#not at the point in time Messing With Remnant is set though

[ksywoo]

8:30 pm / l.sm

pairing: lee seokmin x reader pronouns: not specified word count: 1.6k genre: established relationship, fluff, suggestive, a little bit of angst but not really warnings: kissy kissy fic hehe, dk gets a little handsy where reader is insecure about their body but he reassures them, also.. tummy/waist kisses <3 note: me posting a fic for the first time in over a year and it's mostly just kissing ... hey guys .. also im embarassed when i write things like this so im gonna go hide al;skdjf sorry if its cringe or garbage BYEEE

masterlist

You felt the bed dip towards your feet, but you didn't look up to greet the boy, still upset about your argument from earlier. You continued reading, not acknowledging his presence. 

Seokmin crawled towards you slowly, as if trying to go unnoticed, and slid under your arms and buried his face in your neck so you were unwillingly half hugging him. His body rested between your legs and his arms around your torso, trying to be as close as possible. 

When you felt his lips against your neck, you got his attention. “Seokmin.” Your voice was even and stern, telling him you weren't messing around. 

He froze as if you wouldn't know he was there if he just didn't move a muscle or make a single sound. 

“Bold of you to do that after what just happened,” you pointed out.  

He propped himself up on his elbows by your hips and lifted his head so your faces were inches from each other. He was frowning, and looked guilty. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I really really am.” 

You sighed, leaning forward to kiss his lips briefly, trying to express that you still loved him even though he pissed you off. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you mumbled with a small smile, already feeling the last remnants of your anger fade away. 

“I’m serious,” his frown deepened. “I’m really sorry. 

You leaned over to set your book on the nightstand. “I know.” You held his face with both of your hands while he continued to apologize. 

“How do I make you not hate me anymore?” he asked between the kisses you were giving him. 

“Seokmin,” you chuckled. “I don't hate you. Never have, never will.” 

“But you're mad at me.” 

“I’m not mad.” 

“But I’m a horrible boyfriend who never spends time with you.” 

“You aren't a horrible boyfriend. It’s not your fault you're so busy with work, I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I should take it out on, like, your managers or something because they're giving you guys extra work, but not you.”

“But it’s my fault for not always making time for you when I’m not working though.” 

One of your hands stayed on his face, thumb stroking his cheek, while the other went to his back to pull him a little closer. You could feel his muscle through his shirt and it made you wonder if he was tired from dancing all day, building that muscle. 

“You’re here now though, aren't you?” 

He nodded but still frowned, so you kissed the pout off his lips. 

“I’m sorry for making you feel like you weren’t being good to me. I was never mad at you, just frustrated at the situation. I shouldn’t have yelled at you earlier. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He nodded again. “Does that mean you aren't going to be stern with me again if I kiss you?” 

You laughed and he took that as a good sign, leaning up to kiss you long and sweet, no more of those short pecks you were giving him before. 

The thing about Seokmin was he was the sweetest boy in the world and his kisses were just as sweet and innocent when he wanted them to be. The other side of him was more rare and reserved for the privacy of your bedrooms, and gave you just as many butterflies as his regular kisses. 

He lifted himself up to sit right next to you, immediately tugging on your waist gently. “Come here,” he requested. You complied, shifting to sit on his lap with your knees on either side of his legs. 

You reconnected your lips, letting out a shaky breath as you felt his hands lightly trail up your legs and gently squeeze your thighs. His fingers lit paths of fire as he fiddled with the hem of your shorts, softly brushing against your skin and you wondered if he even knew that he was doing it, or if he was unintentionally muddling your brain with his touches. 

Shifting slightly, you ran your fingers through his hair and gently tugged as your mouth wandered away from his and made its way to his cheek, pressing one small kiss to the freckle by his nose, then to his jaw, and below his ear. 

With your bodies pressed together, you could feel his breathing become unsteady as your lips met his neck. He wiggled under you, trying to not make any embarrassing sounds that would make you laugh and ruin the moment. 

You started kissing one spot low on his neck that you knew could be covered by some of the shirts he owned, when one of his hands slid to your waist, pulling you even closer and squeezing a specific part of your body that made you pause. 

Seokmin hummed at your hesitance, turning his head to try to look at you while finding his voice. Your face was still in his neck, lips just barely hovering over his skin. “What?” he asked after a few moments of you not moving. “Did I do something?” 

“Nothing,” you mumbled unconvincingly, lips brushing against him like feathers before kissing him again. You reached behind you and took the hand on your waist by the wrist, pulling it off you and back onto your leg. 

“You want me to only touch your thighs?” he tried teasing, but sounded so in love it was hard to take it in a dirty way, even as he started squeezing them again. 

You hummed against his neck but when he moved to hold your waist again, you pulled away, repeating your action of moving his hands before you kissed his mouth. 

Seokmin pulled away more determinedly and frowned at you. “Seriously, what’s wrong? What am I doing?” 

You tried brushing it off, distracting him by kissing him again but he dodged the kiss and put both of his hands on your shoulders. 

“Tell me. Are you hurt or something?” he asked genuinely, looking down and lifting the bottom of your shirt to see if you had a bruise or cut that he was irritating, but you pushed his hands away, pulling your shirt back down. 

He looked like a kicked puppy. The way he could change from being completely dazed while kissing you to fully alert and concerned about your health at the drop of a hat always left you stunned. How was he already able to think coherently? 

He called your name softly and you blinked a few times. “What?” 

“Why do you not want me to touch your side? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No, I just… don’t like my waist... and hips or whatever…” you trailed off, mumbling more with each word, hands slipping off his shoulders but still holding onto his arms. 

Seokmin looked so offended and hurt that you almost thought you said something negative about his body. “You don’t?” 

You pursed your lips and shook your head slightly. “It’s not a big deal. Just one of those weeks where insecurities amplify, you know?” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Why are you sorry?” you asked with a small laugh, moving some of his bangs out of his eyes. 

“Because you don't like your body like I do.”

“You're not going to tell me I’m stupid?” 

“Of course not. It’s not stupid to be insecure, you can’t control it.”

“What would you know about that, Mr. Perfect?” you teased, poking his muscley stomach through his shirt. 

He frowned. “Hey, I’m insecure about things too. I just don't think about them when I’m with you because you make me feel so handsome.”

“You are so handsome,” you confirmed, kissing his nose as you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

He scrunched his face but broke out into a grin. “I love you,” he said honestly. “You’re perfect the way you are. Even if you change, you’ll still be perfect.” 

“You’re so cheesy,” you groaned, making him laugh and capture your lips. 

“Can I do something?” he asked innocently, making you narrow your eyes skeptically. 

“What?” 

He pulled you off his lap, repositioning back to how you were first laying, you propped up on pillows and him laying between your legs. Except this time, he was laying farther down, hands holding him up to hover over your stomach. 

“Can I?” 

“Can you what?” you asked nervously. 

“Kiss you,” he answered sweetly, as if there wasn't a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

You knew what he meant. And it made your heart skip a few beats thinking about how sweet he was all the time. You nodded and he gave you one last reassuring kiss to your lips before going back to your stomach, lifting up the hem of your shirt just enough to place a kiss on your belly. 

He glanced up at you, keeping his lips on your skin, and you're pretty sure you died right there at how beautiful he was. Your hands went to his hair to play with the soft strands as he slowly trailed kisses to your side, where you inhaled sharply with worries and insecurities. Your self-deprecating thoughts slowly faded away as he rubbed part of your waist before placing a soft kiss, repeating the action on both sides all over. 

Maybe some of his kisses were a little harsher with a little more teeth, leaving small colored reminders of how much he loved you, but despite still not liking every part of your body, you did love how much Seokmin tried to make you love yourself. He wasn't a cure for being insecure, but he did help you forget. 

[jasmines-library]

hihihhiihhihi!!

can i send in a request for remus lupin x ditzy!reader?

like remus is trying to do his hw for an exam the next day and reader keeps bothering him for attention and he’s just like “no i’m busY for a test tomorrow” and reader is like “well you can study for it some other time tomorrow” n he’s just like “what?”

it’s okay if you don’t understand it lmao

Talk now, Study Later

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Warnings: none! Fluffy

Word Count: 900 (on the short side, im sorry. It's worth it though for the fluff i promise.)

⛧ MARAUDERS MASTERLIST⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Remus was busy studying. Or rather trying to. He was hunched over the desk, quill in hand as he read over his notes from class. Slughorn had decided to give all of his classes a test, and it seemed to be taking up all of Remus’ spare time. It felt as though he had been hunched over that little desk for much longer than a few hours as his back began to ache. Still, he made no move to leave as he tried to cram in as much revision as he could. 

You weren’t doing him many favours. You had been watching him from across his room for a while now. You had tried to drag him away from his desk a few times, and each time he responded by telling you that he just needed five more minutes to finish up. At first you had humoured him, but you could see the toll it was taking on him and much more to the point: you missed him. 

“Remuusss.” you whined his name from where you lay on his bed. 

He somewhat hummed in acknowledgement. 

“I’m lonely.” You told him. “Come and sit with me.” You patted the space beside you. 

Remus frowned, sweeping his hair away from his eyes as he continued to write. “I can’t. Dove. I need to study for my test tomorrow.”

You pouted with a sigh, rolling over onto your back to stare up at the canopy. You could still hear the scratching of his quill as the room fell back into silence again. You were half tempted to snatch the quill out of his hand…you had tried that once before. It didn’t end too well on your behalf. It ended with spilt ink and a trip to the house elves to see if they would kindly get the ink out of your shirt. Another few minutes passed of you waiting for your boyfriend, until you finally couldn’t wait any longer. 

Clambering off the bed, you stood behind him sliding your arms over his shoulders and around his neck.You rested your chin on top of his head.  He glanced up at you, craning his head to see you properly.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing” You sang. 

He gave you a look out of the corner of his eye. One that told you that he knew exactly what you were up to. “Y/n.”

“What? Can’t a girl hug her boyfriend anymore? I thought you liked my hugs, Moony?”

“I do-” he sighed, “But I need to study, Dove.”

You pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You can study for it tomorrow.”

Remus frowned, his scars and freckles shifting as he made confused lines on his face. “What?”

“Please Rem?” You asked, moving around to face him. You straddled his lap and he gave you an unamused look. Cupping his face in your hands, you smoothed your thumb over his skin, tracing the length of his scar over his cheek and down to his lips. “Take a break.”

You leaned forward onto his chest, burying your face into his neck. He was warm and he smelt faintly of earl grey tea, part of the remnants from the mug he had left to get cold, pine and his favourite chocolates that he always had stashed in his pockets. You closed your eyes, relaxing into him. 

He sighed, leaning into your touch before pressing a kiss to your head. You perked up looking up at him as he dropped his quill, setting it down besides his pages of loose notes. 

“You’re going to be the absolute death of me,” Remus chuckled lowly. “You know that.”

You grinned. “You know you love me.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “I’m not sure I will when I fail this test.”

You pouted, to which he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to them softly. “I’m only messing with you, Dove.”

“I know.” You hummed. “I just wanted you to kiss me.”

“You little minx.” Remus laughed, lacing his arms around your back.

“Only for you.”

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know that right?” Remus smirked, trailing a finger along the bridge of your nose as you traced the pattern on his jumper. It was green and hand knitted by a vendor in Hogsmeade. The two of you were passing by when you saw his eyes light up when he saw it. He had considered it for a while, passing the wool between his fingers. It was silky soft with dainty stitches that interlocked with other colours to create rows of shapes. In the end, he had opted not to buy it. But you had seen the way he had sent time pondering over it, so the next day you went back and bought it for him. That night you left it on his bed as a gift alongside some of his favourite chocolates that you had snagged from honeydukes. He put it on straight away, claiming that it was now his favourite sweater. He wore it all the time, and you liked the way that it brought out the different hues in his eyes. That and it smelt like him. Often he would find you wearing it whenever it went missing from his trunk. Not that he ever minded. 

Remus kissed you again. “I love you.”

“Me too, Moony. I love you very much.”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

MARAUDERS TAGS:

@hearts4robs @xxrougefangxx

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[lavandula-ipsum]

The rain will hide us

gif by @tatooineknights

Summary: Stranded on an unkown planet, you've fallen sick. Thankfully, Luke is there with you. However, you might not be the only one in need of care.

Wordcount: 2.3k

Tags: Luke Skywalker x GN!Reader, force sensitive reader, comfort, fluff, mentions of injuries, one-shot. Angst somehow got in.

The paleness of the morning starts to filtrate through the tent, drawing the dark little spots left by quiet raindrops. Their clatter serves as a gentle wake up call while, outside, an unexplored jungle sleeps.

“How are you feeling?” Before you can even shift in your sleeping bag, Luke has already turned his attention to you, lying a kind hand on your shoulder. For a second, you miss the times when you could have just watched him for a couple of minutes before choosing to signal that you’re awake.

Truth is you feel like shit. A trash compactor could have chewed and spit you out while you were unconscious for all you know. At the effort of answering his question, a raspy whine leaves your sore throat. “Better.”

He’s sitting next to you, not very convinced. There’s urgency tingling the tips of his fingers, you can feel it through the Force. “Is it okay if I check?”

An almost imperceptible shivery note haunts his voice. In the dark circles under his eyes you can sense a long and rough night. You nod. Even though you can feel the last remnants of sickness haven't completely faded from your exhausted body, the back of his hand is warm against your burning cheek and forehead. With an alleviated sigh, Luke finally lets his hand slide down your arm.

“You still have a fever, but it isn’t as high anymore.”

“What happened?”

“Do you remember the crash?”

“A little. I remember the battle, the evacuation when the ship went down.” The mission you embarked on seems to have failed spectacularly. You try to sweep away the thoughts of your fallen comrades, at least till you get back and get to know for sure how many of them are actually gone. “We got into the same escape pod and… this atmosphere messed with the navigation systems, I guess.” You grumble, rubbing the side of your head. “Why don’t I remember much after that?”

“You were trapped in the wreckage for a few minutes. I couldn’t take you out earlier. (Y/N), I’m so sorry. You got some cuts and superficial burns. Perhaps a broken rib.” Oh, so that’s what the bandages are for. And probably why you’ve been stripped down to your standard issue underwear. Suddenly, Luke avoids your gaze and an uncomfortable ripple flutters through the Force, but you’re too distracted frowning at the new scratch across his cheek.

“Did you get hurt?”

