that life would be as easy as adjusting the hands of the clock. She wishes she could turn everything back to how it used to be. Angell would hold on to every passing moment with you like a painter desperately trying to capture the perfect sunset before it fades.

Each wet lick up your slit is greedier and hungrier than the last. She's gentle with you, yes, but you can feel the weight of the underlying desire that's been building up in the pit of her stomach for god knows how long. What Angell feels for you is akin to a devouring darkness: once you get entwined, there's no going back. Whether that applies to you, her, or both of you remains unknown. Maybe you know the answer but choose to ignore it.

Body still awash in the aftermath of your previous orgasm, it doesn't take long for you to feel that familiar coil in your belly building up once again. It takes all of your strength to resist pushing Angell's head down between your legs. Well, not that she could go any further. Too busy moaning Angell's name to warn her with words, you hope that she'll get the message with how your legs are trembling.

Sure enough, you cum with a breathless gasp soon after. She eats you out through your high, careful to lap up all of your fluids without overstimulating you. Angell is a quick learner, after all. You're left panting for breath after two consecutive earth-shattering orgasms, yet Angell hasn't even gotten undressed. That won't do. Aside from the damage your pride would take, you want to return the favor.

"Angell, lay down for me, will you?" You ask of her through your heavy breathing. Although Angell has her doubts, she immediately follows your command. "I'm not tired yet." You chuckle at her words but shudder to think about its implications. The stability of your legs would not survive after getting eaten out by Angell again. Though, the same might be said for what you're going to do next. "I want to make you feel good too."

You sit with your thighs on either side of Angell's legs, already working on removing her clothes. Once they're off, you're quick to capture her lips in a chain of soft, yet lustful kisses. She gives in to you more easily than you expected. You had the impression that Angell would be the type to want to be in control of everything at any time, but she lets you lead this dance.

Although the woman is probably unaware, the size of her boner is huge. Seven inches at the very least. You bite your lip at its sheer girth. You'd be lying if you said that you never had any doubts about it fitting inside of you, but it's nothing you can't handle... probably. As if reading your thoughts, Angell speaks. "...I don't have any lube."

Your eyes wander to the bottle of lotion you put on her bedside table, (which was the only surface available for it at the time,) but you eventually decide against using it since it's most likely expired. "It's fine. We'll start out slow."

Angell likes the insinuation that you'll go faster once you're more comfortable. She helps you align yourself with her cock, gently holding you by your hips. Although Angell has her hands on you, she lets you control the pace and only tries to assist when necessary.

With bated breath, you sink onto the tip. Her length feels endless, filling you up completely inch after inch. Angell relishes in how your eyes almost roll into the back of your head and the moan you let out when you finally take her inside entirely. Still, she places your comfort and pleasure above everything else. "Are you sure about this?"

Your chest heaves as you get used to the sensation of feeling so... full. It takes you a few seconds to reply. "This is nothing that the Chief of the MBCC can't handle," Angell smiles at your reply. Your act of false bravado isn't fooling anyone. It gives the woman a sense of pride to have such an important figure of society in her hands like this.

Just being inside of you has Angell biting her lip. She'd never imagine in her life that she'd be able to sleep with anyone, much less someone as kind and beautiful as you are. The intimacy of it all makes everything that much more pleasurable, and Angell hopes you feel the same way.

The two of you stay like this. Both of you are aware that you don't have much time left, but you're not in a rush. Rather, you take the opportunity to enjoy this moment thoroughly. It takes a while for you to get used to Angell's sheer size, and it also takes her a while to get used to these unfamiliar sensations.

Angell is barely able to conceal the pure ecstasy she feels when you start moving. Your pussy is just so tight. She's not one to masturbate often, but she can say with confidence that being inside of you feels miles better and much more personal than rutting into her hand just to get rid of her morning wood.

You take Angell down to the base, albeit with much difficulty at first, and start off by grinding. You roll your hips back and forth, the tip of her cock almost kissing the entrance of your cervix. Angell grips your waist harder, but still lets you control the pace of your lovemaking. Her trust in you makes your heart flutter.

With Angell's hair splayed like flowing rivers on the sheets, her eyes fluttered shut, and soft moans escaping her mouth now and then, you aren't able to resist the desire to kiss her. It starts with a small smooch on her neck, then two. And then these kisses turn into hickeys one after another.

The feeling is weird and alien to Angell, but she surrenders herself to you all the same, even tilting her head to make it easier for you. You feel bad about leaving them in such obvious places, but knowing her, she wouldn't bother to hide them. And you'd be right, because if anything, Angell would wear them as a badge of honor. Who cares what other people think of her sex life?

Up, and down. Up, and down. You move your hips at a steady pace once you get the hang of it. You relish in the way the sides of her cockhead rub against your walls so deliciously. As you're straddling Angell and leaving more hickeys wherever you can access, she gets an idea to play with your clit while you ride her. You seemed to like having it stimulated earlier.

Soon after, the both of you are a moaning mess. This small gesture makes everything feel a hundred times better for you, and in turn, you move faster. You lift yourself enough so her tip is barely inside of you, and immediately bring yourself down again.

Angell curses under her breath. She holds onto you as if you'll disappear otherwise, chanting your name like a mantra; like a sinner begging for forgiveness. The sight of you bouncing up and down on her cock while looking down at her so lovingly is enough to make the inexperienced woman swoon.

"I'm close..." Angell warns. You don't care. In fact, you seem to be riding her harder; trying to milk her for all she's worth. "Want you inside." You lean forward to kiss her. Angell chases after your lips fervently, her hands holding you close as you continue to move your hips while her thumb presses down on your clitoris.

You swallow each other's muffled moans. The only thing that matters to the both of you in this moment is one another. You'd freeze time and stay like this with Angell for eternity if you could. She cums with a strained groan, and you feel her seed filling you up. It's oddly comforting to know that Angell has left a mark inside of you.

You continue your ministrations slowly, and yoi have an orgasm of your own soon after. The mixture of you and Angell's fluids form a white ring on the base of her cock. It doesn't take long until the two of you collapse next to each other, breathing heavily as sweat runs down both of your bodies.

Although you feel refreshed, you have no idea how to handle this. Your relationship with Angell, your return to the MBCC, everything. The confusion is understandable considering you literally just slept with your kidnapper who's been holding you captive. You'll cross that bridge when you get there, you suppose.

Seeing Angell stare at you, most likely with no idea how to proceed either, you feel like you should say something. "That was great, Angell. Thank you." She smiles at your words before pulling you into a cuddle. Angell really is just like a cat, you think to yourself.

With these thoughts in mind, your impulse to scratch her behind the ears just like you would to a stray cat on the side of the road win. Before you can retract your hand to apologize, Angell leans into your touch, sighing contently. You swear you hear her purr, even.

"You really... don't want to stay at the Bureau?" You ask. You regret letting those words leave your mouth, but you can't bring yourself to care now that you're running out of time. You're more than willing to fight for her. "You'll be safe. You can have my red bean soup any time you want."

Angell knows that you mean each word that you say. You won't let anyone from the dark web bother her, and even though you have responsibilities, she knows that you'll fulfill your promise. That's why it hurts.

"Tomorrow. I'll give you my answer tomorrow." Angell speaks up, just as you start to fear that you might've ruined this intimate moment. Her words give you hope. It's faint, but it's there. You'd like to say that you wouldn't, but you'd cling to any chance to spend more time with Angell; have her by your side even if only for a second more.

However, the woman has already made an irreversible decision: one that she fears has consequences that she'll be carrying for the rest of her life. For now, both of you are content with your current state.

"Stay with me," Angell mumbles, trying to enjoy your scent and affection the best her tired body can manage. A thought passes both of your minds as you're entangled in each other's embrace: it'd be nice if we could stay like this forever. It saddens Angell to know that that thought would only be left as an 'if.' "Just for a bit longer."

"Tomorrow" never comes. Tomorrow will never come without you by her side.

Angell wakes up. The bag containing her trusted blade is held near her body. She finds that she hasn't been able to let go of it ever since you've left her—or rather, ever since she left you. It's the only thing left of the time you spent together. It's the only thing that assures Angell that you were real, not just an illusion.

A lot of things have changed. She finds herself sleeping more. Angell clings to her memories with you through dreams, even trying to "make" new ones whenever the chance presents itself. She's also taken less assassination jobs lately, instead picking odd jobs that you'd be likely to choose for her.

Angell remembers the last one she took. The man was a leader of a drug cartel, infamous for getting young sinners addicted and using them to transport goods. The world would be better off without him, and Angell was no different. He had a wife and a toddler son. He called for his wife's name before he drew his final breath. Perhaps he too was but another victim of the cruelty of this side of the world—perhaps he too wanted to escape the void of the dark oceans and live under the sun's warmth.

Angell is too far gone. A shark cannot start living on land, no matter how much it wishes. She belongs in a bottomless abyss where the sun must not pierce through, while you belong on the other side of this fucked up world, risking your life to save everyone that can be saved. Angell is not a part of that group. She feels your sunlight faintly, but as much as she wants to bask in it, it cannot pierce through the deep waters of her heart. It must not.

Maybe things could've turned out differently if she met you earlier.

Angell stands up from the dusty couch. She is the only one in this desolate home. You're not there to scold her for sleeping on the sofa when she has a clean bed. Not even her goldfish keeps her company on these cold nights—but she trusts that you've taken good care of them. You've always taken care of everyone around you, but who's going to do the same for you?

Particles of dust float in her apartment. She finds that there's no reason to clean it up. Once again, her fridge is full of nearly expired, barely edible "food." As Angell gets ready to head out, she sees her reflection in the shards of broken glass on the floor. It was from a vase that came with the safehouse that she knocked over and forgot to clean. Huh. It looks like she's been crying.

You wake up in a cold sweat. The coolness of your desk against your cheek is unpleasant. The arm you've been using as a pillow is numb. You scramble to sit up straight and look at the time: 2:48AM. Most of the Bureau is asleep. A blanket that you didn't even realize was resting on your shoulders falls off of you, most likely Adjutant Nightingale trying to make sure you don't catch a cold.

On a tray set apart from the paperwork you had been working on, there is a note, a sandwich, and a cup of iced coffee. You assume the perpetrator is the same as the person who wrapped a blanket around you, and as it seems from reading the note, you were right. The contents are a mix of Nightingale's concern for you and scolding you for not taking care of your well-being.

You feel bad for worrying her all the time. Honestly, you're surprised she hasn't resigned yet with how often you get kidnapped. It's not just Nightingale either, even some sinners have noticed the bags under your eyes and how distant you've been acting ever since you came back. You should really pull yourself together. If not for yourself, then for the sinners who rely on you, the Chief of the MBCC.

