#for God forbid he actually still keeps using us and it's twisted at the very end of the game.

[squid-procrow]

SPOILERS !! Digging into gale's BG

I've done wayy to much data mining and thinking about this man-

Isn't it funny how he knows a lot about netherese magic? Isn't it hysterical that he knows karsus by name?? How about him usurping the goddess of magic, sounds REAL familiar 🤔

throw in why would you curse someone with a BOMB if they weren't somehow involved with said bomb before hand.

if you listen to his version of karsus's story...

hmmmmm that dialogue sounds really funny now.

[bunitivity]

Sanji hemming and hawing to himself about his sudden inexplicable crush on Usopp in the kitchen late one night only for Luffy to walk in on him and hear everything. And he’s like great now everyone is going to know and tries to threaten him into silence despite knowing full well that Luffy cannot keep a secret to save his life. And Luffy is like relax I would never tell on you and I can keep a secret as long as no one asks point blank and who in the world would even ask him something like that if ever lol.

“Sometimes I forget that you can be mature sometimes.”

“Thanks.” Luffy grins as he picks his nose.

“You’ve the grossest man I’ve met.”

Luffy just laughs.

This turns into Sanji now confiding in Luffy about all his love troubles big and mundane whether it be about the fact that he accidentally brushed fingers with Usopp or some other lovesick Sanji nonsense. Luffy is not thrilled at first because of his short attention span and restless energy but fortunately Sanji quickly figures out just how to keep him around long enough to get things off his chest with just the right amount of finger foods.

So it starts with Luffy just sticking around just for the food and then because there’s something so fascinating endearing even about seeing Sanji actually in love. It’s so different from the way he usually fawns over women. So much more vulnerable and earnest and Luffy can’t just look away. So much so he even sticks around after Sanji has stopped feeding him snacks which is his usual signal that Luffy can go now.

He also finds that he really really likes hearing about Usopp through Sanji’s eyes because he’s usually right and true. Usopp really is the most amazing most perfect person ever. And he tells Sanji as much. Talking about the things he personally likes about Usopp. “I just really like his laugh and making him laugh and stuff like that.”

Sanji stops cold.

“Wait are you in love with him??”

Luffy’s first answer is “No” then “wait” then he thinks about it for a few seconds and goes “oh yeah I guess I am.”

“You guess??”

“Never really thought about it before.”

Sanji puts his head on the table. “I cannot believe this.”

Luffy blinks dumbfounded still licking his empty plate. “Hwat?”(what?”)

“I cannot believe you would do this to me.”

“Do what?”

“I trusted you!”

Now Luffy is truly and well lost. “Sanji?”

“Do you even know what any of this means?”

Luffy knows nothing. “I don’t think I understand anything.”

Sanji whips up his head to glare at him. “That means we’re love rivals!”

Luffy frowned. “You mean like you and Zoro?”

“No! God forbid! What I mean is that we can’t both like Usopp!”

”Why not?”

“Because he can only like one of us obviously.”

Luffy frowns. “Says who?”

“Says everyone!”

Luffy just wrinkles his nose and picks the crumbs off his plate.

“Which means!” Sanji continues. “That we can’t have any of these secret rendezvous anymore since we’re enemies now.”

“Nooo! But I love my little secret snack time with Sanji! They’re always so fun!”

Sanji’s heart gives an involuntary skip but then he twists his lips. “You’re just saying that because I always give you food.”

“That’s true but-“

“Get. Out.”

Then he very unceremoniously kicks Luffy out of his kitchen.

They don’t spend time apart for too long because Luffy is a fucking pest who won’t leave him alone and he plays dirty by sending Usopp as an intermediary to fix things between them and how could Sanji say no to him? (he does very loudly and harshly at first just to waylay any suspicions that he might be soft on him before folding almost immediately after). He might also have missed Luffy’s company just a tiny bit but he would sooner fall on one of mosshead’s stupid swords than admit to any of that.

Now that they know they’re both in love with Usopp their little rendezvous changes from Sanji just one sidedly talking at Luffy yapping away about his feelings to Luffy actively participating. He doesn’t talk as much nor wax as poetically about all of Usopp’s virtues like Sanji does but he does learn a lot about Usopp through him. The more childish and rambunctious side that Luffy brings out whenever they’re together and just falls that much more for him.

Also seeing the usual very unaffected and confident Luffy so aware of his feelings(and blushing! Something he never thought would ever see) just plucked on his heartstrings. Spending time with his quote unquote love rival turned out to be a lot more fun than Sanji could ever have anticipated.

There’s an easy camaraderie underlined by something more as they fall back into their old routine. Expanding beyond their(Sanji’s) hopeless romance. Just growing closer and becoming more fond of each other.

But then everything comes crashing down all at once.

Sanji is just watching them one day. Luffy and Usopp being chaotic and fucking insufferable. He sees the way Usopp’s eyes shines and the way he smiles at Luffy and realizes oh he’s in love with him.

Sanji knows he should be happy for him. He knows Luffy would be if the shoe were on the other foot. But he just can’t. He feels utterly betrayed and so fucking devastated and Sanji just hates him. Any fond feelings that he might have been growing for his captain shrivels up and dies.

Luffy is surprised when Sanji suddenly shuts him out of nowhere. He can tell it’s way worse than it was last time but at least last time he had known why Sanji had been pissed at him. Last time he was at least talking to him if only to tell him to fuck off. Now there’s just this veneer of professionalism as Sanji keeps him at arm’s length as if they’re nothing more than captain and cook. Acting as if he’s nothing more than a subordinate who just works for him. Calling him captain in that cold and detached way and never by his name. And Luffy hates it.

So of course he has to confront him about it.

It takes a lot of cajoling to get it out of him but Sanji eventually gives and lays into him about his absolute betrayal and cusses him out for getting ahead of him and making him look like a fool because he might not know but Usopp was definitely in love with him. But then he sees the look on Luffy’s face and something in Sanji just breaks. 

“You knew.” Luffy tries to look away but Sanji pushes. “You already knew he liked you.”

Luffy finally looks at him grimacing. “Why does it matter?”

Oh that hurts. 

“Because that means that you two are going to date now and there won’t be any room for me.”

“No!” Luffy looks aghast and tries to reach for him and Sanji flinches away. “There’s always going to be a room for you!”

There’s something about the way he says that that has Sanji’s heart seizing up but surely not?

“Luffy do you…like me?”

And then he smiles like Sanji had hung all the stars in the night sky and Sanji has to clutch his chest to prevent his treacherous heart from bursting free and leaping right into Luffy’s thieving hands. Fuck.

“Of course.”

“And not in a friend way but-“

“Sanji.” He stills him so easily with just the strength his voice and a gentle hand on his cheek. “I love you.”

Hearing him actually say it does unimaginable things to Sanji’s heart he might actually keel over and die.

But then he remembers and he retreats from Luffy’s hand. “And you love Usopp.”

“Yes I love all of you. Sanji, Usopp and Zoro.”

“Zoro? Zoro?? Where the fuck did Zoro come from???”

Luffy gives him a funny look. “Zoro has always been there.”

“You can’t-you can’t just do this-date all of us at the same time!”

“Says who?”

There’s this question again. Does he really think he can just do whatever he wants whenever he wants? Of course he does. It’s Luffy.

“Because then it wouldn’t mean anything. If you really love someone you would want them to feel special and loved. You would want to put them before anyone and anything. They should be your everything. There’s a reason people look for The One.”

Sanji doesn’t like the way Luffy looks at him. Like he’s seeing Sanji hadn’t meant him to.

Luffy shakes his head and is about to say something more bullheaded and untrue but Sanji can’t hear any more of this. Of his wild fantasies. He doesn’t like the way it gets his hopes up. It’s just cruel.

“Just choose me.”

“What? But what about Usopp and-“

“I’ll always love him but Usopp obviously doesn’t like me but you like me and I like you so-“

“You like me?” The dismay that had been slowly building on Luffy’s face is immediately washed away and replaced by that bright brilliant smile and Sanji can’t help but blush as he feels all that adoration suddenly shine down on him.

“Yes. So instead of all these needless complications and love triangles -love squares?- We should just keep it simple and date each since we already know that we like each other.”

All that adoration and fondness abruptly ebbs away and Sanji is left standing cold and adrift.

“But-“

“Luffy,” Sanji takes his hands and forces himself to look into his clear and steadfast eyes. “Just choose me.”

Sanji sees the indecision in Luffy’s eyes and knows. He could never choose just him.

What else could Sanji have expected from the man who took the world by storm. Who seeks to stand atop of the world. Luffy wants to be the freest man in the world of course he wouldn’t just settle for Sanji. No one ever does. It’s so arrogant of him to think he could ever deserve all of the love and the attention of the man who is destined to be king of the pirates.

So Sanji lets go and walks away.

Of course it’s in that moment that he walks in on Zoro and Usopp hooking up and just screams.

[rodricksfilipinagf]

Sharing A Bed (Jamie Tartt x Reader)

  I arrive home from work expecting to curl up into bed and read a new adult romance book when I feel an unexpected chill in the apartment. Oh no. It’s winter. This shouldn’t be happening. Is there a power outage? I flicker the lights on and off. They still work. Fuck. Is this like, a building-wide thing? There’s only one way to find out, and that’s to ask my closest neighbor. Ughhhh, fuck. There goes my relaxing night.

         When Jamie answers the door, he’s wearing a comfortable gray sweatshirt and doesn’t look at all distressed. “What? You didn’t have enough to yell at me about today?”

         “My heater isn’t working…and I’m guessing yours is fine.”

         “Yeah, mine works.” He looks at me smugly. “Do you want to hang out at my place until they come to repair yours?”

         I think it over. I could easily stay at a hotel, but my stuff is right next door, and I’m too lazy to pack.

         “Unless, of course, you’re scared to hang out with me.” His brow raises challengingly.

         I roll my eyes. “Seriously? Why would I be scared of you? You’re just annoying and a raging dickhead.”

         “Takes one to know one. Look, I’ll keep my door open. Just get what you need and spend the night here until your place gets fixed.”

         Why is he doing this? What is his angle? My laziness and curiosity win out. I let out a sigh. “You’re lucky my son has a sleepover tonight.”

         “Great, now so will you,” he says fake cheerfully. “This is probably the highlight of your social life here.”

         He’s such a dick. “I’m getting my stuff,” I say. Fuck you, I say internally a million times.

                                                        ~

         Nobody can fix my apartment until tomorrow morning. Guess I really am spending the night at the enemy’s flat. Maybe I should look into getting a hotel. Especially since Jamie shows no indication of leaving me alone. “I used to talk to a lingerie model and she left a couple sets here. If you put one on, I wouldn’t complain.”

         It’s just like him to objectify me like that. “I bet you wouldn’t,” I say. Though there’s a very, very small part of me that wonders if he’s not joking. If he thinks I could actually pull those off. And of course he’s been with lingerie models.  “I’m going to bed, because I’m sick of talking to you. Hope you don’t mind.”

         “Yeah, about that. There’s only one bed in this flat and it’s mine,” he smiles innocently.

         Fuck. My. Life.

                                                        ~

         “So why’d you come here?” He asks as we’re on opposite sides of his gargantuan bed.  I’m determined to stay as far away from him as possible. “To England?”

         “Why do you want to know?” I ask. “Do you actually care about getting to know me?”

         “You didn’t know anything about the team or about me,” he says.

         “Yeah, and God forbid someone not know about you,” I say. “Working in luxury fashion marketing is my dream, okay? It’s not some joke the way you seem to think it is.”

         “I never said it was.” He studies his fingertips.

         “You didn’t have to. You never take anything seriously and you’re always trying to undermine my authority or laugh at me. You’re a real fucking jerk.”

         “If it makes you feel better I always feel like crap afterwards,” he confesses.

         Well, that was a plot twist. I wasn’t expecting him to be that real with me. “Well then why do you do it?” I ask.

         He’s silent for a long while, and judging by his face, he’s actually taking my question seriously. “You know how I’m the best player on this team?” ….Or maybe I was wrong.

         “Why did I actually think I was getting a serious answer out of you?” I shake my head.

         “No, just shut up and let me finish,” he says. He’s all kinds of rude, but something inside me also wants to hear him out. “I wasn’t even allowed to play back in Manchester. They benched me. The only time I got to play there was as a substitute. That’s why they loaned me out. That’s how much they didn’t want me.”

         I wonder what that version of Jamie was like- the one that didn’t get attention or glory.  Was he humbler? More tolerable to be around? Because what would he be basing his ego on?

I have to stop myself from saying “I’m sorry.” This was Jamie we were talking about. He could stand to be humbled. Maybe it was good that he knew that there were others that were better than him.

         “And then I got loaned out here, and I was the best player by far, and I liked it. I liked that people got to see what I can do. What I worked so hard to get to do. I guess I let it get to me. The fame, the….everyone thinking what I wanted them to. That I was a star.” His head shifts to look at me. 

         “Yeah, I get that,” I say. “You shouldn’t be rude to other people though. Do you even have any real friends?”

         “No,” he says simply. “I guess not.”

         “What about relationships? Anything long term?” I ask.

         “Not really. My longest was six months. Why the sudden interest in my dating life?”

         I duck his gaze. “Just trying to figure out why you’re a dick to everyone around you.”

         “I’m great with women,” he counters. “Especially in bed.”

         I can’t help but smile at that. There’s something about him that’s almost charming. “I’d disagree with you but I don’t have proof.”

         He smirks. “You want some?”

         He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean it. “So this is why you invited me over? To seduce me?”

         “Depends. Did it work?” he asks softly.

         There’s nothing I want more in this moment than to fuck him. I feel hot and I’m aware of every feeling in my body. But wait!!! I’m supposed to hate him!! Why is this happening? I’ve found him attractive ever since seeing him in that ad on the plane. But he can’t know that. I can’t have sex with him. He’s a dick to everyone and all he’s done since I’ve gotten here is try to make my life miserable. I wanted a meaningless hookup for the holiday season, and I feel like anything I do with Jamie will be anything but meaningless. It will be fueled with hatred, and passion, and I already know it will be so addicting that I won’t want to go back to the US. Where my life is. Where my son’s life is.

         I could hate fuck the shit out of Jamie. I know I could, and I know I’d have the best time doing it. But it’s better to not experience something great. That way it’s better to leave it…right?

         “Nope,” I say, moving away from him, trying my best to keep my voice even. “Nothing you do will make me not hate you.”

         He rolls his eyes. “Bullshit. You were into that.”

         “I know that you think that every woman you come across wants you-“

         “Yeah, I do, cause it’s true. And you’re one of them,” he says cockily.

         “Maybe you’re the one that’s into me,” I counter. “You’re the one who made up a stupid lie to get me to sleep next to you. And it’s so obvious too. You’re so juvenile and immature. How can you possibly think I’d like you?”

         “I see the way you look at me.” He doesn’t say anything for a long time, so I assume he finally went to sleep. So when he says, “I’ll get you to admit it,” I’m a little shocked.

         “What makes you think you will?” I ask, too taken aback to pretend too be asleep myself.

         “I don’t give up. So…have fun with that. Cause I will.”

[satancopilotsmytardis]

194 for the smut prompts bc Dabi is the most baby gurl of all even tho he doesn't know it lol

Prompt: 194. "You can take it like a good girl, right?"

Pairing: ShigaDabi

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: BDSM, Feminization, Humiliation, Lingerie, Multiple Orgasms, Subspace, Biting, Mild Blood Play, Hand/Finger Kink, Rimming, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Overstimulation, Creampie, Dacryphilia

It's honestly a miracle that he finishes his work early in the afternoon, honestly a shock that Duster has apparently also finished for the day, because his lover is in their room, already changed out of his suit, when he comes in. 

"Don't you have a million things to do, oh grand commander?" He asks, throwing his coat over the back of a chair and plopping down on the couch in their little sitting area beside his lover. Surprised to find him on his phone instead of his handheld console if he really is finished working. 

"Mm, have a million things that can wait until tomorrow while I dote on you, firefly." He twists so he can press a kiss to the top of his head and Dabi presses in closer to get one against his lips too. Gets that kiss and then Duster goes right back to scrolling on his phone. 

"I am not feeling very doted on right now, Shig." 

"Still going to spoil you, just trying to pick out a new present for you, baby." 

"Thought the doc said you weren't allowed to give me any more nomu after what happened to the last two?" 

"Other kind of present, Dabi." 

Really glad that his face is so heavily scarred because he would be blushing to the tips of his ears otherwise. Has a whole drawer and section of their closet full of 'presents' from Tomura. Everything from plugs and cockrings to lingerie and spreader bars. Can't tell if Duster loves spoiling him or if he just loves watching Dabi blush and squirm until he puts his new presents to good use. 

"Also want to get you a new collar, baby." 

And that distracts him from his embarrassment, perking up. Lost the last one during his fight with Geten, burned too hot for the leather to survive. Was just a dog collar, best they could do while they were on the run and low on funds, but Tomura lets him peek at the phone and he sees that he's browsing a custom shop for the accessory. Already got him a new day collar, but it's really just a thin black choker, just a flimsy piece of jewelry. He's happy to wear it, of course, loves anything that marks him as Tomura's, but he has been missing having a real collar that his lover can yank on and use while they're scening. The ones on this site are the thicker style with embellishments, ones with pulls to choke him, spikes, extra chains, the heavier type that he likes but only wants to wear for Duster in private. 

"Thank you, sir," Nuzzles in and presses kisses along the side of his neck.  

"Do you want 'firefly' or 'baby' on your tag?" Oh. Dabi hesitates and of course Tomura notices. "Or something else?" 

Worries at a staple piercing through his cheek as he considers, "Want something that you only use for me when we're playing." Duster waits for him to think about it, other hand straying to his hair and stroking through the locks and dragging lightly over his scalp. Had asked him when they first got together if he had anything he wanted to be called and he hadn't known so he told Duster to just call him whatever. Shig had mostly stuck with 'firefly' and 'baby', sometimes peppered in a 'sweetheart' or 'darling', occasionally 'brat' or 'whore' when he was misbehaving. But nothing else really stuck for him. "How'd you settle on 'sir' and not 'master' or, god forbid, 'daddy'?"

Gets a little tug at his hair in retaliation, but then Tomura lowers his phone and actually gives his question his full attention. "Tried other things," tugs again when Dabi opens his mouth, "Yes that too, with other subs. Different ones had different preferences coming from their previous doms. None of it felt right." 

"Was really hoping you'd have better insight than 'vibes', Shig."