“No, I’m fine. But you… You were feverish the whole night.” He continues, bringing the med kit closer to show you a box of painkillers, an empty stim canister, an open tube of pomade, anxious to let you know everything he gave you while you were unconscious.

“It’s ok.” You set your hand over his to stop his nervous tinkering through the med kit. “I trust you, Luke. How many times have we done this? Tell me, what happened next?”

He licks his lips, then looks down at his hands. “You became really sick.”

“I’m sorry. I must have scared you. This is all my fault.” You groan before he can start giving you a thousand reasons why it isn’t. “It really is. I knew I was already sick before the mission. It was just a cold two days ago, but I guess it made me more vulnerable to whatever I caught here.”

Luke shifts closer to you, suddenly alarmed. “Why did you come to this mission then? Why didn’t you say anything?”

You remember those agonizing moments when he didn’t show up at the rendezvous point after the battle of Hoth, gone to Force knows where, while you were left alone wondering if he’d been killed. Turns out he’d just left on his own. It’s not as if he owed you any explanation, you were merely friends. He's fated to go out there and do things so far greater than anything having to do with you. So you tried to slap yourself out of this silly anxiety. After all, the others were gone with the Falcon too, and you had to resign yourself to the faith that they'd be alright. 

And then Luke came back, his body battered and his spirit broken worse than you’d ever seen before or since.

Shyly, you slide your fingers out of your cover. He quickly holds them in between his palms. You’re sure the sky outside the tent would pale in comparison with the intensity of his tired gaze right now, glassy and blue. And yet, all you manage to conjure in response is a lie.

“I wanted to feel useful. The Rebellion needs all the hands it can get.” 

If he realizes, he doesn’t say anything. He just leans in to warm your cold hand with his breath. Luke might not be a full Jedi just yet, but he can probably sense how tired you are of this game of claiming guilt for everything, of just rambling around the edges of what neither of you feel brave enough to say. He just knows you that inescapably well.

For now, the tent has become quiet, so quiet you can even hear him swallow. After a second of allowing yourself to stare at the muscles of his neck tense up and relax with the motion, you look down and sink your flaming face into the sleeping bag.

Against his advice, you sit up. The chill bites your exposed skin, setting a feverish tremor within your chest. However, you don’t let him make you settle back into the bedding.

“Can I say something without it turning into another exchange of apologies?” you ask. Noticing your sudden eagerness, he nods. However, his hands remain close, as if you were about to collapse. “Thank you for saving my life. Truly.”

He seems about to reply with some excuse, probably minimizing himself once again, but you raise a warning finger along with a threatening expression. It makes him laugh, brighter than he’s laughed in months. It lasts too little for your taste, but at least the smile lingers on his face.

“Ok, you win this one. Now, that pomade needs to be reapplied.”

After taking a panicked second to realize what he’s asking, you turn slightly so he can get better access to the burn, which covers the back of your shoulder and part of your right arm. Luke scooches closer till you’re basically sitting between his legs. You wonder if he notices his warmth setting you aflame, but he seems too busy readying the ointment to even look at you, his eyes half hidden under soft locks of weathered gold. However, a loaded silence falls in the tent, during which you feel the urge to cover your front with the sleeping bag. 

“It’s gonna feel a little cold,” he warns before touching you, his voice barely audible.

You had already made up your mind to behave and not show any sign of discomfort, but you need to turn away to hide your face. Honestly, you’re not sure if it’s the painkillers or the surreal ambience around you, but you swear you’ve never been treated by gentler hands. As they work to spread the medicine, you hold yourself together barely enough to not just let go and plop yourself on his lap. You feel beyond beaten, and over your head a thick cloud keeps your judgment in a state of relaxed lethargy. Truth is his welcoming stance, along with the way his fingers caress your tender skin as he softly talks you through the process, isn’t helping your already lazy resolve.  

“I’m so glad, it doesn’t seem like it got infected. I think there’s a chance it won’t leave a scar once we can get you proper treatment back in the fleet.”

You hum half heartedly in response, doing your best to join in the effort to evade the silence instead of entertaining the thought that you don’t actually want to go back. Because he wouldn’t be with you then. Luke has been avoiding the fleet since Bespin, and you've made up your mind to follow him for as long as he wants you around.

“Have you been awake the whole night? Meditating?”

“Not meditating. Standing guard.”

When he finishes up your new bandages, you hear the rustling of knots coming undone and, right after, you’re covered with Luke’s outer robe. Apparently, your top had to be cut off your body when he first tended to your wounds. As he helps drape the garment around your shoulders and slide your arms into the sleeves careful to not graze your wounds, the warmth it still bears surrounds you. Ah, it smells like him too. 

Luke seems ready to offer an excuse to quiet your concerns over his lack of sleep, but it fizzles out before your demanding frown. A pained flare crosses behind his eyes as his Force signature heats up around you. He doesn’t mean to leave you out of his thoughts, he truly doesn’t. It’s just that lately they’ve been a mess not even he has felt ready to untangle. And, if he’s not ready to talk, you won’t push him. However, this silence is a little needle to your heart, and the jab reaches him when it becomes too painful for you to hide.

“I tried to meditate until I had to give up. I couldn’t find the peace for it. You were trembling and twisting in your sleep, burning with fever… mumbling things.”

“Were they embarrassing?” you joke, trying to lift the mood a little. However, instead of following you down that path, you feel a little tug. He’s lightly pulling at the edge of your sleeve, well, his.

“Don’t leave me. Please, stay.”

The pressure around your wrist makes it sound like an apology. Why? For letting you fall sick? For leaving you behind and going to Dagobah on his own? You’re getting tired of riddles, and you’re already trembling from the effort of sitting up straight. Your hand lands on his shoulder, a gesture that seems to finally break him out of his spiraling thoughts and look at you.

“And you did. You stayed.”

An exhalation later, you’re buried in his chest. It’s hard to tell who initiated the hug when you’re enthralled by how melting into each other makes everything else melt away. Luke’s hands travel down your hair, and you wonder when taking in this soothing became as easy as breathing. Well, not exactly. There needs to be a spell, a certain quietness to the air like the one flooding the tent right now. Melancholy is usually the trigger, the signature to the wordless contract between the two of you that grants you permission to indulge in this kind of comfort. Later you’d usually dream awake about it, lost in the memory of what feels forbidden during the daylight. It aches a little that at least one of you needs to be in some kind of pain to feel allowed this kind of intimacy. 

A sigh brushes against your ear as Luke barely dares to talk in a whisper. “What if I can’t do this?” 

“Don’t worry, the Rebellion knows we’re here, we’ll be out of here in no time…”

“Not that. It’s about-” The words get lost as they’re spilled from his lips. Luke lets out a shaky breath before sinking deeper into your hair. “Everything.”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

“You always do.” 

“And listen, I truly believe there’s a special path ahead of you. A bright one. However, no matter what happens, even if things go wrong, I’ll be here. I mean- we all will. We’ll love you all the same.”

You nuzzle up closer against him, prompting a pleased sigh out of him. 

“I’ve been leaning on you too much.”

You chuckle, “how so? You just saved me in, like, five different ways just during the last twelve hours.”

“What you do is way more difficult.”

A hand cradles your head close to his chest, while his other arm surrounds you. And, as the silence settles once again, you finally feel him relax around you as your hands travel up his back. Through his thin inner tunic, the heartbeat pressed against your cheek allows itself to slow down a little. 

“You take a nap now. I’ll keep watch.”

“You’re hurt,” he complains. “And sick.”

“I’ll have a blaster at hand and wake you up as soon as I hear anything outside, I swear.” You hush him before he can complain. ��Do I need you to remind you of your instruction, commander? If you don’t rest you’ll compromise the mission.”

“And what mission is that?”

“Get back to base, safe and sound. And stick together until then.”

Luke brushes your cheek with his thumb, as if to check again if your fever has gone down enough to leave the task to you. “Yeah, I might be able to do that.”

So you get back in the sleeping bag so as to not get cold, and he lays down over it next to you. He does so a bit skittish at first, so you interlock his fingers with yours and guide him down to the most comfortable spot, next to you. Soon, exhaustion defeats any remaining fear and Luke feels brave enough to wrap an arm around you. Soon, sleep has taken him.With your heart coming to a halt, you finally dare to take in his features. Even though a shadow of worry still darkens his brow, his features look softer than you’ve seen lately. It takes you back to those early days in the Rebellion when you weren’t nearly as close, but talking seemed easier. So you stay awake, treasuring every deep breath and the faint rainfall in the background, until the distant buzz of the Millennium Falcon fades the spell away.

link to the source gifset

[123puppy]

(Im)proper Meeting Part 2

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Characters: Angel Dust, Lucifer Morningstar

Lee!Lucifer Ler!Angel Dust

Note: Now it makes sense to add tickling.

Update 2/17/24: I might add/fix this up at some point. I always was impatient writing these particular parts because I like to get to the fun parts. I'll try to keep in as much as possible, I just need to 'polish' some of it so I can stop thinking about this like I made a mess of a fic XD

---

Lucifer felt very comfortable this morning. Not that he's not ever comfortable, but his pillows are extra soft today and he slept through the night without waking up and possibly never going to sleep from restlessness or nightmares. Maybe both.

He did not wake up, once.

And he didn't want to start now, nuzzling his cheek into the pillow and smacking his lips.

A sharp intake of breath makes him freeze. Since when can his pillow breathe? He forces his eyes open and is greeted by white instead of red. He doesn't have a white pillow.

Lucifer reluctantly detaches his face from the fluffy white cushion to get a better look at what he's holding.

"Mornin', cutie" Angel mewls.

Who in hell's name is this!? How did this sinner end up in his bed!??? Did they-?

"WhaaaAHHH! WHO ARE YOU WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, IN MY BED? OH MY GOD WE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING DID WE? HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY S-Mmph!"

One hand is placed over Lucifer's mouth while the lower set of hands cup his rosey cheeks, guiding his face towards Angel, eyes blown wide in his panic

"Deep breaths, doll." Angel's breaths are exaggerated as he stares into the smaller man's eyes. Lucifer follows his breathing, and though it took a few minutes, he began to settle down. His body is still suffering the aftershocks, frame trembling as he continues to stare at Angel Dust with severe unease.

"First things first, we didn't fuck so you can rest easy," THAT got Lucifer to breathe properly and sag all the way down on the bed like a puddle. Angel snickers, "Second, you can be pretty convincing to get someone into bed with you just by being adorable. Very cuddlebug material."

Lucifer covers his face in shame, ears flushed. " I am so sorry, I shouldn't have forced you like that, I never sh-ack! Hehey!" The shorter male yelps as his side gets a sharp poke, immediately throwing his hands down to shove the appendage away.

Angel noticed the reaction but needed to focus on important matters."Ya' didn't do no such thing. I jus' couldn' say no to a precious face like this~" He grasps Lucifer's cheeks and squeezes them. The blush returns full force and the man squirms in his hold. "And I got to sleep in the most comfortable bed with the softest sheets to boot, so it's a win-win on both parties, baby!"

Lucifer grumbles and Angel can see the remnants of sadness from last night shimmer in his eyes. The Porn Star frowns, then remembers what he did earlier and grins.

"Ya know, I can't help but notice how jumpy you were when I got you on ya' side." He sees the panic in the King's eyes and his grin widens.

"Y-You startled me is all!" Lucifer pulls away from Angel's hands. He doesn't look the sinner in the eyes, fidgeting. "I...," He swallows, "... haven't been in physical contact in a long time. I mean, uh... I-I..." He mumbles and Angel leans forward.

"What's that?"

Lucifer goes red again. He just can't stop blushing today! "I'm sensitive okay? Its been so long, I'm not used to touch."

Angel looks at Lucifer with a soft smile. "Well, maybe I can help with that."

Lucifer's eyes widen. "I-I don't think that's necessary."

"Not what you're thinkin', hun." Angel chuckles, edging closer to the nervous fallen angel. His smile turns mischievous. "This is 100% vanilla."

"What do you me-" Angel's top set of hands scuttle along Lucifer's sides. "Wait waitwaitwaitwaitwaihahahait!"

"Ohhh so the King of Hell is ticklish." Angel creeps his nails up higher and pokes at each individual rib, causing the shorter male to curl forward, trying to cover himself. "Ah ah ahhh," Angel's bottom set of hands find their way to Lucifer's exposed hips and presses the pads of his thumbs against the soft thin skin. The shrill laughter that comes out is almost enough to stop the assault as Lucifer jerks at the sensation, bucking and thrashing on the sheets.

"Ohohoho my gAHahahahahad nohohohoho I cahahan't!"

"Already tappin' out?" Angel lightens his touch and brings out his third set of arms. He uses his top set to grab Lucifer's flailing arms and presses them above his head. The middle set of arms gently drag up his sides, pushing up Lucifer's shirt. The shorter male seized at the feather light touch to his sensitive skin and squeaks with each nail that drew patterns at the sides of his tummy.

"Dohohon't!" He wiggles around and cries out when Angel teases his belly button, drawing circles around it. "STAHAHAP!" He squeaks out, unable to keep the desperation from his voice, cheeks pink and eyes popping wide open.

"Don't stop?" Angel cooes, "So you like it when I dooo this?"

A shriek emits from Lucifer when Angel plunges his finger in his navel, wiggling rapidly. Pin prick tears appear at the corners of Lucifer's eyes, back arched as he kicks a pillow across the room. "NO!" He did not like that, he wanted to yell that out too to get his point across but squeaky laughter is all he can muster as he bucks and kicks about.

"Okay, okay I'll go back to this then." The wiggling stops and Lucifer drops on the mattress with a whine "That betta'?" The smugness in his tone has Lucifer thinking about setting the archnid on fire if he had enough mind to concentrate without that damn finger sending him into panicked fits of giggles.

"NohohoHOHO!" The King cries out.

"You gotta make up ya' mind," Lucifer hiccups before a shriek comes out when Angel wiggles his finger again.

It felt like an eternity to Lucifer before his laughter goes silent. That's when Angel slows his assault, removing his finger from the bright pink area all around Lucifer's navel, pretty much petting Lucifer's belly. Which is miles better than what he endured a moment ago.

He doesn't know how long it's been but he's not going to complain getting free belly rubs. He should tell the sinner to stop and leave his room this instant, but his tongue proceeds to poke out between his upturned lips in a form of contentment. He was a weak man to receiving affection.