Why do you keep dreaming about Angell? You've been betrayed many times before, and although you'll never get used to it, you've always gotten back up each time quicker than the last. What is it about her that's so different? Why does she affect you so much?

You open your laptop with a newfound sense of determination, but this time, it's not for work. If you want to stop a problem, you should tackle the source of it, right? Or maybe that's just an excuse. You're going to find her, and along with her, answers. After you press the 'enter' key, the simple yet eerie screen you've grown familiar with welcomes you back:

"Welcome to DisMyth"

[acid-ixx]

Now that someone mentioned Connor as a possible love interest I think he will be a good choice. He obviously feels a similar kind of anger at his own father(s) so they could connect thanks to it. And his super hearing and other abilities will make it possible for him to always know when something is wrong with reader. I see reader being in shock that someone wants to be there for them and dismissing any yandere tendencies, toxic traits in favour of keeping Connors attention. Not like they could loose it no matter what they do, Connor is to obsessed and I could see him being dependent on his darling.

a/n: since i am more familiar with the animated series (young justice) for conner kent and i feel your ask is describing his version so i'm basing it off of him! but yes you are so fr in this. i will never not go too far when it comes to rambling, i love long asks hehe.

it was temporarily stated in chapter one that you had your momentary bouts of anger and that in itself already paved its way into conner's heart because of course most would be put off with the rage that he kindles within. you two would really be some sort of match made in heaven— it's like you deeply understand the intensity of his emotion, and you both share that bond nobody could deter; it being anger towards your parent/s and the inability to be accepted or nor noticed/your feelings being invalidated most of the time.

but because of the level of power between you, you being human and him literally being a carbon copy of superman, conner would be incredibly overprotective and possessive of you. and i'm not just implying that he would give anyone within a fifty mile radius a death glare, no, you would literally be glued to his figure all the time.

that means a hand on either your shoulders, your waist, or hips. if you were the shy type, then expect him always holding your hands or wrist. but if you don't mind the weird display of pda, then you'll be lucky enough to have the rights to smother your face in his chest whenever and wherever— sometimes that would even be his go signal to tell anybody off whenever you feel the slightest bit of discomfort.

but other than the advantages of being with him (protective guard dog 24/7), you would pretty much lose every sense of independence nor privacy. which isn't losing much since you already have your mad family on your tail constantly tracking you down and probably a huge bounty on your head— but at least you have your boyfriend with you, right?

with the lack of attention you were given to as a child, one given willingly without the need to ask for is basically a heaven for you. and with his powers? babe, you don't even need to ask for him to take you away to somewhere safer because he could already hear your heartbeats thumping louder and louder.

speaking of superhearing; a way to calm your boyfriend down quickly and efficiently would be laying his head on your chest. you'd probably discover the method later on your relationship, but as much as conner loves to hear your heartbeats from any distance, he loves it all the more when the only barrier that keeps him away from your beating heart would be your skin and your ribcage.

since conner was raised with the lack of physical contact and he's the type to push people away, your physical affection towards him is something he doesn't even know he craves, not until he tastes it for himself.

you wouldn't even feel the need to tell creeps off anymore! because conner is out there intimidating every person who dares to show the slightest bit of romantic intentions towards you.

so really, is it so bad if he wants you all for himself?

you both eventually gain a codependent relationship with each other— but it's not like any of you would leave each other wanting for more, because you both are more than enough for each other.

and conner thinks it's better off if it would only be the two of you in this world.

screw your family.

[kindaasrikal]

Guys I’m an old people defender i wholeheartedly believe Wu is a good teacher and person (teen wu and younger was a good character, older wu doesnt have the same effect tho and just falls under a decent character)

Like guys he didn’t mean for Morro to go insane over the green ninja thing, i dont think anyone would’ve expected that to happen with a damn baby. Not to mention that as much as people like to say he abused or neglected Morro or whatever, canonically speaking he hasn’t. In the end what happened to Morro was the effect of his own insecurities and Wu’s lack of understanding.

Wu was not at fault for the whole kai getting obsessed with the green ninja thing or any of the other ninja doing the same, that was all their own faults for being all nosy (as teenage boys with too much power do.)

Wu might’ve overreacted after finding out what Garm did with the letter business in season 4, but just cause he cussed out his BROTHER once (guys they’re siblings, this is the norm and Wu was fully justified to be irritated. Also there will always be a tension between them because they’ve had to fight against each other for either decades, hundreds of years, or thousands of years. They will never have the normal sibling relationship they once only somewhat had.) that was still his brother he just lost and definitely feels guilt at not getting to reconcile PROPERLY with him. Just because you are mad at an individual, genuinely mad at them, does not mean you hate them.

Wu was not at fault for the whole Garmadon getting sent to the under world his clothes literally starts glowing mf was not planning that. He was literally about to die because of Garmadon i think he was a tad preoccupied with that.

Wu is not at fault for Lloyd becoming the green ninja, its shown that he cannot control who gets chosen and was quite obviously hoping it would be the damn teenagers trained to deal with this, not the damn baby who would have to fight his DAD. The whole reason he trained Lloyd so hard after was because he is well aware of how being the green ninja is a curse, especially to Lloyd. He knew a target was on Lloyds back now and for the rest of time and he can do nothing to remove it, only help Lloyd in handling it.

Aspheera is a huge SOGGY BISCUIT I HATE HER I AHTE HEERYEYYE. She is so hypocritical and its all her fault and not Wu’s don’t even try it (i love her character thats why i hate her sm). Wu was literally a baby when the whole betrayal thing happened, and how could he have known his damn students would open up her prison cell and she’d take Kai’s power. Kai had a right to mad about getting dragged into it but even he admits he was reacting the way he was because his powers got stolen. Aspheera was completely at fault for what happened to her.

I wont deny that whatever was going on between Misako and Wu in the early seasons was super weird, but I’m also not going to call it betrayal or cheating for Garmadon because Garmadon had been gone for a good decade and tbh it was rlly bad writing of writers trying to shove romance everywhere.

He took in a bunch of teenagers, thats something i wont deny to also be bad. But don’t you find it convenient that Wu took them each in during separate times of need? Cole, deep in grief, needed to become a ninja because it completed him. Jay, desperate for a place and purpose in this world, needed to be a ninja to become confident and aware of his worth. Zane, confused and lost, needed to be a ninja to find his own place in the world, needed to be a ninja because he needed to have a purpose, a home. Kai, angry and traumatised, needed to become a ninja to become the best version of himself. Wu knew of each of them, and only took them in when he knew they needed an outside source to lead them.

Literally i dont understand why people paint him as a villain. He has never been one. It’s like how Mystake said, the only reason one becomes wise is through their own mistakes, their own life and experiences. Wu is an old, old man. He is right when he says he’s not like how he used to be.

I could keep going, but God guys. Stop mischaracterising characters! You can dislike them all you want, its your life, but don’t change what they have done and call them a bad person when that isn’t true.

You can call Wu a character with mistakes, a character heavily in the light grey area of good and evil.

WU IS NOT A BAD GUY GUYS STOP CALLING HIM ONE 😭

[smolcinnamonchipmunk]

Mid-Fight Snack

(Elloooo. Been another while since I've been able to get around to posting actual stuff. I'd love to post or make more, but I have two animations I'm trying to work on and an entire cosplay that's taken up all my freebie because I don't know anything about sewing, lol. Obviously hasn't stopped me from thinking about Honkai a lot. Anyways, here's the Boothill vore writing finally! Hope it's not too bad, I'm a bit sleep deprived.)

Word count: 6233

TW/CW: Soft, safe m/nb G/t vore aaaaaand, I think that's literally it.

____________________________

“Behind ya, small-fry!” was about the only warning I had before being shouldered aside by a wall of metal, blinking in surprise as I spun around to see who just ran past me. I saw the retreating form of a very gray-toned humanoid with a red sash over their shoulder and white and black hair flaring out behind them as they ran, looking vaguely familiar. I squinted when I noticed the hat on their head. Was that the cowboy Dan Heng told us about that we met briefly in the Dreamscape?

I’d feel bad for not remembering his name if we hadn’t just barely met.

“Get back here!” was the only warning I had as I looked back at where the cowboy came from and saw a bunch of IPC personnel and robots charge around the corner towards him. And, in turn, me.

Having spent more time on the run than not in my time after joining the Express I ended up yelping and bolting down the hall after the cowboy. My footsteps were drowned out by the stampede of footsteps behind me and the sound of crashing and screaming ahead as the cowboy flung a few tables behind him as he passed, disturbing several guests and staff as he rushed past.

It wasn't until I rounded the corner after he turned down a hall that I realized that I probably should have just jumped out of the way because me running after the cowboy away from the IPC definitely made me look like an accomplice.

“Fucking damn it,” I hissed under my breath at the thought, jumping over the legs of another knocked over table. I realized too late that there was a couple still standing way too close on the other side but managed to avoid slamming into them. My shoe landed on a grape strewn on the carpet and I yelped as I almost slipped.

Narrowly avoiding faceplanting on the ground, I ended up straightening and locking eyes with the cowboy as he turned to look over his shoulder, seeing it widen slightly at seeing me. To be fair, I was only maybe twenty feet behind him compared to the IPC crowd that were chasing behind me still struggling with strewn furniture and passerbys.

My eyes widened as I saw something glint other than his exterior in his right hand, holding my hands slightly in front of me in a mock surrender to show that I was unarmed, quickly shouting, “I'm not IPC!”

“What the fudge are ya doing tailin’ me then?” the cowboy barked back at me, finger looking a bit too close to the trigger for my liking.

“I panicked when I saw the IPC guys running around the corner and it wasn't until I already started following that I realized I probably looked like-.”

“Criminal and accomplice west-bound towards main lobby elevators!” a robotic voice shouted behind us, one of the large, round robots that was way too quick for its size.

“Yeah, that,” I sighed, rolling my eyes and lowering my arms. It was weird holding my arms still while running.

All of IPC in the hotel probably knew about this chase. I only hoped that the Aventurine guy that almost cornered me in my room wouldn't show up. If fighting him in the dreamscape reflected anything about reality, I didn't want to be part of accidentally tearing the hotel apart fighting him to get away.

The cowboy stared intently at me for a second before growling low in his throat and holstering his gun with a flourishing twirl of his hand. I fully expected him to turn back forward and ignore me now that he determined I wasn't a threat, but instead he suddenly dropped pace to match me. He definitely was faster than me normally, but he’d been throwing so much stuff behind him and swerving through people that it slowed him a little whereas I was given almost clear passage in his wake.