"You keep this up and I'm going to be punishing you instead of spoiling you once I'm finished with this, brat." Dabi manages to keep his mouth shut and Duster continues, "Different for everyone, but for me, it's about what I wanted it to feel like having that power over my sub. Didn't like 'daddy' because thinking about family in any way took me out of it. I didn't like 'master' either because I don't want my sub to be a slave. Like controlling you, but not all the time. 'Sir' is just the right amount of deference, can use it in every scene, and it can be used in public without raising any eyebrows. Depends on what you want to get out of hearing me say what you pick, baby. Know you like it when I make you feel special," has Shig pressing in then, lips against the shell of his ear, "my pretty firefly," embarrassing even something so small can have him shivering a little. "And like it when I remind you that the only reason I bother to give you any attention at all is because you're a convenient fuck. Easy too, greedy hole always begging to be stuffed up." More embarrassing that makes his whole body go a little hotter. Noticeably hotter if Duster's little chuckle is anything to go by. "Just have to find something that works for you, that will elevate one or both of those feelings, baby."

About to start really pestering Duster to get him being mean faster when Shig presses a kiss to his temple and passes over his phone.

"Here, they have some stock options too, why don't you look at those and see if any of them jump out for you?" 

"Okay," he takes it, and Tomura gives him some time to scroll through the list, actually picking up his console as he browses. Tempted to peek at what his lover already has in the cart, but he does like being surprised and trusts Duster to pick something he'll like. He starts to look through the options, a lot of them that he expects; slut, whore, brat, puppy, kitten, and over a dozen others. Scrolls through them and tries to imagine them on his lover's tongue, dismisses a lot of them because they're fine, but they don't elicit any kind of strong response. Is considering giving up and just getting 'baby' when he hesitates. Goes back over the ones he'd dismissed out of hand as not for him. The ones he thought would be humiliating to be called. Likes it when Tomura humiliates him. Would happily, has happily, let Shig tear his pride and dignity to ribbons time and time again. Never floats higher than after he does when he whispers the sweetest things against his skin while he's still sobbing and trembling.  

Thinks when he gets to the option that makes his skin go hot again he's probably found it. Of course Tomura notices he's not scrolling anymore, that his skin has gone hot again. Stops what he's doing, "Did you find something, firefly?" And tries to peer around to see the phone screen. Dabi shifts it quickly away from him, knows he's blushing. 

"If you make fun of me I'm going to set you on fire." 

"When have I ever made fun of you for anything you wanted to try in bed, sweetheart?" Never, but Dabi can't help how sharp his embarrassment goes as he finally passes the phone back over. Shig looks at the tag he picked and blinks. There's a slight pause before he looks back up and opens his mouth, 

"Immolation, Duster." 

"Not going to make fun of you, Dabi. Was just going to ask if you wanted to try it out before I place the order." 

Oh. Knows he's bright red despite his scars when he mumbles, "...Okay." 

Duster gives a pleased hum. "Why don't you go put on something pretty for me, firefly." It's not a suggestion even if it's framed like one, already playing, already desperate to behave for his lover. 

"Yes, sir. Which set?" 

"You can pick this time, I know you'll make the right choice." Which is such a fucking trap and he knows it. Gives him an easy excuse to be disappointed in him if he doesn't magically pick the one he wants, if he doesn't just change his mind for the hell of it anyway. 

And he just murmurs, "Yes, sir," happily accepts the soft kiss Tomura presses against the staple at the edge of his lips before he slips off the couch to go get changed. 

The array of lingerie that Duster's bought for him is pushed towards the back of their closet, someone would really need to be rooting around in here to find it and if they did, then being humiliated would definitely be the least of his problems. He has a few favorites despite himself. Had only ever started wearing it because Duster asked if he would, still doesn't wear it all the time, but occasionally Shig asks. Occasionally he puts it on without asking because just wearing it is a clear indication of where he wants his lover's filthy mouth to lean towards on the scale of praise and humiliation. Dabi starts to pick something out, hesitates. Fuck, already going to be embarrassing himself. It takes him a second to dig out the set. Has worn everything Tomura's gotten him except this. The soft pink lace of the babydoll top and the matching panties, embellished with tiny bows, had felt too feminine, even given the fact he was already wearing lingerie. Had nearly ignited with his embarrassment when he'd received it and promptly pushed it to the back of the closet. 

Dabi doesn't look at himself in the mirror once he pulls it on, doesn't want to see it. Is already flushed, the same thready nervousness that always comes before he plays with Duster starting to hum under his skin. Comes back into the room and finds his lover where he left him. Doesn't even look up at him as he moves over to the edge of the couch. Fucking, already playing, going to make him desperate for his attention even though he's already flushed and squirming. 

"Sir?" 

"Did I give you permission to speak, firefly?" Duster's tone is completely disinterested and cool, eyes still not even flicking towards him. Dabi immediately shuts his mouth and waits. But Shigaraki doesn't do anything else, focuses on continuing to browse on his phone. After a second, a nervous neediness building in his gut, Dabi gets a little closer. He doesn't sit back on the couch, instead moving to kneel between his lovers legs, head down, waiting. Feels like an eternity before Duster's hand goes to his hair again, soft light touches across his scalp that makes a little shiver go down his spine. Slowly starts to ease a little of his tension, relaxes him enough that he's able to wait to see what his lover has in store for him without squirming. And then three fingers trail along his temple and down his cheek. His eyelids flutter as three fingers become four as he traces along his staples, Duster's fingers cool and deadly every place they touch. 

He already knows that his brain is absolutely fucked, but it's never been more obvious than when he has Tomura's hands on him. The threat of mutilation, of death, is ever-present. Would just take the slightest slip and he would be gone. Hasn't ever slipped before, but he's felt the sting of Decay a few times now, and each time he's never cum harder, never floated higher in the aftermath. Shig doesn't do it very often, but the potential of having that again makes his skin buzzy. Has him letting out a breathy sigh as his fingers pass lightly over his lips. Dabi parts his lips just enough to flick his tongue over a fingertip, satisfaction humming through him when Duster stops, leaves his fingers pressed to his lips. He doesn't hesitate to press kisses along them, tongue flicking out too. Starts to work his mouth over his hand like he does his cock. Loves sucking Tomura's cock, loves doing this almost as much. Something so heady about wrapping his lips around his fingers and feeding them into his throat knowing that now, with his quirk awakened, even a single one could bring the sharp agony of oblivion. 

When his fingers press up against the roof of his mouth he thinks that pain is going to come for a second, but it doesn't. Instead he uses the leverage to make Dabi look up. Meets hot red eyes that are watching him so intensely that Dabi feels embarrassment color his cheeks again. He starts to pull away, but the fingers press in deeper, would have made him gag if he didn't know how to suppress that reaction so thoroughly. Instead the more insistent pressure against the back of his throat has him moaning softly, the sound turning into a thin whimper when Tomura chuckles lowly. 

"Always like having something in your mouth, don't you, baby girl?" 

Shame scorches across his nerves, his face, his whole body heating with it, only made worse when that heat pools lower and his cock starts to harden. Oh fuck. He is never going to live this down. His lover might not make fun of him but if anyone else ever finds out about this he is going to light himself on fire. Can't nod, can't speak with Tomura's fingers pressed deep into his throat, but he manages another little moan, as he sucks more insistently. 

His lover's eyes are bright with his delight, clearly enjoying the way he's starting to squirm. "So cute like this and you picked such a lovely set. Wanted to feel pretty for me, princess?" He pulls his fingers out of his mouth and Dabi tries to follow them. "You can speak now, baby girl." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Good girl," Oh fuck. His whole body goes even hotter, blushing so much he smells the smoke starting to trickle from his seams. "What color are you, baby?" 

"...green." Even more humiliating to admit that, to tell Tomura how hot this is making him. Maybe he doesn't have to because it feels like Duster's eyes are just as hot on him. 

"Come on, baby girl, let's go over to the bed. So pretty, want you all spread out for me." He's blushing as he gets to his feet but Tomura pulls him in as he does, presses kisses along his flushed skin as he starts to steer him towards the bed. Tomura trails his fingers under the edge of the top, kisses softly along his jaw and down his neck, touches so light that Dabi's whole body is thrumming with anticipation as his legs hit the edge of the bed. Knows that such soft touches means that there's going to be more coming soon. Duster watches him get onto the bed, eyes trailing over his skin hungrily, and Dabi tries to keep from flushing any darker. Drinks him in but doesn't get into the bed with him, doesn't keep touching him. Watches him until Dabi is doing his best not to squirm, feeling more vulnerable and exposed than he wants to admit to. 

"Sir?"

"What is it, princess?" And there's a slight mocking edge starting to tint his tone.

"...Touch me, please sir?" 

"Already so desperate for it, baby girl?" Definitely mocking him now, and the mean twist of his lips paired with that pet name has his cock hard and aching, straining visibly against the delicate panties. but Tomura does climb down into the bed with him and Dabi automatically spreads his legs, inviting his lover between them. Wants to close them immediately and set himself on fire when Tomura wraps a hand around the back of one of his thighs, thumb stroking along his staples, and gives a low, mean laugh. "Such a needy whore, aren't you, princess? Always so eager to spread your legs. Barely touched you and your pretty clit is so hard you can barely fit in your panties." 

His embarrassment spikes so sharply that he can't quell the heat or smoke, his cock absolutely too hard for how little Duster has done to him, visibly leaking as a little bloom of pre starts to soak into the fabric of his panties. For a dizzying second he wonders if Tomura has been waiting for this because the words come so easily for him, fall off his tongue the same way any of his others always have. Tomura looks delighted, catches his chin between his fingers before he can try to shift to hide his blush, and kisses him hard. Licks into his mouth, teeth and tongue demanding and all-consuming. Has him moaning loudly as he reaches to tangle his hands in his lover's hair when he feels Tomura's going against his skin. Drag down his side as the other runs up his thigh until his palm is pressed against his aching cock. Oh fuck, sparks going off behind his eyes, wants to cant his hips up for more friction, knows he's not allowed to. Expects the touch to be taken away, for his lover to mock and tease him for his reaction. 

But Tomura said he wanted to spoil him today. Keeps stroking him, mouth moving to nip at his jaw, sucks bruises no one will be able to see down his throat, the other hand pulling down his thin top so he can play with his nipples. Sends his nerves alight and starts to build his pleasure. Goes until, 

"Look at that, baby. Getting so wet for me, are you going to make a mess, princess?" 

"Please, Tomura," whimpering, doesn't know if he's allowed to. Doesn't know if he's going to be punished or rewarded as his hand keeps working over him, pre-cum soaking into the thin fabric as he drips against his palm. 

"You are, can tell from how hot you're getting and that lovely blush on your cheeks. So pretty in this one, baby girl, going to have you in it more." And the hand retreats from his cock and he whines at the loss, trying to pull his lover back. Tomura laughs at his desperation, but presses a kiss to his cheek, then both hands are at his hips, coaxing them up. Dabi lifts readily and lets his lover slip the fabric over his hips and pull the wet panties down his legs. He kicks them off and as soon as the fabric is free, Tomura is wrapping his hand around his cock properly, rubbing along his piercings exactly the way he likes. Has his back arching as his pleasure races along his nerves as his lover starts to stroke him in earnest. Moves hard and fast, the way he does when they're between meetings, when they only have time for something fast. The kind of movements that have him sprinting towards his orgasm instead of forcing it away to the very edge of their play. A litany of little moans and gasps are falling from his lips, making it so hard to speak, 

"Ah, ah, please sir, please,"

"Like having my hand on your clit, don't you, sweetheart?" Dabi whimpers, the words making him drip more steadily, pushes his orgasm even closer. 

He manages a desperate nod. 

Tomura shifts, lips brushing against the shell of his ear, strokes going lighter, "You know you need to use your words, baby girl." 

Can't make himself open his mouth again until the touches stop, and even then has to take a gasping, hungry breath in the hopes of steadying himself enough to speak without igniting, "Feels good, sir, please, feels so good to have your hand on my clit," his voice trembles, face flushed hot enough he's afraid his staples are going to start burning.  Moans so loudly as he starts to move again. "Please, sir. Close, please let me--" 

"So cute like this. Of course you can cum, my good girl." Glad he got permission because he can't stop himself from going over the edge, pleasure crashing through him as he spills his release all over Duster's hand. 

Is still trembling through the aftershocks of that when Tomura shifts, more soft kisses along his cheek, trailing to his lips. Dabi kisses him back the best he can as he tries to catch his breath, hands tugging weakly at the hem of his shirt. His lover lets him pull it off as Dabi starts to squirm, Shig's hand still working slowly over his cock, smearing him with his cum, making the slide of it easier even as he stings with the stirrings of overstimulation.

Turns into more than stirrings when his lover doesn't stop even as he lets out a sharper sound of distress as he pulls at his piercings the way he usually likes, but that is way too much so quickly after his orgasm. 

"Sir,"

"My pretty girl, wonder how many times you can cum," his hand moving a little faster as he speaks, the overstimulation going sharply unpleasant, has him whimpering and trying to shift away. Not a girl, can't go again so soon. 

Tomura doesn't give him a choice though. Keeps stroking him until his breath hitches on a weak sob before he pulls his hand away. Doesn't get more than a few seconds to be relieved before Shigaraki is moving down his body, hands wrapping around his thighs and lifting him easily, rolling his weight higher and spreading his legs even wider as his whole body goes even hotter as his lover nips and kisses along his thighs, trailing lower. Nearly ignites when he murmurs against his skin, 

"Been so long since I've tasted your cunt, princess." Barely gets a chance for breath before Duster's mouth is against him, tongue licking over his hole and sending a jolt of pleasure through him. Can't even tell if the pleasure spiraling out across his nerves is from the humiliation of being called that, of being treated like this, or the actual sensation of Tomura's tongue flicking over him, teasing at his entrance. Hasn't had this in a while because it's a reward and Dabi can barely ever behave. But Duster wants him spoiled and he begins to eat him out with the same patient methodical dedication as he does everything else in bed. Doesn't start to press his tongue inside of him until he's shivering, his cock starting to harden again, and he's making short desperate gasps as he tangles a hand in his hair. Pretty sure that Tomura likes to eat him out as much as Dabi likes to suck his cock, also knows exactly how to flick his tongue over him, how to push it in, how slow and how fast to go to have Dabi sobbing and trembling, his thighs shaking hard in his grip, and feeling like he's going to fall apart. 

The pleasure starts to build again, until his cock is hard again, sticky with his cum and curved up against his stomach. Is expecting Duster to stop, to get him wet, and stretched, and needy and then stop so that he can fuck him hard. But he doesn't stop. Keeps eating him out as his hand wraps back around his cock again and starts to stroke him again. Makes him gasp and whine, his cock starting to drip, the pleasure building so insistently along his seams that he's afraid he's going to tear open around it. Is babbling the closer he gets, begging, not even sure what for, doesn't know if he wants to cum again or if he wants Duster to slow down so he can cum on his cock, just knows that if Tomura keeps this up he's going to fall apart again. 

Duster keeps working his tongue inside of him and his hand over him, doesn't let up until his muscles are going tight again and Dabi is cumming with his lover's name on his tongue. Duster eases up a little, goes slower, but still doesn't stop. His limbs are all heavy and weak from the aftershocks of his pleasure, can only lay under the other man, whimpering, little hitches of sobs breaking out of his chest as Tomura keeps working him over. Doesn't even protest this time. Can't. Head floating and far off, absolutely lost to the sensations that his lover is giving his body. When his mouth finally leaves him Dabi thinks he'll be able to breathe for a moment, but then his hand is reaching, pulls the lube from the nightstand and he's whimpering again as Shig's mouth moves to his thighs. Starts to pepper the sensitive skin with nibbles and kisses. 

Doesn't push his first finger inside until he's got his teeth settled in his skin hard enough to bring up little beads of blood. But then his fingers are inside, already loose and wet from his mouth and orgasm, gets them inside and stroking against his prostate. 

"Tomura," his voice is so thin that he barely recognizes it, hard to find his tongue when he's so foggy and everything has already been so much. 

"I know, baby girl, but you're doing such a good job," Licks away a little of the blood on his thigh before he moves back up his body as he sinks another finger inside of him. Kisses and words pressing against his throat as he does. Has Dabi squirming and sighing, so much, the pleasure pulling him so deep into the heady fog of his subspace. "I just want to keep making you feel good, princess, you're going to keep letting me, won't you?" 

He gives a weak nod, shifting a little to try and catch Tomura's mouth. He allows it, kissing him, blood still lingering on his tongue. Dabi sighs against his mouth, the sound blooming into a thready moan as he rocks back on his lover's fingers as he strokes over his prostate. Hurts when his cock starts to stir again, but this time his lover doesn't keep stroking him through that. Eases off of him, starts to lessen the pressure inside of him. 

"That's it, being so sweet for me, baby girl." Lets out a thin moan at the words, knows his lover felt his muscles tightened around his fingers, his eyes drenched with his own lust. "Like that so much, don't you, princess? So proud of you for finally figuring out what you want. So happy to have you be my good girl. Going to make you fall apart so many times that even your greedy cunt and clit won't be desperate anymore."  

"Please, sir." His limbs are weak and heavy, but he still manages to grind back against his lover's fingers. So much already, but wants Duster's cock. Has made him feel so good, wants to do the same for his lover. 

"You can take it like a good girl, right?" 

Whimpers, a flush painting his cheeks again as he gives a little nod, Tomura's tone mocking against his throat as his fingers pull out until they're just barely inside. Leave him empty when he tries to rock onto them. "...want to make you feel good, sir." He admits, trying to hide his flushed face against his lover's chest. His fingers circling his rim again teasingly. 

"Yeah? And how do you want to do that, baby girl?"

"...Want your cock in my cunt." 

Pretty sure his lover likes that as much as he does because he's catching him in another rough kiss, fingers pulling away from his hole and one hand spreading his legs even wider as the other goes to the button and clasp of his pants. Through the wonderful fog he's in, Dabi feels a sharper sting of anticipation. Already feels so good himself, half-drunk on the pleasure his lover is spoiling him with. Knows that it's only going to become even more overwhelming when his lover starts to fuck him. 

Doesn't have to wait much longer for it before the slick head of his cock is starting to tease his rim. "Tomura," 

Gets another kiss peppered on the edge of his lips as he starts to sink inside. The press of him against his already oversensitive walls has his whole body arching and trembling, smoke and broken little moans slipping from his lips. His lover doesn't give him long to adjust, knows he doesn't need it when his fingers and tongue and the echoes of his own pleasure have him so pliant and ready for whatever Tomura wants to give him. Starts to move, fucking him slow and hard. Dabi's hands scrabble over the sheets, end up curled around the headboard so that he doesn't slip with his quirk as he tries his best to find something to anchor his floating head. 