"Holy shit," The Porn Star places a hand over his mouth, unable to contain the starstruck look on his face at the King of Hell practically melting under his touch. He's released Lucifer's arm a while ago, but the smaller man never moved them from where they've been pinned. He's practically stretched out, welcoming every bit of attention he got. It isn't long until a strange rumbling sound draws Angel's attention. He felt it, in the King's chest where one of his hands lay. It could be him just hearing things but his fingers are vibrating where they rest. He is! The King is... purring!?!?

Angel stops altogether, stunned as Lucifer's stirs from his trance, face pink from exertion, hair stuck out in all directions from tossing and turning in his laughter induced state.

Lucifer peels his eyes open and tries to glare at the Spider Demon, but he's too relaxed to work his best growl that comes out to be a whine.

Angel snickers, "Is that your way of asking for more, shortcakes?"

"..."

"Oh my God, you're too precious-"

"Shut. Up."

[your-averagewriter]

"Carm, the pastries!"

Summary: Carmen wants (y/n) to learn how to cook, starting with a 'simple' pastry dish but they get a little distracted while the pastries are in the oven.

Word count: 1.5K

Warnings: Kissing, making out, swearing

-

“Babe?” I ask, scrolling on my phone in the lounge as he does stuff in our kitchen.

“Yeah?” He yells from the kitchen, throwing a tea towel over his shoulder as he leans on the doorway of the lounge.

“Can you make this?” I ask showing him a picture of a dessert that I found online. He gently takes the phone and scrolls down the recipe.

“C’mon, even you can make this.” He says, passing my phone back with a smile.

“You know how bad I am at cooking.” I chuckle. “Can you make it for me? Please?” I ask, sweetly.

“No, come on, I’ll show you how to make it.” He says walking back over to the kitchen.

“But I can’t cook!” I yell as he walks off.

“I'll teach you!” He yells back and I pull myself off the sofa and walk into the kitchen.

Walking into the kitchen I watch as he pulls out some ingredients from the draws, flour, sugar, butter, milk…

“Sweetheart, it’s just some pastry and meringue.” He says chuckling as he sets things up.

“Carmy, you’re a professional chef, of course that sounds easy to you.” I mutter, feeling not very confident.

“Yeah, and you need to learn how to cook. What if I go away for a little bit, what are you gonna do?” He asks, looking at me as I think.

“Come with you.” I smile then pause. “Or just order take out.” I grin.

“Greasy food? For days in a row?” I  just nod.

“Don’t underestimate me.” I laugh.

“You definitely need to learn to cook.” He chuckles.

“Fine.” I mumble, knowing he’s probably right.

There’s a comfortable silence for a little bit as Carmen sets up the stuff for making the meringue.

“Crack these eggs.” He says offering me the eggs and I look at them, unsure what to do and he definitely notices. “You’ve cracked an egg before, right?” He asks, doubtful as I shake my head but then he just laughs. “You’re gonna need a few more lessons than I thought.” He smiles and shows me how to crack an egg, making it look easier than it actually is.

Trying to crack the egg, it doesn’t work the first time so I bash it against the counter again and the egg spills everywhere on the table.

“Fuck.” I say stepping away. “Carm, it’s everywhere.” I point out as I move to grab some tissues.

I wipe up the mess from the eggs as he watches the mess I’ve caused in his kitchen in mere seconds.

“Maybe I’ll crack the eggs.” He says, looking at me with a small smirk.

“That might be best.” I mumble putting the tissues in the bin,

After finishing the meringue we move onto something that should be more simple - making the pastry after all there’s only so much mess you can make, right?

I measure out the right amount of flour not failing to get some on myself as I do so, much to Carmen’s amusement.

“I’ve measured the flour.” I say, thinking I’ve wiped off all the spare flour on me but Carm just smirks. “What?” I ask as he moves closer.

“You’ve got a little something on your nose.” He says,moving his fingers to swipe over my nose, removing the leftover flour before pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of my nose. “You’ve made quite a mess so far.” He chuckles looking at the flour and remnants of egg on the counter.

“Sorry about that.” I mumble, looking around. “I’m not the best cook.” I show an apologetic smile.

“It’s okay, it might take a little while for you to learn to cook though…” He trails off, his hands resting on my hips as he looks down at me.

“Yeah, I think I’ll just stick to your amazing food and when you’re not here the greasy take out.” I tease with a smirk.

“I’m still gonna teach you.” He says pulling me closer, my back pressed slightly against the counter. “It’s just gonna take longer than I thought it would.” He smirks before pressing his lips against mine gently.

It’s soft and gentle for a few moments before he pulls back, I chase his lips with a quiet whine when he pulls back with a chuckle.

“We’ve still got a dessert to make.” He says, leaning away as I frown jokingly.

“Fine. What next?” I roll my eyes.

“We’ve gotta make the pastry now, get ready to get your hands dirty.”

“Okay.” I say taking a deep breath. “Show me how then.”

He pours out the mixture onto the counter and moves me to stand in front of him by the counter as he stands behind me, his arms wrapped around me.

“Just rub it between your fingers, like this.” He mumbles by my ear, rubbing the mixture between his fingers so it becomes a bread crumb like mixture. “Try it.” He prompts and I move my hands towards the mixture picking it up and squeezing it but Carmen quickly swats my hands away gently.

“Not like that, love,” He chuckles. “Give me your hands.” He says softly as he wraps his larger hands around mine helping simulate the movements. “Like that.” He says, his warm hands placed on top of mine as he gently moves my fingers through the mixture, doing it properly.

“You have nice hands.” I murmur quietly as he continues to help me, distracted by the feeling of his large, calloused hands on mine.

He chuckles lowly. “Don’t focus on my hands, sweetheart. Focus on the pastry.” I hum a ‘yes’ and continue to try and focus on the food in front of us until he seems satisfied. “See, I knew you could do it.” He smiles. “Just needed a little help.” He presses a kiss to the side of my face.

“Can we cook it now?” I ask, looking at the mixture then turning to look at him.

“Not quite.” He chuckles.

We finish off mixing and cutting and cooking everything and eventually it ends up in the oven, both of us somewhat satisfied with the result.

“I think we should set a timer.” I suggest, looking at it.

“Nah, it’ll be fine. They don’t need long.” He reassures and I shrug assuming he knows best.

“If you’re sure.” I say. “We should probably clean up.” I say beginning to clean the sides of the flour and egg I had previously spilt.

Carmen cleans up as well at least for a little bit until he pushes himself against me, so I ‘m pressed against the counter, his hips pinning mine.

“Carmy, what’re you doing?” I ask as I turn to face him as his hands move to rest on my waist with a smirk.

Soon after me turning around he presses his lips against mine feverishly. His hands grip onto my hips and I question whether I’ll have marks on skin tomorrow, not that I mind much. His lips push against mine as he nibbles on my bottom lip asking for me to open my mouth and I gladly do so allowing his tongue to venture inside my mouth.

His tongue swipes over mine as it explores the crevices of my mouth, his lips still push against mine harshly and I know my lips are gonna be swollen afterwards. My eyes flutter closed as I wrap my arms around his neck, my fingers tangling in the strands of his hair, pulling gently eliciting sighs from his lips, sweet sounds pouring right into my mouth.

After minutes of making out, both of us trying to pull the other impossibly closer I start to smell burning. I open my eyes and my senses perk up as I smell burnt food. Quickly tapping on Carmen’s thigh he pulls away to look at me, confused.

“Carm, the pastries!” I point out and he sniffs before smelling the burnt food.

“Shit, shit, shit.” He says, moving quickly around me to get to the oven quickly opening it revealing plumes of smoke. He wafts away the smoke before grabbing an oven glove and pulling out the tray of pastries revealing the charred mess. Placing them on the counter he quickly sorts out the smoke, not wanting to set off the fire alarm before walking back over, slicking his hair over his head with a slightly stressed expression.

“I did say we should’ve set a timer.” I smirk, smug that I was right.

“Yeah, yeah.” He dismisses. “Sorry ‘bout your pastries.” He says, running a hand through his hair, placing the oven glove on the side.

“It’s okay, I still had fun.” I smile, taking his hands in mine. “I enjoyed cooking with you even though I’m really bad at it and made a mess of your kitchen.” I chuckle, a little embarrassed that I was that bad.

“With a little help, or maybe a lot of help, I’m sure you’ll be a great chef.” He says, pressing a kiss to my forehead with a smirk.

-

AN: I hope you enjoyed reading!

Just started watching season 2 of The Bear and so far it's very good (just like season 1) and I still love Carmen.

[murdrdocs]

somnophilia; cockwarming; remnants of dark!steve w/ STEVE MURPHY

his sole of his shoes press into the floorboard, creating a creak that makes steve still. he stares down at his mess, cursing himself when he notices that his foot has landed just in the one place he has known to avoid. but for some reason it slipped his mind tonight. maybe he’s too focused and too determined to get to you.

you stir awake just a bit, rolling to your back, limbs twisted in the thin sheet. the comforter has been cast to the side, hanging off of steve’s side of the bed. he doesn’t even bother going that way, instead heading straight to your side while he throws his jacket off.

he continues discarding clothing until he’s left to his bare essentials— the pair of denim jeans that fit him well in all the right places and his creased white tee.

you blink a few times before setting your eyes on him. “hey,” you smile up at him lazily, your skin glowing from the warm streetlights from outside. your wearing a thin tee shirt and tiny shorts, nothing unlike the usual sleep attire you’ve adopted since moving to colombia. but there’s just something about tonight that makes him want you more.

maybe it’s the adrenaline still pumping through his veins and the splatter of blood on the toe of his boot acting as a reminder. both cause all of the blood in him to push down to the vital parts of his body. the parts that ache for you the most.

he leans down over you, pressing his knee into the bed beside you as he kisses your forehead. “hey.”

the tranquility exists for a second and steve starts to migrate towards your lips. until you stop him with a hand on his chest.

“outside clothes.”

he groans but can’t help but smile against your lips. “was gonna take ‘em off anyway.”

you hum unconvinced, already starting to roll back around while steve takes the remainder of his clothes off. and when he’s left in his boxers, he slips into bed next to you, tucking a hand around your waist and trying to calm his beating heart and racing thoughts.

you’ve already started to doze off again, he can tell by your breaths, but steve is far behind you. and he tries other tactics, he really does. but he can only count so many sheep before he has to put them to rest.

the first push of his hips into yours is in an attempt to adjust his position. then the second push of his hips into yours is curiosity. by the third time, he has a plan, one he begins to enact by kissing your neck and fondling your tit under your shirt.

you groan against him, feebly pushing his hand away as you tell him, “not now, steve. ‘m tired.”

“i know, i know, honey.” he kisses right under your ear. “you can just lemme do the work, okay? i just gotta let off some steam. i’ll make it quick. promise.”

and he does make it quick. he takes you from behind, one hand curled around the side of your knee and holding your leg up. that way he has your cunt open and ready for him, making it easier for him to slip in and out of you with determination.

you’re stirring in and out of consciousness the entire time. every so often you let out the prettiest little noise—a groan or whine or moan—which lets steve know that even though he’s doing this for his own pleasure, you’re getting off, too.

he tries to circle your clit for you, but as soon as his hand leaves your leg, you go limp, letting it close and making it hard for steve to fuck you. he tsks, trying to exercise patience as he tries again, to no avail.

“help me out here, honey,” he asks. you hum, breathe in heavily through your nose, but then does what he says. “there you go,” he coos when you start to circle your own clit.

he’s close, you’re nearly there, but steve won’t do it without you. “c’mon, honey. give me a little more. need you to get there, okay? don’t wanna do it without you.”

you make a sound as if you understand, but steve thinks you could be in between a dream and reality at this point. he uses his other hand to push his thumb into your mouth, pressing down onto your tongue a little far back to trigger your gag reflex. when he gets the reaction he wanted, you a little more awake than you were before, he grins from behind you.

“there she is.”

his thrusts become a little more pointed, a little more angled. he’s reaching for a spot that takes a few attempts to find, but when he does it makes it all worth it. you preen, your back arching and your reaction that most conscious one of the night.

“yeah? yeah, you close?” he’s right in your ear as he asks it. you nod and your hand gains a burst of energy as you speed up just enough to have you clenching around steve and letting go.

he follows closely behind you and for the first time in a few hours, steve has enough serenity to pull him into sleep.

he doesn’t bother pulling out of you.

[kitkatopinions]

Just saw the extended animatic that was originally meant to end V9 and is now gonna get repurposed into the (possible) V10.

Let me just say, I still feel the same about the things I saw in the first animatic. I can now firmly say that Qrow has been replaced with a doppleganger same as Blake (I wonder if it's like a partial possession thing in this case where sometimes it's Qrow and sometimes it's the faker.) I hate the dumb Winter scenes about how disappointed she is that poor people aren't nice enough to her billionaire blue blooded mother in her silly little sunhat. I have no idea what the hell Raven is doing there. The 'Remember Her Message' thing is stupid because of how poorly done Ruby's message to the world actually was and what little impact Team RWBYJNOR has actually had on the world at large. And I still want to see Whitley without Willow for three point five seconds. And I'm still wondering why the presence of an army in Atlas was a sign of pure evil and was immediately seen as a horrifying threat but seeing an army in Vacuo is meant to be a sign of peace and hope.

But also, now I have more to say.

Like first of all, I'm even more confused on how Remnant managed to pull off any sort of army now that we know what remained in Vale after the Fall of Beacon got decimated. Where are they getting their army? From Mistral, where we know Leo had all the Hunters killed? Are we meant to assume that the people that showed up from Mistral are the cops Blake called on the White Fang? Or, maybe from Argus, even though we're meant to hate Cordovin and the Atlas military that was there? Second of all, this makes me even more annoyed at Winter for being like 'if my poor martyr sister could see how badly we're doing, she'd be disappointed,' Winter get realistic goals challenge 2024. Third of all, Team SSSN and CFVY made appearances and if I ever have to see Coco "based on a nazi" Adel ever again, it'll be too soon, but I still insist that it should've been just Sun, Neptune, and Velvet because none of their other teammates got enough focus in the actual show to be real characters. They could've been casually name dropped off-handedly and it would've been fine. Speaking of teams making reappearances, Neon is there, which means she didn't die in the Fall of Atlas and likely her teammates didn't either, but they had better have a full explanation in V10 for how soldiers on the field got back to the city and threw the portals, and it's weird that we saw Neon but not Flynt. Also can I just point out that "the people who were colonized by Atlas are being aggressive to innocent Atlas orphans and need to be told off" is a writing choice the writers didn't have to do, and considering all the whole history with RWBY and bigotry, I don't know why they did that. Neon and Nora had a moment though, and I was like... Ship material? Also, Tyrian and Mercury are working with the Crown, but... To be honest, if they don't scrap that in V10 (if V10 ever comes,) I'm gonna question their decision making even more, because they just did a new location with a new villain and it proved that this late in the game it's hard to set up or properly execute new threats, and if V10 ever comes out, it's a high probability that we're not ever getting a V11. So if you ask me, if they don't cut out the Crown, they're either gonna badly execute these new bads because they expect their fans to do homework to understand the main show, or they're gonna spend way too much focus on establishing them and the Mains will get sidelined again. Merc looks like a mess, though, and this would make me think a redemption arc is a-coming except that they're pressed for time like I said, so I'm not counting on it. The fact that I have to see Peter Port of all characters is also making me want to say a lot of bad words. Like I cannot emphasize enough how much I hated seeing him and his stupid face and how much I wish he'd never existed. What is this choice to not have the serious potential mentor character who had been part of Oz's inner circle come in and instead having the comic relief teacher who blathered about testosterone and flirted with an underage student be the one to break what should be devastating news that should by all rights get a lot of focus? And where the heck is Tai in all of this? Rip to Oobleck, but out of everyone from the Vale seasons, I would not have picked either of these men to bring back, I'd have brought in Tai and Glynda. It's just a bad choice. And still no sign of Maria and Pietro, so like... What the heck?

