#proceed with caution please!

[perlen-gold]

A Moon lit in Paradise

💜🎁💜  A very late 🎂  birthday present for @kourvo​ who graced me with an early and cute birthday present AND a completely stunnnig fanart already! 💜🎁💜    

🌸 HaPpY BiRtHdAy my wonderful friend! 🌸

✨ inspired by Kourvo’s dazzling and crawling art 

(I wrote this in the last 24 hours with a bad pen and typed it in like a maniac without even revising it, so REALLY SORRY for all the mistakes you might find in it, gonna revise it once I’m properly rested and found my way out of this frenzy! I don’t consider this finished in any way and quite crudebut for the sake of scarce time, let this be your birthday present still until I find time to work on this again! If it’s not to your liking, please tell me and I might conceive something else!)

WARNING:

Proceed with caution!

May trigger anxiety and fear for themes of slavery and sexual abuse.

The mirror is an exquisite marvel.

A perfect, silverite-reflecting, superbly balanced oval, high and mighty enough to show a grown man’s face, neck and chest – yet, yet delicate with its sapphire-beads gleaming in a garland of immaculate, nacreous-smooth, swan white pearls.

Its pure-polished water-rippling sheen is poised exactly in the center between two windows; precisely in the impeccable middle of the longest side of the room; at the specific opposite of the curving wall’s touch.

And of exquisiteness this room too is, crescent-shaped as the reaping moon’s sharp-tender sickle, its edges, faultlessly, converging in exactly one single point, directly opposite the fabulous mirror.

Where those identical arcs touch, a wide, double-winged door opens into the inner room circled and ensnarled by the crescent room’s embrace.

This inner room beyond, this sun-drawn sphere, was rich and fragrant with rioting colors as a Rivaini bazaar street. Sweet dulcet-tangerine and tart-lilting lemon drapings, ample-spilling pomegranate cushions and pulsating-pink grapefruit carpets. All these breathed, heady, under a tall ceiling soaring on slim, swift columns. Below, every other tile was placed in a moon-shaped turquoise and lapis lazuli, meticulously smoothed against the tread of thin-sandaled feet, reaching to send a shiver of coolness into a touching finger’s admiration.  

Heavy gold embroidery adorns the walls, golden painting frames, golden vases abloom with crystal-grace and dawn flowers, golden hangings and busts, the circling walls flanked with narrow gold-inlayed mahogany tables placed with an curiosity of magnificent magical artifacts and heirlooms.

At all times, the waning sun slides through the skylights into the colorful vastness of the room in a shower of lit ornaments, a dancing pattern of moons and ovals and mosaics, of shade and light, but never straight or sultry, its rays constantly guided through soft arcs and cupped lattice work so the light only sprinkled the women and men’s feet below, never daring to bear hotly upon their heads. Draped seats and couches, abundant cushions and embroidered pillows strewn below.

Interspersed, between sun-caressed busts or gold-edged paintings on the circular wall are immaculately identical ground gold plates, beaten into exquisite beauty.

Behind these, there are small glass inlays in the crescent room. Through which eyes, vulpine or perceptive, greedy or insidious, could look on into the circular inner one. Without the glimpse of a scent’s detection.

The outer crescent room, however, is cooler than this one. Of a dark purple with silver lines, cooler and more quiet. Peaceful and secluded. It drapes itself around the inner room like a shawl of deepest silk translucent with the dark sheen of ripe grapes, slipping through fingers like water woven with lavender and silver threads.

On each side of the sapphire-splendid and pearl-brilliant mirror perfectly round windows, almost reaching the mirror’s width and length, cut into the curved wall.

They are powdered with filigree sylvan-wooden lattice work, delicate enough to delude a flower’s tender stem and ivy’s sinful vines, where only moonlight filtered silvery through.

It is so delicately wrought that only the blinking eye in front of it would notice its intricate dance, and one gazing up from the inner courtyard garden may believe the round windows to be perfectly open. And yet, nothing which ever moves behind them may be spotted by a parviscient eye such as theirs.

Down in the once dust-breathing, now lush and blooming garden. A small boy is crying.

A small crease eases and creates itself between Fenris’ brows.

It is unapparent why his tears as glistening rain stain his dark-hued cheeks or bedew his large-squeezed lashes as rock-crushed sea spray.

Fenris can only see him weeping.

In front of him, the exquisite mirror is silent, a dark and soundless image just as the boy outside.

It was a second’s flutter, an hour’s fraction of a thousand images, of measuring time.

Other reflections in the garden slant. A maid’s jug splashing silver water over an opulent oleander bush. A horse’s snickering, white-blessed hooves on the dust-leaping outer courtyard. An errand’s quick-fleeing, myrtle-swimming feet.

Behind Fenris, distant voice-paths waft high in the ceiling, some low as the plum-lilting pillows on the single reclined couch below the mirror, not as bright and sweet as the citrus-hymn in drapes beyond the walls. He can feel them swish around, drift to and fro, brushing his muscle’s taut attention or fleeing his skin’s bronze-smooth alert.