"Fuck, princess, never get tired of how hot your pretty cunt gets when I have you like this," his lover murmurs, hitching one of his legs higher so he can go even deeper on the next thrust, his other finding the edge of one of his scars, dragging his fingernails just over his staples. Has his temperature creeping up even higher. More embarrassing because his lover laughs at him when he feels it and Dabi's cock twitches, drooling pre as he's mocked. But it all feels so good. Always feels good, doesn't always get spoiled like this, but Tomura always makes sure he feels good even when he's misbehaving. But this is different, this is more. Always has a filthy mouth but these words are ratcheting up his pleasure even higher than usual as his lover fucks him so deep. So full of him, head so full of this wonderful fog that he can't even tell if he's still crying. Just knows that each time he tries to meet his lover's thrusts he's struggling, limbs so weak from his orgasms. 

Tomura said to find something that would elevate the feelings, thinks he's definitely found it when that intoxicating thready shame stinging at his nerves surges even higher when he manages to gasp, "Tomura," doesn't have to beg for him to keep talking. Knows that his words can bring him over the edge as well as his cock can. Knows that Dabi always wants both when he's being fucked like this. 

"So cute like this, baby. Love seeing you so messy and hazy. Been such a good girl for me," Gives his own low groan when Dabi's muscles tighten around him as he speaks. "Oh, baby girl, like that so much. Going to keep letting you be my good girl. Going to have you wear your new collar out so everyone knows how much you like that." 

Definitely sobbing again as his orgasm starts to build again. Can smell burning too, knows that he's leaving fresh handprints on the headboard, knows he doesn't want anyone else to see him like this, to hear Duster talk to him this way. But he's achingly hard and so, so full, can't really think clearly through both sensations. Just knows he'd do anything to keep having Tomura spoil him like this. Would take any humiliation his lover would heap on him if he always makes it feel like this. "Yes, sir, yours. Your good girl, show everyone, please sir," absolutely drunk on the pleasure, crying out loudly when his lover starts to move harder, faster, at his babbling. Has him gasping and moaning with every hard thrust, "Tomura please, fill up my cunt, please, want your cum inside--" 

"Dabi," never gets his lover to slip, to call him his name while they're scening. Not prepared for the heady rush that goes through him at that. Sends him over his peak again, cumming hard and staining his top, muscles going so tight around his lover who still doesn't relent. Keeps fucking him hard through his orgasm until he's crying even harder with the overstimulation. Can barely breathe when Duster slams in on one last rough thrust and spills all along his walls.

Can't move at all, limbs jelly, after so much. Only lays there sniffling and panting, trying to get his breath back into his starving lungs as his lover starts to pepper his skin with soft, lazy kisses as he gently strokes along his arms, coaxing his hands from around the headboard. His arms tremble a little as they fall back to the pillows beside his head. When he's let go, Tomura pulls out of him and shifts back, eyes dragging over him again, still filled with heat. Dabi wonders how much of a mess he looks like when he feels so absolutely gone. Knows he's sticky with cum, his own painted over his stomach and the hem of the babydoll top, still pulled low enough to expose his chest, blush and tears staining his cheeks, Tomura's bite mark bleeding on his thigh, his cum leaking out of his hole. But clearly Tomura likes seeing him like this. Gets more kisses and soft touches. Doesn't seem to be trying to work him up again. Doesn't know if he'd even be able to manage it if he was, just lavishing him with affection and attention. 

Still spoiling him by letting him stay in his fog as he helps to clean him up and get him settled again, lets him cuddle in close. Deadly hands on his skin in the softest way as he pets along his back and hair. Takes a long time for him to find his voice, 

"Absolutely not wearing that in front of anyone else."

"You seemed so enthusiastic about it a little while ago, princess," and Duster definitely sounds a little mocking again as he says it, but he's too tired for the humiliation to do anything more for him. Weakly knocks his knuckles against his lover's chest. Tomura gives a soft laugh and presses a kiss to his hair. "That's fine, Dabi. You're sure you want it?" 

Is still blushing as he hides his face and gives a little nod, mumbling against his lover's skin, "I will set you on fire if you ever call me that where other people can hear." Tomura hums in acknowledgement, as private as him when it comes to their sex life no matter how much he likes to tease while working him up. Blushes a little hotter when he remembers, "Thank you for spoiling me, sir."

"You're welcome, baby girl," fuck. Absolutely mortifying how that sends another little jolt of pleasure weakly across his nerves. Knows Tomura feels his temperature go a little higher because it gets another soft chuckle out of him. "Why don't you change, baby? I'll order us dinner and if you want me to keep spoiling you later, we can see about that too, princess." 

"Yes sir," 

"Good girl." Absolutely mortifying. 

Definitely going to need Tomura to spoil him again if he keeps this up.

[canonically47]

review?

guys i absolutely love disventure camp it has done nothing wrong ever and everything is perfect

or:

disventure camp all stars episode 10: all’s fair in love and paintball - review

SPOILERS!!! (but you knew that)

the jake slander was AMAZING. i am so petty LMFAO but seeing everyone just give him shit? amazing. 10/10. life-changing. here are some awesome screenshots of aiden being his biggest hater, excluding ones i have already shared:

god i love aiden.

anyways yul had one good line and was absolutely abused this episode, great to see as always!!

this episode was actually super enjoyable. this is the happiest i’ve been watching DCAS in a while. it is still their weakest season by far and like, tomjake still take the most screentime which is infuriating, but also, this episode is the best since episode 6.

the villains’ strategy is amazing and seeing alec plot and scheme behind the twinks’ backs is so satisfying. i love alec and riya’s duo so much.

i think the show was expecting tears and sadness at emily’s lay-off and us feeling hopeful for trevek, but we haven’t seen derek in like five episodes so whatever idc. i miss the queen tho. she always says what i want to. truly the aro aceflux lesbian of all time next to me

i did NOT expect that twist. i was getting ready for them to vote off aiden because god forbid they don’t keep tomjake in, but ASHLEY!!! i was just starting to like her too!! and not because she told jake to cram it of course but because uhhh because she ummm errr well she uhhh she breathes at one point i’m pretty sure and uhhh errrrmmm well you see uhhh ummm her farm burnt down

i find it so funny how tom and jake are acting like this when they are 30 and 27 respectively. grown ass men with puppy eyes and quivering voices talking about a hook-up from two years ago. men used to go to war

anyways very good episode, 9/10, we can finally see some of those season 1 vibes with the good strategy and season 2 shines through even more with the petty drama

also i’ve heard tom and aiden’s VAs are involved in the writing process so no wonder the love triangle is still here and getting so much of a focus. sneak alec’s VA into the writers room too cmon guys i need my fav to have screentime

leaving this pic of jake in despair here because i love when he realizes his actions have consequences:

[ill-try-to-do-book-reviews]

The Cabin at the End of the World

Paul Tremblay

RATING: 🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯 (5/5)

The Cabin at the End of the World is a horrifying tale of homophobia, cultism, and perhaps even Catholic guilt. It has a slow start, but when it picks up speed, it absolutely does not stop. No matter where you are in this book, you will not figure out the ending. You will find yourself questioning if maybe this little pseudo-cult is right, and you will wonder up until the very end about who, if anyone, is going to make it out of this story alive.

SUMMARY: "Seven-year-old Wen and her parents, Eric and Andrew, are vacationing at a remote cabin on a quiet New Hampshire lake. Their closest neighbors are more than two miles in either direction along a rutted dirt road.

One afternoon, as Wen catches grasshoppers in the front yard, a stranger unexpectedly appears in the driveway. Leonard is the largest man Wen has ever seen, but he is young, friendly, and he wins her over almost instantly. Leonard and Wen talk and play until Leonard abruptly apologizes and tells Wen, “None of what’s going to happen is your fault.” Three more strangers then arrive at the cabin carrying unidentifiable, menacing objects. As Wen sprints inside to warn her parents, Leonard calls out: “Your dads won’t want to let us in, Wen. But they have to. We need your help to save the world.”

Thus begins an unbearably tense, gripping tale of paranoia, sacrifice, apocalypse, and survival that escalates to a shattering conclusion, one in which the fate of a loving family and quite possibly all of humanity are entwined. The Cabin at the End of the World is a masterpiece of terror and suspense from the fantastically fertile imagination of Paul Tremblay."

MY DETAILED REVIEW (SPOILER WARNING):

This story is fucking gut-wrenching. There were times that I had to take a break from reading for my own sanity, despite how much I wanted to keep going until all of my questions were answered.

And all of your questions will not be answered. Is the apocalypse actually happening? Who fucking knows. But really, isn't that the point? It doesn't matter if the apocalypse is happening or not - because we will go on.

Normally, I'm not a reader pushed on by romance. I could normally not care less if the protagonists have somebody waiting for them back home - it just doesn't motivate me to read any faster than if I were already hooked. But Eric and Andrew's love for each other, and their love for Wen, it was a pretty big factor in my finishing of this book in 7 hours, 48 minutes. I wanted, needed, to know if their small little family would make it out alive. I couldn't bear the thought of little Wen being without one of her dads, or one of her dads being without his husband, or, gods forbid, her dads being without their daughter.

Wen's death was a gut punch. Not a wholly unexpected one, I admit, but still a heart shattering moment to know that the little girl they had fought so long and hard for had died. And, though I do regret to admit it, the fact that she died so unceremoniously.

A gruesome death befell everyone in our story, and narratively, it is rather fitting that Wen was shot, on accident, by a man who loved her and a man who lied to her and took advantage of her trust and naievity.

As much as I feel whether the apocalypse was real or not does not matter to the story, I also can't help but find myself making my own interpretations of whether or not it was. As a born Christian, now pagan, I found myself on Andrew's side for a majority of the book.

But what is all the more frightening is how I was also finding myself beginning to believe Leonard and his gang, just like Eric.

I made notes to myself throughout my reading that I was predicting Eric was going to give in and believe, at least partially out of Catholic guilt, once that second earthquake and tsunami hit. Finding myself to be partially right was vindicating, but finding that I am also susceptible to cult-like mentalities, especially on the basis of end-of-the-world, the-Rapture-is-here talk that is so engrained into my mine, was also a reminder. A reminder that no matter how sure you are of yourself, you are not immune to propaganda.

Anyways, as for whether I believe the apocalypse or not, no. I think that it was a religious nutjob who rallied other religious nutjobs. Granted, I cannot explain whether Redmond or O'Bannon was stalking Andrew or if it was n unfortunate coincidence that they were the ones at the cabin, or anything like that. There are questions I have leaving this book that I do not have enough evidence to base an idea or theory or solid answer off of.

All in all, The Cabin at the End of the World is a gut-wrenching story that had me biting my fingers in suspense from start to finish. I have a feeling it is going to be one of those books that you read once and the story sticks with you for the rest of your life. Regardless, a physical copy is in my future, because I loved this book from front to back.

[feastfic]

good morning dear!

it’s been quite awhile, how have you been? your headcanons on lord x, .exe, and fleetway have me practically buzzing with joy! if i may, do you have any other miscellaneous headcanons on any of the exes? perhaps any on xenophanes or eyx? 👀

all the best!

crow anon ♡

Oh hell yeah, I got a few on Xenophanes and EYX >:)

Xenophanes:

• I feel he over-exaggerates his power somewhat. Which isn't to say that he isn't as strong as he really is — he's still mighty and dangerous! But he's found a few tricks to make the little mortal souls he plays with think that he's truly something becoming of a god of sorts. His height definitely accounts to that too; it's easy to make someone believe you're their hand of mercy when you can lift them up.

• This is a small and simple one, but I think he's got dark blue, almost black gums :) And that his tongue is Very Long (there's a specific sprite in the Hell Reborn mod that makes me headcanon this.) Speaking of that actually, the tip of his tongue glows a little too; it goes from deep purple all the way to a color similar to the base color of his crystals.

• His crystals glow too actually!!! And some of his quills :0 Much much brighter than his tongue too, unfortunately he can't control the brightness of their luminescence.

• If a crystal of his chips or (god forbid) breaks off, he wouldn't feel any pain, but he would be incredibly annoyed by it. They can regrow, but the process takes years. (He also just sometimes gets new clusters around his joints and chin, but he normally chips those off himself so they don't get in the way of his mobility.)

• He has a very twisted kind of curiosity, the kind where if he weren't trying to kill you and make your body a puppet of his bidding it could've been described as almost childlike.

• Those who he's made into puppets, he is very possessive of. To the point that he even keeps them isolated from each other. While he would instantly tear apart someone who tried to tamper with what he believes is "his", if he no longer finds amusement in or has no use for a specific victim of his, he will dispose of them himself.

EYX:

• He has a behavior similar to a specific kind of bird, the shrikes. As in that he has a tendency to leave things he has hunted on branches or anything else he can use as a "post."

• His quills are in disarray because of how hard it is for him to reach them with his hands (in a previous headcanon post I had said that it takes a lot of focused energy to actually lift his hands, for context.) Thankfully though he doesn't seem to care too much about that.

• He's very similar to Sonic in terms of speed, but you can hear him from a mile away (almost literally!)

• Since it would take a considerable amount of effort to do many things if he used his hands, EYX's preferred mode of transporting things is carrying it in his mouth. Most of what he carries tends to be left with bite marks, but even if it were alive while being transferred...it won't be for much longer after.

• What he eats will have no remains. While Xenophanes has an insanely strong bite force, EYX has a stomach of pure steel. He can and will eat literally anything, and have zero complications with it. He has no real sense of taste either.

• With how large his eye is (and presumably having sight be his main sense used for hunting) he has a diminished sense of hearing as well. So theoretically, it's possible to find his blind spot and sneak up on him without him hearing you.

• His sense of smell though is above average, and he can twist his head around like an owl's to make up for him having such a broad blind spot. So good luck with actually sneaking up on him because of that.

[sab3rto0thed]

trigger warning: descriptions of self-harm

i was around thirteen when i discovered an article about a guy who nearly killed himself. 

i was googling “how to kill yourself” on an incognito tab because for one: the worst thing in the world would be if the police showed up because god, i hated being an inconvenience. god, i hated being open, i was swallowing stitches for breakfast and regurgitating them for lunch. but two, two: i didn’t actually want to die. i wanted that incognito tab to reach the universe and display it for all to see. i wanted someone to unknit me like cloth.

it takes a very special kind of person to want to die, and i don’t have that. i am completely unremarkable up until the very moment that i decide i am not. i was going to say that no one truly wants to die, but i do not know the whole population and so i have merely decided that i am special. i am unique.

he bled out onto a towel. the guy, in the article. his roommate was gone, and he slit his wrists with something or other. the details are hazy; the details are always hazy. searchlights, flashlights, leds. slamming hips, calm down, this is your responsibility. i was fifteen and i loved you. 

he sat there for a long time waiting to die, i think. when i think of him, i imagine him in different ways. sometimes he is sitting down on the delicate bathroom tiles, head slumped against the wall as if he is drunk, a river made of his arm. sometimes he is standing and staring. sometimes he is sick with it, his mouth twisted in the cheshire cat’s half-moon, like my hollow laugh when i tore my neck open with my fingernails. satisfaction. art. paint on a canvas.

you are ill. you are sick. he realized his cut wasn’t deep enough. he realized he wasn’t going to die. something concurred in his brain, a dull conclusion: your roommate will be home soon and god forbid, god forbid anyone sees this. so he found a towel and he bled into that. and when he was done, he threw the towel away and hid his arms until his scabs became scars. no one asked about the towel. his roommate never knew. and his scars went undoubtedly deep.

i don’t think of him often, but when i do, i think about him very contemplatively. i know nothing about him. he might not even be a him. he is only this: dark-haired and faceless, sometimes with just that smile. i think of him as things: blood, an old towel, a dumpster, an empty bathroom. 

maybe he tried again and died. maybe he said he quit and he didn’t. maybe he continued on to a successful career and a happy life and a happy wife and he lived. i would like to think he somehow did all three. 

i love words. i love gashes. i love a mark. i love blades. you are so sick still, and the solution is always to stick a cigarette between your teeth and pull the remaining glass shards out. go deep. make it slow. draw it out. the only thing i have ever had that is purely, entirely mine is this. i love it and hate it in equal measure. i want to grasp it by the shirt and shake it until we are both screaming and bleeding and spitting, and then i want to hold it by the face and say oh my god.

i hope he didn’t try again. i hope neither of us do. but the secret is this: it is so hard being loved when i know that a year and six months ago, i could have done it with an efficiency that i can’t now. i could have done it. that could have been my blood, my blade, my arm. but there are too many people pulling at me now, saying no you cannot do that. and even if they don’t say it exactly that way, i understand. i understand why you keep telling me you love me, you miss me, you want me so bad it hurts. i know. 

(i love you, i miss you, and i want you so bad that it hurts. a healthy hurt. an in-love hurt. a hurt that doesn’t bleed when i want it to.)

instead, i knotted up my towel, scrubbed the blood from my teeth, and never said a word. but, oh, if i have learned anything, it is this: i have to put it down somewhere. so, hello. 

what a kinship we have, with our blades and our flesh and our quiet. a zig-zagged trail of white fingernail scars beneath the hair on my arm and the skin on my thighs. pink jagged marks on my ankle. the bulging scar on my upper arm. that is the only casually observable one, the only one that my mom asked: do you think we could get that laser removed in the future? 

no, mom. we cannot. 

i survived. oftentimes, that is not enough for me. but it is enough for others. i can accept that.

a cafe. a butterscotch frappe. a gentle push. a fall that doesn’t hurt as badly as it usually does. a summer night. a glow stick necklace. a heavy chest. a dynamite sunset. long socks. a good-bye that stops hurting. a corner table. valentine’s night. chocolate hearts. the ability to unwind a person slowly, to savor each piece and never get tired of it.

eighteen. still breathing. a graduate.

that is something i can accept.

[lostinthewiind]

Piss Off Your Parents - Part 3

Ukai Keishin - Haikyuu

Synopsis: freshly turned 18, you want to prove to your parents that you aren’t a child for them to push around anymore. First, get a job at the local corner store. Second, use the store owner’s 26-year-old son with piercings and a cigarette addiction to piss your parents off. Third, accidentally fall in love.

Rating: PG

Warnings: none

Song → 18 by Anarbor

Previous →Part 2

Next →Part 4

Never before had you dreaded something more than you dreaded arriving for work the morning following your incident with Keishin. More than anything, you hoped he was thoroughly pissed at you and had left for work early that day so that the two of you wouldn’t have to see each other, but much to your displeasure and horror, when you stepped into the store that morning, he was sitting at the front counter, waiting for you.

How was he not pissed at you after what you had said to him? 