All in all, I thought before that I couldn't have less hope for the future of RWBY, but whoa buddy this extended animatic proved me wrong.

[invested-in-your-future]

With how bunch of freshmen like team RWBY have been cleaning up the house you'd think Remnant would be free of grimm by now.

Honestly?

I think that's one of the issues where the showrunners wrote themselves into the corner.

On one hand, Remnant is supposed to be this scary world with huntsmen barely holding back literal manifestations of evil. Villages disappear off the map, towns get overrun, the terrifying Goliaths roam the lands and a single mistake can mess up an entire Kingdom.

On the other hand, though, the "good guys" have to have progress and have cool fights (even if there's nobody to animate them anymore) where they win in cool effortless ways (effortless because they miss the point on why people praised stuff like Nevermore fight), get to one-shot the very same unbeatable Goliaths without really having improved in strength all while also cleaning up fodder everywhere.

Yet the viewers also would assume that teenagers who barely spent a year at Beacon would be nowhere near as powerful as actual full-fledged huntsmen, right? The show even tries to highlight that at first with the professors and the like having an absurd level of power.

At the same time, there's an absolute fear of doing anything in terms of human conflict. Can't showcase the more grim aspect of being a huntsman too much either because can't have the good guys' side look even remotely morally ambiguous either. So you just have four kingdoms sort of sitting there filled with overpowered people(and more and more get trained every day).

Just think back to all the good Grimm designs that were built up as ultra-powerful and get deleted in seconds by four kids who haven't even finished their training.

And at the same time the show shies away from any specifics about Grimm or how the threat even works (because, honestly, likely even the showrunners have no idea). They are this basic non-human redshirt enemy mook option that just shows up when the showrunners need to use Ruby as a flashbang.

No wonder half the audience doesn't get why something like Atlas wanting to take the Grimm threat seriously would be a "valid point". Despite what the show tries to tell the audience, super-sci-fi contemporary weaponry, and the like doesn't even seem to be needed. An average literal dog can likely clean out a few square kilometers of land a day.

Honestly, I think that's one of the reasons why they tried adding relics nonsense (beyond it giving them just a very simple plot structure without needing to think why people are where they are) - to invent another reason to make "The Bad Guys" scary. One that the good guys can't simply shoot their way out of. It's why they are attempting to give Salem an immediate goal that she'd be doing (despite her just sitting around for hundreds of years) that would lead to very bad things happening.

It is also why they make ridiculous attempts at over-playing the importance of Salem's immortality (when, if thinking logically, even the nature of the threat of the Grimm is already something that SHOULD be taken as something that can't be eradicated with how the civilization works in RWBY - another unkillable threat shouldn't matter in the face of endless waves of Grimm).

The showrunners, in the crudest way possible, are trying to point at Salem and go - "Look, guys, you should fear her and treat her as an actual real threat to characters you care about. She's not like all the Grimm that plot eyes one-shot after all the build-up. She's the real deal. Look - the threat of Biblical Apocalypse!"

But at the same time, she still...just sits off-screen making vague remarks and not really managing to do anything of note, while her lackeys end up jobbing to kids or, in case of Cinder, undergoing character regression as they throw around temper tantrums.

When all of those factors get put together it's easy to even forget that this setting is supposed to be about civilization barely hanging on against unending waves of eldritch monstrosities. Or that they just had a world war less than hundred years ago and the Kingdoms still don't really like each other that much ("Hey its all fine, guys, we just dropped the entirety of Atlas population into the middle of impoverished Kingdom they tried to literally eradicate eighty years ago, while also creating ultra-scarcity of the resource the entire world runs on - so everyone's friends now").

They could have deleted the Two Gods nonsense in the planning phases and instead used the team separation to expand upon the world and how the threats to it work but alas, Miles Luna wouldn't be able to incorporate a random dream he had into the story then.

[entomolog-t]

INSTAЯ (4)

Technically a SUPER late promtober prompt (Puzzle)

Thank you to everyone who's been asking about INSTAЯ! As a lil treat I thought I'd post this before coming off of my writing hiatus.

Also HUGE thank you to @imber-rose for their AMAZING FANART of Bram and Honey???? I am SO FLATTERED???💕

I give you - charades, anxiety, and the magical art of tidying up.

This chapter deals with the unforseen messes left in the wake of sci-fi mishaps (both literal and mental) so please take a peak at the content warnings.

Taglist: @imber-rose

- - - -

Previous Chapter: Chapter 3

Next Chapter: Chapter 5

Word count: 4230

CW: Gore (descriptions of viscera and butchering), mild body horror, mild panic/anxiety, vague dehumanization, Adult language.

Almost as quickly as the panic had come- it was gone. He’d gone silent in my grasp, having slumped to the floor, leaning with his back against the palm of my hand- still draped loosely around him. He never once looked toward me- instead he stared blankly forward, mind clearly elsewhere as his …mouthparts and antennae twitched with some sort of agitation. 

Without warning, his tiny frame jerks upright, shoving himself out from the tangle of my hands and making long strides towards the notepad, chittering to himself as he paced. His gaze flicks to me briefly, before all too quickly turning away. Hefting up the pen, he leans it against his shoulder- both sets of arms working to stabilize the awkward writing utensil in his grip. 

H…I…D…E

My stomach drops- the hastily scrawled word sending a chill through my spine. Before I can question the message, he clicks, drawing my attention back to him. He points to the word, then to himself, before clasping his hands together, as if… praying? No- begging. 

“Hide you…” My voice is almost a whisper, “From what? Where? I- I don’t- What’s going on?” I can feel my voice raising as I flood him with questions, as if some mental dam had burst. Though, much to my frustration, he holds up a hand, a sharp series of distinctly aggravated clicks interrupting me. Shushing me. He shakes his head- dismissing my questions. Instead, he points to the pile of the discarded exoskeleton in the kitchen, then toward the direction of the living room. Before I’m able to ask for clarification, he resumes writing. 

B...U…R…N

A dryness fills my mouth. I swallow. A single word forms in my mouth,

“W-why?”

Each letter feels as though it takes an eternity to take shape as he struggles with the pen. Dan? Dang?? My face falls, realization hitting me. 

D… A…N…G…E…R

As he finishes the last letter, he turns, pointing the pen towards me. 

“M-me?” I stare at him, stunned- unsure of what to say, “N-no, I - I’m not-”

He huffs- handing off the pen to his lower set of arms as he dramatically gestures with his primary pair. Arms outstretched towards me he makes a loose fist with one hand, and with the other he shoves his fingers into the first in an almost crude gesture. He does the gesture again, this time even more exaggerated, fingers making an arching path towards his fist. 

“Inside?” He shakes his head, chittering with annoyance. He teeters a hand back and forth making a so-so gesture before pointing to me, replicating the unknown sign and then pointing back to danger.

“I.. I’m… in-” All at once it clicks- my heart stopping in my chest with the realization, “I’m in danger.”

He nods vigorously. I swallow the quickly building feeling of unease in attempt to squeeze out simple yet poignant question;

“From… you…?”

He hesitates for an uncomfortable moment before bobbing his head side to side, repeating the so-so gesture. A knot tightens in my stomach, a feeling of unease twisting and snaking in my gut as if my insides had been turned to eels desperate to escape the confines of my body.

“From that??” My heart races as I point to the remnants of his shed exoskeleton. Was it toxic? I touched it- Honey had chewed on it - 

He shakes his head.

He points to me, and as if on cue I echo the verbal component to the sign.

“I…”

He points to his head. 

“Head?... Brain? Think-”  He abruptly holds up his hands, halting me from continuing guessing.

“I think…” Nodding, he then points to himself, then to danger.

“I think you danger?” My brows knit together in confusion at the stunted sentence. He repeats the gestures, this time adding a long pause before pointing to danger. 

“I think you; Danger?” Even though he nods, I feel lost. Was I supposed to follow? He repeats the sign for think, followed by slowly pinching his finger and thumb together, then giving me a thumbs up. 

“Think small.. Good” I say almost to myself, before attempting to somewhat correct the sentence, “Think little; good.”

I think you; danger. Think little… good??

What the Hell was that supposed to mean? 

I mull over the words, trying to make sense of them. 

I think about you, danger- think less is good… dangerous to think? Dangerous to know..? 

I freeze- the garbled sentence suddenly seeming to click. A much clearer phrase reinterpreting and replacing the stunted translation of his signs.

“It's dangerous to know too much. The less I know the better?”

He claps his hands together, giving me a ridiculous four thumbs up. He drops his hands, looking away for a moment before seemingly reconsidering. He holds up a single closed first, slowly raising his fingers one at a time until he reaches four, before pointing to his wrist as if asking for the time. 

I smile, a weird sense of pride bubbling up as I feel myself starting to get the hang of this strange guessing game.

“For now.”  He nods, and I continue, “Can I at least know your name?”

He looks startled at the question- his tail swishing back and forth as he considers. With the unwieldy pen in hands, one at a time he points to a handful of letters he’s already drawn out;

B… R… A… M

“I can’t say it’s been nice to meet you, Bram.” I say with an awkward chuckle. My chuckle turns to a genuine laugh as one of Bram’s many hands flips me off, the casual human-ness of the gesture looking almost comical when juxtaposed with his less than human physique. Carefully, I pinch the obscene gesture between my thumb and forefinger, suppressing a cringe at the all too insect-like feel of his appendage. The texture somehow both hard and thin- something between an eggshell and dried leaves.

“Dawn Delacroix” I say, giving his hand a gentle shake, “How can I lend a hand?”

Bram pulls his hand away to immediately begin gesturing again. His gestures are sharp and insistent as he points to the word hide, then himself, before repeating his signs for four and now. 

As soon as I nod, he continues, gesturing to shush, pointing to burn, and once again signing now.

“Burn it now and keep quiet about this - right?” 

Bram chirps, nodding. I nod along. I comprehend the message, yet internally my mind is whirling.

What the fuck was I getting myself into… Hide him?? From what? Why was I burning the…- was I burning evidence??

With a deep inhale, I force the questions to the back of my mind. Just get him out of sight for now. One thing at a time.

I eye the strange little man up and down, shifting my weight from foot to foot.  

“When you say 'hide’ you don’t just mean keeping you in the house, eh?” I note, my brow furrowing, “Like, you want me to hide you like ‘my house is going to get searched’ hide you?”

Slowly, he nods. 

Despite suspecting the answer, I feel the blood drain from my face all the same. Instinctively, I go to chew on my thumb, stopping myself with a grimace before actually biting down.

“Fuck. Okay. Right. This is- It’s fine.” I lie. My mind is a freeway of thoughts rushing past me- and I’m stuck feeling like some poor animal dodging transport trucks.  

Why was he .. like this?

What happened to him?

Why were people after him?

Had he escaped something? Hurt someone?

I had somehow come to have tasked myself with protecting him from some unknown entity without knowing a single thing about the situation. What kind of people pleaser bullshit was this? I was in way over my head. This was dangerous- yet here I was diving in head first.

As I tried to shake the questions from my thoughts, one seemed to stay stuck- as if it had somehow become a permanent fixture in the forefront of my mind;

Should I really be doing this? 

Despite all that I want to tell myself, I know I don’t have an answer. 

Restless, my hand drags along my face and I aggressively rub at my brow as if forcing my face to relax would somehow force me to relax as well. Unsurprisingly, the action is utterly useless. Fuck. What am I doing? What if I’m in trouble? What if I make things worse? How am I supposed- 

There's the sudden sensation of contact- an involuntary shiver shoots down the length of my spine. 

As if pulled back to reality from his touch, my eyes fall onto Bram- one of his tiny hands laid on top of my own. He stood, looking up at me with what I could only assume was concern in the inky black of those far too many eyes. A shudder creeps its way across my neck- feeling all too similar to the sensation of an insect crawling on my skin. His touch made my skin crawl- it was uncanny in far too many ways. So human, yet so …. Not. He himself was too hard, yet his touch too light. It lacked warmth, not in intent, but physically lacked the warmth of human touch. His clawed fingers felt as though a pin was being dragged on my skin, not painful… but catching. 

As if some primordial instinct takes hold I yank my hand back, fingers curling into a fist as if to hide themselves from the unexpected and unsettling contact.

Bram’s antennae fold down, his hand still hanging limply in the air where mine had been not a second ago. The sight of him sends a wave of guilt crashing over me. With a forced smile, I let my hand relax in front of him, awkwardly pretending as if I hadn’t just cringed away from his touch. 

For some reason unbeknownst to me, my mind wanders back to his horrified reaction to his… current state. The way he’d cried into my hand- the feeling of helplessness that washed over me... Being able to do nothing but offer what little comfort I could. My stomach twists as I think of him trying to do the same for me. This had to be horrifying for him… For all my feelings of helplessness, I couldn’t imagine a fraction of the helplessness that he must be going through. 

I exhale. The act seeming to catch him off guard- his antennae shooting up as he regards me.  

Now was not the time to chew on these heavy questions. He needed help, I would figure the rest out later. 

Man, I need a drink- 

As soon as the thought enters my mind it's as if it sets a cascade of dominoes in motion. I’m met with teenage memories of Clyde and his buddies sneaking whatever alcohol they could scavenge into some ridiculous hiding spot he'd jimmy rigged straight into the drywall behind his bed. 