“If you ain't IPC, why the fudge was your first thought at seeing these muddle-fudgers chasin’ after me to tag along,” he asked, voice sounding like he didn't fully believe I wasn't IPC.

“Well,” I replied, very glad that I had enough stamina to run and answer at the same time. I yelped when the cowboy suddenly twisted beside me, throwing down a tall potted plant as we ran around another corner, narrowly missing crashing into an elderly lady. “I haven't been around much, but everytime the Express has stopped somewhere there's been at least a couple times where we end up running from someone or something.

“Usually I'm with a group, so when you started running, my instinct was to follow like with them,” I finished sheepishly, looking to the side at him and almost startling. I'd been too focused on running to realize how fucking tall he was, needing to crane my neck a bit to look up at him.

“Well, fork me sideways and call me a son of a nice lady!” The cowboy exclaimed and laughed, showing off shark-like teeth. The eye not obscured by his hair glanced down and met my gaze for a moment, giving me a solid glimpse of dark gray iris with a red pupil and… was that a white crosshair in his eye? “You're one of them Astral folks with the Xianzhou fella!”

“And you must be the cowboy guy that broke onto the Express that Dan Heng told us about,” I blinked a bit at the realization, and a little at his odd speech patterns. One of the first things after waking up from the dreamscape being a check in with the other Astral Express crew with one of the weirdest things being Dan Heng messaging about how a cowboy got onto the Express. He had glossed over the fact that said cowboy showed up armed, but Pom Pom had been more than willing to share that fact in the chat. Looking back at the herd of IPC behind us, I asked, “Did you greet people at gunpoint again?”

“Where I come from, that’s just one of the many ways to say hello,” he chuckled. His face fell with mine as more IPC turned the corner at the end of the hall ahead while shouting, his expression turning into a scowl. Guests and staff alike glanced between the two walls of IPC personnel converging with us in the middle, most wisely making the decision to try and press against the walls or retreat back into their rooms to stay out of the way.

“Shit,” I started looking for other ways to turn, suddenly very much disliking the lengthy straight hallways. My eyes noticed a set of double doors to the right just as the cowboy shouted, “On the right!”.

I prepped myself to manifest my baseball bat to slam through the doors but the cowboy reached them first, sprinting ahead and spinning around to slam the back of his boot spur-first against the weak point of the handle. I’m not even sure if the doors had been locked, but I was glad we were both on the same page of better safe than sorry.

“After you, darlin’,” the cowboy paused just long enough to let me through first and I heard the rattling click of loading ammo as I passed, presumably taking out his gun again, the sound of his heels trailing behind on the carpet behind me.

“’Ppreciated, cowboy!”

I slowed slightly as the hallway ended up being incredibly short, leading to an expansive open area with tiled floor that we definitely only had a few seconds to take stock of before the IPC after us would start trickling in. Several types of gambling tables and a bar were in here, with a few scattered sitting areas with tables and luxurious plush chairs, and at least one pool table with the only thing breaking up the entire space being supporting pillars and various lamps or potted plants decorating the place.

At least a dozen eyes looked towards us as we ran in and I booked it towards what looked like the clearest path through the lounge, shouting, “Don’t mind us, just passing through!”

A crash behind me made me jolt and look behind myself, seeing the cowboy flip over a table as we ran by, scattering gambling chips, cards, and glasses of alcohol all over the ground as the people around the table scattered. Patrons started getting up and moving as far from us as possible, some making their way to the exits. Which, from the other sounds behind us, the exit where we came in was starting to be blocked by incoming IPC.

“Do you have to keep knocking shit over,” I asked, trying to temper some giddiness as I glanced back, the cowboy looking behind him with a smirk towards the exit. I saw a few of the smaller IPC run in from the short hall. “I like destruction too, but that wasn’t even in the way.”

The cowboy looked undeterred by my comment, seeming to be having fun with this chase. “Helps slow ‘em down.”

I scoffed in amusement as I turned my attention back forward, eyes widening at the sight of more IPC starting to pour in at the other end of the lounge. Glancing around for another exit that the two obvious ones I commented, “I don’t think slowing them down’ll help any when we’re blocked in!”

My shoes slid on the tile beneath me as I skid to a halt, the cowboy stopping only a second after me and overshooting me by a couple feet. His gun was already in hand, head turning as he also seemed to take stock of the room to see if there was a way to wriggle out of the situation. Unfortunately, it looked like the two exits the IPC came in from were the only ones to the lounge, leaving us cornered as the space filled with IPC personnel and robots.

“Hands in the air,” one of the larger bots demanded, probably carrying a high rank among the group. A bunch of them lifted rifles and guns to aim at us, the rest held large staffs with a glowing orange end for electrocuting. The other larger bots in the group lifted the yellow shields they had on their left arms while the one that spoke to us added, “And drop your weapons! You’re both going into IPC custody.

“You.” - the robot pointed to the cowboy, who raised his hands up without dropping his gun - “For a list of crimes that would have us here all day if I listed them all. And you-.”

I raised my arms slowly with the cowboy and narrowed my eyes at the robot as it gestured to me. I felt tense, internally coiled up like a snake ready to strike. I had a feeling that Criminal Cowboy wouldn’t be going without a fight, and neither was I. Question was just when to start and he seemed experienced enough with this that I was going to let him make the first move to avoid fucking it up for him.

“-for aiding and abetting a wanted criminal,” the robot concluded. Lowering its arm from pointing at us it gestured to one of the grunts, who produced a pair of glowing handcuffs and presumably had more. “Now, drop your weapon! I won’t be asking nicely a third time.”

“Heh,” the cowboy let out an amused exhale. “This ain’t my first showdown. But I’ll play your little game.”

I watched the cowboy intently as he loosened the grip on his gun until it started sliding out of his grip, dropping towards the tiled ground. My breath hitched in my throat in anticipation, seeing a few of the IPC around us relax slightly.

With a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it fluidity, the cowboy raised his left hand as his fingers contorted, shooting at the chest of the leader bot and striking true through its carapace. In almost the same moment his right leg shifted, the toe of his boot catching the dropped pistol and flicking his ankle up to throw it back into the air where he caught it in a twirl with his right hand.

“Get somewhere safe,” the cowboy said as the leader bot sparked and began to fall. He fired off another shot before the first even hit the ground, taking out two grunts that had been standing in an unfortunate overlap. Looking down at me, he had a wild grin on his face while the red in his eyes glowed. “I’ll handle these muddle-fudgers and find ya when the dust settles. Now, bring it on, baby!”

Without waiting for a response, he spun on his heel and popped off a couple more shots as the crowd of IPC jostled out of their shock. A couple peeled off and retreated from the room in a flight response but most immediately trained their attention on the cowboy as he charged towards the nearest cluster, giving another grunt an introduction to the back of his heel with a spur to the face.

“Oh, hell no,” I said to myself, focusing on the energy inside myself and felt my hands tingle as a black baseball bat manifested within my grasp, arcs of energy crackling off of it and my hands before dissipating. With almost everyone focusing on the cowboy bobbing around and firing shots, it was almost too easy for me to rush up behind about four people and wack them over the head before I also started getting some attention from the closest IPC personnel.

I had to roll out of the way of a grunt swinging a staff at my face, twisting to the side and tumbling before popping back up to my feet, darting around a pillar to hit someone else while shouting, “Staffs are a bit better when you’re not THAT close!”

With a bunch of IPC also now firing their guns, I didn’t notice the pause in the particular metal twangs from the cowboy’s pistol until I heard, “Son of a-, I told you to get somewhere safe!”

Looking over to where he dodged a few IPC bullets I saw him quick reload while glancing me up and down like he was reassessing me. I felt a surge of satisfaction and spite, running towards a few more IPC members and charging my bat up before swinging it in a sideways arc to hit three of them with a crackling smack that bowled over all three to the ground. Dodging a couple rounds myself, I kicked over one of the gambling tables and crouched behind it as I retorted, “This ain’t my first rodeo, cowboy! I can handle a knock around or two!”

“Fork, color me surprised, small-fry,” the cowboy chuckled, doing an impressive twirl to shoot one of the grunts with a rifle. Two grunts with staffs rushed forward to try and do some sort of pincer move on him but he jumped into the air and backflipped onto a pool table. He tilted his head in my direction and tipped his hat with his left hand. “I feel like a right ash-vole underestimatin’ ya.”

I opened my mouth to reply even as he turned his attention to some more ground grunts running at him with staffs, noticing movement behind him. A couple riflemen were peeking up from behind the counter of the bar, both shifting like they were talking amongst themselves. One rifleman jerked their head towards the standing cowboy and the other looked like they hesitated before slowly raising the barrel to aim at the cowboy’s torso while the other rifleman watched with their own rifle slightly over the counter.

“Hold still, you,” an angry robotic voice sounded on my right, one of the standing large bots about twenty feet away. Its entire body shook as compartments in its shoulders opened and it released a couple rounds in my direction.

Yelping at the sight, I hopped over the table I was crouched behind and weaved towards the cowboy as I warned, “Rifle behind you! I got the staff guys!”

Explosives went off where I had just been, no doubt destroying the unfortunate table. The cowboy looked towards me at my outburst then scowled and spun around, firing off a shot at the rifleman aiming at him. The first hit the counter but a quick second shot knocked the rifleman out of the game, the other ducking back beneath the bar counter.

Running up to the grunts trying to charge the pool table I conducted energy into my bat again, swinging another arc to get a cluster of them before singling out the last couple. Huffing, I straightened just in time to see the cowboy shoot off again towards the bar, the bullet ricocheting off the shelves behind the counter just right to hit the hiding rifleman that you could see in the behind the bar mirror.

“Nice shot,” I said, extremely impressed at his marksmanship. I tried shooting a rifle after a fight on Belebog once and was immediately berated by Dan Heng when the shot went wild due to inexperience.

“Plenty more where that came from,” the cowboy smirked, tumbling off the pool table and firing off another shot from his left hand, hearing the creaking and fall of another large bot. “We'll have the rest of these muddle-fudgers cleaned up in no ti-.”

"In here!"

Both of us turned our attention towards the loud shout, noticing the sound of more footsteps from both exits to the lounge. I didn't realize that some of the remaining IPC personnel had run off, probably one of them or the ones that retreated at the start of the fight calling for back up. And it looked like it unfortunately arrived.

The grunts still in the lounge looked at each other before switching from a more disheartened and intimidated demeanor to a rejuvenated stance at hearing the fresh onslaught of IPC coming to help.