When the sound of the front doors sliding open filled the otherwise silent building, leaving the keys in your hand useless as Keishin had already unlocked the store, you gripped the keys tightly and swallowed hard when he looked up at you. He didn’t say anything at first, maybe because he was waiting to see if you would make the first move, but after last night you were done making first moves when it came to him.

Averting his gaze and dropping your head low, you shoved the keys back into your pocket and headed for the back room to put your stuff away and get this day over with. 

Just as you were about to open the door to the back room, Keishin cleared his throat and you stopped in your tracks, head turning to look at him without thinking about it. 

“Good morning, Y/N.” This was the very first time he had greeted you first, and on top of that, the very first time he had ever used your name. 

You weren’t sure how to respond, confusion and excitement mixing in your body to create an overwhelming concoction. “Good morning,” you mumbled in response before disappearing into the back before he could do anything else out of the ordinary, like God forbid initiate a conversation or something.

You took your sweet time getting ready, delaying heading out to the front of the store as long as possible to give Keishin ample time to leave. After about fifteen minutes or so, you emerged only to find him sitting right where he had been before, newspaper sprawled on the counter and a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Shouldn’t you have left by now?” The questioned slipped past your lips before you even had the chance to filter it through your head.

Eyes wide, Keishin was surprised that you had spoken to him almost as much as you were. “We’re expecting a big delivery today, so I’m sticking around,” he answered. “You’ve never handled one by yourself so my mom asked me to show you how it’s done.”

Your heart sank, your stomach twisted, your knees felt weak. So he was going to be here with you all day long? “Perfect,” you groaned, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm in your tone. “That’s just awesome. Great.”

“Listen, it’s not my idea of an ideal day either, but it is what it is,” he said. “So why don’t we just put last night behind us, chalk it up to exhaustion and the influence of alcohol on my part, and move forward?”

You quirked an eyebrow at him, the fact that you couldn’t seem to figure him out thoroughly starting to irritate you. “How are you not angry at me?” you questioned him. “I was . . . horrible last night.”

You had spent the entire night after getting home thinking about the horrendous way you had behaved. The things you had done and said made you feel awful and you couldn’t understand how Keishin wasn’t on the brink of smacking the shit out of you right now.

“It’s fine.” He flashed a smile, trying his best to prove that he wasn’t dwelling on the past. “I’m a big boy. I can take it.”

Looking around to double check that the two of you were the only ones in the store, you lowered your voice before speaking. “But I put my hands on you. You can really just forget that?” Heat swelled in your cheeks as you recalled the less horrible events that had taken place.

“I touched you too,” he reminded you.

“Yeah, but yours was an accident.” You weren’t sure why you were saying all of this stuff; it was almost like you wanted him to be angry at you. Who knows, maybe you did. “I called you a burnout.”

Keishin let out a booming laugh at that. “Take a good long look at me, kid.” He smirked, gesturing to himself. “You really think I’ve never been called worse?”

“I don’t think that’s the point,” you breathed out.

Keishin opened his mouth to speak, but before he let a word out, he changed his mind and pressed his lips together. In the meantime, he watched you, the cogs in his head obviously working hard. “You’re an odd one, you know that?” He stood up, walked over to you, and set a hand on your shoulder. “I said it’s fine, so just forget about it, okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded, finally giving in. 

“Good. Now, get to work, because this place isn’t going to run itself and I’m only here to help with the delivery, so until then, I’ll be napping on the couch in the back. Wake me up when the truck gets here.”

Before you had a chance to respond, Keishin gave you a pat on the head and disappeared into the back room without another word.

You stood in place for a moment, unsure if the fact that he had forgiven you so easily was a relief or not. You didn’t allow yourself to worry too long about that though, because, like Keishin had said, you had work to do and the store wasn’t going to run itself. And, if your memory served you correctly, you had some sweeping to do in the back corner.

For about two hours, you fell back into your normal workday routine, completely forgetting about the events of the previous night or the fact that Keishin was napping in the back. That was, until you saw the delivery truck pull up in front of the store and remembered you had been given the task of waking the sleeping man. 

Heading into the back, you moved slowly and quietly even though it didn’t matter if you woke Keishin since that was what you were supposed to do anyway. 

“Keishin,” you spoke softly, not wanting to startle him. “The delivery truck is here.”

Of course, he didn’t even budge at that. Nervously, you stepped closer to the couch, unable to ignore the fact that Keishin looked completely different when he was asleep. The usual frown or cocky grin he sported was nowhere to be seen and he didn’t seem as intimidating when his eyes were closed and his breathing was so slow and rhythmic. 

“Keishin.” You reached out and placed your hand on his shoulder like he had done to you earlier and shook him slightly. Still nothing. Rolling your eyes, you were unsure what to try next aside from shouting right in his face. If only he had warned you he was a heavy sleeper. 

Deciding to try one last thing before you resorting to screeching, you leaned closer to his ear, planted your hand on his chest—a brief memory of how you had touched him last night flashing in your mind—and shook him once more while you spoke. “Keishin, the delivery truck is here,” you said, not whispering but also not being too loud.

Thankfully, the mixture of shaking him and speaking directly into his ear seemed to finally do the trick and his eyes shot open. Immediately, you jumped back, not wanting him to be weirded out by how close you were to him. 

Eyes travelling up to meet yours, Keishin yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “Truck’s here?” he clarified.

“Yeah, it just arrived,” you told him, waiting for him to get up. “You should have told me you were a heavy sleeper. I was about to scream or pour water over you or something.”

Keishin cringed at the thought of that. “Well, thank goodness you didn’t. Next time, just pinch my nose or tickle me or something . . . anything but water.”

“Next time?” you asked. “You plan on taking naps on the couch often?”

“It’s my favourite place to nap. You should try it sometime,” he said before heading for the door. “Come on, let’s get this delivery over with. Try to learn fast so I don’t have to teach you again.”

“I’ll try my best.”

As you had pretty much expected, the delivery had been pretty straight forward. After helping the delivery man unload all of the boxes into the storage room and signing off on the delivery, the most time-consuming and complex part of the process was taking an inventory of the new supplies, which you picked up on pretty quickly. 

Keishin showed you how to mark down the new delivery on the clipboard kept in the storage room and where to input the total count for each item. From there, all you had to do was make sure you had received everything and had the correct number ordered. 

“Pretty easy, right?” He glanced at you out the corner of his eye as the two of you worked together at counting the inventory, keeping an ear open for customers in the process.

“Yeah, it doesn’t seem hard. Just time consuming,” you agreed. 

“Exactly. We usually get a big delivery like this about once a month, then smaller deliveries throughout the week for more perishable items, as you already know.”

You nodded, quickly becoming lost in the repetitive task of counting and writing down the amount on the clipboard. Weirdly enough, you found that you didn’t actually hate taking inventory; the simple task was actually kind of calming and passed the time effortlessly. 

“50,” you muttered under your breath, jotting down the number in the correct box right after you finished counting. When you turned back to start on the next box, you caught Keishin looking in your direction. “What?” You furrowed your brows at him. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“You,” he responded, quickly elaborating when you shot him a confused look. “Well, more specifically, why you took this job.”

You shrugged as you continued working. “I already told you. I need the money.”

“Right, so you can move out on your own. But why?”

Your hands stopped grabbing items and your mind stopped counting, making you lose track. “Because I’ve been waiting for as long as I can remember to live my own life and now that I have the opportunity, I’m not going to pass it up.”

“But wouldn’t you much rather be going to school? Surely you don’t want to work in a place like this for the rest of your life.”

You sighed heavily. “You ask a lot of questions, you know that?”

“I’m just curious,” Keishin said. “I want to understand you better.”

“I don’t think you could truly understand unless you experienced the childhood that I did.”

Stopping his work as well, Keishin leaned against the shelf and crossed his arms over his chest. “Try me.”

Rolling your eyes, you accepted the fact that he wasn’t going to give up. “First thing’s first, I’m not saying my childhood was tragic or anything. My parents didn’t beat me. They fed me and clothed me and everything a parent should.” You started, waiting for him to nod before continuing. “I was just never allowed to live my own life or make my own decisions. I ate what my parents wanted me to eat, I wore what they wanted me to wear. I took the classes they wanted me to, I was friends with who they thought would make a good friend. They went overboard on trying to get me to do what they thought was best for me. I was never old enough or mature enough to know what I really wanted. I lived in a controlling dictatorship.”

“What about soccer?” Keishin asked, proving that he had actually remembered the conversation the two of you had had on your first day at the store. “You told me you used to play.”

You smiled fondly at the thought of your high school soccer team. “That was the only thing I ever got to pick for myself . . . and it took months of convincing, and in the end, I was only allowed to continue because I was good at it. The fact that I genuinely enjoyed it never came into account for my parents.” Your smiled faded slightly. “Sometimes they even managed to drain the fun from that as well, but I refused to let them ruin it for me because it was the only thing I had that was mine.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Every day . . . but this is more important right now.”

Keishin was silent for a few moments while he processed everything you had said. “Sounds like everything needed to have a purpose.”

“Pretty much. If something had no chance of providing success in the future, it was a waste of time.”

“So the plan is to work so you can afford your own place, then go to school next year? How are you going to afford school?”

“Well, if I had followed my parents plan for me and started working toward a law degree, they would have paid for it. But since I’ve decided to do my own thing now, I’m just lucky they haven’t kicked me out of the house yet . . . so I guess I’ll have to get a scholarship or apply for student loans. I’ll basically be scraping by, so I’ve applied for a bunch of community colleges and I’ll go from there I guess.”

Fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, Keishin lit one before sticking it between his lips. “What do you want to do?”

You laughed slightly at that. “I have no idea. I was never allowed to have hobbies or interests, so I don’t even know what I like. I just know what I don’t like. If I could do anything though, I’d apply for the University of Tokyo. They have a great soccer program. I just want to play soccer again.”

Keishin smiled. “Just soccer?”

“For now, yeah. I’ve learned that I’ll have to take life step by step, so that’s the first major goal. I’ll probably take some first year classes and see what I like and go from there. I think it’s okay to not have a set-in-stone plan sometimes . . . after all, this is the first time in my life I’ve never had my future planned out for me. It’s kind of exciting . . . scary, too, but exciting.”

Keishin sighed contently as he watched your eyes light up when you talked about the things you wanted to do in the future. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Sure.”

“So what was the point of what happened last night?” he inquired. “And, while we’re at it, the past few weeks as well. How do I fit into this grand plan of yours?”

You felt your heart pound against your chest. “I thought we were forgetting about last night?”

“We are,” he assured you. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m just curious, is all.”

You thought for a moment, unsure how to phrase exactly how you were feeling. At first, you were inclined to take him up on his offer to not answer, but after how nice he had been to you today, you felt you owed him at least that. 

“Originally, I was in a pretty messed-up head space and I wanted to use you to get back at my parents,” you told him truthfully, “. . . but after last night, I did some serious thinking and realized that wasn’t the case. What I really want is to prove to my parents that not everything that is different or ‘not according to plan’ is bad. You have an  . . . alternative look about you,” you tried to phrase that as respectfully as possible, causing Keishin to chuckle, “but you’re not a bad person or, despite my harsh words last night, a burnout. You coach volleyball for high school kids and you help out at your family’s store and even though I’ve been pretty horrible to you, you’ve been nothing but nice to me.”

You paused, unsure if you should say the last part or not. “I don’t know, I just think that maybe if they met you, they might realize that I’m capable of making good choices for myself even if it doesn’t fit their predetermined mold of my life.”

“You think I’m a good choice?” he asked, taken aback by your honesty.

“Yeah.” You eyed him while he took a drag from his cigarette and let the smoke spill from his lips. “Maybe not the nicotine addiction part, but hey, no one’s perfect.”

Keishin chuckled before putting his smoke out. “Okay, I’ve got a deal for you.”

You cocked a brow at him. “What?”

“If I pretend to be your boyfriend and help you fix things with your parents, you have to apply to the University of Tokyo and follow your dream of playing soccer.”

You were thoroughly perplexed. “Both conditions of that deal only really benefit me. What do you get out of it?”

He just shrugged. “Nothing.”

You scoffed. “Well, as generous and sketchy as that sounds, there is no way I would be able to afford the University of Tokyo on my own and I don’t think any amount of ass-kissing could make my parents agree to pay for me to go there to play soccer and figure life out.”

“Hey, one step at a time, right?” He used your own words against you. 

You contemplated his offer for a moment. “You’re really okay with that? Even though you get nothing but more work out of it?”

“I suggested it, didn’t I?”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “You’d really pretend to be my boyfriend? Even though I’m just some rebellious kid?”

“Your opinion of me changed,” he pointed out. “Why can’t my opinion of you change too?”

“Fair enough,” you conceded. “Well, if you’re absolutely positive you won’t regret it when you wake up tomorrow morning, I’ll happily accept your deal. Thank you.”

Keishin turned back to the stack of boxes and promptly returned to the task at hand. “You’re welcome.”

You watched him work and quietly hum to himself while he did so. This time, it was his turn to catch you staring. “What?” he looked over at you.

“I just didn’t peg you for such a softy is all,” you joked. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he scoffed at you. “Just don’t fall in love with me or anything, kid.”

You smirked. “Whatever you say, old man.”

[kasuna-kotonoha]

HS Teacher!Venti headcanons because I can, and because I just thought of this now.

-He teaches English and Poetry, obviously. 

-He’s a frequent visitor in the band/choir area, and knows the teachers well. Some of the students like to joke that he’s another member of the music department.

-Venti, despite being one of the oldest teachers, surpassed by only Zhongli (The entire staff is young, okay.), looks extremely young, to the point that he gets mistaken as a student sometimes. 

-It’s become a running joke that Venti will sometimes crash the band or choir whenever they have a sub, and see how long it takes for them to notice. It’s usually not very long, but the students never point it out, mosty because the subs reaction is always funny.

-Sometimes he’ll even just take over teaching, much to the chagrin of the rest of the faculty, and the sub in particular. Eventually, the music teachers had to put in warnings for potential subs.

-He’s extremely wise, despite his age (only in his early 30s) and appearance. He loves being able to help his students, and they find his input to actually be quite helpful.

-Aside from advice, students are fond of eating in his classroom and just talking with him, as Venti is a very good conversationalist.

-He helped Diluc and Kaeya, two of his students, work through some of their personal issues when they were in their junior year. He hated seeing them be so distant when they’d once been so close. It wasn’t an instant fix, but they were both in the same section of his AP Prose and Poetry class the next year, and he was glad to see them almost back to normal.

-He’s part of a well known online streaming group called the Archons, a group of teachers who play games and discuss various academic topics, among other things. But don’t get it twisted, they are still extremely chaotic. 

-When his students found out, they were surprised but excited. 

-His room is right next to Zhongli, the history teacher.

-Once his students realized he liked apples, he was a frequent reciever of apples and other apple flavored treats.

-He’s not as much of an alcholoic in this AU, but he’s still a regular at the local bar, and he gets I.D’ed every time, without fail. His licences is completely legitimate, but unless the bouncer recognizes him, there’s the chance they’ll still try to refuse to let him in. 

-He has a Lizard in his room named Dvalin. Some student a while ago nicknamed him Stormterror as a joke, and now that’s the lizards second name. Venti...strongly dislikes it, but doesn’t have the heart to really stop anyone from calling him that.

-He keeps a functional but relatively cheap lyre in his room, and he likes to do lessons using it sometimes.

-He’s totally willing to teach you how you play it, you just need to ask.

-He doesn’t assign homework very often, since he believes students should be free to choose what to do with their time outside of class. Alas, he does still need to assign such things as work and tests, but he tries to be as lenient as possible.

-Well, that is, outside of his upper level writing classes. He might be a easy grader in his lower level electives, but he expects his students to put forth their best effort, and he can tell when you aren’t and will score accordingly.

-He and Zhongli will frequently drop by while the other is teaching. Mostly Venti stopping by Zhongli’s room to annoy him.

-He likes having the windows open in nicer weather, and to have good air circulation.

-He’s generally pretty easy going and relaxed, but god forbid anyone threaten his students. He’d die for them, no questions asked.

-Once, Mondstadt High went into lockdown because of an intruding group known as the Fatui. The security managed to apprehend them, but only because Venti and Lumine, a student he’d been walking with, stalled them. They were injured, but no one else was hurt thanks to them.

-Lumine would never forget the way her teacher had protected her at that time.

-Overall, he’s ususally one of the students favorite teachers.

[pastaimpact]

Since ur a catboy and maid simp 👀👀👀👀

Catboy maid headcanons for xiao, scaramouche, zhongli, kaeya and diluc?

Like, they lost a bet and have to drink a potion from albedo that turns them into catboy maid or smth pls?

-mac bulli anon

if u see me rotting, no u didnt

Xiao’s displeased by the transformation, but he has better things to do than to get worked up by a small thorn in his side. He has evil spirits to get rid off, and archons be damned if he’s going to let a pair of furry ears and a tail get in the way of his duty. It’s an odd sight, seeing him swing around his jade spear with his mask on, only to be moe-fied by his ears.

He insists on carrying out his own duties, saying that your selfish desires to have him as your maid won’t overrule his original contract to Rex Lapis. Chances are, you won’t even get him into the maid outfit before he goes running off to dispel some spirits. It can’t be helped: Xiao is someone who values Liyue’s peace before he values anything else, although he does feel a bit fuzzy inside when he sees how ecstatic you are over how cute he looks.

If he does find a moment of reprieve, that’s your best chance to capitalize on his transformation. Xiao claims that he needs no attention or extra love from you, that he’s a yaksha who works alone out of fear of harming you, but he’s still someone who craves for the gentle touch of a fellow being. Tell him that he’s done a good job and that you’re proud of him while cupping his face, and next thing you know, he’ll have slotted himself against your body and tell you that this isn’t necessary, all while his tail wags around happily. Archons forbid that anyone tries to interrupt your cuddling session, because he’ll start hissing like an actual cat the moment your attention is turned away from him.

Xiao purred against your skin, his head resting on the area in between your shoulder and neck. He was always cat-like to begin with: coy, distance, but still gentle and affectionate at the right times. You fondled his ears the way he liked them, and his tail curled up in satisfaction.

“What a pretty kittycat you are,” you cooed, your voice low and calm, like the careful trills of a lullaby. “Always working so hard... Always caring for someone other than yourself... What a good boy.”

“...Keep going,” he murmured, scooting closer to you when you stopped petting him for a second. You let a smile grace your lips as you stroked his soft fur again, enjoying the way the catboy immediately relaxed against you. 

How adorable.

Scaramouche is livid, to say the least, by this change. He’s a Fatui Harbinger, and someone who demands nothing short of utmost respect and authority from those around him. Being demoted to not only a servant, but not even a human one at that, is a stain against his spotless, untouchable command.