A small bead of water is sliding down Fenris’ neck. It carves out the hollows below the muscles in his shoulders as if from within the sheen of his dark-molded skin. Not a sun-honeyed warmth but silverite-molten moonlight. Another one glides down from the wet tip of his hair, riding further than the first, along his collarbone, a luster pearl of water almost as flawless as the hundred lacing the silver mirror. His hair is still wet from his bath, the marble tiles pleasantly cool against the soles of his feet, the hot flush, the chill rivulets of his skin damp as of yet.

A slow night has descended as a lyre’s soaring tunes, inventing dusk, transforming day into evening and evening into night.

With time, the lemon and pomegranate voices had lulled themselves into a dreamlike state, like flowers swaying gently, half-closed petals fragrant with paradise, only stirring occasionally by a dancer’s hand’s tender touch.

“They eased well,” a soft inflection of the room calls amidst the purple-velvet folds of the moonlit night. Fenris’ body turns when the voice spoke softly, “No.” The twilight smiles upon itself. “Such an easy fright.”

A step. Closer.

“Many a man and woman quiver so easily in face of strength and power. More rapidly so in the face of beauty.”

The pearl-woven emeralds ponder their own cobalt-night glow. “Why … amusement is in the new, the fools say. So it is in knowledge and anticipation, it seems.”

Fenris replies not. There is no need to.

His eye’s emerald sheen still pierces the night’s many pleats and creases.

Closer. Another step.

Streaming inside through the windows, the silver-blue bears a hot day’s warmth still, a drop of igneous honey with a breeze of thyme-tinted moisture, soaring from the far shores of the ceaseless sea.

“It feels better without it?”

Fenris’ lips move without the crest touching the shore.

“Yes.”

Seamless, like sand sliding underneath the surf at last, fingertips, sleek as the sapphire’s polished cut, glide up Fenris’ shoulder blades like fingers rubbing against the inside of a nacreous shell. Long fingers curve, cusp themselves to Fenris’ shoulder, contoured against his skin. Almost, they dip unholy long into the ascending night. As though their elongated shadows try to reach beyond their boundaries, beyond their allowance.

The silver moonlight brushes at the robe. Touch when the silk is slowly, almost reluctantly fleeing the long, curved hand as a sandpiper the rush of the incoming tide.

The moon-lit light and Fenris feel the silk rustle against his arms and lose wrists. The enameled fabric’s caress against his waist. Before it drops in a silken heap, crumbled around his ankles.

The long fingers slowly scatter across Fenris’ skin, spread against his still throat

Yet it is the whispering silk’s fragrant touch the other finger pads follow, a longing trace of  night’s blue outside his bones; inside his wrists.

Somewhere, Fenris can taste the silver light on his tongue, dipping into his own heart’s rapid beat.

A faint, ache-white trace of merest light streams off where the hands touch, carve, brush, spill. Soar weaving writing thinnest moonlight into sapphire folds.

The silk lies crumpled, bereft of its glorious sheen, on the floor.

“It feels better without this, too, my little wolf?” mutter twilight’s sapphire lips into Fenris’ ear, breathing into the silver rhythm of his heart.

“Yes, master.”

As Fenris’ lips stir to shape the moonlight into words, his eyes graze the mirror’s dark exquisiteness.

Startled, all but a slight frown evanesces from his eyebrows. He raises his low head a little, to observe. Almost, he touches them with the confused pads of his fingers, in silverite-redolent astonishment. 

To observe the silver smears below the hollows of his rising eyes.

But it is only a lingering memory. A resurfacing of the image of the small boy in the garden. It must merely be a reflection of the slivered light.

It is nothing but the moon-lit, sapphire-held pearls gleaming inside the exquisite mirror.

[sinspireyo]

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY MY FRIENDS!!!

Here is some Birdflsh for for the soul <3 but also for @wait-whos-batman valentines collection!

Phones

[catfindr]

[theirloveisgross]

nom nom nom

[ssweetiebop]

Things I would like to see written more, or would write about if I could write featuring Disco Elysium:

- Harrier Du bois is a Innocence ! It would start out very subtly, with Kim catching Harry just seemingly not breathing, of course his first concussion would be that Harry’s heart must’ve just stopped, que panicked moments where Kim shakes Harry awake or semi freaks out whenever he sees Harry napping at work or just sleeping in general, because Harry is just not breathing. (Because it’s stated in game that apparently Innocence’s are said to not even breathe, they just eternal like that.) or maybe Harry just makes one too many predictions that are scarily accurate which really fucks with Kim as he entertains the idea of Harry being an Innocence, like he doesn’t believe it, but it’s a entertaining thought to ponder until Harry’s lungs suddenly glow out of nowhere, maybe Harry doesn’t notice himself or Kim convinced himself it was a trick of the light… just alot of second guesses and whatnot!