I smile.

That could work…

"Let's get you hidden, Big Man." His eyes narrow at the impromptu nickname, but he keeps his chirps to himself. I move my hand towards him before we both simultaneously pause, likely sharing one very awkward thought;

How was this going to work?

In something weirdly akin to two people trying to walk past one another but unsure of which direction to pick, we both continued in an awkward stop-start motion. 

"Here- uh, just let me-" I slid my hand behind him, scooping him at his knees. Rather than calmly remaining seated, a shrill chirp was all the warning I had before he began scrambling in my grip, his weird insectoid claws gripping into my skin in a way that, while not physically painful, was mentally disturbing. 

"Woah, woah- Bram!" My free hand shoots up to block the edge, as if he were some frightened animal about to jump to "safety." Instead, all four arms latched onto my finger, squeezing with a significant amount of force for his size. My brow furrows as I regard him,

"You good?" 

His head swivels, looking over his shoulder and back at me with a palpable anger in those tiny eyes. He let out a string of strained chirps, and despite not understanding a word he was saying, it didn't take much to understand it was littered with profanity. 

"Not a fan of heights, I'm assuming?" If looks could kill I'd be dead last week. In a gesture that needed no translation, Bram flipped me off.

As he tugged against my finger, I took the hint and curled my grip around him- wincing at the uncanny sensation of him in my grasp. It felt like holding a particularly large and eerily human-shaped beetle. Though, despite my own discomfort, Bram seemed at least somewhat more at ease in the security of a closed fist. 

I took a step. 

Immediately his primary set of arms were once again gripped onto my finger, claws digging into the meat- not enough to break the skin, though I assumed that courtesy was unintentional. At my movement, I heard the telltale jingle of Honey's collar as she padded to my side- clearly excited at the notion of some sort of activity other than gnawing on discarded exoskeleton.

Bram chittered nervously at her approach. I pull him close to me, making sure to hold him out of reach as Honey circles us, tail wagging with excited curiosity.

"Don't worry," I say, trying to put his nerves at ease, "She's a good girl, I promise- just a little excited after… everything." 

Though even as I say that, thoughts of Honey snapping at June bugs fill my mind- the nasty crunch they would make when she eventually caught them seemed to ring in my ears. I swallow dryly. 

Maybe it was best not to leave her unattended with him.

In the least obvious way I can manage, I shoo her away, nudging her with my foot as she circles around me. Honey somewhat acquiesces to my unspoken command, opting instead to trail behind me, still noisy but thankfully not nearly as pushy.

Good enough. The thought feels like the mental equivalent of a sigh. 

As I walk, I can’t help but notice how he flinches with every step, his whole body bracing as though I’d suddenly forget how to carry something. His tail flicks with what little room he has under my snug grasp, yet he remains quiet, eyes glued straight ahead as I make my way to Clyde's old room.

He all but dives off my hand as I move to set him down on the floor beside me, quickly moving himself out of the way as I join him on the floor. A flock of dust bunnies scatter as I reach under the bed, groping around for a solid spot to grip the small section of discreetly altered baseboard.

A smile crosses my face as the "door" swings open- immediately vanishing as my eyes fall on the interior of the wall. My smile is replaced with horror at the sight of empties littering the length of the inner wall- empties undoubtedly left from Clyde's long since passed teenage years. 

"Well look at that! Your room even comes with its own bar." I catch a whiff of the sour smell and grimace. Bram’s inky black eyes glare back at me, and even with his lack of visible sclera, I had no doubt he had rolled his eyes at the remark. 

"I'm sorry-” I chuckle awkwardly, mortified at the sight, “Brothers aren't really known for being the cleanest of creatures." Unable to add anything of note without the aid of the pen and paper, Bram shrugs, offering a half hearted thumbs up in response. His talon-like claws click softly on the wood floor as he moves to investigate his potential temporary residence. 

"You know," I feel a smile tug at the corners of my lips, a small half laugh slipping out at the strange turn of events, "When I first found you this morning I was terrified at the thought of you escaping into my walls."

His antennae perk up, oddly reminiscent of eyebrows raising in shock- or, more likely, offense.  That distinction was made much more clear as he proceeded to flip me off while buzzing angrily, the sound somewhere between a phone vibration and a particularly offended bee. 

His casual demonstration of profanity for some reason or other, put me at ease. I chuckle, the tension leaving my body, if only for a moment.

“I'll be back soon.”

Without further charades, I close the door, sealing Bram inside the wall. Part of me feels a pang of guilt for not thinking to grab some sort of light, but beggars, as well as potential fugitives, can’t be choosers. As I push myself back to a stand- physically feeling the weight of the day's events bearing down on me. A nagging urge to stop and critically think about what on Earth had transpired itches at the edge of my mind- yet I refused to scratch. There was a sort of mental momentum I had built up, a series of tasks to complete one after the other, and the knowledge that the moment I stopped to pick apart the situation in its entirety said momentum would send me crashing into reality. 

We can panic about this later. One thing at a time.

One foot in front of the other, I tear myself from the room- away from the strange little man who probably had all the answers, yet none of the words, or willingness, to share them. Honey reluctantly follows, letting out a soft whine in protest the same way she would if I were to take away a toy or an old bone. I grimace at the comparison. 

Yeah, let's not leave her alone with him.

________

I surveyed the sci-fi nightmare my home had become. Kitchen to livingroom, various degrees of carnage were scattered, and worse yet, splattered, around across the floor. With no small effort, I resist the urge to gag. My once beautiful hardwood was littered with discarded… parts of what had apparently once been Bram. The cracked bits of his outer shell, while undeniably gross when I thought too much about it, were not that bad. 

It was the flesh that made my skin crawl. 

I was no stranger to flesh. Hunting had long since suppressed my gag reflex when it came to viscera… and yet that was precisely what made it worse. I knew what it should be. I knew how it should feel… and that knowledge left me deeply aware of just how wrong everything was.

It was the colours that I noticed first.

Some flesh seemed almost normal, save for something uncanny with the degree of saturation, but the more I cleaned, the more oddities I found. Pieces of flesh so deeply red they neared the point of being back. The pieces far too tough, almost solid to the touch. 

Everything was coated in a strange slick opalescent mucous. Everything had this odd iridescent sheen. Though the fluids weren’t limited to the unnatural looking mucus. For a lack of better terminology, there was a general… ooze.  A sickly blend of various fluids; an opaque pale yellow transitioning into some sickly greyish green… and red… so much red the floor looked black until disturbed by my frantic wiping. 

What… what was all this?

What parts of him?

My stomach churned. The shed remains weren’t all just one consistency. There were… shapes in the flesh, lumps in the ooze. Whatever the inconsistencies in the gorey sludge had once been was impossible to tell, the lumps having lost much of their shape as if degraded by something.

My eyes flashed to my gloves- thankfully, still intact. 

I sigh, wincing as I inhale the strange stale smell that had undoubtedly bled into the flooring. It wasn’t particularly foul, in fact, it was almost familiar, which in itself made it far worse-  the smell of raw meat. 

My throat clenches at the thought, and I struggle to suppress the involuntary response to start dry heaving. 

Don’t think. Just clean. 

No different from gutting a deer. 

No difference at all. 

My hands move idly, picking up piece after horrific piece. The pile dwindles, replaced by a collection of dangerously heavy garbage bags in the center of the room, leaving nothing but the slowly congealing ooze to tackle. Armed with a worryingly complex array of disinfectants, I begin working away at the fluids.

My stomach churns as I try desperately to force my brain to think about anything else aside from the liquid carnage I’m sopping up with a month's worth of paper towel. Anything at all. 

Though the ‘anything’ that seems to permeate my mind, while less disgusting, is no less worrisome. 

Just what was happening? My teeth dug into the flesh of my lip as I scrubbed harder, as if the answer lay somewhere under the layers of- 

Was Bram really human? He seemed human... Maybe? His mannerisms were normal enough, save the extra appendages. But if he was human…

Why was he hiding? A distinct anxiety began to swell in my chest, and with it, a much more worrisome question came rising into my throat

Just who was he hiding from? 

…and how long until they got here?

_______

For all my monumental efforts in cleaning, it seemed as though Honey lived to do the opposite. Her fur, once a light golden color, was a horrible mishmash of the various fluids that had been splattered across my floor. Snout to tail she was caked in a thick mucosal slime that had rapidly begun to crust over as it dried, becoming flaky and, ugh, crunchy. 

From behind the filth, Honey stares up at me, her warm brown eyes filled with an innocent pleading as I stare down the nozzle at her- my finger hovering on the trigger. 

She whines softly.

I don't hesitate. 

Without a second thought, I spray her down- holding tight to her collar as she squirms in my grip, the cool spray from the hose apparently far less appealing than the rapidly decaying innards of some sci-fi mishap. I empty a container of dawn dish soap over her as she whines in protest, all the while desperately hoping that if Dawn worked for ducks in oil spills it’d work for dogs in biohazards as well. 

From I could tell, it seemingly had done the trick.

As I finished rinsing her off, Honey finally managed to wriggle free, zipping off to dart around the yard to run off her offense at, God forbid, being clean. 

My eyes hesitantly left her, moving to scan the lengthy driveway. I was almost expecting to see some unmarked government vehicle driving down to come and interrogate me.

How much time did I have before someone showed up? What was I even supposed to say? Hell- what were they going to say? ‘Hey Ma’am, have you seen a strange bug-person-thing in the area?’

A shaky breath blew past my lips as I forced out any hypothetical thoughts. 

We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it. 

My eyes flick towards the stack of pallets and scrap wood leaning up against the garage. 

But first we have more important things to burn. 

__________

The warmth of the fire pricks at my skin, or maybe it was the lingering bits of Bram sludge and it's undetermined acidity slowly burning through my skin-

With an exhale, I banish the thought before it can fully form. 

Everything’s fine. Kind of. Not really. I was harboring what was more and more in hindsight seeming like some fugitive alien or awol government experiment within the walls of my home. There was no way this wasn’t some type of felony, right? I was tampering with… evidence? A crime scene? 

What even was this?

I massage the bridge of my nose, my eyes immediately watering at the remaining smell of gasoline on my hands- no other reason. 

The fire continues to blaze on, the occasional pop and hiss emanating from the rapidly shrinking pile of charred remains. Around me, birds sang. I could hear the trill of chickadees and vireos as they hopped along the edge of the treeline. A soft breeze whispers through the foliage, rustling the leaves scattered on the ground. The early morning fog seemed to ease and give way to the everwarming rays of sunshine… 

I took a deep breath. 

Aside from the pungent odor of gasoline, there was a freshness in the air, as there so often was in fall. A crispness to the chill entering my lungs, with the sharp scent of evergreen dancing on each breath. I held out my hands, letting the heat from the fire soak into them.

It was turning out to be a beautiful day- clear skies, with the sun passively warming the October air. The atmosphere seemed to set a precedent. A subtle nod that everything would be okay.

I exhaled. 

Maybe everything really would be fine.

A soft vibration at my side pulls my attention to my phone. 

In my chest, my heart turns to ice- a sinking feeling of dread washing over me as I read the notification. 

Trail Cam Alert: Movement detected by NW BOUNDARY CAM at 8:06 am

[vampi-fixx]

izuru + “sticky”

1.3k words. surprisingly sfw until the very end, which is suggestive. fluff with a hint of angst. post-tybw zombified izuru. izuru's depression and lack of will to go on is its own tw.

Izuru’s come to hate summers.

He didn’t used to—or at least, that’s what Hisagi tells him. That he used to find beauty in all the seasons, that he could often be found notebook in hand, scribbling lines down as inspiration struck. While the picture he painted of Izuru (sunburnt and panting, gloomily fanning himself while griping about the stickiness of the heat) was less than appealing... the point is that he enjoyed the season in some way. The fireworks, the laughing children, the beaches, even the blistering heat.

He could find something poetic in it.

He could find something poetic in living.

And yet.

Something about summers now makes his skin crawl. Though he knows it shouldn't, not anymore. He can't feel the heat anymore, even if it is burning him. Not with his new... "upgrades." Kurotsuchi-taicho would scoff if he could see him shifting uneasily on the park bench now. The new body I’ve designed makes you impervious to trifling things such as the weather! Not even hellfire could stop you, Izuru Kira.

But yet.

Something about this body—this body that can't feel anymore—is unsettled under the glare of summer. The signs of life around him, the sounds of revelry—it all gives Izuru the distinct sensation of being an outsider. An undead man, dragged back into life. Bound to a place he has no business still existing in.

The cup of shaved ice in his hands is overflowing, dribbling onto the pavement between his feet, pooling into a puddle of melted watermelon sugar and ice. It's sticky, leaving a mess between his palms. He's barely touched it. He doesn't pay mind to it.

Pensive as he is.

The sound of laughter is a welcome reprieve. Offers a hand out of his thoughts, where he's often found himself these days. His gaze focuses, finding you.

You.

Giggling as you try to lick your fast-melting shaved ice as it dribbles off the edges, the peach syrup leaving a sticky trail on your shirt.

"Oopsies," you say as you catch his gaze. You crack a grin. "Made a mess." Oddly, you don't seem at all upset about it.

He manages a small half-smile, the sight of your joy making something in his chest clench. As if his once-beating heart could still pump.

"You don't like yours?" you ask, pointing at his forgotten treat.

"Ah. No. It's not that..."

You wait patiently for an answer that never comes. Izuru stares at the mess in his hands. He didn't really intend to eat it.

He only agreed to go out because of you.

"Wanna try mine?" You beam at him.

Izuru blinks. "No, thank you," he says politely, his lips twitching at the corners when you pout. He sets his cup down on the bench beside him, wiping his hands on the wooden planks. Pretending for a moment that he's not in utter awe at your radiance.

His palms used to get clammy when he was nervous. Izuru thinks they would be if he could right now.

But that's your allure, he supposes. You can take the undead parts of him, his cold, static heart, and make him feel something again. As if he's not just a hollowed out shell of himself. A remnant of who he once was.

You make him feel alive.

Or at least, as close to alive as he's been in awhile.

"Mm, Izu... I really think you'd like mine better."

"...You think so?" he says absently. Lost in thought, he doesn't catch the mischievous glean in your gaze. If he did, maybe he would react in time.

He stills as your leg hooks over him, settling onto his lap. Your arms come up to hang loosely around his neck. In this position, you're very much straddling him. If he could, he think he'd go red, as red as his shaved ice you've knocked over in your movement, pooling onto the pavement below.