The entire time he’s placed under your care, he grumbles and snaps at everything that comes his way. He mutters that you should be grateful he’s even putting up with this, and he might just flat-out refuse to do the things you ask of him—until you tell him that you’ll ask someone else, like Signora or Childe. Only then does he come scrambling back to you with a pout on his face and his ears pressed against his head to scold you and say that he could do a better job than any of those sloppy Harbingers could.

He also threatens you, saying that you owe him for humiliating him like this, but he also forgets all about being mean to you the moment you start petting his ears and scratching behind them. Scaramouche swears on his life that he hates being treated like this, but the way he clings to you and purrs loudly clearly says otherwise. He’ll get huffy and frown if you stop petting him, so be prepared for him to completely monopolize your time.

“I hate you for this,” he hissed, practically bristling in your lap. You bit back a laugh, feeling the way he wrapped his arms tightly around your torso, pulling himself as close as he could to your chest. “You’re terrible.”

“It’s ‘You’re terrible, Master’ to you,” you teased, burying your fingers in his hair to tease his ears. The Harbinger opened his mouth as if to snap back at you with a haughty remark, but he immediately melted into your touch instead, giving soft mewls and twisting his head against your skin so that he could feel more of your touch.

“I-I still hate you,” he grumbled, forcing himself to frown at you and huff. He dug his nails into your clothes, settling his chin on your shoulder so that you couldn’t see the blush rising to his cheeks. “Master.”

Zhongli has seen his fair share of oddities, being an archon and all, so he’s grown to get used to whatever life throws at him all while honoring his own approach to life and any traditions he upholds. While being transformed into a cat and a maid, for that matter, is surprising, it’s probably nothing more than a mild inconvenience to a god that once held the ability to shift into a variety of different forms.

He’s a skilled and knowledgeable man, so he’s more than willing to assist you in a variety of topics. His one condition while being placed under your care is that you treat him with the same respect you would show him at any other time. While he may be relatively polite and mild-mannered, he still was a very potent and feared God of War at one point in his life. He doesn’t expect much from you; just drop any funny business around him, and he’ll entertain you for hours with his knowledge about politics, arts, and other fine subjects.

Zhongli is good about keeping his emotions in check, and even with cat ears and a tail, it’s still fairly difficult to gauge how he truly feels. Of course, his new body does betray him every now and then: a flick of his tail to signify intrigue, ears pressed against his head for annoyance, a twitch of his nose for interest. It’s best not to tease him or pry into how he feels whenever he does make an odd movement, but it wouldn’t hurt to present yourself appropriately depending on whatever mood he’s in based off of his little actions. Besides, it’s not everyday that you can see someone as respected and feared as Zhongli in a cute maid dress with his tail swishing excitedly behind him.

His entrance was quiet, and the only thing that even signaled his presence in the room was the rustle of fabric as he walked towards you. His tail was still, and his ears perked up like it had been for the day, ever since he downed the transformation potion. “I brought you tea.”

You looked up from your paperwork, smiling softly at the former archon. You pulled a stray chair close to where you were seated, inviting him to sit down as he set the teacup down in front of you. “You shouldn’t have!”

He shook his head, his ears twitching with the slightest hint of satisfaction as he sat down. “It was about time you took a break. I thought I would remind you not to push yourself too far by bringing you something to relax with. Do drink up; I brewed it myself with prized leaves.”

Kaeya’s all about staying a step ahead of the game, and the moment fluffy cat ears and a tail sprout up on his body, there’s a good chance that he’s already found loads of ways to capitalize on his features to get what he wants. The best way to get information from anyone is to get them to let their guard down, and it’s hard to be intimidated by someone who looks like a stuffed animal.

Which is exactly what he does. There’s a good chance that Kaeya’s been observing you for a while, for whatever reasons he might have (be it personal or for the Knights of Favonius), so he’ll definitely use his cat features to his advantage. He’ll snuggle up to you and let you relax by teasing you with his tail and his ears, and he’ll let his silvery tongue do the rest as he extracts bits and pieces of information from you like he was extracting honey from a beehive.

Kaeya rocks the whole maid concept better than anyone else. Flexibility and adaptability are just a few of his many strong suits, and he might even go along with playing pretend with you just out of the goodwill of his heart. He’s extorted you already for loads of intel, so the least he can do to get you to keep staying so lax around him is to humor you just a bit. It’s also a good chance to see you smiling and laughing as you bury your head into his hair, and it sure doesn’t hurt to hear you gush over how much of a majestic catboy he is.

You felt his fluffy tail slink against your arms, Kaeya splayed out across your lap with the most smug smile you’ve ever seen from him. “Awwww, your tail is so cute! I wish I could just hold it and fall asleep! It feels just like a cloud!”

“Does it now, Master?” Kaeya purred, batting his eyeslashes. It had only been about fifteen minutes since he barged into your room to show off his cat features, and he had already gotten enough info about you to entertain him for weeks. “You can pet me more, if you’d like.”

You lit up, completely oblivious to the fact that Kaeya had you wrapped around his little finger. You were far too innocent, too careless even, and Kaeya found it amusing. “Oh, Kaeya! You’re the best!”

Diluc’s also fairly annoyed by this mess, but he isn’t one to viciously fight against what’s already happened. It is rather irritating to have to put all of his responsibilities aside for another day, but he’s capable businessman who’s used to having to adapt to all sorts of situations. Being turned into the catmaid is by far not the worst of his problems, but it’s enough of a change to actually make him think about how he presents himself not only to you but the people of Mondstadt as well.

He has maids around his winery, so he mimics his ow behavior with what he wants of them. Of course, you don’t make him cook or clean or anything like that, and similarly to Zhongli, he makes sure to treat you with respect as long as you do the same. Diluc’s a very pragmatic man, and he simply takes his duty as a maid to keep you out of trouble, accompanying you whenever you need to head out to protect you from stray monsters or helping you with any finances that you might have to sort out.

His only request is that he doesn’t let anyone outside of his immediate circle know about his current affliction. The last thing he needs is his reputation as a respectable tycoon tarnished, and he sure as hell doesn’t need Kaeya strolling around to mess with him. If it incentivizes you to keep the whole temporary catmaid thing under wraps, he’ll tell you that it can be a little secret between the two of you. It’s best that you give him your word, lest you end up on the wrong side of his stoic mannerisms.

“Good work today,” you remarked, offering up a meek smile to the Dawn Winery owner. “It must have been a lot of work. You know, having to deal with the whole transformation thing while running a business.”

Diluc glanced momentarily you, his ears pressing against his head. You wasn’t sure if it was out of annoyance or shyness, but you decided that it was the latter, as Diluc hadn’t walked away from you just yet. “It’s fine. Albedo said it should wear off any day now.”

“Mmm. But still, if you ever need help from me, let me know, okay? I know I’m your ‘master’ temporarily, but we’re still friends,” You laughed. The corners of Diluc’s mouth twitched as he turned away.

“Goodnight then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

[bosspigeon]

ooh, for a prompt how about a role swap with ortega and hawthorn? ortega as the villain and hawthorn as the hero.

so, this prompt has been sitting in my inbox for a Very Long Time, and i don't even know if anyone who follows me still cares about fhr anymore, but, uh.... have Ortega being an unhinged villain with a side of angst and also hints of potential Thorn/Ortega/Steel~

Considering Overdrive all but invited him to his lair the last time they fought, Graves doesn’t think stealth is entirely necessary. However, if he didn't at least make an effort to be stealthy, Steel would be up his ass about it later. He was going to be regardless, because he makes it exceedingly clear whenever he can that he is not the biggest fan of the Rangers' "independent contractor's" more unorthodox methods. But, well...

Steel's not here, is he?

Hellebore goes in first for a reason, after all.

He slips along a rickety metal catwalk like the ghost the world knows him to be, the shadows clinging to his matte black armor. He keeps the glow of his eyes dimmed, and his padded metal feet make no sound on the battered steel.

Overdrive knows he’s there, regardless. “You’ve got such a presence, Hellebore,” he calls out. His modulated voice sounds pleased as it echoes in the open warehouse. “You never make a sound, but somehow I always know when you’re here...”

Graves rolls his eyes beneath his mask, but at least now he doesn’t have to expend the effort of hiding his presence. He does it anyway, because god forbid he makes it too easy on the bastard. His own voice is modulated, a low rasping purr, and it bounces from the dark corners and makes him impossible to track.

“How many times did you say that to an empty room before I actually got here?” he asks dryly.

Cheerfully, Overdrive answers, “Only twice, and I think that’s pretty impressive, honestly.”

“Is there anything about yourself that you don’t find impressive?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t like the confidence,” Overdrive teases, strutting back and forth in the midst of whatever contraption he's working on like an oversized goddamned peacock.

Graves sighs. And then Overdrive oh-so casually kicks a switch on the ground, and the catwalk collapses beneath Graves’s feet.

He expects it the same as he expects any of Overdrive's little gimmicks. Which is to say, he never guesses the specifics, but he goes into any interaction with the villain expecting some sort of mischief. So the catwalk falls, and so does Graves, twisting around and lashing out with the segmented tail attached to his suit, catching on the broken-off railing. His suit absorbs most of the shock of the tail snapping straight with him hanging upside-down a good twenty feet off the oil-stained concrete floor, but it is still plugged directly into his spine to allow him to control it the same as any of his limbs, so it fucking hurts regardless.

He curls up into a midair crunch and grabs the broken railing, swinging off it like an expert gymnast and using the "borrowed" warehouse's assorted crates, broken machinery, and other detritus to make his way nimbly to the ground.

Overdrive slow-claps theatrically his entire descent.

“You should be proud of me,” the villain says when Graves lands, catlike, on the ground a few feet away. He seems entirely unconcerned that his little trap didn’t cause the vigilante any lasting damage. “I could have made a really bad joke, and I didn’t.”

“I am awed by your restraint,” Graves drawls. “Now, if you’re done with the obnoxious flirting, is there a reason you invited me here? If it’s the reason I think it is, I’m flattered, but you’re not my type.”

Overdrive laughs, but there is very little mirth to it. It’s harsh, and cracked, and something cold prickles under Graves’s skin. “I think I’m more your type than you’d care to admit,” he purrs, his tone dropping into something that would be sultry, if there wasn’t a strange air of melancholy to it.

Graves takes a step back, cocking his head and looking at the villain critically. His face isn’t showing, naturally. Only amateurs and heroes with more bravado than sense don’t cover their faces, obscure their identities from the public, from their enemies, and even from their friends and families. It’s a rookie mistake, if not a sure-fire way to get yourself or someone you care about killed.

Graves’s never had anyone he cared about enough to let them know who he is, and there’s no one alive who knows who he is. What he is.

Except—

No. Absolutely not. He only barely resists the urge to shake his head, to physically eject the unwelcome thoughts, and he masks the moment of weakness with a rough, annoyed sigh. “If you’re just going to be a pain in the ass, I’m leaving. I’m in no mood for games today.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, and though he has no illusions the asshole is going to just let him leave without some sort of smartass comment, or a fight, or a trap, he heads for the nearest exit.

“Oh, but you used to like when I teased you,” Overdrive purrs.

Icy claws dig into Graves’s spine and drag him to a sharp, shuddering halt. He doesn’t turn around. He can’t.

There’s an electric crackle behind him, the soft buzz of static. When Overdrive continues, his voice isn’t modulated to thwart possible vocal recognition. It’s soft and rumbling. Human. “Sure, you acted all huffy and annoyed. Rolled your eyes and sighed at me, but you always got this little wrinkle to your nose when you were trying not to smile...” It’s a familiar voice. One that Graves hasn’t heard in years.

One he didn’t think he’d ever hear again.

“I remember every one of the smiles I earned.” Overdrive is right behind him now, practically whispering in his ear. He almost jumps, but he feels paralyzed. He didn’t even hear footsteps, not over the ringing in his ears. “Like you never quite learned how.”

Frozen in place, he hears a click, and he can’t be sure how he knows, but he knows it’s the sound of Overdrive disengaging his face plate.

He knows, in the same way, who the face beneath belongs to.

“Look at me, Hawthorn,” Overdrive whispers, and his voice echoes hollowly somewhere behind Graves’s ribs, waking an ache he’s tried for a decade to bury. “Look at me,” Overdrive says again, louder, more desperate.

Graves doesn’t. He can’t.

A gloved hand curls around his arm, and he feels the tingle of ambient energy, a humming undercurrent, skitter across his skin beneath his armor. He jerks away as if burned.

Or electrocuted.

He never questioned the silence in Overdrive’s head. Every now and then, there is a villain with the combined technology and paranoia to protect their thoughts from being tampered with or spied on. Psychic dampeners don’t come cheap, and most don’t really think of telepathy as a common enough threat to warrant the expense. Overdrive was just eccentric, dramatic, and unhinged enough that the silence never gave the vigilante pause.

Maybe it should have. Maybe he should have questioned the fact that he couldn’t hear his thoughts, couldn’t push or influence, but he could somehow, against all odds, still anticipate his every move, fight with him like every step was choreographed, like he’d done it dozens of times before.

Maybe… maybe he didn’t want to question it.

Overdrive reaches for him again, and instead of words, a sharp cry rips its way out of his throat, and through his voice modulator it sounds raw and animalistic.

He runs, and he doesn’t look back. And Overdrive lets him go.

Steel finds him well over an hour later, when he finally stops running. Running from what? He wasn’t being chased. Not by anything tangible, anyway. Not by anything he can give a name.

He’s sitting on a rooftop, somewhere well above the noise and lights of the city below. He can see the bridge, but he can’t make his eyes focus on it as more than an abstract shape. His mask is cast aside on the concrete, its bared teeth glinting in the murky light of the sunset.

He doesn’t know where he dropped his comm. He had to have run for miles before he stopped.

“What happened?” Steel growls at him. Sharp. Accusing. Regretting that he sent Hellebore in alone, like he always does.

Graves doesn’t answer. His throat is too tight, his chest aches. His vision is swimming, painting Los Diablos in grim grey splattered messily with the colors of neon signs, lights, and twisting lines of flashy cars stuck in rush-hour traffic.

Steel approaches. Every heavy, clunking step makes Graves grit his teeth and dig his clawed gauntlets into his knees. He’s seconds away from prying off the carbon plating of his armor just to feel something that makes sense.

His every muscle is aware of the man behind him, quietly assessing him. Some things never change.

He can’t make sense of his own thoughts, much less Steel’s. His legs dangle against the side of the building. He feels like the wind could carry him away.

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, and he nearly startles right off the edge.

Steel catches him, pulls him back, cursing roughly under his breath. “What happened, Hellebore?” he asks. He’s making a game effort to sound neutral. No, not neutral. Almost… gentle?

Nothing makes sense anymore.

Steel has to practically set him on his feet, turn him around to face him. Graves is about as responsive to his grip as a ragdoll. A robot with no orders.

When he manages to raise his heavy eyes to Steel’s face, he’s almost blinded by the genuine concern he sees there. In all fairness, he probably looks like shit. And they both know damn well he’d never willingly let anyone see him this way, this weak, especially not Steel.

The hands on his arms are broad, strong. They could crush him so easily. But they hold him steady as he finally manages to force himself to speak, to ask the question he’s never had the courage to before, because he thought he knew the answer.

“What happened to Ortega?”

[whythinktoomuch]

(pt. i)  (pt. ii) 

She keeps to the darkness, keeps quiet, and keeps her distance, just the way she’s been trained to. She watches Lena, and she does it quite well. The difficult part is settling on the one thing that she should be learning from these endeavors.

Lena does a great many things throughout her day—often up before the sun, and only homeward bound long after it’s set. But after three long days of research, there’s one feature in particular that seems to warrant the most attention: a dark fleck, nestled in the pale expanse of her vulnerable throat.

When she tries to encapsulate the entirety of that observation into words at her disposal, however, all she can manage is, “Lena, not ugly.”

Lex doesn’t reply for a long while, which isn’t typical of him. But his tone isn’t unkind when he finally asks, “Is that it?”

“Yes.” She frowns, because why couldn’t that be it?

But Lex sighs, and that soft sound uproots her peace at its very core. “I wanted you to bring me a fact,” he says. “Not develop an opinion.”

“Different how?” she demands.

“Well, I need evidence.” Lex takes her hand, turning it over to reveal her palm, forever marked and marred from her most recent encounter with Kryptonite. “I need you to show me something. Something real. Otherwise, it doesn’t count. Do you understand?”

And yes, that much is definitely understandable. Even to her.

//

With much repurposed effort, she watches and waits while Lena does her work. Then she watches Lena take her leave, then waits some more.

It’s only when the top floor of the building is emptied of all people that she flies over, slipping into Lena’s office through the balcony door that’s never locked. From there, it doesn’t take long to secure what she’s looking for.

The next time Lex pays her a visit, she drops an armful of her spoils right at his feet.

“Lena likes coffee,” she announces boldly.

Lex is clearly taken aback at first, blinking and still. But then he grabs one of the many empty coffee cups now littered across the floor, and a slow smile dawns on his face. “All right then. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

She grins so wide that it strains the corners of her lips.

--

“Lena is cold,” she says the next time they meet, presenting a delicate black glove for his amusement and perusal.

“Yes, well, most people are when it snows,” Lex says.

“Not me.”

“Well, you’re not exactly most people now, are you?” Lex’s pride in her is absolutely infectious, so she grins. “Of course not. You’re… exquisite.”

“Good thing?” she asks. It’s usually the first question that wells up inside of her upon hearing new words.

“A very good thing,” Lex says with a playful wink.

Over the last two weeks, Lex’s visits have dropped from often to somewhat often enough, his precious attention now divided between her and another project of his. It’s been a near impossible change for her to weather, but moments like this make it a little easier.

That is, until Lex slips the glove on.  

She watches him flex his fingers one by one, forcing the taut leather to crackle loudly in her ears, and retreats somewhere deep inside herself. She fights determinedly against the frown threatening to twist her features into something uglier.

The glove isn’t hers. It isn’t Lex’s either, but his hand fits so perfectly that it could very well be his if he wanted.

“Not actually all that warm,” Lex comments, snorting when he peeks inside the glove. “And yet, pricier than your average first class ticket to Paris… Tsk, a little superficial, if you ask me.”

She nods as appropriate, but most of her concern is still with the glove and how Lex stuffs it into his back pocket like it doesn’t mean a thing.

//

“Yes, her hair is indeed very long,” Lex says, accepting the offering of Lena’s hairbrush, complete with stray strands of dark hair still caught in its teeth as ample proof for this careful observation. “This, Bizarrogirl, is absolutely perfect.”

And it is. Because this isn’t just a handful of coffee cups tossed in the trash or a lone glove left behind in the snow during a hasty commute. No, this is something she actually had to break into Lena’s apartment for, in the middle of a workday, undetected even in broad daylight.