"I think we might want to reassess that statement there, cowboy," I tossed my head to the side with a groan. I rotated my shoulders to try and loosen them a bit before rushing forward toward the grunts still in the lounge. I noticed one of them raise their rifle towards me and prepared to dodge, but a few shots from behind me went off and both the rifleman and a couple other grunts were thrown back to the ground.

Charging between a couple of the other personnel, I grunted as a staff clocked me in the back after taking out one, two, three IPC with my baseball bat, a jolt running up my spine from the active orange staff-end striking against me. It made my tumble out of the way a bit janky, rolling to a crouch right as a bullet struck the tile a bit too close to me and I looked up to see more IPC pouring in from the lounge exits.

“Put your hands in the air!” multiple IPC shouted, barely coherent over the chatter of their fellows who barked out commands and orders.

"Fucking- this place is supposed to be relaxing!" I rolled and sprinted between tables and pillars as a barrage of bullets came towards both the cowboy and I. Running behind a pillar I did a hard pivot to run back out on the same side to catch the IPC off guard, able to weave through and hit a few. "I don't think I've relaxed the entire fucking time I've been at this stupid hotel!

“In the month or so I’ve been cognizant,” a wall of yellow almost slammed into me, yelping as I barely managed to jump up in time to tumble over one of the large bot shields instead of being slammed by it and chucked across the room as it swung at me. I tried to distance myself from it for now, wacking a rifleman on the head as I ran by. “-we’ve gotten two days without fighting or dealing with stupid diplomacy! MAYBE!”

Tumbling beneath another swinging staff, I bounced back to my feet and spun around to conduct an arc of crackling energy behind me to throw back the nearest IPC, three dropping to the ground and one flinching as a residual spark lashed out at them. I almost slammed into a wall of metal as I spun around to keep running, about to raise my bat to swing at them before realizing it was the cowboy I'd stumbled into, firing off an entire round of bullets at the crowd with audible success.

"Quit yappin'!" the cowboy growled, flicking his pistol to the side to empty the chamber of empty shells that clattered on the tile. His tone was gruff but he was looking way too pleased about the fight prolonging. "Or you'll find yerself diggin' your own grave!"

"I'll bitch in the middle of a fight if I want," I retorted, gaze flicking from looking up at the cowboy towards more movement. A grunt rushed forward to try and take advantage of the cowboy quick reloading, and I saw him shift to probably give another kick to the IPCs skull but I darted around him and swung upwards to clock them in the jaw. “It’s cathartic! Heads up!”

The IPC fell back to the ground and I used the cowboy as a bit of a pillar to move around, backpedaling to avoid another staff swing from a grunt that was promptly shot.

“Nice shot,” I complimented the cowboy before running out from his reach again. I started getting into a good flow of rushing off, smacking a few IPC and then either finding my next target or kiting someone around for the cowboy to take out. Anyone who tried to bumrush me or run away had to deal with a bullet, and anyone who tried to get too close to the cowboy earned a fast pass for a bat to the face.

Something felt off the longer the fight went on, but I ignored it in favor of surviving. I was definitely kind of tired and I’d be sore after this, but it wasn’t anything I hadn’t dealt with.

One of the larger bots lumbered towards the cowboy with its shield raised, blocking the bullets that were fired off in its direction. Narrowing my focus onto it, I hit a couple grunts on the way as I dashed towards it, jumping on a nearby pool table to jump high enough to jump over the robots shield. I focused on my bat and channeled as much energy as I could into it, swinging it down on top of its head as I landed on its back.

The entire thing spasmed beneath me as its carapace dented from the impact and energy crackled through it, overloading its system. My eyes widened a little as I realized what the off feeling that was growing was, thinking that I was incredibly lucky to have lasted this long but also thinking that now was the WORST time for this to happen any minute.

“Uh, hey, cowboy!” I shouted down, hopping off the robot as it fell forward. A grunt tried to intercept me but I beat them off with a “Fuck off, dude, I’m busy!” as I trotted up to another group near the cowboy and started wacking them. “Uh, cowboy?”

“Kind of busy shootin’ sons of nice ladies, small-fry!” the cowboy replied, firing off a couple more shots before looking towards me. “Whaddya need?”

“So, I kind of have this… condition,” I hesitantly answered, grabbing a pool ball and smacking it with my baseball bat into the mask of an IPC grunt.

“Wha- are you forkin’ kiddin’ me?!” he snapped with an anger that caught me entirely off guard and would have led to me getting bodied if he didn’t shoot at the IPC nearest to me. “You wanna talk about some kind of forking terms and conditions while we’re in the middle of a muddle-fudging battle with IPC shirt-for-brains?!”

“What? No- No, what the fuck are you talking about? I’m talking about, like, medical conditions.”

“Aw shucks, ma bad.” The cowboy went from angry to apologetic fairly fast, though his voice was still tense as he continued firing. “Could yer condition wait until after we handle these forkers?”

“I don’t think so,” I replied, wacking another grunt. I felt mildly useless trying to stay relatively close to the cowboy because IPC was thinning around him, but I also didn’t want to charge out and get stepped on. I could feel my chest strain more as the Stellaron struggled to maintain my current size.“Unless you happen to have some Antimatter on you, which I highly doubt-.”

“Antimatter?” the cowboy asked in surprise.

“-then I’m just gonna need you to catch me before I hit the ground any minute now,” I finished, distracted trying to gauge the cowboy’s reaction. I didn’t notice the sound of footsteps that were closer than any of the other footsteps in the room, yelping when a sudden massive surge of electricity jolted through my side. With a fair amount of difficulty, I swung out at the grunt who hit me with a staff with an explosive charge of energy through the conduit of my bat.

It knocked them away successfully and allowed me a couple seconds for my body to handle the electrical charge going through it, but I both felt and saw that the Stellaron had reached its limit of maintaining my form, a couple of stray arcs of energy dissipating from my fingertips and bat glitching before disappearing from my grasp.

“Wuh oh.”

Like a star collapsing on itself, I yelped as one last burst of energy flared out from my body like a flashbang, finding myself only a couple inches tall a few feet in the air as my form collapsed and shrunk into my centerpoint.

“Shit,” I exclaimed, bracing myself to impact the tile floor below. It was a survivable fall due to my durability, but it definitely wouldn’t be a pleasant one, knowing from personal experience with a lot of soreness and bruising. However I found myself stopping short of the ground, hitting an arguably harder surface as I was scooped from the air in a metal hand. I was a bit dazed from the impact, not very helped by the cowboy being naturally loud.

“Well, holy forkeroni,” the cowboy said, grey and red eye zeroed in on me in his palm as I sat up. His attention was briefly pulled away and I was jostled as he spun and fired off a couple rounds while dodging a few IPC bullets. “That all ya got, you shirt-for-brains?! Yer ‘bout knee-high to a grasshopper, small-fry!”

“I- sure? I guess? Is there anywhere around where you could either put me down or maybe just get out of here,” I asked, trying to shake off the vertigo and look around to find a safe spot or clear route for him but he was moving too much for me to see well.

“Not with all these forkers ‘round, and I need both my darn hands to fudging deal with ‘em. Tch, hang on.”

“Al-right!” The last half of the word was a yelp as his hand lifted suddenly, making my stomach drop and causing a wave of dizziness as the force messed with the blood flow to my head. Blinking it away, my vision was once more shifted as I was tossed a brief moment into something. The sudden sequence of motion and change in scenery had me instinctively manifesting my baseball bat again, stopping the area around me from closing.

Gravity shifted around me again as I barely managed to hold onto my bat with one hand, my left shoulder straining as all my weight came down on it, falling from whatever small, dark area I'd nearly been tossed into. It wasn't until I noticed the two rows of massive, sharp teeth on either side of my bat and heard the surprised noise from the cowboy that I realized he'd just tried to toss me in his mouth.

“Aeon ‘arn it, ‘all-’ry! Ah-n ‘ryna ‘elp ya,” the cowboy mumbled loudly around the baseball bat currently locking his jaws open. His left hand was cupped beneath me, poised to catch me if I fell, and I saw fingers twitch like he was debating how to go about this.

Well, if I'd been given any sort of heads up, I wouldn't have ended up panicking as much as I had. There'd been an odd abundance of me being put in mouths, but this was probably the most chaotic and fast-paced to date.

“Nngh, hold on,” I said, trying to pull myself up enough to grab the bat with my right hand. Extremely difficult with him still running. A noise escaped my throat as his hand surged upwards, uncertain to what he was doing as I felt the tips of his index, middle, and thumb fingers press against my back.

My world blurred as the cowboy suddenly halted on his heel and spun to avoid what I could only guess was a swing from a staff from the streak of grey and orange that streaked by. In the simultaneous moment that a gunshot went off so close that it could only be from the cowboy I found my grip forced from the baseball bat as the fingertips against my back pinched the back of my hoodie and yanked me from the two walls of teeth that were now below as I was lifted from the cowboy’s face.

With the most still thing in comparison to everything else being the cowboy, it was incredibly easy for me to focus on his jaws as they snapped shut around my tiny baseball bat, the manifestation shattering between the shark teeth and dissipating into cosmic sparks.

I caught a brief glimpse of the cowboy smiling before he opened wide again and I found myself popped inside before I could really process anything past the daze of being jostled around so much. In fact, it was almost a relief when the pseudo-bone clicked close behind me, allowing me a reprieve from the chaos of being dangled around and shot at.

It was warm and humid with the tongue beneath me surprisingly soft considering the mechanical nature of its host. It wasn't offensively pungent but the space smelt of oil, grease, and other more chemical scents that brought to mind repairing robots in Belebog.

Something clung to me like saliva, likely some kind of lubricant.

I was expecting some amount of tasting or slickening up considering that was necessary - to a point - so that whoever was eating me wouldn’t end up choking on me. But, I guess it wasn’t needed for the cyborg because I instantly found the space around me tilting.

“A-Ack, give me a mom-ent,” I yelped out as the tongue flexed beneath me in preparation for the imminent swallow, squashing me flat against the roof of his mouth. I was barely given a split second as the tongue pushed me back and I felt the throat entrance seize around my ankles in a gulp.

I'm not even sure if his throat actually made the sound of the swallow around me or if it was just a habitual noise from his voice box, carrying a slightly robotic undertone like when he spoke.

As I was pulled into the embrace of his gullet, it felt bizarrely close to being eaten by, for lack of a better term, an organic person. Whatever material that lined his throat was just as claustrophobic as a normal esophagus and almost as pliable as actual flesh. From what little I could gather from the small amount of exposed skin I had, it felt like some sort of rubber.