"What are you—we—” Eyes wide, he's floundering for his words. You always have this effect on him—leaving him stumbling for his wits.

"Izuru," you pout. "You sure you don't want to try?"

"I—" His hands grip your thighs, attempting to hide the revealed skin that shows with your skirt hiked up. He's not pushing you away—he never could, anyways, not after you've stuck by his side—but in warning. His gaze darts around.

"What if someone sees--"

You giggle again, before shoving a spoonful of your shaved ice into your mouth. Before he knows it, you're swallowing his complaints with a kiss His surprise leaves his lips parted, and your tongue slips into his mouth.

Peaches. You taste sweet like peaches, the syrupy liquid dripping into his mouth with every press of your lips against his.

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a strained whimper. His hands search for purchase, finding it by digging into the softness of your thighs. You squeal into the kiss as he grasp adjusts you, wrapping your thighs higher around his waist.

The two thoughts occur to him, in direct conflict.

You two shouldn't be doing this in public.

2. He doesn't want to stop.

He should.

...But he really doesn't want to stop.

Despite himself, he deepens the kiss, pressing his lips insistently against yours. Reminding himself that he's here, that you're here, that you've chosen him, of all people. A trail of syrup dribbles down his chin, and he bites back his grimace.

A small price to pay. If given the choice, he would drown himself in you. In your sticky, syrupy sweet love for him.

You pull away from the kiss with a small gasp, your eyelashes fluttering. Despite himself, Izuru's lip twitches, a small barely-there smile as he presses his forehead against yours. Your breathing is harsh as your nose brushes his.

"Well?" you ask breathlessly. "Did you like it?"

His lips part in contemplation.

"It was alright," he concludes with a wrinkle of his nose. "Too sweet." The delivery made it... palatable."

"Delivery, huh?" You raise a brow, smirking. "I had no idea it was that easy to get you to try things..."

He stiffens. "That—it's not like that!"

"Maybe that's how I should get you to do everything from now on~"

He sighs as he looks away, his fingers digging into your thighs. You giggle, cupping his face in your hands. Reluctantly he glances up at you with a sullen look.

"Don't be like that, Izuru. Don't you want more?" you ask him. Briefly chewing on your lip, making sure he catches the movement.

He drags his attention from your lips to your eyes. A flicker of interest stirs in his heavy gaze.

"...Will you give it to me the same way?"

"Only if you ask~"

He huffs, rolling his eyes. He squeezes your thighs again, pausing once his thumbs catch on something sticky. It's at this moment that he notices the sticky residue of his syrup left on your skin. So enraptured by the sight of the red smudges, he nearly misses your next words.

"There is another mess I'd like you to clean up, but we can't exactly do it in public..."

He stares up at you uncomprehendingly, until you raise a brow suggestively. Stiffly, he grabs you, easing you off of him and onto the bench, before he stands. Reaches out a hand behind him.

"We can clean up in my barracks."

"Oh~ Is Lieutenant Kira inviting me over to his place?"

He pauses, glancing at you sternly. "Only because you've made a mess," he says, before swiftly leading you back to his private quarters, haste in his steps.

Needless to say, he is thorough at cleaning up the mess you've made.

[specialinterestshows]

Lucky for y’all, it looks like I write more when I’m experiencing Symptoms, and I am VERY much experiencing symptoms. Enjoy the continued stoner adventures in this Rhea Ripley x lady!reader fic.

Warnings for this section: Stoner paraphernalia (though no actual weed in this one)

-

Absolute Smokeshow (Part 3/?): When The Bong Breaks

“Shit!”

You startle awake at the sound of your guest swearing loudly. The two of you must have fallen asleep on the couch, judging by the sunlight streaming through the windows and the smudges in Rhea’s makeup. Wiping drool away from the edge of your mouth, you move to sit up.

“Stay there!” You froze at the command. Rhea elaborated, “I accidentally ran into your bong on the way to the bathroom and knocked it over. There’s glass on the floor. Broom?” You point in the direction of your cleaning supplies, yawning and stretching before rubbing your eyes. Once she returned, you watched groggily as the woman clad in black and purple took a broom, dust pan, and paper towels to the mess on the floor.

“Thanks for getting that,” you mumble.

“‘Course,” Rhea replied, “I’m the one who knocked it over.” Her brow furrowed, she seemed contemplative as she took the glass shards and soaked towels to the trash.

“Am I good to use the floor now?” You call out.

“Should be good- So hey,” Rhea seemed to interrupt herself, turning around and walking in your direction, “Breaking your bong was a shitty way to thank you for smoking me out last night” - her demeanor seemed casual, but she wasn’t making eye contact; it was obvious she wasn’t used to apologizing - “So if you have time today, we can get you a replacement. My treat.”

Not a hint of a “sorry,” but offering to replace the piece for you was still a pretty good non-apology. You smiled, “I definitely have time.”

You both freshened up, Rhea borrowed your phone charger, and you threw together some breakfast. The head shop didn’t open until noon, so the morning was fairly leisurely - until you heard Rhea sigh as she checked her phone. Before you could ask what was wrong, she unplugged the charger and ducked into the other room, closing the door. Letting her have her privacy, you start cleaning off remnants of the night before from the table in front of the couch.

“You said you wanted ME to “figure it out” for MYSELF. I’m not going to report back every little DETAIL-“ the muffled shouting cut off as abruptly as it had begun. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop, but was it really eavesdropping if she was being that loud?

“No, NO. I do NOT want to hear about your night either… Dom!“

The rest of the conversation was at a lower volume, unintelligible from where you were. After a few minutes, you heard the door open and Rhea walked back in, looking equally angry and depressed.

“Almost time yet?” she asked, putting on the battle vest she had taken off last night.

“We can leave now and get there around when they open,” you reply, sensing her need to set her attention on something else.

About half an hour later, you’re both walking through the doors of the head shop. An older man with long, silver hair and a tie-dye shirt approached the two of you, “Couldn’t wait for us to open, eh?” - he winks - “Now I’m afraid I’m gonna have to see some ID before I can let you go any further.”

He scans both IDs you hand him and nods, giving them back.

“So, what can I get you rad ladies today?”

“We would love to see your selection of” - you look back and forth dramatically and loudly whisper behind your hand - “…waterpipes.”

The man chuckles, “Right on, right on. Follow me.” Walking past all manner of bright, beautiful, and strange stoner supplies, the three of you head to the back of the store. You stop at a long, tall set of shelves with a glass door keeping the pieces locked inside.

“Here you are!” the man gestured to the rows of bongs, “Feel free to browse our selection and give me a holler if anything strikes your fancy.”

“Thank you!” you grin as you watch the bright colors of the tie-dye shirt recede back to the front of the store.

“So,” Rhea prompted, “you know what you need. Any of these it?”

A look back at the shelves stocked with colorful shapes and the price tags begin to catch your eye. “W-what, um,” you stutter a bit, “What’s my price limit?” It felt like a rude question to ask, but you didn’t want to request more than what was being offered.

“Limit?” a haughty smirk made its way onto her face, “None. I owe you a new piece. Besides, I’m making that beat-people-up money.” You can’t help but smile as she flexes.

“Duuuude, is that Rhea Ripley?” you look up to see two stoners who had obviously pre-gamed their trip to the store, speaking in what they seemed to think were hushed tones.

“Don’t stare or nothin’ - she doesn’t just fight women, she can beat up dudes!” the other responded.

Rhea clearly heard them too, turning around to glare at the pair. One let out a squeak as they quickly averted their gaze and pretended to look at the nearest display case. Muffling your laughter with your hand, you watch Rhea roll her eyes.

It takes a while, but you finally decide on a sturdy-looking piece and have the kind man who greeted you pack it in bubble wrap for the drive back home. “Just head on over to the first register and Bud can ring you up,” the man said, going behind the counter for a bag. The two of you walk to the register manned by an employee whose name tag read “Bud.”

“Your name is really Bud?” you try not to seem too amused while addressing the man behind the counter.

“Nah,” he smiled, “but they let you go by whatever here so I thought, why not?”

He rings you up and Rhea hands him her card. Bud’s eyes widen as he looks at the name on the card, then up at the woman next to you, then back again.

“Are you THE Rhea Ripley?” He asks, baffled.

She sighs, “Yeah, that’s me.”

Once you exit the store, Rhea asks aloud, “How do they all recognize me? I thought Matt Riddle was the king of the stoners?”

A grin sweeps over your face as you unlock the car and carefully place the bong between the items in the trunk, “Let’s head back to mine and break in the new bong, queen of the stoners.”

Rhea elbows you slightly, “Using “break” and “bong” in the same sentence? I’m not living this down, am I?”

[end part three of ?]

Part 4: https://www.tumblr.com/specialinterestshows/723507333951635456/absolute-smokeshow-part-4-the-judgement-gay

-

Tag list (thank you!):

@cherryberryshine

@littlemiss-fanficlover

[d3sire-97]

Rating Every Danganronpa Trial (That I've Played.)

Please keep in mind I've only played THH and SDR2 and I am kind of biased lol. Also, this is a long rant so buckle your seatbelts... or something.

Last Place:

"CELESTIA LUDENBURG GODDAMIT!"

THH Trial 3: I hated this chapter. The search was too long, Robo-Justice plot was annoying af, I hate that Hifumi believed Celeste about Ishimaru, Kiyondo was a useless plotline (I still love his character tho) and Kiyotaka could've had kick-ass character development like Fuyuhiko got in SDR2. Instead he just... died. I hated that Celeste lost her cool, the trial was annoying, and I hated it. 1/10.

"Kyoko's a ghost!!!"

THH Trial 5: I hated this dumb plot. Shortest trial in all of Danganronpa, and yet it felt like it went the longest. Don't care about the victim, debated whether Kyoko was a ghost for... a good 15 minutes? People are dumb, the investigation kind of annoys me. The only good thing was Owada's "Crazy Diamond" pick-axe in the shed. I wouldn't re-play it at all. Boring. 2/10.

"None of us know what happened to the world, but maybe she knows..."

SDR2 Trial 6: This trial was decent, but probably not as re-playable as it could be. I liked Hajime in this trial, but I feel like we needed a bit more to go off of, playing it I didn't understand that everybody was alive. Junko fanservice was bad. Felt really dragged on, but important points were not included enough (E.G: Kamakura) I don't get Junkos' motive this time but the remnant thing was pretty cool. I would replay it, definitely not my favourite. 5/10.

"We're all remnants..."

THH Trial 6: This was also an alright trial. A bit too much Junko fanservice but I liked Genocider Syo in this trial, she was funny. I liked Junko's plan but she was quite a bland mastermind. I would've rathered Togami or Kyoko but that wouldn't make sense for the plot. Hiro did nothing in the trial again... I kind of enjoyed this one, but last trials are known to be bad so this could've been a bit higher if Enoshima could've had a better motive than "Despair, despair, I'm bored, kill my sister." Re-playable by a slim amount. 5.3/10

"I did it all... for my beloved!"

SDR2 Trial 3: Chapter three trials are known to be worse than Chp.6 because the culprit doesn't need to kill two people, but they do, they get caught, and they spam F in the chat and scream about "stupid, not fair, because, apologise" etc. I find this trial isn't as bad as everybody says, the search was confusing, Hiyoko dying was funny, and I laughed. Mikan couldn't possibly set up her locked-room murder in time and then meet Hajime in the Music Venue car park. This chapter had so many loopholes (E.G: How did Hiyoko even die?) but I liked it more than the other ones. Weak execution, but great Despair Disease motive. Might reluctantly re-play for nostalgia. 5.5/10.

"You.... all killed her! You pushed Sakura into a corner! She died because of you!"

THH Trial 4: I'm going to get hate for this one... but... I'm not a big fan of this trial. I am biased, yes, but everybody is, and this is my respectable opinion. The investigation was decent, and so was the discovery. I find that Aoi trying to kill everybody was smart but dumb at the same time, if that makes sense. I kind of got bored after THH after a certain trial (no spoilers for the rest of this list) I loved the Alter-Ego twist, and Sakura's note was great. Junko messing with the suicide note was not cool though. I would replay it but it still isn't my favourite. 6.3/10

"Hey! You can't say that without any evidence! This is bullshit! You're stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

"Heh, I guess I just have pretty good intuition!"

THH Trial 1: Okay, I LOVE THIS TRIAL- I really love this trial. When somebody says "Danganronpa" THIS is the trial I think of. It isn't the best, and it's a very short chapter compared to SDR2 Chapter 5, but oh my gosh. I love it. I liked Sayaka a lot, and I also loved "Fake Junko" before I knew she was Mukuro. I thought that Leon was really cool too. I liked the introductory trials a lot, and this one is amazing! The series starts with a bang, and you realise "Oh shit this isn't as colourful and fun as I thought." The only reason this trial isn't higher is because it was obvious and easy. When I first played THH, I admit I didn't even notice 11037 on the wall and was stuck on the investigation for like... an hour... *disappointed sigh from me* but upon re-play it's easier than I remember. I know it's for Japanese speaking users who wouldn't know Leon/11037 in English. Highly re-playable, good twists, good introductory trial. 7/10

"Good bye my four dark devas of destruction..."

SDR2 Trial 4: I'm also probably going to get backlash for this opinion, but I still LOVE this chapter. I love the island, I love the motive, I love the strawberry and grape houses, and the elevator. I love the Hajime octagon meme! But, the trial was just DIFFICULT. I actually had a laptop infront of me the whole time with the answers up- I loved Mechamaru and the Sakura statue. I love Gundham and his hampsters. A great execution, a great trial room. Silly Fuyuhiko was the only reason Gundham got caught. I like that we got to switch between Nagito and Hajime's POVs and the Russian-Roulette scene. My only issue is that I'm dumb. That's it. 8/10, very re-playable.

"P-please Peko! Don't go! I NEED YOU! Don't leave me!"

SDR2 Trial 2: Okay, we are up to the final 4 in trials, and this one takes 4th place! I love it so much! I have ALMOST nothing bad to say about this trial at all! The relationship between Fuyuhiko and Peko was shown to beautifully during this trial. The execution was amazing, the music was absolutely a banger (as always) and oh my gosh. This trial made me so sad and emotional. Very smartly set out murder plan. Enough on the trial until a little bit later, my thoughts on the island are great. It's probably my favourite island in the game. The only thing bringing this chapter down a rank is the fanservice... THE DINER SCENE. If you've played you know what I mean... anyway, the only other thing bringing this chapter down is the motive. Twilight Murder Syndrome was a game I didn't care about. I didn't care about Sato or Natsumi. I didn't care about Girls A through E or Guy F. It got too confusing and annoying and I had to write down who each character was because they kept reffering to Mikan as Girl A. It got annoying, but I enjoyed this chapter and would replay it more than once. 8.5/10

In third place we have...