But even all that and more couldn’t outweigh the very simple fact that Lex has the means to kill her now.

Evidently, a big part of his new project has been synthesizing a strain of Kryptonite that would only be lethal to her, and he must have succeeded because today, he’s armed with blue-tipped syringes that can pierce her skin.

It’s for research purposes. It’s the only way that Lex can collect blood samples so as to better study her molecular makeup, which will only help her in the long run. Lex, of course, would never hurt her.

Except it does hurt. Each needle sinks into her arm in an acute twinge, and she can feel the aftereffects of the breach crawling inside her head. It’s worse than the green light. It makes her stomach dry out like a rock, and tugs cool drops of sweat onto the surface of her skin.

But Lex must notice this sudden unrest living inside her because he lets her keep the hairbrush.

“Mine?” she asks, cradling the brush in her hands. It’s been relieved of all traces of Lena, but that doesn’t matter. She’s seen Lena use it enough times that it’s still rightly precious.

“No, it’s still Lena’s,” Lex corrects her with a gentle smile. “But you can keep it,” which is the best possible answer he could have given her.

//

She’s watching Lena unwind at home from her favorite spot in the sky, drawing from her x-ray vision and super-hearing with an ease that is now very practiced.

Everything is pleasantly routine until Kara knocks on Lena’s door, which is still very routine until they start raising their voices at each other. They exchange some words that she doesn’t quite understand with many implications that perhaps she will never understand. Then Supergirl is leaving through the balcony, flying off into the night in a blur of boastful blues and reds, while Lena is left behind to yell at herself and cry in unpredictable bursts.

Eventually, Lena settles in the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of something that makes the air taste bitter. She’s halfway through her third glass when she slumps forward, her head dropped into her folded arms, breath gradually slowing and deepening.

She watches Lena sleep, waiting until the waiting is unbearable. There are all sorts of reasons why she shouldn’t, but she touches down onto the balcony, sidling into the apartment like a fleeting shadow, and finds herself in Lena’s presence for the very first time.  

The bitter taste is stronger in her nose now, but so is everything else to be perceived about Lena. Everything from her soft snores to the slight warmth her body gives off once within reach.

And she risks that everything for a single touch, brushing her fingertips right where Lena’s long hair starts to end. It’s light, yet stirs something pure, frenzied, and fluttering in her chest. Then Lena sniffles and mumbles into her own arm, “… Kara?” and the moment spills into reality.

Teeth bared, she plucks the glass from Lena’s fragile grip with just enough care that it doesn’t shatter and leaves the same way Supergirl had barely an hour before.

//

She sets the glass before Lex with a firm clack! that calls his attention away from his tablet.

“Oh hello…” Lex sits up with a small chuckle. “And what’s this? Are we celebrating?”

“Lena is sad.”

Lex is out of his chair, his stare wild as he promptly demands, “What happened? What did you see?”

“Kara came. They talked… Supergirl left.” She squeezes her right fist, digging her nails into her palm the way she’s supposed to when things overwhelm her. “And… Lena is sad.”

Lex bursts into laughter. He doesn’t stop laughing for the rest of the night.

//

She doesn’t want to learn things about Lena anymore.

Things are so different now. Lena is quieter, often alone. She spends most of her time at work and not nearly enough time maintaining habits that are meant to keep her alive.

But Lex still insists that she keep watch, so she does, and she still does it so well. She works at it even harder, in fact, now that his visits have become even fewer and farther in between as of late. Lex’s other project is supposedly not as important as she is, but it siphons off his time like it must be.

Lena’s new routine is polished, heavily sanitized, and well-established until the night she breaks it in favor of tasting the nighttime air. She steps onto her balcony in clothes made for sleep and with a glass filled with something more sweet than bitter. Her eyes narrow up at the darkened sky. She stares, as if expectant.

“Hello…? Is somebody out there?” Lena rests her elbows precariously against the railing,  sighing between intermittent sips of her drink. Then, in a softened voice, “… Who are you?” And all of a sudden, Lena’s become tangible and more than just another person waiting for Supergirl to save her.  

Bizarrogirl glides from shadow to shadow, trailing the darkness all the way down to the far corner of the balcony, where she settles in, secluded and silent. Lena doesn’t turn around, but her heartbeat is readily transparent enough for the both of them that it doesn’t matter. “Hello, Lena,” she says.

Lena sighs into her glass. “So, are you the one stealing my things then?”

“Yes.”

“You know… I really thought I was just going crazy. That I was just conjuring up senseless conspiracies because god forbid I ever misplace something like a normal person.” Lena pauses to take a small sip of her drink and chuckle. “But then, you went ahead and took my favorite glass right out of my hand, so…”

She smiles, even though she knows no one can see it. “You are smart.”

“Allegedly,” Lena says, shrugging. She looks over her shoulder, blinks blearily right into the darkness. “You’re really not going to show yourself, huh?”

“No. Never.” She holds her breath, but the follow-up question never comes.

Instead, Lena just turns back around with a small nod. “Believe me, I’d be doing the same thing if I could,” she says quietly, and leaves it at that.

“Not… scared?” she finally has to ask.

“Should I be?”

She shakes her head after some hesitation. “No.”

“Well, there we go then,” Lena says, rubbing at her eyes with a resigned sigh. “Listen… I’m just… so tired right now, and frankly, I just don’t have it in me to address whatever it is you’re trying to do. But to be honest—” she tosses back the last of her drink in a single swallow—“I have enough things. So… consider this a freebie.”

“… Freebie?”

Lena pushes off the railing, exhaling half-hearted laughter. “Yes, freebie. I’m leaving this for you right here, okay? No need to resort to petty theft or breaking and entering.” She sets the empty wineglass right outside her door, but pauses before stepping through. “… So, what’s your name anyway?”

The most obvious answer—so carefully practiced, her clumsy mouth sounding out the word over and over again for her own sake—feels wrong in the moment. A lie, somehow, in the face of Lena’s undeserved generosity.

“You do have a name, don’t you?” Lena glances over, head tilted curiously, and their eyes almost meet despite all the darkness cast between them.

“No,” she manages to say, her fingernails biting fiercely into her own palm.

Lena gives a hum, one so thoughtful and reminiscent of her brother. “Well… that’s something you’ll have to steal from someone else, I’m afraid.”

She watches Lena slide the door shut behind her, but waits until all the lights disappear before reaching for the glass.

//

It takes two more days for Lex to pay her another visit, and he walks into her room to find her turning the wineglass over and over in her hands. He frowns when she doesn’t immediately offer it up to him.

“So, did you learn anything?” Lex asks, and she just nods. “… And…?”

She rolls her right hand into a fist so tight that her entire hand feels like a bruise. “Not. Scared.”

“Lena’s… not scared.” Lex studies the wineglass carefully before directing his sharp gaze back at her face. “I see.”

He doesn’t ask for further clarification, or any other question, or anything at all, for that matter. He just leaves, and she feels nothing about it.

[letsfluxshitup]

​Technoblade Learns How To Relax (now on ao3)

Tommy's face became more and more contemplative as he guided Quackity to the ravine dubbed Pogtopia. 

He led him down the winding stairs at a pace that had Quackity fumbling to keep up with. 

On the last step, Quackity stumbled, heading face first into the dirt before an arm caught him around the waist.

"I told you we needed the guard rails." A voice huffed from behind him.

Quackity thrashed violently, whipping around and ending up on the ground anyways, staring up at the Blade himself.

"Oh! Technoblade-- Mr. Blade, sir, I didn't see you there--" Quackity stuttered, scrambling to his feet. He slipped twice on the gravel before Tommy took pity on him and offered him a hand.

Quackity took it, allowing himself to be dragged up before slightly frantically brushing off his jacket. He scrubbed at the mounting flush on his face, refusing to be embarrassed, and waved away Tommy's concern.

Tommy broke the silence, abruptly clearing his throat.

"Right- anyways, I was just showing Big Q around. He’s with us now, you know." Tommy nodded self-assuredly, glancing between Quackity and Techno.

Techno just nodded, making a noise half agreement half dismissive.

"I'll be in the--" Techno started before Tommy interrupted him, fisting a hand in Techno's cape.

"He needs a room to stay in! We don't have enough, we're going to have to share. I was thinking he could stay with Wilbur but he's a little uh..." Tommy trailed off, scratched at his chin before gesturing vaguely. "You know?" 

"I know." Techno sighed, turning to face them. "He can stay with me."

"No that's-- that's not necessary, I can just-- I wouldn't want to inconvenience you--" Quackity started, praying the panic in his tone wasn't too noticeable.

Techno just gave him a leering smile, too much teeth and tusk to be considered anything other than threatening before Tommy smacked him.

"Quit messing with Big Q, he's an ally now, alright?" Tommy said, biting down on a laugh. 

Techno snorted before shoving him in retaliation for the smack and Quackity backed away quickly before he got dragged into the rough-housing.

Finally, Techno ended it, sitting on Tommy's back effectively pinning him to the ground. Tommy flailed wildly before whining out a childish 'uncle', and Techno released him. Tommy got one last jab in before sprinting off deeper into the ravine, laughter echoing off of the walls. 

Quackity wished he hadn't left, the stale air suffocating as Techno eyed him. 

"You like what you see?" Quackity blurted out, before slapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry-- I didn't-- that was an accident I didn't mean to say that, sorry." 

Techno just raised an eyebrow at him, and Quackity just knew he was laughing at him, on the inside at least.

Techno gestured in front of him, a silent request to start walking.

Techno followed close behind, managing to avoid stepping on his heels but still unbearably close. His hand was resting loosely on his sword, did he really expect Quackity to attack him here? In his base, all by himself?

Before he could think more about Techno's paranoid tendencies, like the fact that Techno hadn't turned his back to him once, they stopped at a simple wooden door.

The wood was pockmarked with arrow holes, centering around a makeshift bullseye on the door. Above the bullseye was a crude drawing of Techno, Techno's name carved into the door above it.

"Tommy decorated." Techno deadpanned, gesturing vaguely at the door's decorations. 

Quackity just nodded mutely, following Techno into his room.

The difference between the rest of the ravine and Techno's room was jarring, to say the least.

The floors were meticulously clean, a broom propped up in the corner. 

Everything was shoved to one side, except for the sole bed that was lodged in the far corner, the perfect vantage point to see the door and every part of the room. 

There weren't any nooks or crannies to hide in, everything flush against the wall and on ground level, too short to hide behind.

Every corner of the room was lit up, no shadows to lurk in, no area left in the dark. 

Techno's bed was frameless, mattress box directly on the floor. He wanted to make a teasing remark about being scared of the monsters under your bed but he swallowed it, all the details clicking into place.

Maybe it wasn't monsters but considering everything else, Techno must have considered the space under his bed a security risk. Part of him wanted to poke fun at his paranoia but another part just felt... Sad. 

Did Techno relax? Ever? He couldn't imagine what it must be like, constantly keeping your guard up.

Even now Techno had positioned himself with clear access to the door, and with Quackity at hand’s reach. Well, more accurately, at sword's reach.

Quackity cleared his throat, trying to interrupt the uncomfortable silence they'd settled into. Techno had just quietly watched him look around, and Quackity desperately wished he knew what he was thinking about. His face was as blank and impassive as always.

Finally, Techno spoke.

"Do I need to feed you?" Techno was eyeing him up again, as if he'd be able to tell if he was hungry or not just from looking.

"Uh-- well, I'm a little hungry, but if it's too much trouble don't worry about it, I'll be fine!" Quackity squeaked when Techno abruptly moved forward, hands curling around his shoulders as he nudged him back into a sitting position on a chest.

One of Techno's hands moved from his shoulder to his jaw, forcing his head back slightly.

This was it, Quackity thought, This is where he rips my throat out.

Instead of ripping his throat out, Techno made direct eye contact with him, which was, in Quackity's humble opinion, objectively worse.

Techno broke eye contact first, mouth opening like he was going to say something before his eyes caught on a shallow cut at the base of Quackity's neck.

He'd gotten it on the way to Pogtopia, a skeleton getting a lucky shot on him from the shadows. Thankfully it had barely nicked him, and he hadn't bothered patching it up.

Techno leaned closer to it, forcing Quackity's head farther back, his other hand moving to lightly thumb at it.

Quackity's heart kicked into overdrive, because hey, what the fuck, Technoblade had his sharp ass teeth inches away from his jugular, but he didn't move. 

After another uncomfortably long pause Quackity finally mustered up the courage to speak.

"Am I dying, Doc?" He blurted, twisting his head to try and see Techno's expression.

"Huh? Oh, no. You have a heart shaped mole on your neck." Techno huffed a laugh, warm breath ghosting across his neck and Quackity hadn't realized before how fucking cold it was in the ravine.

Techno moved away after that, and Quackity could breathe easier now that he was less worried about dying. 

Techno still hovered close, though, nearly nose to nose and without thinking Quackity spoke.

"Are we going to kiss?" He mentally slapped himself afterward, but Techno let out a loud snorting laugh as he moved away more. Quackity was slightly proud he'd gotten a genuine laugh from the man but was still absolutely mortified.

As Techno moved away from him to dig in a chest, Quackity mourned the loss of Techno's warmth. He wondered if it had something to do with being half piglin, or if he always naturally ran hot.

Irrationally, Quackity worried that he had a fever, before squashing that down because the piglin theory made a lot more sense than the Great Technoblade catching a cold.

Techno moved around the room quickly, plucking two bowls out of a chest and giving him a look that silently screamed stay there, before he left the room.

He was back minutes later, and he handed Quackity one of the bowls of soup.

Techno plopped on to the floor and without thinking Quackity slipped down to join him. Techno side eyed him, but rested his back against a chest and started eating.

Quackity ate quickly, the food burning his tongue, and if you asked him he'd have no idea what was in it. When he was finished he carefully placed the bowl next to him, and Techno eyed him expectantly.

"More?" Was all he said, and when Quackity shook his head, a muttered no thanks following, Techno shoved bread at him anyways.

"You don't have to eat it now, but it should stay good for a bit. If you want to keep it on you." Techno went back to his soup, expression once again impassive.

Quackity scooped the bread up, tucking it away into one of his bags. He wondered what made Techno give him extra, if worrying about where your next meal would come from was as inherent to him as it was to himself. 

--

Techno lay on his back, eyes closed and breathing even. He doubted Quackity would be able to tell if he was actually awake or not, but he also didn’t have a very good read on Quackity. It was the main reason he’d offered up his room to him, he wasn’t sure what Quackity was capable of so the closer to him the better. 

He didn't know if Quackity could hold his own in a fight, and what if they were invaded in the night? He’d rather be there to protect their weakest link than leave it to the hands of Wilbur or, God forbid, Tommy. Tommy was an adept fighter, sure, but he still hadn’t quite grasped defense over offense, something that would leave Quackity vulnerable.

On the flipside, what if Quackity was a spy? It’d be a lot more difficult to snoop around if Techno was there to watch over him. He was a light sleeper, and his door creaked louder than the others, something he’d never bothered to fix considering it alerted him whenever anyone entered or left. 

Quackity also wasn’t known for being particularly quiet, either. Techno was sure that if anything happened when he was asleep, Quackity’s loud panicking would wake him up instantly.

Speaking of his inability to be quiet, Techno listened to him roll over and shift again, his uncomfortable shuffling capturing Techno’s attention in the relative silence of the room. Techno tilted his head, looking at Quackity. He was curled up on the floor, on a thin mat that Tommy had produced from God knows where. He had the blanket stuffed around himself, shivering slightly. Techno hadn’t realized it had been that cold, his back was pressed against the wall behind him that was unnaturally warm due to the lava pool on the other side of it. 

“Quackity?” Techno said into the quiet of the room, voice hushed.

“Uh, yeah? What’s up?” Quackity’s voice was high pitched, a nervous titter to it. “Was I bothering you? I can leave--”

He’d moved to a sitting position as he spoke, his shoulders tense and looking ready to bolt. 

Techno sighed. Quackity being afraid of him was fun, but also very inconvenient. He gestured at Quackity, beckoning him closer.

Quackity shakily got to his feet, muttering under his breath, this is it, this is the end, this is where he kills me, curse my poor circulation, why do I get cold so easily. 

Quackity stopped next to the bed, and Techno lifted up the blanket with one hand and patted the bed next to him with the other. 

He stared blankly back at him, looking between the spot next to him and his face, expression quizzical. 

“Sleep with me,” Techno huffed, impatient.

“Woah, woah, woah, you seem like a really nice guy but c'mon isn’t this a bit--” Quackity stuttered, looking genuinely surprised and vaguely amused.

At least he doesn’t look afraid, Techno thought absently.

“Not like that. If you’re cold we can share, the bed’s big enough for the both of us.”

Quackity studied him again, rocking back and forth on his heels before letting out a sigh and shrug in the personification of fuck it, and slipping into the bed next to Technoblade.

Techno studied Quackity, frowning before scooting closer.

“Climb over me, the wall gives off heat. You’ll be warmer over there.” 

After a bit of fumbling and a push from Techno that was more of a drag, Quackity ended up on his other side. 

Techno squinted at him again, before dragging Quackity back into his chest. Quackity huffed, offended that Techno could manhandle him so easily. He wasn’t tiny, it was unfair how strong Techno was.  

Techno’s arms wrapped loosely around him, he hooked his head over his shoulder.

“Aw, I didn’t take you as the cuddling type,” Quackity teased, pressing his cold feet against whatever part of Techno they could reach.

Techno huffed again, and Quackity wondered how many emotions he could express with just a huff. 

“It’s not cuddling.” Techno readjusted his arms, absently rubbing warmth back into Quackity’s cold fingers, “It’s a tactical advantage.”

“Oh? Well, sorry to say, buddy, but your tactical advantage is crushing my wings.”

“Wings?” Techno echoed, abruptly pulling away. Quackity’s face scrunched in displeasure at the rush of cold air that met his back as Techno sat up to look down at him.

Quackity sat up too, unzipping his jacket. Techno eyed him warily for a second, before impatiently tugging at his jacket, trying to lean around him to get a look. A wing hit him in the face then, fluttering slightly before folding back against Quackity’s back. Quackity squeaked, looking terrified but desperately trying to hold back laughter.

“You need to groom your wings,” Techno finally said, after Quackity’s laughter faded.

“Hey, hey, you don’t just comment on a man’s wings!” Quackity’s voice pitched upwards, defensive as he crossed his arms and his wings puffed up slightly, only accentuating the issue. They were small, smaller than Philza’s certainly, and Techno doubted that Quackity could actually get any air time from them. 

They were kind of cute though, Techno thought. Objectively, of course.