The cowboy didn't reply to me and I was barely out of his mouth when he exhaled around me with a gruff growl, my surroundings rumbling as he shouted, “‘lright, you muddle-fudgers! Let's forkin’ finish this!”

He was, understandably, far more concerned with fighting the remaining IPC. However, I feel like my ears would have burst if I had been a normal human.

“Which one of you shirt-bags wants to be first in line for a bullet?!”

I felt his body shift and twist chaotically as I slipped past what constituted his collarbone, everything muffling a bit from layers of metal and whatever a mechanical creature would count as internal organs. It was definitely surreal.

It got warmer the deeper I was pulled down like the insides of someone organic, but less slimy or stuffy. Instead of slipping past a beating heart and the breathing of lungs, the somewhat muffled chaos outside overplayed with the sound of whirring fans and mechanical parts shifting against each other as the cowboy moved erratically.

It wasn't long before I was ejected from the relative sturdiness of his esophagus. I didn't realize how much the cowboy was running and dodging until I slipped into a small chamber and immediately started being bounced around the space like a ping pong ball.

Fortunately, it seemed like the walls were made of the same flexible material at his throat. Unfortunately, the space wasn't completely empty. I felt other… bits bounce around with me, unable to make heads or tails of any of it while essentially inside the living bouncy house.

I'm not sure how long I spent tumbling around as the cowboy shouted mother-sanctioned insults at the IPC and fired shot after shot while I can only assume backflipping the entire time based on how much I was being shaken. Eventually, everything stopped and I was flopped onto the floor of the chamber. I felt like I was going to get bruises in places where I didn't even think bruises were possible.

“Ah, hell. You aight in there, small-fry?” I was pulled from my dazed stupor by one side of the chamber being pushed in slightly and the cowboys voice above. For someone who, in the minutes I'd known him, seemed reckless and unabashedly brazen he actually sounded a bit sheepish. “Reck’n I prolly shook you up more than the tail end of a rattler.”

“You’re fine,” I replied, slowly pushing myself off the floor of the chamber. Something gritty clung to my hands with the help of lubricant and whatever other small puddle of liquid that shared the space with me. I flicked my hands in instinctive disgust to try and get rid of the feeling.

“You're takin’ this pretty well.”

“This ain't the first time I've been eaten,” I sighed as I mustered the energy to summon a spark to take stock of my surroundings now that I wasn't tumbling around everywhere. “Definitely the most chaotic though.”

“What the fridge? I woulda thought that your biggest concern woulda been finding yerself under some ash-voles boot,” I felt the space begin to shift and sway as I looked around, probably from him starting to walk or something. The walls were dark gray and seemed to be made of the same rubbery material as his throat, and around me was a thin coating of some kind of thick, grainy, gray substance that had the glint of metal scattered around.

That explained the shallow cuts I could see on my hands now.

“I can't say that being stepped on hasn't been a concern,” I replied, frowning in confusion at the gritty stuff around me. Spurred on by curiosity I ran my finger through the substance and gave it a cautious sniff. I'd noticed the somewhat pungent scent permeating the space but wasn't able to recognize what it was until I got a closer smell. Dulled by the potent sting of what smelled like malt juice diluted by lubricant, the grains smelt of something that reminded me of explosives, I scrunched my face in confused surprise. “Is this fucking GUNPOWDER?!”

“Mmmhm,” the cowboy let out a pleased hum like remembering a particularly delicious snack. “Nine millimeter, baby. Had a couple earlier. Might sorry ‘bout the clutter, but didn't exactly have time to clean house before fighting the muddle-fudgin’ IPC.”

“I… I don't know what I was expecting a cyborg to eat, but it wasn't bullets,” I sighed, cleaning my hand off on my jacket. “Eh, whatever. Can you let me out and help me get to the Astral Express please?”

“Ehhh,” the space tilted and squished a little, only able to assume that he crouched down. Guessing the guys habits, I wouldn't be surprised if he was seeing if any of the IPC had anything worthwhile on them. “I can take you to your train, but ya might need a mechanic.”

“Wait, what? Why?” I asked, frowning in confusion.

“‘Cause I can't just make myself vomit on command,” the cowboy replied, able to feel him stand up. “So unless your folks have a mechanic or something to make me spit ya out, we might be stuck up a shirt creek without a paddle until I come across another mechanic.”

I blinked in the dark space, part of me appalled at the news. However, this was weirdly enough also not my first time stuck inside someone who couldn't just cough me up considering Sampo.

“Please, for the love of the Aeons, just get to the train and find Dan Heng.”

[moonshynecybin]

thinking about how rosquez age gap dynamic would change post reconciliation but not now but in like 5-10 years. we all know how vale is about his age so he would be “i’m old maybe marc deserves someone younger more fun and his age” but he would never say that just joke it off like he always does when talking about his age. and marc having a very nothing new by taylor swift complex “will you still want me when i’m nothing new?”, he’s probably retired and thinking “does valentino still thinks i’m cool? he met me when i was in my prime twink era what if he sees im not like that anymore”

YAYYYYY i think theyre BOTH WEIRD ABOUT IT yayyyyyy. okay so. the thing about being a professional athlete is that while you are young and shiny it feels like you will be young and shiny FOREVER ! and then the horrors. and then you turn thirty. and then everyone around you is ten years younger and their body works correctly and they pick up on the stuff YOU pioneered and the press is talking about you like youre a HORSE that they want to sent to the GLUE FACTORY. so i imagine. that those influences can give you somewhat of a complex about your age. i think vale (company is dominated by young twinks comma. clown.) and marc (arm pain boy comma. got a haircut specifically to look younger right before visiting a track he has historically dominated at.) are not in fact immune to this. especially because marc was essentially the move over old man signal to vale in many ways. like imagine your bf is a physical reminder that you no longer can do what you used to be able to do in a sport that is and was your life's work. ouegh.

SO ! POST REUNION ! if its like vale in his 50s marc in his mid to late thirties, staring down his time in the sport coming to an end. a transitionary period then yeah. they think about it. i think MARC is actually a lot more keyed up about this specifically bc vale frankly had to work that out a bit ago. and he does still lowkey think hes god lbr. marc ALSO has an ego the size of the sun but i think it honestly really distresses him a bit more when his body is malfunctioning. maybe i just think that bc hes cried on camera about it multiple times while vale simply changes the subject but i DIGRESS. my barbie dolls shh. marc get a little in his head about it ! tries to fix it by doing crazy shit like getting bad haircuts and buying a stupid amount of moisturizer. new lingerie. i would say he does more crazy and spontaneous activities but he loves adrenaline so bad i fear he's kinda already doing that.... BUT. he's also doing stuff like not letting vale in on his PT appointments.... pretending he's the same as when he was twenty and it was EASY and he didn't have to figure out who he was after motogp because he was the youngest rookie to do x y and z so he should be able to do this FOREVER. and it think he holds his ability to WIN so close to himself.... a measure of how well his life is going fr.... like the last time he couldn't win were 2015 (when vale LEFT HIM) and 2020 to present (ARMMMMM). hes buggin

and i think vale eventually notices and is like oh my god whta. dude HUH ? truly kinda flabbergasted lmao. he fucks him about it and truly THATS what calms marc down a bit (not entirely.... it lingers....). like nose in vale's armpit afterwards stroking his BALD SPOT while vale is like. my love you are three years older than i was when i met you. calm down.

[3-2-whump]

Unlikely Partnership

<prev

N: Just because it's OC Takeover week doesn't mean you don't get new -hey, where did Khaled and Boss go?

J: (gestures to a closet where the sounds of clattering objects and skin on skin impact can be heard) Take a wild fucking guess.

N: Oh come on! And just as I was gonna introduce our chapter too!

J: I'll go get them, but for now, introduce the chapter.

TW/CW: slave whump, mentioned torture, plans of murder. That's all I can think of for this chapter, but please let me know if I missed any!

Nico had driven about halfway home by the time he realized he’d left it behind. Cellphone, wallet, keys, flash drive –wait, flash drive? He groaned. Did I leave it in the guard shack, on the desk, out in the open? He cursed under his breath as he found a mostly empty parking lot to turn into and begin his way back to the old house.

The lights weren’t on in the guard shack, meaning the late-night guard hadn’t shown up yet. The faint blue glow of a screen uncharacteristically illuminated the empty shack’s interior as Nico drove closer down the winding driveway. That’s weird, he thought. He pulled his jeep over to the side of the road, off into the bordering woods around the property, before heading down the rest of the driveway on foot with a loaded gun at his side.

As he got closer, he could see a person in a black denim jacket leaning over the console, too absorbed in the footage he was watching to even register there was another person sneaking up on him. The bluish light of the monitors’ screens cast ominous shadows over his somber face. A glimmer of a dermal piercing shone in his right cheekbone, matching the steel barbell in his left eyebrow, and the barely contained rage in his eyes. The man was distracted enough with whatever he was watching that he didn’t even notice Nico letting himself in and sneaking up behind him until his gun was practically touching the back of the stranger’s head.

“I’ll give you three seconds to tell me who you are and what the hell you’re doing here, and not a second more,” Nico threatened.

What he lacked in situational awareness the stranger more than made up for in quick reflexes, as he whipped around and quickly disabled the gun-wielding guard. Next thing Nico knew; he was bent over the security console with his dominant arm twisted uncomfortably behind his back and a hand twisted in his hair, holding his face against the switch for the gate. The gate slowly opened with a mechanical humming noise in front of them.

“Hmm, bad choice, vato,” his opponent purred in his ear. “Nobody holds a gun to my head!” The man let go of his hair and spun him around, only to punch him square in the jaw. Nico’s head bounced off the switch. The gate creaked its way shut once again. He tried shifting himself underneath the new adversary, at the very least so his head wouldn’t hit the switch and then alert anyone to the unusual activity going on at the entrance.

“Who the hell are you?” Nico finally got his hands in front of him and blocked the oncoming hit, catching his opponent’s fist and lurching them forward to slam his opponent’s back against the wall. “Where’s the night guard? What are you doing here?”

The stranger ignored his questions, his cat-like golden eyes flickering to the continuously playing footage on the camera behind them. “You knew, didn’t you?” he hissed accusatorily. “You knew all about the humiliations, the tortures, the rapes –and you did nothing?! Even worse, you saved them?! What did Khaled ever do to you to deserve this?!”

Wait, what? Nico took his eyes off his opponent to look behind him. His thumb drive was plugged into the computer, and a very familiar file was maxed out on the screen. It was the footage from last month, the one where Boss had nearly flayed Khaled alive in the T & I cellar after everyone went home from work. Nico himself could barely watch it himself without feeling sick, but this man made it much further in the video than he did. Which could only mean… “You’re Julio, aren’t you?”