"AVRIL LAVIIIIINNNNGGGGGEEEE"

SDR2 Trial 1: Uh... even I'm surprised that a guy calling us "Avril Lavinge" got third place, but here we are. I don't care much for Teruteru or Imposter/Fake Byakuya, and the execution was a little bit silly. I loved this chapter, we got introduced to the characters and their aspects much better than in THH in the man hall, it helped us explore the island and learn the new locations/controls as well as hitting us with nostalgia. I have nothing bad to say about this chapter at all. I liked that Byakuya strangely tried to take charge (which was unlike what he did in THH) and I think that his dying resulted in Hajime realising he had to get his shit together and step up. Loved the references to the first game. Great humane motive, great chapter, great fun, not too hard not too easy. I loved this trial and chapter alot. 9/10.

In second place we have...

"Yep! You got it right!. I'm just going to confess, I'm the traitor."

SDR2 Trial 5: Yeah uh... I'M SO BIASED THAT THIS ISN'T FIRST, BECAUSE THIS IS TRULY THE BEST TRIAL OUT OF THE FIRST GAMES BUT WHATEVER THIS IS MY OPINION AND MY POLL HERE WE GO!

I loved this trial. Nothing bad to say. The chapter was amazing, the new island was great, the bomb thing. Awesome! The traitor being revealed? Awesome! I cried! NAGITO DYING SO BRUTALLY? AWESOME!!! I have nothing bad to say, and I loved this trial SO SO SO much! Hajime and the others in denial about Chiaki being the traitor was such a strong plot. I wish that the last trial of SDR2 was as good as this one, but it isn't :(. Let's start with Nagito COOKING. He absolutely ate, fire, luck, the whole plan was amazing! I don't know how he or the DR2 team came up with that, but whoever did NEEDS a raise bro! I think about this trial so much, I'm so dam passionate about it. The most brutal body discovery? Check! The saddest execution? Check! The best execution music? Check! The craziest body search and evidence search? CHECK! I loved this trial so so so so so so so much, and it deserves to be number one. Fully replayable, amazing, elite! I have no issues with it. 9.5/10

And... first place... omfg-

I love this trial so much. I can't even describe. When somebody says Danganronpa, THIS is the line I think of.

"JUST SHUT UP YOU SON OF A BITCH! SAY THAT AGAIN, I DARE YOU!"

"I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise. From one man to another..."

Peak Danganronpa (In my opinion). I agree, THH is the weakest of all the Danganronpa games in characters and visually. But if every trial cooked like this one, goddamit I WISH-

THH Trial 2.

I CAN'T EVEN DESCRIBE HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS CHAPTER!

Let's start: The motive, amazing. I loved it. Imagine your most embarrassing secret. "Nobody would kill over that" you'd be surprised. I loved the bromance between Ishimaru and Owada, and the sauna scene was just hilarious. The chapter body discovery was amazing, Byakuya framing Toko for no reason JUST to get her secret out was amazing (asshole move, but amazing) Celeste not mentioning the track-jacket colour... the emotion in their voices. The body search was fun! The new floor was fun! The free time events I chose were fun! I love Mondo, I love Kiyotaka, I love Chihiro. Another humane motive. I got chills hearing Kiyotaka's voice acting. CHILLS. Even though the execution story is terrible, and a bit goofy, just imagine being liquified... your body turns to mush, your internal organs fail you... your body eats itself and crushes itself, bones and all. GODDAMIT IT'S AMAZING. I also loved Syo in this trial. Who gave Byakuya the right to be such an ass though? I love it so much, I have nothing bad to say about it. I will replay it OVER AND OVER AND OVER I LOVE IT SO MUCH! 10/10

Anyway, sorry for this long-ass shit-post. Hope you enjoyed reading my opinions. I'm bored so I'm going to rank executions next, with shorter paragraphs. This includes the executions in V3, for those of you who love Strand of Agony and Der Flohwalzer!

[itsclydebitches]

#greenlightvolume10 but seriously how!? Its RTX and it was not greenlit.

No idea, anon. Like legitimately, I don't know nearly enough about this business to say if general support would make a difference at this point, or if Eddie is calling for something else, or... what.

Honestly though, Vol. 10 still not being greenlit is currently overshadowed by the everything of that epilogue. I am immensely grateful that it wasn't a formal part of the Volume (even though releasing it now raises it to the status of canon in many fans' eyes and its mere existence implies that, if we do get Volume 10, the information in that clip will greatly inform what comes next) because boy oh boy, did I dislike it. That right there is six condensed minutes of RWBY's tendency to rewrite important plot-points and characterization on the fly. Why is Winter guiltily claiming she stayed by Ironwood's side too long when the entire point of Volume 7 was that they all agreed with him, at least when it came to long-term goals? Why has the story forgotten the crucial World Building detail that one of the things everyone agreed on was that telling Remnant about Salem would lead to mass-scale grimm attacks? Now, as we already guessed due to the implications of Volume 9's final image, Ruby's message has only brought super convenient cooperation—to the point of her getting impromptu memorials. Hell, even Raven, the one character defined by her cowardly neutrality, appears to ferry the girls into the city without any arc to explain her presence except, apparently, "The teenager telling me things I already knew but being ~hopeful~ about it has totally changed my tune, to the point of being OOC." Why does Winter get the long-winded speech expressing her sorrow when Qrow, someone who just lost two girls akin to his daughters, walks around laughing and feeling "optimistic"? I get that obviously the clip is very unfinished, but why does Nora have a waaaaay stronger reaction to Team RWBY's return than he does? Why is he thumbing Clover's badge in gratitude when Volume 8 worked so hard to paint him as the villain who (agree to disagree) got himself killed? Meanwhile, I can't say I'm surprised that his depression, rather than getting worse after such a monumental tragedy, has apparently disappeared just like his alcoholism.

Even Vacuo feels like a mess. We left the citizens stranded in the desert getting picked off by grimm, their only potential salvation a city that despises them, specifically, and prizes itself on the kind of survival mentality the Atlas elite are not in a position to emulate (huntsmen aside). We then return to suddenly find new happiness blooming, the Schnees doling out bread with only the occasional snarky remark to contend with. This is partly why I really didn't want that time skip. It's far too easily—as RWBY has done in this clip—to skate over all the conflict it introduced with a, "They got out of that mess somehow" implication.

Also, question: were Maria and Pietro there? I don't recall seeing them, but I've only watched it once. If you're going to produce a things-are-bad-but-not-actually-compared-to-what-the-story-set-up ending that includes character appearances all the way down to the largely inconsequential butler... at least tell us if those two are actually dead or not?

[mareenavee]

WIP Whenever~

Happy middle-of-the-week, everyone! I hope the writing's been good. I finished two whole fics this week. (Small, but still good.) Started on another, while getting about idk 1/3 of the way through chapter 27. That's what I'm going to share today! But first, tagging the most esteemed: @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @thana-topsy, @thequeenofthewinter, @oblivions-dawn (I have to know what's next lol), @gilgamish, @tallmatcha, @rhiannon1199, @snippetsrus, @saltymaplesyrup and @archangelsunited -- If you aren't tagged, consider yourself tagged, and tag me back so I can see what you've got! Without further ado, here's a section of chaos from chapter 27 of The World on Our Shoulders.

Teldryn sat on the edge of Neloth’s bed, cradling a mug of canis root tea. His skin still stung from the constant prodding and scraping to check for any remnants of the blasted Stalhrim. He was still anxious, if he was being honest. It made it hard to stay asleep. Tel Mithryn was almost unnaturally quiet, except for the low hum of the Levitation Runes and the rapid flipping of pages. At the moment, Neloth was poring over a collection of tomes while everyone else was sleeping. It couldn’t be long before dawn now. The perfect hour, really, for negative thoughts to swirl around unmitigated. He sighed and sipped his tea.

To make things worse, Nyenna still hadn’t been able to maintain consciousness for long, despite all Neloth was doing to help her. He’d theorized something about swelling in her brain combined with a disruption of the flow of Magicka through her body. It was as if the rebounded Shout had somehow broken her mind in more ways than one. The implications of that alone had him thanking Azura he’d even survived the Shout he’d gotten caught up in during that first fight by her side. He’d already decided he’d never underestimate her again, but now… Was it a death wish to stand so close to such power? Did that matter, in the end? He looked down at Nyenna now, sleeping peacefully, hair a tangled mess against the pillow, stress gone from her brow. It didn’t matter, come to think of it. It wouldn’t be right to leave and let her figure this all out on her own. She was a risk, but one he’d probably stick by until time itself came unraveled, Gods willing. He stopped mid-sip at the realization. Best if he didn’t exactly say that aloud, all things considered.

Neloth sighed heavily at his desk and swore in Dunmeris, his tone more exasperated despite keeping relatively quiet. Teldryn wasn’t sure how much of a healer he really was; even though he’d done incredible work after the Red Year, his personality sort of conflicted with the basic tenants of Restoration magic. To his credit, he did at least seem rather concerned and had even set aside the Stalhrim to study Nyenna’s condition. He’d even forced Talvas, his assistant, to drop all his projects and papers to help. The boy was passed out on his own desk in the other part of the room, exhaustion of the last few days finally catching up to him. Varlais, too, had tried to help but ended up in more of a glorified servant’s role. He wasn’t really the thinking type, as Neloth had frustratingly come to find out. Teldryn had, of course, already known.

Teldryn did the best he could with his own Healing and Calm spells. He’d offered to go get Aphia from Raven Rock, but Neloth insisted he knew more than any other Mer in a thousand-mile radius. While that was likely true, there really was no downside to having an extra pair of hands. It was just as well…the debt he’d racked up with the grand soul gems wasted on Teleportation spells outshone his earnings from the last half-year at this point. He likely wouldn’t have to pay it back, except in insults and reminders of how heroic Neloth had acted. This would go on for the rest of existence, an inside joke turned into exhaustion in no time at all. But that was just how the old wizard had always been. And to be fair, he’d pay that cost again and again if it meant helping anyone after what they’d all been through, Nyenna especially so.

To Neloth’s other point, Nyenna’s Magicka was not loud now, not like it usually was. It hadn’t been for a few days, though whatever the affliction, it was at least healing. There was a huge difference from when he’d dragged her out of the Atronach’s lair. Then, it had been almost non-existent, barely registering at all.  She was so pale. She seemed so fragile. She’d been speaking in frantic Dovahzul, almost as if possessed. And her eyes… Gods, but… It was too difficult to recall that particular memory. He swallowed hard against the fresh wave of horror. He’d been terrified. He’d lived long enough now that few things were capable of even surprising him — but this whole situation had been almost too much. Not quite as bad as Red Mountain, despite the similar wrongness in the warp and weft of the place he’d felt, and the way their feet all had been moving of their own accord toward the danger. But it had been close. Living in the aftermath of that fight left him feeling somewhat hollow where fear had burned everything else away.

Unnerved, Teldryn sipped his tea and looked at her as she slept. It’d been a whole day since the last nightmare, so this peace was progress. As he’d done a hundred times in the last span of days, he reached out and brushed some of her curls out of her eyes. That power of hers was still there, like a shock under her skin, though dulled. He had hope, though, despite everything. Even in the void left behind by all the recent chaos, she gave him hope. He didn’t quite know how to tell her that without breaking unspoken rules.

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.xii // Like An Animal

Previous / AO3 / Masterlist / Next

That day passes like a blur. Each moment is clear enough, but the whole is somewhat washed out, messy. Moment to moment, thought to thought.

By the time Conrad wakes up, music is reverberating through the walls of the house, an aggressive mess of drums and electric guitar. It’s loud enough that Conrad is taken aback by how it didn’t wake him up sooner, until he remembers the events of the previous night, and feels a streak of shame. He shouldn’t have taken that pill. What kind of person would do that?

The moment he sits up, he is hit by just how heavy his limbs feel – but also, and perhaps more concerning, how comfortable he feels, physically. Gone is the tenseness in his neck, the nervous tightness of his jaw, the inner restlessness born from his constant anxiety. Even the ache in his shoulder seems numbed, or maybe he just feels too relaxed to really be bothered by it. His head feels as though it’s full of cotton; soft and warm, but partially obscured, foggy. He’s not sure what to make of it. It’s like the drugs have taken him out of his body and then placed him back in, but slightly to the left. Everything is just a little bit out of sync.

Outside, the sun is setting already, crowning retreating clouds in a pale, golden light. Remnants of rain still dot the window. Conrad lets his tongue roll around a dry mouth, swallowing what little thick saliva he can.

It’s somewhat humiliating, having to call out for Davin, like a perverted version of a child calling out for the help of a parent, but what else is he supposed to do? He’s still locked to the bed. The thirst in his throat is palpable, threatening to burn.

At first, Conrad thinks the music might have overshadowed his call, but the door does eventually open, and Davin steps into the room.

“Sleep alright?”

Conrad nods, then pauses at how heavy his head feels.

He’s almost certain his balance will be affected, but once he’s free and stands up, it’s not – although gravity still seems to be doing a number on him. With sluggish movements, he follows Davin out into the kitchen, wincing at the noise as they pass Renee’s room. Thankfully, the door is closed.

After eating the meal Davin lays out for him – it’s too late in the day to call it breakfast – and dousing his thirst with several glasses of water, Conrad sits back, running his thumb along the edge of the plate.

Another thing that makes him uncomfortable: It’s gotten to the point, now, where he can feel how greasy his hair is, without even touching it. Days’ worth of sweat and oil accumulating to make him look, he presumes, abysmal. He clears his throat, and Davin looks up from his laptop, brow raised.

“I was just wondering,” Conrad says hoarsely, “if I could take a shower?”

“Sure.” Davin nods and gets up, motioning for Conrad to follow.

Before long, Davin has gathered a bundle of fresh clothes from a grocery bag in his room, as well as a towel. He pauses in the hall outside the bathroom to twist the key out of the door.

“The door stays unlocked,” he says, “and I might knock every once in a while. If you don’t answer, I’ll come in. I don’t care if you’re naked.”