“What if I spoon you--” Quackity started, only to be cut off by a petulant Technoblade.

“It wasn’t spooning. It was tactical. If someone came in here and saw me, they’d likely leave you alone. I doubt you made any friends when you defected from Manberg, and you’re kind of an easy target.” As if to accentuate his point he gestured vaguely at, well, all of Quackity, and Quackity’s wings puffed out again, expressive now that they weren’t trapped under a jacket.

“I resent that,” Quackity said in response, sticking his tongue out at him. 

“Alrighty, if you want a tactical advantage what if we hit 'em with one of these--” Quackity abruptly flopped across Techno, throwing an arm across his chest. Without thinking Techno’s arm came up, catching him across the throat and shoving him backwards against the wall.

“Sorry-- I didn’t mean that, sorry.” Techno pulled away quickly, straightening Quackity’s shirt and fixing his hair, hands dancing nervously across his chest.

“It’s alright,” Quackity rasped. “You’re a bit jumpy, that’s fine, we can work with that.”

Quackity waved away Techno’s mother henning, before slowly lowering himself against Techno’s side. 

“This alright?” He murmured, moving so he was laying across Techno’s chest, head on his collarbone. 

Techno curled an arm around Quackity’s waist in lieu of a response, careful to avoid his wings.

Quackity opened his mouth to comment on it, but Techno beat him to the punch.

“This isn’t cuddling. It’s a tactical advantage. Now you can’t sneak away without me knowing, how do we know that you aren’t a spy? I don’t know if I can trust you, yet.”

“You don’t trust me, buddy? We’re literally snuggling in your bed.” Quackity snorted.

“It’s not snuggling, it's a--”

“Tactical advantage, right, I know.” 

“Anyways, I know I could take you in a fight. You aren’t a threat to me.” Techno continued, as if Quackity hadn’t said anything. 

“You don’t know that--” Quackity started before Techno moved to make eye contact with him, a single eyebrow raised. “Ok, you’re probably right, but I think I could get, like, one lucky shot in, you know?”

“Sure,” Techno said dismissively, patting Quackity’s hip placatingly. His hand moved to rubbing up and down Quackity’s back and Quackity realized how tired he was. It’d been a long day, with a lot of running and the fighting with Schlatt took a lot out of him. 

Schlatt.

He was sure the man had already forgotten about him, labelled him a traitor and a coward, but Quackity couldn’t stop thinking. He tried to focus on Techno’s steady breathing, to ignore the rising memories from his earlier fight, but it was too much. He finally felt like he could think again, wasn’t panicking or in survival mode. Had he done the right thing? Had he made the right choice? 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a sharp tug to one of his feathers.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Techno murmured, smoothing the ruffled feathers back into place. “I’ll protect you from whatever’s got you all flustered, just go to sleep.”

Quackity huffed, but buried his face into Techno’s neck anyways, curling their legs together.

“Fine. Didn’t realize Grandpa had such an early bedtime,” Quackity mocked, earning him another warning tug on his feathers. He smothered his snort against Techno, before sighing out a quiet good night.

Techno just hummed, eyelids growing heavy, surprised that he was comfortable enough to sleep.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 11: Under Pressure •

TRIGGER WARNINGS: blatant homophobia from Nicklesmart The Beatboxing Jester™️ in disguise as someone you know, internalized homophobia throughout the whole chapter. As usual, will put a skip marker for the heavier scene before and after if you need/want to skip. It is not light, ngl 😔 [trigger words: f*iry + the f slur, each used on exactly one occasion, and (as an insult) queer. I'm so sorry, this was not easy for me either and please do not read this if any of this in any way bothers you, i won't be mad if you skip the chapter 💕]

A/N: Next chapter will be all fluff I promise 🥲, I'm so sorry, but I needed something that could solidify Richie and Y/n's friendship for good, and her helping him through his worst fear is the best way to do that and will be explored in other ways throughout the rest of the series, specifically in the sequel. all that aside, I missed you guys and this series so much!!

LGBTQ+ RESOURCES AND SELF HELP LINKS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE CHAPTER

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

- 𝗔𝗨𝗚𝗨𝗦𝗧 -

    Richie keeps his eyes trained on the dried mud on his navy blue slip-ons as he makes his way across town, his mind buzzing twice as fast as it normally did. He felt as if his entire body had been put through a blender; his skull still vibrating in his head turning his brain into jelly. His stomach empty and lurching as it twisted into knots far more impossible than what you'd see from a circus performer and his heartbeat could rival a hummingbird's. Not to mention he was walking with two extra legs he'd grow from time to time, another freaky affect the physical and mental toll these past few weeks had put on him and his eyesight. The caffeine he had been living on hadn't helped him one bit either he reckoned.

    Insomnia had become his best friend in the past few weeks, hence this last-minute trip to the old gravel pit just behind Derry Town dump. At least, this was the lie he told himself to pluck up enough courage to call Y/n up. Richie hoped she could talk him through it, give him some advice. He was never this nervous to talk to her and deep down in a corner he wished to bury forever - that small part of himself that begged to be free - knew exactly why. This small, repressed Richie Tozier that lived locked away in the center of his heart was calling the shots that day. Hell, he probably had been his whole life but he wasn't ready to admit that to himself yet, let alone his true attentions of seeking her help.

    All he knew is he was nervous as all hell, his palms were sweating, he couldn't stop fiddling with his glasses and he was sure one wrong move and he'd shit his pants. For fucks sake, he needed to shake this! He had already freaked Y/n out, that he knew. He could still hear her voice over the receiver. It was soaked in static and every 's', or 'c' sound she made felt like a pencil was being shoved into his eardrums cause of her shitty outdated telephone.

    "You," she had asked with a pause. "want to meet at... the dump?"

    "Yeah," he scoffed, scratching the same spot behind his ear for what had to be the billionth time out of nervous habit. "you got wax in your ears, L/n?"

    "Nope. Just, a little confused is all. You seem kinda... I don't know, squirrely," she said wearily, and through a sharp crackling hiss from the receiver he can make out a nervous chuckle on her end. "You sure nothin' jumped up your ass or anything?"

    He bit his lip. Hard. As if punishing himself for drawing her suspicions this early. What if she somehow caught on to what he was gonna talk to her about? Her walk to the gravel pit would surely give her enough time to get to that conclusion, and Richie wasn't daft. He knew he wasn't exactly subtle about... "insomnia". What with how many times he teased insomnia, called it that special nickname he knew it hated but secretly loved. That forbidden flutter in his chest when insomnia would laugh at his jokes, and the small but precious moments they shared from time to time when the others were late that would stay in his heart and mind for weeks to come. But it didn't matter now, as everyone knew; insomnia kept Y/n's company now.

    Thankfully his mouth was faster than his brain, and it fired a rapid response before a lull could form.

    "You bet your fur," he fires, his lanky arm had rested awkwardly against the wall beside the wall mount. "I am right as rain, toots."

    He of course hadn't seen it, but she had frowned at her phone. Her concern was growing with every word spoken from him.

    "Yeah," she snorts, throwing back a sarcastic remark. "Cause you sound it."

    She had eased a bit, growing soft and falling back into their usual banter. Their special dynamic always seemed to coax down his guard a bit.

    "You're talking like a 1950's gangster in a speakeasy," She straightened a little and had begun pacing as much as the phone cord would allow her. "Ya know... More than usual."

    Y/n smiled when she could practically hear the smirk taking over his face, and she certainly had no trouble picturing his hunched shoulders and intimidating snarl he was most likely dawning.

    "It's a little somethin' called moxie, kid," he spoke with curled his words, imitating all the gangsters he had seen in those cheesy old films. "somethin' you just don't have,"

    Y/n had rolled her eyes again, at least Richie could see her doing so when he heard her respond. "Right, right. My bad Baby Face."

    "Hey!" He barked, snapping his fingers and pointing at the floor as if she could see him. His voice lowered in a thick Chicago accent. "That's mista Baby Face to ya."

    "Mista Baby Face Nelson!" She strained, her annoyed shout tainted with a laugh. "Are we meeting at five or not?"

    Richie released a quick and silent breath, expelling as many nerves as possible.

    "You bet your fur."

    The exchange kept playing over and over in his mind and Richie wondered if the same rang true for Y/n. He hoped not, cause that would mean she was thinking about it too much. Hell, he was thinking about it too much now. A heavy sigh rolls off of his chest as every anxiety collectively manifests into its own dark thought.

    Fuck, he really had it bad.

    How pathetic he was.

    Eddie would surely be horrified to know what Richie really thought of him, that was for sure.

    And as if he hadn't felt crazy enough, the thoughts actually began to feel like voices calling him from the darkest shadows of his mind.

    'And the other Losers? You'll be lucky if they even look at you again.'

    Richie was surprised to find himself fighting back, pushing back as much as he could. Despite all the jokes and jabs, he couldn't be completely alone. A small part whispered in his heart that he wasn't, and he thought briefly of the turtle strangely enough but it was gone just as soon as it had come. All he knew was that whatever was telling him this thing was stubborn. But so was Richie Tozier.

    He treated it as an intrusive thought. Made a decision then and there that it was, never occurring to him what it could be if wasn't.

    No way. Not those assholes, he tells the voice. These are the Losers for fucks sake!

    The more he thought about it the more he was sure of it. God forbid Eddie did find out, which Richie had no intention of, and what would happen was in fact unclear. But no matter how he looked at it, he just couldn't picture the little spaghetti man ever cutting him out of his life completely. Not by choice at least.

    Now Ben, that lovable sappy haystack of his that was too passionate for his own good. Richie may not be the silent type but he does pick up on things, and Hanscom's affections for Beverly Marsh were far from subtle. Always opening doors for her and turning redder than a tomato when she smiled at him. Not to mention Richie was about ninety percent sure there was a poem of some sort involved. And that was just Beverly, Ben was always thinking of the Losers. Now Richie knew for sure that boy had no hateful bone in his body to the point it was fucking annoying.

    Mike, Richie felt, might be a little similar. The kid had a lot of heart, always going on about the animals on his farm. Would even go as far to say he considered them his friends, what with how much Richie knew about Mooriuel the calf and he hadn't even met her for cripes sake! Richie imagined he'd be a bit more shocked but would try some sappy speech when he came around. Would make a whole big thing of it, pat him on the back, and even invite a conversation. He scoffed at the thought, the image of Mike slapping him on the back and his signature grin... Yeah, he appreciated the hypothetical gesture but it wasn't Richie's style.

    He could easily see Big Bill sputtering up a storm, but managing a smile. He'd probably even manage to forget their differences long enough to say something stupid but supportive. And Beverly and Stan were the ones he worried about the least. Stan would probably be too indifferent to care, throw him some snarky ass comment like, "took ya long enough, dipshit," and Beverly? Well, Beverly had always been cool, very laid back. She never took shit, and she never dished it out if she didn't think it was deserved which Richie admired greatly. This was one of many reasons he was so shocked she had taken Bill's side in the fight.

    The thought brings him back down again, and as soon as the memory touches him so do the nerves in his jaw tensing up again where he had been hit. He could feel the punch all over again. And he suddenly remembers why he is here.

    He is here, he realized.

    Just around the bend, coming into view was the gravel pit. Old and crumbling it was, and overrun with weeds and bushes. One could easily scale in and out of it, and at the very bottom Rich had discovered one day was a beaten and tattered leather seat from a car that found its way from the junkyard just a ways over. This was where he told Y/n to meet him.

    Y/n...

    Jesus fuck, what would Y/n say? How would he tell her? Would she still wanna be friends with him? Would she laugh and crack a joke, not taking it seriously? Would she hate him for it? More importantly, why in the ever-loving fuck was he here and willing to tell her?

    His gangly legs tumble into a sprint as he picks up momentum descending the uneven terrain. The rubber soles of his shoes kicking up the layers of dirt and shaved gravel that lay beneath the rocks and he had to put effort into not crashing as he comes to a stop. He manages to avoid a nasty fall, completely ignorant to the fact that his right foot had been only inches away from a root peeking out from the rocks surely would have broken his neck had he made even one wrong move. He puffs out his chest, dusting himself off, and once again tries to dispel the nausea broiling in his stomach like hot tar.

    He closes his eyes tiredly as he drags his feet to the leather bench, letting his backside fall through the air and into the somewhat plush cushion with a deep groan. "Fuck."

    His fingers rub his tired eyes, his fingertips finding bits of crust he hadn't gotten earlier and his knuckles brush his glasses further up onto his forehead. Not quite knowing what to do with the overwhelming thoughts and emotions clouding him, his fingers dig further into his eye sockets until all he can see are inky splotches behind his eyes.

    Richie doesn't know why he would ever think those things of Y/n. He hadn't ever told her this, not directly at least, but she was just about the only person in the world he trusted most. He knew in his heart of hearts this was why he found himself dialing her number before he could even register what he was doing. Even after their separation and the bitter feelings they took with it, the Losers were and always would be his best friends in the world.

    So why did everything about this feel so wrong?

    From the moment the phone call ended, he felt like he was waltzing into a trap like some putz...

    "Well, look who it is..." snarled a voice from up above the surface.

    Richie's blood ran cold and it felt as if the remainder of the air in his lungs had been squeezed out like air in a deflating balloon. He whipped around at the voice, his head twisting up at the silhouetted figure so fast he was shocked he hadn't broken his own neck. The figure held their hands on their hips, thousands of the sun's rays spilling around them as they blocked out a part of the sun, an advantage they reaped from where they stood before Richie at just the right angle. His breath caught in his throat as he had recognized the voice immediately, but the figure didn't quite match the voice.

    The last thing person he needed to see right now was Henry fucking Bowers, that was for sure.

    The universe agreed so it would seem. The figure shifted, just out of the light revealing the teasing smirk of his best friend Y/n. Her hands snapped together, her palms forming a handgun, the barrel aiming right at Richie's forehead.

    "The jig is up," she snarled. "We knows it was you. You was the ones to steal from Big Bill's dame, and I wouldn't be surprised if yous was in cahoots, neithers."

    Despite the fear that had clutched his heart only seconds ago, a small chortle left Richie at how awful her accent was. Hadn't she learned anything from him? A smug smile overtook Y/n's face as he broke. She holstered her handguns and gracefully descended the pile of gravel. His smile expired not long after, and despite the thin veil of clouds creeping over the sun the light in the sky was much too hard to even glance at his friend without blinking back several painful searing tears from the harsh light. But he could still make her out.

    She was dressed in her usual ratty and eclectic garb; a mix of something far too big for her frame and something that seemed far too tight to be comfortable. Richie was certain she had never once owned even a thread of clothing that had always been hers. Her s/c brow had its usual, light glossy sheen of grease that Richie had learned very early on to not ask about. But there was something about her now, something he couldn't quite place.

    Though one question kept popping up in his mind. One that left an itch in his brain he couldn't quite scratch in his dazed state. And that was how could he have possibly thought she sounded like Henry Bowers?

    He finds himself looking down at the gravel now, wiping away as much of the sun's damage pooling in his eyes as he can. Unbeknownst to him, she watches him studiously, the ghost of her smile still on her lips as if she was enjoying his discomfort. His long and gangly limbs are folded awkwardly, still, onto the leather seat that sits on the ground. Finally, she takes a seat beside him with a huff as he had.

    As he rubs his tired eyes for a second time she takes a long look around, breaking the silence when her trip around the gravel pit lands on him.

    "Well, you've looked better." She quips, offering a smile.

    Richie snorts, pushing his slipping glasses up the bridge of his nose with a friendly smirk. "This comin' from Raggedy Ann?"

    They both breathe a small laugh and for a moment - just one beautiful, fleeting moment - Richie forgets he was ever scared. This is what he needed.

    "So," she says, pulling his gaze towards her, sending him a cocky smile as a knowing look sparkles behind her eyes. "I'm guessing there's a reason I'm here, and not helping you with your summer training?"

    Richie, for reasons unknown to him, feels his muscles tense up again involuntarily. Like a puppeteer suddenly yanking the strings, ripping his shoulders up to his ears and his muscles bracing. He felt rigid and he was, but he was doing all he could not to show it. All his unease came back in steady waves marching up the sand, but what could he do now? He could already feel her eyes burning holes into the side of his head as he kicked around a sizeable rock with the toe of his shoe, studying him. Waiting.

    Finally, his shoulders slumped in a shrug, lower lip in an indifferent pout as he looked around at the sky hanging above the gravel pit.

    "Just needed a change from all those ugly mugs, I guess," he manages a laugh, and he rises to his feet to lazily chase the rock that had rolled out of his reach.

    He can feel her eyes on him still, and he doesn't know what to make of it until finally she breaks her silence with a chuckle and rises to join him. She catches the rock with the heel of her dirtied sneakers. They're worn down to the very last thread and several shades off from the original color. She kicks the rock back to him, and they engage in a lazy game of rock soccer.

    "I can understand that," she says calmly, eyes trained on the rock as it tumbles across the gravel with several chunky clanks. "Reckon it'll be good for you, too,"

    He frowns confused without looking up at her, winding one lanky leg back before one big kick. "Whad'ya mean?"

    "Well, you don't wanna spend your whole summer inside of an arcade, do you?"

    Richie's face freezes in a frown, the rest of his body going rigid. His eyes cement on the rock underneath his shoe, willing away the veil of tears that threatened to fall. Had he not been so caught up on why he was here, Richie might have had a clear enough head to realize Y/n wasn't there for that conversation, nor had she heard about it from anyone there. Instead, all Rich can think about is the small hypochondriac boy that had stolen his heart.

    He can hear the conversation he had with his best friend, all those weeks ago when school let out. And if felt like a lifetime since he had seen that squishable, pouty little disgusted frown Eddie always put on that made Richie's inside melt. As if reading his mind, Y/n spoke.

    "This is about Eddie, isn't it?"

    Her tone is gentle but veiled. Something was concealed about the way she held herself, ever since she had arrived, something that Richie couldn't quite place. And there it was. He was right about her suspecting him, he must be. Richie battles the lump forming in his throat, and he can feel his ears turning pink under her unwavering and unblinking stare.

    Richie does all he can to fight a snarky response, not knowing how else to navigate and survive the intensity of his feelings. All he manages to do is nod.

[■■■■■■■■■■■■]

    "Rich, it's okay," she says, taking a step forward, his gaze is pulled to her eyes. And here it is, he thinks. The moment he had been dreading, the moment he hadn't even allowed himself to think about. "...I miss him, too."

    His face caught in another frown. That's definitely not what he expected her to say. Quickly as he could, he wiped away a spot of snot at his nose. He had managed to keep the tears at bay but now they had found another way out. He felt like a fucking fool, and he wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Of course she didn't know what he was talking about. Why would she - how would she? His spirits were crushed, and he suddenly didn't feel like getting into it now. She seemed off today, not that Richie cared. All he wanted was for this whole day to be over with, not even knowing the worst had yet to come.