The murderous rage was only quelled for a nanosecond. “Yeah, who’s asking?” he snapped.

“I’m Nico. Khaled’s friend, second shift security, law student.” He took the chance and let go of Julio, backing away to give the man some space. “Maybe he mentioned me?”

Julio smoothed out his coat with his hands before offhandedly shrugging. “He might’ve mentioned you, I guess.”

Nico rolled his eyes at his guest’s reticence as he politely offered him his chair. “How much has he told you?”

Julio took the peace offering, crumpling into the chair and throwing his head into his hands. “He’s told me nothing that you don’t already know, I’m sure,” Julio answered. His knuckles read ‘FUCK YOU!’ Nico found that interesting.

“He’s a slave, owned by the boss of one of the most powerful mafias in this goddamned city, and I have no idea what a scrapyard king/hitman like me can do about it.”

Scrapyard king? As Nico turned on the Keurig and began making his friend’s boyfriend a cup of coffee, he distantly remembered the gossip surrounding the chop shop gangs, especially Juicio Divino –Divine Judgement, as they liked to bill themselves. They were the reason lots of young g’s were depicting Death on a motorcycle now, with a gun tucked into his ephemeral cloak right next to the iconic scythe. What kind of apex predator did my friend snare? he wondered.

“You could do a hell of a lot more than me,” Nico consoled, passing the freshly expelled espresso to the dejected assassin. “I’m just a low-ranking nobody who’s been asked to guard the gate and keep his head in his books. I’ve been asking myself the same question for years now, and I am no closer to finding an answer.” He inclined his head to the thumb drive and the saved security footage, which was now looping back to the first days they met. “The best thing I can do for Khaled is save all this evidence for him in case he decides to take legal action against the Boss one day.”

“We know damn well he won’t do that,” Julio sighed. He gratefully took the mug and threw the drink straight back like a shot, not even wincing at the scalding temperature.

Nico’s jaw dropped in shock. “Jesus, dude, that wasn’t a whiskey I gave you!” he exclaimed.

“Well, it should’ve been.” Julio placed the empty mug on the console. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket for only a second before procuring a liquor bottle. “Now we’re talking,” he said with a self-satisfied hum. He unscrewed the cap and poured some of the drink into the mug as Nico reached behind the Keurig to get his own. Julio poured out some liquor for him too before capping the bottle and tucking it back into his coat. “Now, I bet we have about an hour until the night guard I knocked out comes to in the middle of the woods, so let’s sit down and figure out a plan.”

Nico’s relief that Enzo hadn’t been outright murdered was quickly replaced by puzzlement. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Julio’s lips curled into a Cheshire cat grin. “Separately, you and I can’t do shit against Don Costa, but if we worked together, with your insider status and knowledge, and my expertise and access to resources, we can finally free our friend of that bastard for good!” He stuck out his ‘FUCK’ hand, primed for a handshake as his hazel eyes shone with mischief. “Well, what do you say?”

Nico raised his hand on instinct to meet his, but hesitated before he could commit to the gesture. He’d just gotten out of the doghouse with Don Costa, finally being able to meet with Khaled on his lunch breaks again, and he wasn’t exactly eager to get into trouble again. The Boss had threatened his tuition last time; what would he hold over his head this time? “Aren’t you worried about what he may do to you, or to your gang?” he asked.

“Ay, Nico, vato,” the man before him sighed wistfully, “there is nothing your mafia can do to me that they haven’t already done.” His wide smile dimmed, turning into something sad and contemplative. “They stole my hope, my future, my mentor and lover –the real question is, what are you willing to do –no, what are you willing to give to see Khaled happy and free, as he should be?”

Nico joined hands with Julio, resolutely shaking hands as he sealed a partnership that could only succeed or end in abject failure. He knew his answer. Anything. Everything.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

[bequiteanddriveeee]

you deleted the post, but for most life tasks/tips there is probably a tut on youtube for sure or on wiki how. And if some guy on reddit hasn't had the same problem or question then I think it would be a first and there is no solution

(I was literaly about to reblog a huge ass list of tips)

I’m sorry 😭😭 i get really self conscious ab stuff, like im suprised the “cooking w other Kennedy” stayed up

I’m ok w moots interacting/knowing cause bro ngl u are 1 of my DOGS me and moots aren’t moots we GANG ill tell u guys ALL MY SECRETS ITS TIGHT but suddenly we remember this is a public blog and not just our friends see things

But thank u if you have any specific 1s that are good, and in a weird way, like dignified?? Somthing that wasn’t mentioned is it took him awhile because he feels bad ab doing those things like it makes him a servant, which Ik is weird

Also I’m in a 🎀yapping🎀 mood I’m sorry 😭😭

[deafsignifcantother]

you're gonna need somebody on your bond

♥ summary: inspired by @doliacuddles's tomie fic here, as well as another fic relating to a s/o tomie-related but i read that months ago and have no idea where it could be. - basically this about Alastor being like "you're only here because you taste good" and reader is like "okay then stop being nice to me because it's weird that you're not craved like the other men so get off my back bruh" ♥ helpful lore: reader is a demon with the abilities combined of tomie and the 'hosts' from the vita carnis series. ♥ relationship: alastor x female deaf reader ♥ word count: 3k ♥ notes: femme fatale, i'm not mentally okay, alastor doesn't know sign language, she talks though. + there's light gore in these because I'm silly goofy so my bad guys!

His claws find their way into your hips. Drawing blood as usual, he stares into your eyes, testing your regard, neither of you breaking eye contact.

He's been drawn to you since the second he saw you, which hasn't surprised you in the slightest. What was a surprise was how non-sexual the draw was and how classy he had formerly been. Now he settles on trying to scare you; his heart races at the idea of you fearing him. But you never do. You just give him a cocky smile, running your tongue over your teeth as if you're mocking his attempts. It only makes him want to tear you apart.

He pulls you closer to him, dragging his nails across your skin, blood staining your red dress. His eyes glow despite the darkness of the alleyway. He had been planning on killing you, but somehow, the amusement of your neutral reactions is saving your life. He's fighting his urge to devour you by devoting his time to scaring you. No matter how many cuts he makes to your skin, how many times he's dug his teeth into your neck after sneaking up behind you, you never scream, never give him a proper reaction. Sometimes, you caress the side of his head, petting him like an animal.

His mouth opens, and your face grows a smile. His breath is hot on your face, tongue dripping with lust as it makes its way to your neck, licking up your tendon, leaving a trail of hot saliva. Instead of pulling away, you tilt your head to give him more access. It disgusts him. His body language and his thoughts offer two different stories.

He leans back, moving one of his hands to grab your mouth, pushing his claws in so deep that you can feel the sharpness against your gums. He whispers something you can't understand before the stinging of his impaling becomes unbearable. Your eyes water instinctually.

Oh, my little girl. He had said.

He shakes your head back and forth, wedging his way into your mouth, nails caressing your tongue.

With a strength only he possesses, and in one quick pull, he rips your jaw off.

:3

With your regenerated jaw, you sigh, rub it, and look over at the baby-like version of yourself growing from the detached part of you. Its eyes are angry, and it grinds its teeth and growls. The small, pointed, undeveloped teeth show off as if they're any sort of threat.

There is no off-switch to the abilities Hell had gifted you. Even since you first fell down, demonic men would lick their lips and lunge at you. You've gotten accustomed to the feeling of teeth ripping you apart, and admittedly, sometimes, it excites you. This Mrs. Potato Head magic you're stuck with has pros and cons. One of the pros, and your favorite pro, is having the infamous Radio Demon at your every beck and call.

So, in his room, you watch him devour the early-birthed head. Brain matter fell from his lips, mixing with blood and whatever fluid was lodged behind your eyeballs. It's eyeballs, not yours. The stomach-turning sight of him ripping the flesh straight off its face, the layer coming off like the skin of a chicken's breast. Degloves, the sight of the red and orange meat around your skull makes you squint.

You look away.

The tension between you and the sounds you can only imagine is unbearable. Sometimes, you're grateful you're deaf. You don't fear Alastor, not entirely, but that doesn't mean you can't be disgusted by his bestial traits. Watching him eat you is not the most attractive sight. A bit of an ick if you do say so yourself.

He licks away the remains of your runny, sticky tissue until there's nothing but the pure skull. His long, slimy tongue had licked up the rest of your brain from where he cracked it open.

He is prepared to rip you apart and devour your creations once again. He approaches, practically on all fours, his shadow corrupting your seated form. You look so good on his floor. He could pounce, dig his nails into you like he loves doing, or maybe he can impale you with his sharp antlers.

But all he does is give you shivers as he pets your silky hair, and when you expect him to yank on it, he puts his face into it and sniffs. Your spine straightens. Dirty man.

You turn, staring at his bloody face, his sharp eyes, and his tight smile. He is so handsome like this. The swoops of his hair and the shoulder pads on his coat give him a unique figure; everything about him is exceptional. When you reach out to him, hand heading towards his face, he leans back and eyes you. Your hands don't hold claws like most demons; they're surprisingly gentle for a woman tainted with morbid curiosity. Your feminine charm is a part of his interest. The blood on his face goes from endearing to annoying when he doesn't let you wipe it off. Seriously, you wish to sign, come here. Though he'd never understand a word you'd say.

Testing his apprehensiveness towards you, you stretch your arm out anyway and rub the blood from the corner of his mouth. He again leans away from your touch, bending his head to the side, his smile turning into a snarl.

He can eat you alive, but you're not allowed to touch his cheek? Ridiculous. You match his snarl, animalistic vocabulary through two demons' language barrier. He uses his trigger fingers to grab your wrist, not breaking eye contact.

Your perception of Alastor is inconsistent. Will he bite your hand off or kiss your knuckles? Will he rip your throat out or lick it gently? You can never tell. His intentions are quite versatile.

This time, he just lets you go, patting your head before standing. He extends a bloody hand to help you up.

The empty skull behind him is disregarded but will soon be another treasure he'll place on his shelves next to the other ones he's gotten a taste of. Oh, how addicting your flavors are. And you're so willing to let him debase the creations your body births. He loves your snarls too, the way you copy his facial expressions.

His hand caressing your cheek reeks of sincerity. You stand shorter than him, bodies never close enough to touch but close enough to reach. If Vegas had odds on it, you'd step closer, and he'd be okay with it.

Out of fascination, of course. Nothing else.