“Okay,” Conrad mutters, awkwardly taking the bundle in his hands as Davin tips it in his direction. There’s still price tags attached to some of the items.

Davin pockets the key. “I know it won’t be easy, but try to keep your shoulder out of the direct stream of the water.”

“…okay,” Conrad repeats distantly.

Once he’s finally alone in the bathroom, albeit lacking the sense of true privacy that a locked door would elicit, Conrad lays the clean clothes on the counter and manages to take off his old t-shirt without lifting his injured arm too much. It takes him a while to unravel himself from the gauze, but eventually, he’s able to lay it all in a pile next to the clean clothes. Parts of the off-white strands are streaked with rust where his wounds have bled during the night.

Conrad takes a deep breath before he looks at himself in the mirror.

He knew it’d look bad, but seeing it still makes his stomach churn. Not just the dark red lines, crisscrossing from the top of his chest, over his shoulder, down his arm; but also the faint bruises forming at the edges of the cuts, the way the stitches pull at his skin, making it bunch up under each knot.

It looks like he’s been mauled. Like an animal sunk its claws into him, again and again in a fervor.

Despite the deep revolt in his core, there’s a barrier between it and his ability to react to it, a veil between feeling and body. The cotton in his brain. He finds that when he tries, he can push those feelings down. And maybe that’s better than disentangling it all here and now.

Conrad eyes the unlocked door warily before he slips out of the rest of his clothes, feeling none the less exposed as he steps into the shower cubicle and shuts the glass door. Far from expecting them to value his privacy, Conrad is grateful that Davin at least let the door remain closed.

He showers methodically, and mostly one-handed, but isn’t wholly successful at keeping his wounds dry. Occasionally, he spots flakes of dried blood dislodging and circling down the drain. He has a strange urge to catch them before they disappear. It doesn’t feel right that his blood, what used to be part of his body, should end up with the spill water. Feels dehumanizing in a way. Demeaning. But what doesn’t, in this place? He pushes those feelings down, too. Just concentrates on getting clean.

Once he’s done, he finds himself suddenly grateful, and not just as a passing feeling. Showers are an opportunity to scrub away grease, yes, but they also bring a different sense of clarity, one that, despite the circumstances, Conrad still gleams at now. The grogginess is still there, but in a sense less heavy, as if a fog has begun to retreat.

The clothes Davin gave him are simple, just a t-shirt, sweatshirt, and a pair of jeans. Conrad finds that the jeans, at least, fit him alright if he folds the leg up once. He pauses, t-shirt in hand, eyeing his reflection in the mirror. The bruises around his eyes are finally starting to fade, he notices, but the fact that they’re still there at all throws him for a loop. That night feels like a year ago.

He hates that he considers telling Davin about it before going to his room, as if he’s expected to ask for permission. They already established that he’s allowed to roam free, right? It’s not like they need him for anything.

On a small bookshelf in his room, Conrad finds an old, weathered copy of The Hobbit, and decides it’s a welcome distraction. Sitting back against the headboard, he fishes for the screw in its hiding place.

Reading, it turns out, is almost impossible to do while multitasking. Often, Conrad finds his thoughts wandering as his eyes tumble over the paragraphs, as if they’re meaningless scribbles, the words don’t connect to anything. His attention absentmindedly tethers itself to the screw instead, to the perpetual, rhythmic monotony of the task. At least then, Conrad feels like he’s doing something worthwhile.

Although progress is slow, it is progress none the less. So far his work has not been enough to make the screw fit in the handcuff’s keyhole yet, but the threads along one side are almost filed down to the core. Every time he takes it up to study it, it fills him with hope.

It’s about defiance, when he talks to Howard about it in his mind. About fighting back, but being smart. About waiting for the right moment.  

He can imagine Howard laughing, but not in a mean way. And they’d tell him that they knew he’d never let his spirit be broken. They always treated him like he was capable.

He can imagine… just seeing them again. Embracing them, silently, without a word. Maybe words wouldn’t do it all justice. He can imagine feeling their arms curl around him, and leaning into their warmth.

 He can imagine that, as he files away at the screw. His hand is propping the book open in his lap, fingers flipping through pages he can’t concentrate enough to read. A lousy front for a more important errand.

An hour, maybe two, passes when there’s a knock at the door. Conrad hides the screw under the pillow as Renee pokes his head into the room.

“C’mon,” he says, nodding towards the hallway.

Conrad is frozen in place.

Renee rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Just come with me, would you?”

“…why?”

“Because I’m bored, and Davin is being a killjoy.”

When Conrad still doesn’t move, Renee stomps through the room, grabbing Conrad by the arm to haul him to his feet.

“Come the fuck on,” he says.

Heart beating in his throat, Conrad staggers along as Renee leads him out of the room, hoping that at least, whatever the man wants, it might be over quickly.

Renee directs him through the kitchen, past the dining table and into the small living room area, where a couch group faces a flatscreen as well as a modern fireplace. He stops in front of a large armchair. “Sit,” he commands.

Conrad reluctantly does.

“You’re top screen,” Renee says, and sticks a game controller in his hand.

It’s so far from what Conrad expected, he sits still for a while, waiting for the catch. Meanwhile, Renee, not noticing his hesitation, starts fiddling with the settings menu for a game Conrad has never seen before.

“Press start,” Renee says eventually.

Conrad looks at his controller, but among all its buttons and joysticks, none are labelled, and none have the shape of a sideways triangle he normally associates with a start button. He must be taking too long, because Renee eventually leans over – Conrad feels himself tense up as his hand approaches – and presses a big round button in the middle of the controller.

The TV displays a split screen, a character on each armed with assault rifles, and a countdown begins.

“I don’t know how to, to play this,” Conrad stammers.

“Movement is on your right, aim on your left, you jump with A, you shoot with R1.”

Conrad swallows, nodding. “Okay,” he says.

For the next hour, they play in silence only broken by Conrad’s hesitative questions about game mechanics, and Renee’s answers, which gradually turn less and less descriptive, until he eventually starts saying “I’ll do it” instead. And despite himself – despite the situation, despite his tenseness in being in the same room as Renee at all – Conrad eventually finds himself somewhat enjoying losing himself in the game, having his focus shifted to meaningless entertainment. He’s not very good at it, but he starts to get the hang of it after a while.

Maybe Renee is in a good mood. He even compliments Conrad’s aim at one point, and that further helps to break the tension.

One time, after a lost game, Renee curses and kicks at the coffee table, hard enough to rattle the glasses that stand on it, but not hard enough to overturn them.

It’s not that extreme, but even still, after that, Conrad finds himself unable to fully relax again. He sits tensely, wondering if Renee might be one of those types that snap and get violent over video games. If a moment might come where he loses it and directs his anger at the first living thing within reach. It becomes a trial then, to perform as well as he can to avoid making excuses for Renee to lash out.

At some point, Renee sighs and grumbles something about needing a smoke, and he invites Conrad to join him outside. Conrad, who hasn’t forgotten the events on the first night, initially declines, but Renee insists. That’s how he eventually finds himself on the patio overlooking the back yard, in the freezing air of the penultimate night of October.

The yard is closed off from the front of the house, Conrad notices. The only visible exit is the sliding glass door in the house. He thinks he might have seen a gate behind the pine grove during the day, but it’s too dark to tell now.

Renee sits down on the steps leading up to the patio, a cigarette already lit and dangling from his mouth as he zips up his jacket, shoulders raised against the cold.

Awkwardly, Conrad sits down on the opposite side of the steps, warming his hands between his thighs. When he exhales, he sees his breath condense into vapor, just slightly.

Then Renee extends his hand towards him, the cigarette held loosely between index finger and thumb.

“Um, no thanks,” Conrad mutters.

“No tricks, dude,” Renee says. “It’s just weed.”

“I don’t want it,” Conrad says tersely.

Renee shrugs. Takes a long drag as he leans back against the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him. His shoelaces are untied. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he says.

When he catches Conrad’s eye, Conrad nods warily.

“That night, when we, y’know… What were you in the streets for?”

Conrad swallows. “Just, um. Just on my way home from work,” he says.

Renee raises a brow. “Graveyard shift, eh?”

Conrad nods. “I like them,” he adds. “They’re like… calm, I guess.”

The backyard has the same sort of liminal atmosphere as the kiosk on an average night. Everything illuminated by that same, dark blue veil of night. Light cascades from the house, illuminating large cone shapes on the lawn, almost all the way down to the pine grove. There’s no noise pollution from nearby roads, no music blaring from the outskirts of the neighborhood, no sound creeping out cracks in the door from TVs or stereos. Just dead silence.

“I got into a fight this one time,” Renee says quietly, as if just making casual conversation. “I’ve gotten into fights before that, y’know. I can’t keep my mouth shut.” He snorts. “But this guy pressed charges, so… So I was arrested, and my folks said they were done bailing me out, and they refused to help me out with legal fees, even though they knew I was broke. It would’ve been nothing to them. State defense sucked, so I served four months and then a year of probation.”

As he takes another drag, Conrad notices a faint shaking to his hand, only made evident by the ember’s unsteady trail in the dark.

“Getting a job is hard as is,” Renee says, “but it’s fucking impossible with violent assault plastered on your record, you know that?” He shrugs a little, then looks away. “People just don’t want you around.”

Conrad sits still, eyes fixed to the ground.

The silence is broken when Renee lets out a bitter chuckle. “The whole thing was fucked, man,” he says. “We were both drunk, we were both high. Both got hits in, and then… shit, I dunno. He got this crazy dead look in his eyes and came at me with a broken bottle. I still think he was trying to kill me. Nobody took me seriously, though.” He snorts. “I had seven of his buddies swearing under oath that I was the aggressor.”

Conrad scratches at his knee and clears his throat. “What… happened to him?”

Renee sighs, ashing the smoke. “He died in the ambulance.”

Conrad opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. The shock must show in his expression, because Renee takes one look at him and the bursts out laughing.

“I’m fucking joking, Connie, goddamn,” he snickers. “Nah, he got beat up, that’s it. I haven’t seen him since my trial. Don’t really care to catch up, you know?”

A flock of geese pass overhead, honking at each other in the void, presumably to keep count of each other. Conrad tries to spot them in the night sky, and thinks he sees them faintly illuminated by moonlight, but it’s so dark, his eyes may as well be playing tricks on him.

“But yeah,” Renee continues, “you want a why? I’ve been disowned, severed from everything. I’m unemployed, got zero education, I was homeless for a while. Nobody gives a shit, but I’ve got no real chance of doing things the right way. None of that’s going to change until my record gets wiped, which… yeah, let’s be honest, I won’t live that long.

“I’m not gonna pretend I couldn’t have tried something else, done something different – all this isn’t exactly a linear way of making a quick buck. And I’m not gonna sit here and say I’m not into it when we both know I am, but… For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think it might actually pay off. Crazy as this whole thing is.”

“I think you would,” Conrad says quietly.

Renee casts a sidelong look at him, then snorts. “’Course you do.” He looks away again. “Listen to me trying to justify it to your face,” he adds, almost too low to hear. “What a fucking animal.”

Conrad quietly holds his breath at that, closing his eyes.

In a dark part of his mind, he hopes his lack of a rebuttal speaks for itself.

The dead silence of the night becomes uncomfortably heavy in the following moments, and Conrad is relieved when Renee, with a determined grunt, flicks the butt of his cigarette in a wide arch out onto the lawn, and stands up, stretching.

“Do you want revenge?” he asks, extending his hand down.

Conrad looks up, sidelined by how casual the question sounds. “What…?”

Renee points through the window to the living room. “The game, Shawty. The fuck did you think I was asking you?”

“Oh,” Conrad says. “Okay.”

He lets Renee pull him to his feet.

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[the-64th-gamer]

SUPER SPOILERY IDEAS FOR 2nd & 3rd FNAF MOVIES

Spoilers below!!!!!

I'm THEORIZING im BETTING, that because Scott is probably planning to just have a single trilogy of movies, that he's gonna combine multiple game plots into them like he did with this movie. HEAR ME OUT I think the second movie is gonna be all about Sister Location/FNaF4, not FNaF 2, and the third movie will ofc be FNaF 3 springtrap time, BUT probably incorperate more of FFPS too as the proper burning of all the souls and William. Ok so a lot of the plot points introduced in 2 were put into this film, and all 2 really has to offer is just having the toy animatronics. Plus it takes place before Mike even cares about Freddy's, doubt its worth even thinking about. We can also rule out probably anything with Fredbear's except with like them visiting a destroyed building or flashbacks, but I don't think anything about FNaF 4 or the Bite of 83 would be worth it either given this movie is already in the 2000's.

One thing to consider though is that Mathew Lillard signed a 3 movie deal, and likely Josh has too for his role as Mike. Sister Location gives a perfect reason to have William atleast appear in the movie: to set up him having built the animatronics just like the original opening to SL.

One issue with this though is that Mike doesn't have the motivation he originally did in SL to go there. He hasn't yet been set on a mission to free the souls.

BUT, either Vanessa or Abby can make great connections to move that plot along. I think the FNaF 4 nightmare animatronics can play a key role in this.

Despite current lore clearly explaining them away as fake mannequins, its clear Scott is taking a lot of the original intentions of lore in the movie. I think the Nightmare animatronics invading either Abby or Vanessa's mind could set up motivation for Mike to try to do something to help them by investigating other places, as well as a good B plot of them trying to survive the nightmares.

Abby could be the victim of this due to her long-distance connection with the ghosts, which could still be not put to rest, or maybe it be the ghosts from Sister Location itself haunting her.

It could also be Vanessa experiencing this. She's clearly very traumatized by William in the film, and her last memory is being stabbed by him directly. She's now in a **hospital** and **hasn't woken up**. This feels like its setting up an alternate scenario to the BV being in the hospital in 4.

Its also been pointed out many times that Abby is an anagram of Baby, and she's Mike's sister in the film, just like she is in the games. Maybe Mike won't get scooped in the movie, but Abby goes to the location and gets killed inside Baby. This can further set up Mike's hatred for William even more to burn him in the third movie.

A Sister Location movie can spend all the time it wants delving into William's twisted creations. William was very little explored in this movie, so this is a good time to correct that. It might also be a great way to retell that story without too much of the sci-fi elements, it seems Scott made the right choice not bringing up remnant or anything else crazy in this movie.

And of course if William is in a 3 movie deal, the third movie is gonna be the obvious Springtrap confrontation, Mike's motivation is set to free the souls ect. I don't think you can mess up a Springtrap movie at all that shit's in the bag.