    She studies his reaction, almost as if she had been waiting for this and she blinks for what Richie is now starting to realize must be the first time since she got here. Y/n's face screws into a frown, and yet there still lingered an uneasy smile that taunted him. Her eyes squint suspiciously at Richie, her head tilting in an expression he never knew he had always feared would come.

    She laughs finally, a shrill and grating laugh he hadn't quite heard before and she nudges him playfully. "Oh, come on! It's not like you've got some faggy crush on him or something?"

    When he doesn't answer, she scoffs, turning away and shaking her head in disbelief for a moment.

    Richie felt he just might vomit. Or cry. Or both. He had never felt so distraught, so dejected. So broken.

    How could she be saying these things?

    He tries with all his might to conjure a response, any fucking thing at all so he wasn't some blubbering broken chump breaking down in front of her. But for the first time in his life, Richie "loudmouth" Tozier was speechless.

    That fuck-awful grating laugh returns, a sour look screws up her face as she looks him up and down in disgust.

    "Wait, seriously?" She gapes with a scoff, making him feel about two inches tall. "You actually think he'd want to be with some fairy freak like you?"

    "F-f-uck off," he sputters, though he does not feel better.

    The trembling in his voice, the vulnerability, hearing it in himself strips any remaining scrap of confidence he had left. He's crying now and there's no hiding it. And she heard it in his voice, he knew that now as he looks at her. Her lips curl into a malicious smile and she takes another step closer, Richie fumbles a step back.

    "He isn't some," her nose crinkles as she continues to advance on him, the fire in her eyes building as he stumbles back to escape her sudden venom. "rotten queer like you."

    Y/n spits the words out like they were poison on her tongue, and this was true in every way. Her fiery stare never left Richie, it burned holes right through him as she advanced on him like a wolf on a wounded doe. They were nearing the edge of the gravel pit, and Richie had nearly run out of room when her finger stabbed his chest like a sword's final strike to the heart, pushing him to the ground as she spoke those poisonous words.

    Richie felt his backside meet several jagged rocks that brought even more tears to his eyes, though none of them hurt as much as her words. She towered over him now, the sun beating down on her back and pouring over her shoulders, trapping Richie in her shadow. She shakes her head, and he can still make out the pathetic look on her face as she glowers at him.

    "It's girls he likes. It's me he likes." she points to herself, shaking her head. "He was mine the second he saw me, but you?"

    She scoffs again, and her shadow releases him as she kneels to balance on her feet, legs folded before him with a snide look.

    "You've always been the insufferable loudmouth he couldn't get rid of." A sharp laugh escapes her, the clutch on his heart tightening to dangerous amounts he fears it will give out. "Well, I guess he doesn't have to worry about that now, huh?"

    His heart feels as if it has been ripped to shreds, the claws of the wolf had struck and now he was drowning in his own sorrows as pain as the heartbreak filled his lungs. Richie could no longer see behind the thick wall of glassy tears that blanketed his eyes, and the sounds of his own sobs amplified his embarrassment and despair. He was hopelessly broken, and he could feel himself crumble, each piece disappearing amongst the gravel underneath him until he couldn't be found. He blinked only once, but it was enough to send every tear racing down his cheek at once.

    Another malicious smile contorts her face, her e/c eyes burning darker until they looked almost a completely different shade. Her lips seemed to stretch on and on and on in a way only one thing could. And it was then that it occurred to him.

    Not one thing she had said to him is something he could have ever prepared himself for, each word constricting his heart and lungs and swelling his throat with the ever-growing lump.

    Nor was any of it something she would ever dream of saying, he knew this now.

[■■■■■■■■■■■■]

    This wasn't Y/n, this was never Y/n. She had never showed, and if he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own fucking head he would have caught on from the second "Y/n" arrived. Especially that entrance, Y/n surely would have fallen on her ass on her way down into the gravel pit never mind the fact her accent wouldn't be nearly as shit.

    But none of this mattered now. This thing that looked like his friend had him cornered, and It knew it.

    A wicked grin overtook the mask of Y/n's face that chilled Richie to his bones, and yet it also reassured him. Y/n was tough and could be scary from time to time, but he knew she could never be capable of the pure evil that now danced in It's eyes. Richie's body was already in motion, his arms and legs scrambling for any sort of grip that could take him up the side of the pit and to safety. But the gravel beneath him was always shifting, rolling out from underneath him when it wasn't raking his palms to pieces and all he was accomplishing was a small plume of dust that clung to his backside.

    Richie didn't know where it came from, but his actions were faster than his feelings as his fist collided with It's nose. And no sooner did the heel of his shoe collide in a painful crack that sent It's head back, did his eyes widen in horrific shock. The painful crack that would surely haunt him for many nights to come, had not been from the collision of his heel on It's nose but It's head - or Y/n's as this was still It's disguise - had snapped completely back and dangled completely off It's/her shoulders.

    The only thing connecting her head to her shoulders was the suit of s/c skin. Protruding from the center of her neck just under the skin was the end of her spine where it had disconnected, giving away a disturbing lack of muscles and veins in her neck as if it had been hollowed out like a pumpkin. Her head rolled back and forth limply, and Richie could feel bile climbing up his throat, ready to burst out his digested mac and cheese.

    His mind was screaming at his legs to run while all was still but a small part of him knew this was all a gambit, that it didn't matter if she was frozen stiff or not. Richie knew as soon as he booked it, It would spring to life with something even more twisted. That now, without his friends, he was as good as dead.

    And It was more than happy to prove Richie right.

    The clone of his friend sprang to life, It's head still rolling around on It's shoulders. Connected only by the skin of It's neck, and moving around like some fucked up slinky toy. Richie was already halfway up the gravel pit, bits of rock and dirt finding their way into his shoes as he kicked up the earth though that was the farthest thing from his mind.

    By the time Richie reached the top of the pit, he could no longer hear the thunderous boom of his heart attempting to break loose from his chest, which was saying an awful lot. His screams echoed out into the air only to be swallowed by the screams of other children and Richie didn't know how he knew this but he knew those were the screams of Betty Ripsom, Ed Corcoran... Georgie Denbrough. The bloodied screams of It's victims were drowning Richie as he ran for the junkyard, and he wondered if he might live to hear them stop.

    The screams were so fucking loud in his ears he could see them. Each of them a blinding, deafening, gut-wrenching, and blood-curdling scream that danced through the air like ribbons as they begged for their lives. Richie cried out and he couldn't even hear his own voice, but he didn't let this stop his legs from pumping as hard as they possibly could. He was nearly to the junkyard, surely he could use something to fend It off but he knew he was just buying time.

    He could taste the blood on his tongue from where his teeth bit into his cheek. In all his short life, Richie Tozier would not have guessed child-eating clown to be the way he'd kick the can. When ever the thought of death began troubling him, he always liked to picture something like a western. Him and his rightful enemy squaring off against good and evil, he'd shoot first and save the day but still sustain an injury and bleed out. But it'd be a hero's death. And that was something.

   But this... this was something born out of darker than evil and Richie was about to be pulled into the gravity well of this black hole and swallowed up. And he knew in his soul, the very pits of his stomach it would reach out with its shadowy arms and pull him into darkness.

    And it did.

    Richie had been rapidly approaching the edge of the junkyard without realizing and within an instant found himself on the ground, caved in on himself as he tumbled in the dirt and rocks accepting he was to join them soon enough. He closed his eyes and waited for death as a hand curled around his shoulder and pulled him around. Another jolt of shock shot through his entire body at the sudden contact, locking his jaw and paralyzing his entire body in fear as he was met with the new threat. He didn't dare open his eyes, and certainly not when he heard his best friend's voice again.

    "Richie! Richie?"

    It was her again, he realized. Y/n's real voice, the one that he heard on the telephone that was dripped in static. The one now dripped in fear.

   "Richie?!"

    When the boy opened his eyes, they were filled with terror and his sobs continued. A lense Y/n never thought she'd see Richie look at her through. Her heart broke in an instant when she realized he was afraid... of her. Instantly, she released him and let her backside fall back into the gravel. She watched through a thick wall of tears as he trembled, crying to himself, and never in all her life had she seen Richie Tozier so broken.

    It tore her apart.

    She didn't have to be a genius to realize what had happened here. Before she had even reached the junkyard on her bike she had heard his screams strangled through the wall of trees gating the area. When she had reached the gravel yard, she was happy to see him still in one piece but he was running for his life from an invisible force. The damn coward had gotten what It wanted and scared him shitless, but why would he disappear just because she showed? She had wondered.

    Now she was beginning to understand. It didn't need to be here to scare her. Just the sight of Richie in such a state was enough to tear her down and it took just about everything in her not to scream into the sky from a mix of fury and fear.

    Besides the tears that race down her cheeks and wet her legs, all Y/n could feel was a painfully numbing fear. Fear that Richie would never be the same. Fear that Richie would never speak to her again. Fear that Richie would never trust her again. Fear for whatever the fucking hell that thing did to Richie. Fear that It would do it again.

    All she felt now was fear for Richie.

    Y/n doesn't bother to fight the sob that breaks loose, her bottom lip quivers violently and her arms fall to the gravely pavement beneath her. As if her head had filled with lead, it grew heavy enough to fall into her chest where her chin landed, shaking several more tears loose.

    "I'm s-so sorry, Richie,"

    Y/n yearns to say more, but her body is physically weak from sadness and shame. Yet still, she repeats it in her mind hoping with everything in her it slips out of her mouth, or maybe if she thought them loud enough he'd hear them in his mind.

    I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry for whatever happened. I'm so goddamn sorry...

    "I'm sorry," she whimpers. "I promise..."

    I promise I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise I'm not gonna hate you. I promise I'm gonna be there for you, from now on. I promise.

    Her sniffles blend with his own, and Richie is unsure why this is the moment he knows for sure this is the real Y/n before him; maybe he was just too exhausted to think it through, perhaps it was the godawful sound she was making trying to keep herself from snotting as bad as he was but he knew It had gone. And the Y/n sitting beside him — crying with him, was the one he dialed up today. This was the Y/n he had been prepared to bare his soul to. His true self.

    So with one shaky hand — the other still tucked in close to his chest — Richie's left hand slid out from under him and across the gravel to Y/n's open palm. Her fingers were digging into the gravel, sharp edges of the rock digging into her skin as if to assure herself she was really real. Suddenly, she felt Richie's shaky palm slide underneath hers, carefully taking it.

    Y/n picked her glassy stare up from the ground to look at their intertwined hands, and she melted a little. Several of those fears — not all of them, but some — were ebbed away and she looked to Richie. He was still curled up in the dirt, his eyes closed and silent tears streaking his dirt-covered face. Each tear paved a path of clean skin, washing the dirt away in wild streaks where ever each tear had fallen. Several large and swollen beads of tears collected at his chin where they dangled, threatening to fall.

    She gave his hand a squeeze, letting him know she was there for him as she had promised him. And she was ready to sit with him for as long as he needed.

    For hours that feel only like minutes, they sit together in tear-filled silence, clinging to one another's presence and the knowledge that they are now all they have left.

    And there was no way they were letting go.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Here are some LGBTQ+ resources for mental health and self help if you feel you need them:

How do I find LGBTQ friendly therapy?

An article on safe ways to find the best sources of help that are right for you

The Trevor Project

Self Care Tips for Trans and Non Binary Folks

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[vegetalass]

I know you're not around much these days but if you ever decide to make a come back, I dont suppose youd do some HC about the rdr2 guys and times theyve got caught mastyrbating around camp? I love your thoughts so much they're hilarious and cute ��👉👈

This ask is very sweet and I like the idea so I will do it... thanks for your kind words and making me smile, anon!!🥺❤️😘

Find me at @ihatebnha

Hope you enjoy!! 

-

Arthur 

Used to get caught a lot more than he does now

Because of such, Dutch and Hosea don’t really care on the rare occasion they do catch him just because it was pretty common when he was younger

They laugh about it between themselves 

And when caught, Arthur just pretends it didn’t happen

He’s like, “I don’t touch myself, Jesus, who do you think I am?” 

Or if John jokingly is like, “Saw you the other day, what were you thinking about?” Arthur just plays stupid

Stuff like “See me where?” or “See me what?” 

And if the subject is pushed it turns into fighting (Arthur saying that John isn’t much better)

Arthur thanks the lord every day that Micah has never caught him in the act because he knows he’d never be able to live it down

And if a girl caught him… he’d probably never be able to look them in the eyes again

Probably jacks off being going to sleep or if he’s alone at camp

John 

He has a lot less shame about masturbating, but he’s definitely even more private about the subject than Arthur 

He doesn’t really deny it, but he definitely pulls a “You didn’t see shit!!” Even if the person very obviously DID

Also probably gets caught more than not… It’s just at this point, people have stopped commenting on it 

Dutch definitely jokingly plays the “Poor Abigail…” card all the time

It makes John (and Abigail) sooooooooo mad 

Honestly, I feel like when people catch him, he yells at them but doesn’t bother to stop

Thinks it’s their fault and not his because it was OBVIOUS what he was doing and they still didn’t bother to check or knock

This has caused fights with almost everyone

It’s a “what did you expect” type moment

The only time he’d ever apologize to is if it’s you or another girl who catches him, and even then he would probably never want to see you again out of embarrassment 

Hence why John probably just leaves camp and finds a secluded area to jerk off now(good luck to those who wander away from the fire) 

Charles 

We love Charles because he just jerks it when he’s bathing in a river or something 

Out of everyone, he’s the least likely to get caught, and on the rare occasion that he is, is also the most willing to laugh it off 

I feel like this is because he’s the one who accidentally catches other people so he knows it’s not a big deal

He’s so quiet no one knows he’s there until it’s too late

Gets called a peeper because of this… even though Charles doesn’t want to catch people any more than they want to be caught 

If a girl caught him, he’d try to hide himself before approaching them later to formally apologize 

It’s kinda weird… Just be like Arthur and pretend it didn’t happen babe!! 

If Dutch or Micah ever caught him doodling it, they’d never let it go and tease him until wit’s end

“So Charles is human after all!” is the type of shit they’d say and he’d literally want to pass away

Dutch, Molly hasn’t had one single orgasm the entire time she’s been with you so BE QUIET

Most likely to masturbate when he’s bathing or when he’s away from camp and alone on missions

Micah

Everybody at camp has to pray that they don’t catch Micah masturbating

He has no shame and does not care what people see 

He’s the “What? I have needs!” and “You do it, too!” guy... which honestly, isn’t even bad logic

It’s just when people actually walk in on him he doesn’t really seem bothered… which is kinda freaky

If it’s you or heaven forbid, another girl, he says “Quit staring, either help a man out or leave”

And if it’s Arthur or anyone else, “I knew you were a nasty bastard”

Like… Micah… you’re the one who isn’t ashamed!!! 

Too bold for his own good and eventually Dutch probably has to get involved 

They have one of those “man to man” talks where Dutch is like “Micah… You know… Men… We keep our business in private…”

Everyone at camp pretends they’re not eavesdropping on the conversation

It’s the only time Micah listens to complaints, and even though he forces himself to calm down on the lewd rudeness, he is still jacking it off whenever the urge arises

Rubs one out in his tent whenever he feels like it

Dutch

To give Dutch credit for something, he doesn’t jack off very often 

Partially because he gets down with Molly a lot, but also because he considers himself to have dignity and doesn’t want to ruin that 

The only people who’ve really caught him rubbing one out are Hosea and Arthur, and they probably let it go pretty quick after an apology

Most because Dutch is pretty polite about it 

“A man’s business is a man’s business” or some BS like that 

So when he does masturbate, it’s a calculated and timed move that he makes when he’s pretty sure no one is around

Also willing to laugh it off when he catches someone else masturbating, mostly because he raised two teenage boys, so in a way, he’s used to seeing it on the daily

God forbid is another girl catches him, though, because he’d also pull them aside to apologize

LET IT GO, KING!!! 

Jerks off only when he’s desperate and camp is empty

Kieran

King of bad luck 

I can see him with a pretty low libido, but probably gets caught making juice the first time he tries it at camp

He was lucky it was just Charles who saw, who thankfully, didn’t say anything about it

But still, it scares the absolute crap out of him and his desire to jack off gets even lower than it was already 

Probably stupidly thinks that masturbating is dirty or a sin or something that somebody told him when he was a boy

And if a girl ever caught him, even if they didn’t realize what was happening, he’d just have a heart attack and die

Like he’d literally pack up his stuff and go

Everyone at camp: We’ve all seen Micah twisting it so we don’t care

Kieran: UHHHHH 

Also gets teased by Micah and Dutch for it, except their comments are like “Aw, don’t be shy, be a man!” or “I’m sure you’ll find yourself a woman one day…”

Again, Kieran just passes away

Jerks off when he’s alone with the horses in a field and no one is around

Javier 

Hasn’t been caught yet despite the fact that everyone knows he jacks off ALL THE TIME

Kinda proud of himself for this fact, too 

If it’s the middle of the day and he’s in his tent, he’s busy

Usually can his volume to a minimum, but if he knows no one is around, he doesn’t mind letting it out 

Charles, of course, hears it the one time he’s not on a team mission

He’d definitely not going to stop is someone catches him, but he has the decency to cover himself up

Especially if it’s a lady

We like him because he’s not going to acknowledge it happened later but he will apologize in the moment 

Says some shit like, “Sorry, princess…” jdsfhksd

If another guy tries to tease him for it, he’ll take it in stride and just tease back 

Especially because he knows he’s not as bad as Micah or John who get caught ALL THE TIME 

Prefers to rub one out before bed but he’s not really picky as long as it’s in his tent and he has a way to clean up

Sean 

Everyone’s had a run in with Sean when his dick’s been out 

It’s practically a camp joke that everyone has a story about it

He’s another guy who jacks off when bathing in the river, except he’s:

1. Not secretive about it

2. Bathes all the time

Sean leaves the water hole and everyone knows that they shouldn’t go back in there until the water is washed away 

Pretty vocal, too, so you always sorta know when you should avoid certain areas

The only time he’s ever embarrassed is when a girl catches him

Turns bright red, starts stuttering, looking for anything to cover himself up with while apologizing

That being said, he only feels bad because he feels like he ruined his chances of being friendly with them

Gets teased by the other boys for it but enjoys the attention, plus loves teasing right back

“Oh hush you, you love looking at me,” type stuff 

He’s a lil nasty but he keeps it fun and fresh 

Jacks off before bathing, and sometimes in his tent if he’s desperate or is already clean.