He laughs and you step back. You've been comfortable with the blood and remains, obviously, but the rancid scent of your remains on his breath is the worst part of knowing him.

:3

Husk opens another bottle for you with his claw, eyes facing the floor to Alastor's command. Your position in the hotel is a unique one. You're another 'staff' member brought by Alastor, as he's convinced Charlie that you'll be more than able to get people into the hotel. This is true, as a lot of men have come in, some getting disemboweled by Alastor the moment they try and touch you. But some of them are less attentive to you after a while.

Here's the formula, you hand out fliers, wink, and head back to the hotel. Then, men will appear at the doors for days (or all coming at once within a few hours). You caress their cheek and tell them you'll be all theirs if they follow Charlie's plan. That's when Alastor locks you in his room. He's discovered through this process that your spell will go away with a lack of contact. Three days, to be exact. The men will follow your single command, granting Charlie willing participation and fulfilling Alastor's help for the hotel. Pentious was a harder participant, especially considering he couldn't kill him for his attempts, but those went away with everybody else's. In his room, you get your own vanity, one placed so you can watch the fireplace and have a small view of the door. Homey, not the worst place to be locked inside.

This is one of the few chances you can be out and about without Alastor directly standing behind you. Husk hands you the bottle.

"Thank you," you grab it and, instinctively, brush your fingers against him. He mumbles a response before mentally facepalming.

You put the bottle to your lips and try to hide a smile, but your eyes never leave Husk, teasing him to meet your gaze. Come on, you little kitty cat, entertain me.

He's not an idiot. Between knowing your tricks and following Alastor's orders, there's no chance he will amuse you.

Angel sits beside you with a drink already in his hand, always utterly unfazed by your abilities, and toasts you. His mouth holds a lopsided smile, and his eyes stare unread. You clink your drink against his. Staring into his eyes is relieving; there's no threat, not one you're used to.

Quickly, you realize why he had stepped over. Alastor forms behind him, obviously having followed, and he stares at you while addressing Husk. His lips are impossible to read with that smile.

"Don't mind her, Husker," his voice deepens, heavy with static. "She's always chasing the knife."

"Yeah," he looks Alastor up and down, "I can tell."

Alastor barks out a laugh before passing by Angel, leaving a vast distance, grabbing your wrists, and forcing you to your feet. This is why he doesn't like letting you roam without him. You don't behave. What could he have done if Husk fell for your charm? Kill him? No, no, that's only for the useless. Nobody in the hotel would want to deal with an unstable alcoholic in heat. Have you lost your mind?

You're lucky you're so delicious.

Alastor grabs the bottle from your hand, eyeing it, tapping it a bit before tossing it over his shoulder. It travels a distance and shatters against a wall. With a sarcastic wave of a finger, his other hand grabs your hips (his favorite place) and forces you to follow him back to his room. With how he touches you, one would think you're his best friend. Your relationship is admired by those who knew you least. However, Nifty notices that he holds you similarly to Rosie and smiles at you the same way he does at Nifty. Still, Husk recognizes the dreadful deadlock no matter how kind it may seem. And though your presence makes him uncomfortable, Husk will never turn you down when you approach the bar. Mainly because there was once an instant where you weren't trying to ruin his week with your mental prowling. You brought him a gift. It was from before you were tethered permanently to the hotel, back when Alastor brought you in to show you around. In the days when you could go in and out, you brought Husk some expensive Lucky Larger he hadn't seen since he was alive. You were the one that adverted your gaze. As much as a mosquito-like woman you've ended up being within an ample amount of months, there was still a semblance of a kind woman. You drank it together, and your shell cracked open like an egg. When you spoke to him, you had the voice of a teenage girl permanently stuck in the past. He could not respond in a way you'd understand, but he lent you an ear anyway. The drunker you get, the smaller your voice becomes, and the more watery your eyes get, but the moment Alastor comes by, your voice turns into a loud, cocky laugh, and you hold a snarl at Husk. He got it. He understood.

So when Alastor throws the bottle over his shoulder and leads you to his room, Husk takes notice of the slight stumble of your feet.

"Oh boy," he turns his attention to Angel. "This'll be good."

Alastor doesn't miss your uneven steps, either.

You grumble, "I wasn't doing anything."

He lightly shakes his head, a motion unnoticed by you. The words he'd say if you could hear them.

His gloved hand remains on your side, and his heeled boots match steps with your shorter stride. You place your hand over his, securing his grip on your waist, your blood-colored nails fading with the shade of his coat. He gathers the strength not to pull away. Your hands are warm, as warm as the arteries stringing your body together; he wants to cut you open and bury himself inside you. His grip on your waist tightens, but when you try and draw back, he interlocks your fingers and places them back. I'm just making sure you don't fall, he convinces himself; you're stumbling like a calf.

His other hand sports his microphone, using it as a cane.

"Alastor," you say his name with a velvety tone. Thank God you can't hear the glitching tones the speaker just let out. Whatever you were going to say never left your lips. He removes his hand, slipping away from you, and opens his bedroom door. You enter, and he follows, closing the door, the most routine part of your days, much grander than the standard living 9-5.

His hand lingers on the door, where you imagine a soft clicking of the lock; he keeps his eyes on you as he does.

He approaches you in a few straightforward strides, placing both hands on your cheeks, the ends of his nails softly scratching at your atlas. The fireplace ignites, the lights dim, and his hands slide closer to the back of your head. Your hair brushes from your face.

You love these little (and a tad bit sensual, but he would never describe them that way) staring contests.

His teeth part. "What a lovely thing you are."

You close your eyes, preparing for a bite. But when it doesn't come, you peak.

There's no change in his expression, but he's laughing through his teeth. Alastor is not good at affection; he's mostly known for just allowing people he likes to give it to him. But when you don't initiate, he finds himself taking the lead. That's why he grips your hair and tilts your head back, looking at your eyes as your lids drop with the angle. Your brows even furrow, a genuine smirk growing on your lips. Oh, that's interesting.

Your closed lips part as your jaw relaxes. He tilts your head more, leaning over you, his neck bent to overwhelm your form. The ridges of your esophagus lead to perked tendons and high collarbones. Your head flutters strangely. Are you struggling? Your hands even lift to touch his elbows.

"That hurts," you say. That hurts? He's clawed you, split you in half, swallowed your eyes and chewed your fingers off, but this is what makes you complain?

He speaks. "You're so strange."

You just stare at him.

He continues. "You prance around as if you have all the power in the world but you melt at any caress. What does that make you?"

Would you do that to any other man?

You just blink, your expression filled with discomfort, and he lets you go. Alastor even takes a respectful step back. With a shifted attitude, his eyes squint, and his smile closes to be a joyful line on his face.

When your mouth opens again to speak, he raises a finger to shush you. He gestures to the wall with his head, his hair bouncing, and his ears following suit before his outline dissipates into traveling shadows. How will you act if you didn't know he was watching?

Your face drops. You definitely got Husk in trouble.

Don't feel bad, you remind yourself, just think about what he could do if he had looked into your eyes.

Alastor protects you from that.

While you're not too positive that Alastor would be keen on you roaming through his stuff, this room might as well be yours, too, so you run your fingers across the books on his shelves. Your buzzed state gives you lenience to his rules (in your eyes). Does he even read these? The only time you've seen him here is late at night when he lights the fireplace or during the times when he feeds. There's an outlier in the books, and when you look closer, you realize it's more of a thick folder. After glancing behind you, you test your luck and pick it off the shelf. It truly is a folder. It's filled with sheet music, once blank bars filled with hand-written notes and braces. When did he have the time to write these? A lot of the circles aren't filled all the way, and many of the dots are just black pits. Rushed? Does he write these with passion?

You flip through the papers, just glancing over his writing before a doodle on the edge of a page catches your attention. You almost miss it; it's on the far left side, hidden by the pages on top of it. The folder finds its place on his bedside table, open to the same spot, and you take the sheet out to look closer.

It's you.

It's a doodle but recognizable. The lines have been sketched many times as if he took the time to work on them. You have a neutral expression, a 3/4th view with your eyes locked on the perspective. It's not the drawing that captivates you; many people have attempted drawing you before, but it's how simple it is. There are no twisted expressions, no figures ripping themselves through your face, or your body ripping in half.

You glance behind you again, almost expecting him there. Being alone is more sentimental; his absence is relieving. When you look back down, you will see a wet patch. You touch your cheeks. Tears. Are you crying? That's embarrassing.

You tuck the page back and close the folder. Any possible further drawings are unseen; you're going to avoid seeking them out; this one is satisfying enough. The second you put it back on the shelf, your self-control loosens, and you stumble back, knees wobbling, and sluggishly fall to the floor. Laughter escapes you. Why are you laughing? No matter, your throat keeps releasing laughs, loud and uncontrolled. What a disgusting man.

[atlaskrr]

just watched the lc live action first 2 eps and idk man. its entertaining but its just like- these are NOT the charas i know who TF ARE YOU. it also doesnt rlly tie in to the donghua so like is this just a whole ass seperate universe? who tf is the teacher? also how the hell did cxs know lgs name without an introduction 💀 the way cxs already gave lg a nickname a-guang like- yall JUST met. it just doesnt make sense. i mean it seems loke ep 2 improved from ep 1 and from what ive heard it gets better over time but still man. i like how they made cxs a geek and what they did with qiao lings mom and him it was sweet. also the opening was rlly fun. i have mixed feelings on cxs and lgs dynamic cause on one hand its silly and i like it but also... this is NOT lg and cxs. im so confused how this relates to the donghua. and my girl xss is GONE. also the way the powers work is rlly weird like i just dont like that change in general. i feel like with this change (the fact they removed the whole memory and emotions aspect of cxs power) it removes a lot of the emotional weight the og held. also ik cxs showed signs of cleverness but still they dumbed and losered him down to a point i do not like. the musical was good so i had hope but this just aint lc to me and the 1st ep way just- bad. like writing wise. even outside of lc (in which itd make even less sense).

[bigfatbreak]

Birds of a Feather previous / next

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Bard-aby <3 except he's only loosely a bard bc i don't subscribe to absolutes <3

rambles:

BARNABY WITH PANTS??? BLASPHEMY!!! however this is a (dnd-inspired) fantasy au so. pants! loose pants tucked into modified boots because no one can tell me No!

based off of Clown's pokemon au human Barn, it seems like he might be a bit of a jewelry guy! he was wearing rings! and had an earring! also i think Barn just looks great w/ some extra shinies, yk yk

since ties aren't really a Thing in fantasy settings, i combined the iconic pattern w/ his vest for a two-in-one. then suspenders bc they fuck severely! his belt buckle is a bone both as a nod to the pattern on his tie / house decoration, and to go along with how Wally has an apple buckle! besties stay twinning!

you can't see it but on his other side he has his pack & his smoking pipe holster, which attaches to his belt! it's very high quality leather that he spent so much money on. his pipe is important to him - he carved it himself out of wood from an important tree from his childhood, so he wants it to be properly stored & protected! he has two kinds of tobacco for it - normal, and magic tobacco that essentially allows him to cast minor spells w/ the smoke

the feathers on his hat are from Ms. Beagle! in my mind he left the farm to go adventuring on a bit of a bad note, but his mama made sure to give him a couple feathers to take with so that she'd always be close <3

he keeps his claws blunt so that he doesn't accidentally scratch people/things, and so that he can play stringed instruments without cutting the strings. while i imagine for this au he plays a wide range, he prefers Loud Handheld Instruments that allow him to sing along. so in mind he has an Accordion here! loud! jaunty! but i imagine he also keeps a recorder in his pack for when Frank needs annoying. (he did have a lute, but he broke it over someone's head in the act of defending Wally's honor)

im still trying to pin down the right balance of colors for his outfit, but! for a little au tidbit - all of his spots are the same two blues as his ears. in this im imagining that he, at a young age, learned a very basic cosmetic spell that allowed him to change his spots color to mimic Ms. Beagle's! he wanted to look like his mama! but by the time he's in his late 20s he no longer changes his spots

ohhhh i forgot to add his pockets. Oh Well

[pineappical]

in light of tedtrent becoming so real, im also jumping on the tedtrent epilogue 😊

there's just no way ted wouldn't keep in touch with the others (and have weekly zoom meetings just like in the christmas special) and I just love the thought of the whole team having reunions once in a while.

and going back to trent's arc in s3, the sunflowers conversation, "And your daughter?" "She's never been happier." I think it could go the same for ted.. we've never really properly saw how henry felt about his dad being in london, it's always other people that told ted his son misses him, who's to say henry would rather see his dad happy because that in turn would make him happy too? he was there to win the whole thing, right? I just know ted’s story isn’t done yet when he still hasn’t learned to let others take care of him in return and who else to pair him with than the man who blew up his career because a man was nice to him (and also because they were so. so cruel for the fakeout tedbecca scenes for that finale) 🥺

I'm no writer so just pretend these are snapshots of a slow burn fic where ted visits london for their team reunion and slowly realizes that trent has a crush on him and they kiss about it 💛

[audliminal]

It's barely the end of the first day of school, and three faculty members are dead. Nobody knows much yet, but supposedly the six freshman who all managed to get detention on the very first day of school were involved and, if the rumors are to be believed, two of them actually died. In a dumb fight in the cafeteria against some animated corn. Kipperlily rolls her eyes when she hears it. They're clearly a bunch of losers who are going to either drop out or get someone killed before the year is out, but that's not really her problem, is it?

Still, just to be on the safe side, maybe their party should spend some time in the woods behind the school, and get some practice in with rats and things before they find themselves involved in a fight like those dumb detention kids did.

It's a month into the school year, and Kipperlily's starting to get the hang of things. She's feeling comfortable in a fight now, they've been killing rats and twig gremlins in the Far Haven Woods as often as they can manage, and they're getting really good at it. They even have a name now, the High 5 Heroes, chosen by Kipperlily herself, of course.

Meanwhile, Kipperlily's pretty sure the kids from detention actually killed someone, though nobody seems to be talking about it. Kipperlily doesn't care what anyone says, she's heard multiple people say they saw members of their group talking to Penelope Sam and Johnny spells, and then the day after Johnny Spells gets killed in a fucking car chase, the rich kid, who's literally the son of a pirate, has a mysterious new motorcycle? It's all far too suspicious.

It's the week after winter break, and Kipperlily is stuck in the stupid guidance councilor's office, talking about her dumb feelings. Unlike the Bad Kids (and what kind of stupid name is that), who apparently had an adventure dropped in their lap within minutes of the first school day ending, Kipperlily has been waiting months and still nothing has popped up. Plus Oisin and Ivy keep joking about changing their party name to the Rat Grinders.

It's dumb. Who would want a party name that's based on some joke? Besides, she already chose the name. So why on earth would they change it now? At least Lucy seems to agree with her about it.

It's just days after prom, and Kipperlily is sick of everything. The stupid Bad Kids apparently crashed prom and literally defeated Kalvaxus, Emperor of the Red Waste. It's honestly bullshit. A dumb group of kids that couldn't even make it through one day of school without getting one third of their party killed, and they're being credited with saving the entire continent? Kipperlily's been digging into the Bad Kids' history with every moment of her free time, trying to figure out how a bunch of dumb untrained kids managed something so huge. And she thinks she might have cracked it.

Kristen Applebees is literally Helio's Chosen One, and apparently Adaine Abernant is the new Oracle of the Elves. Kipperlily doesn't know what Fig, Fabian, or Gorgug's deals are yet, but if rumors are to be believed, then Riz Gukgak's dad was eaten by the very same Kalvaxus. Clearly the entire reason the Bad Kids are succeeding is because of their personal histories.

And to make matters worse, Oisin and Ivy managed to get the rest of the party to go along with the stupid Rat Grinders name. and Mary Ann didn't even have a reason for it! The only one who voted with her was Lucy. So now they've got a dumb name and no real adventuring prospects, and all the while, a bunch of kids who skip classes and get arrested are somehow getting perfect grades with no effort.

It's sophomore year and everything is terrible. The Rat Grinders meet every day to kill rats in the woods and it's dumb and boring, and not even a little bit difficult anymore, and she has to go to weekly councilor sessions with Jawbone, who's an ally of her rival adventuring party, which. Aguefort already clearly likes them, and even before he was resurrected they had managed to get two of their allies positions in the school. Which has to be an unfair advantage. And now Fig's dad is the vice principal rather than the lunch lad. It's really no wonder they never seem to get in trouble for skipping classes or any of their other bullshit.

At least she can use their connection with Jawbone to her advantage. Every meeting with him, she mines him for new information on the Bad Kids, who have been doing absolutely nothing so far this year.

It's sophomore year and The Rat Grinders are going to finally get their chance! Porter and Jace have approached her with the opportunity of a lifetime! Porter even said she shows a lot of promise! He doesn't even seem to take issue with his anger, and he says that he's going to help her become an amazing adventurer. All she has to do is accept this weird little rage star thing and start worshipping some dead god of rage. Kipperlily honestly isn't that much into religion, but this is the first interesting thing to happen to her all day. She's already working to convince Lucy to change her god.

It's sophomore year and even as Kipperlily is finally making progress, the Bad Kids are still showing her up. Somehow, they ended up fighting the Nightmare King himself, defeating him and somehow in the process, Kristen Applebees managed to ressurect a dead god of her own. It's bullshit and literally the only reason they manage to get back in time for the end of spring break is the direct intervention of the principal again. Plus now Fig has somehow managed to become an Archdevil and start dating Principal Aguefort's daughter. As if she wasn't already a rockstar.

It's sophomore year and Kipperlily's going to make the Rat Grinders the best adventuring party at Aguefort, even if it kills her.

It's junior year and the Bad Kids seemed determined to ruin her life. It's bullshit. They literally didn't even know who she was before this year, and they seem determined to ruin everything she's working towards. On the first day of school, they all collectively decided that Kristen was going to run for school president, seemingly as a bit, the exact second that they find out she's running. And immediately on meeting her they made fun of her fucking name for literally no reason.

It's junior year and everything's going to plan. Kristen's been expelled, and the Bad Kids are taking The Last Stand, and they've got the perfect opportunity to get rid of all the Bad Kids for good. And yet somehow Kristen fucking Applebees manages to ruin their fucking plans perfectly, spotting her out before she can succeed in killing the proctor and Buddy. Instead she has to kill Buddy and let Oisin take her away before the Bad Kids can do anything. So of course the Bad Kids get a literal perfect score on The Last Stand, and now they've all aced their classes for the whole year.

It's junior year and they're summoning a dead god. It's junior year and they find out as they're casting the spell, that the name they'd gotten was fucking wrong. It's junior year and despite all their preparations the Bad Kids have managed to get to the gymnasium with all their stupid fucking votes. It's junior year and Kipperlily is at least going to kill Riz. It's junior year and Riz literally dives into lava.

It's junior year and Kipperlily's going to kill Riz. He thinks he's hiding, but she can see him, and she's going to have to close with him, but this is her opportunity, and then she's in the air, and he's got her in a hold person spell, and she's falling, and she's in the lava, and it's so hot, and it burns, and then it's all gone.

It's junior year and Kipperlily is dead. It's junior year and she's in a world of crystal spines and lava, and in the reflections of the crystals, Kipperlily can see everything. She sees herself in those wretched meetings with jawbone, kicking at the leg of the chair, and she can see Jawbone asking her every fucking time, what can she do to become a better adventurer. As if it was ever in her control. As if she ever could have done anything. As if it wasn't all about her backstory the whole time. As if she weren't the boring daughter of two boring people. As if she had ever had a chance.

"Did you ever try?" She hears a voice ask. And then Ankarna is there. The god that she tried so hard to kill. "Did you ever really try to become a better adventurer, or did you just wait for it to happen to you?"

"I did everything I could!" Kipperlily insists. "It's unfair, why should they get all the advantages?"

"Were they really ever advantages? Or did you just decide they were?"

"You think those idiots deserved their success? All they ever do is screw around!"

"That is not what I have seen of them. Nor have I seen any better of you. Of course, you did your schoolwork and you did it to the letter, but when did you ever challenge yourself? When did you ever take a risk? When did you ever seek out a task that was more than what you felt certain you would succeed at? Would you have even have the courage to take part in Porter's plan if he had not personally trained you, ensured that you were all as powerful as possible? You insist that the Bad Kids are only successful because of their tragic history, but what of Gorgug? There is not one thing in his past that drives him and yet he has succeeded at doing things no one else has ever managed." Ankarna stares long and hard at her, and then she is gone and Kipperlily is alone again. With nothing in her death but her own thoughts to keep her company.

[radiocity]

The L Word | S2E01

[possamble]

I absolutely really need to be writing anything but random ideas while I procrastinate and this is so awful rough bc I literally wrote it on my phone in one sitting while avoiding work but

Do you see my vision. Her Nosy Bitch Syndrome would actually be good for him when they've both chilled out a little in the postcanon.

[marblerose-rue]

click for better quality!

whaddaya think makes tracks like that? / needletail and violetpaw