- Harry dating (and it’s not Kim) Harry, after finding out about his sexuality and finally coming to terms to it — decides it’s time to head back into the dating scene! Maybe Harry just ASSUMES Kim is taken already because I mean… it’s Kim! Kim is so cool! Of course he has a partner! (He doesn’t.) and Kim is just like wow my lungs are burning with hurt right now. Kim painstakingly supporting Harry but also dying inside hearing about all of Harry’s dates and partner(s). I just want jealous Kim honestly. Or even possessive Kim teehee… like Kim overhearing Harry has a date tonight and before Harry himself can tell him Kim abruptly asks if Harry wants to hang out tonight, wanting Harry to choose him over his date, even sweetening the deal by saying he has alot of plans of *insert literally all of Harry’s favourite activities and also maybe Kim confessing or being willing to let Harry do XYZ for once* Harry of course just blurts out ‘YEAH ILL HANG OHT WITH YOU!!’ Without thinking and is like oh shit I have a date tonight. Oh god. Do I blow my date off or Kim?? Kim realllyy smug when Harry chooses him all while acting innocent. Even “scolding” Harry when Harry admits he choose Kim over his date. Just small moments where Kim feels guilty for sabotaging his dates but also just can’t help it, he keeps purposefully somehow ruining the relationship. Of course he feels really guilty but Harry will forgive him because it led to them finally dating. Maybe Kim takes it too far or EVEM GETS CAUGHT ACTIVELY TRYING TO RUIN HARRY’S DATES and for the smallest second Harry sees Kim as some sort of jerk (sorta rightfully so!) and gets mad at Kim until later he thinks about WHY Kim was doing that.

- Body swap au ! I know there’s already some of body swaps out there, but I want more! Like the idea of Kim hearing Harry’s skills and being like ‘This is what Harry is forced to hear all the time? It’s so noisy…’ and then Harry being like ‘wow it’s so… quiet… I don’t like it! I miss my friends!’ BUT ALSO!!! BUT ALSO!!! People always do Harry and Kim! I want to see some more variety! Hell even just adding Jean to the mix sounds so fun! Jean waking up at Harry and just being absolutely mortified. I think it would be funny if the skills know right away that the person in Harry’s body right now isn’t Harry, and are deathly quiet during those first few minutes when Jean first wakes up Harry’s body, until… let’s say perspective or reaction speed helps Jean stop a mug from falling and Jean goes very still at the sound of their voices. Harry in jeans body… or maybe KIM in Jean’s?! Oh Kim would be absolutely checking himself out in the mirror (and delighted at how he can SEE!!! WITHOUT GLASSES!) before catching himself and scolding himself to be more respectful. And I think we all know how Harry would be in Kim’s body…

- Furry Elysium ! Look… here me out. we all agreed that Harry and Kim have a very dog + cat dynamic — or at the very least it’s fun to draw them as animals! But alas… I have seen almost ZERO fanfics about them as actual animals/animal-like features! I want to explore a world like disco elysium filled with animal hydrids! … do you think Jean would be a horse? Or a bird like his name suggests? Would Harry actually be a dog or would he be something else? I feel like Kim being a cat or cat-like is perfect BUT if you think of another animal Kim would fit lmk!

- THEM AS KIDS !!! BUT, BUT… I want them to turn into kids! How? Idk! The pale did it maybe?! It doesn’t have to make logical sense. Maybe they remember their adults self maybe they don’t. I just want someone to hold Harry when he’s a toddler… he deserves some soft parental love… or Jean waking up as a teenager and being absolutely pissed because of it… MAYBE they all are different ages, Harry a toddler, Kim a little boy, Jean a teenager. Or just the classic one-person-magically-turns-into-a-toddler-and-then-the-remaining-adults-have-to-come-together-to-take-care-of-said-toddler.

- Kid fic OR parent fic I know I just mention kids but this time I want one of them to HAVE a kid. Of course Kim would likely be excluded from this biological wise but adoption works too! I just like the idea of of Harry being a father or Jean awkwardly holding a youngster or Kim looking around to see if he’s alone before cooing at a cute little kid. Harry would have a blast dressing the baby up. Also imagine just Harry walking into work with a baby strapped to him on day and Jean just spits out his coffee like WHAT is HARRY doing with a baby?? And Harry is just like ‘this is my baby! And you’re the godfather… kinda rude of you to not know!’ I read some kid fics and they were so, SO sweet.

- MAGICALLY TURNING INTO AN ANIMAL ! Yes. We are pulling out ALL the classics. It doesn’t have to be a cat but I WILL be using a kitty here. I’m so sorry this one is the longest. I wanted a fic like this for so long so please allow me to ramble my ass off:

They can’t change back… or maybe when they do change back to being a human it’s not their choice! Think of ‘A Whisker Away’ type of situation. Kim waking up as a kitty absolutely terrified and thinking the one person who would be able to tell it’s him would likely be Harry, right?! Like he gets premonition and predictions and insights all the time! Surely Harry will immediately know it’s Kim! …. Harry does not know or find out actually. Harry just immediately scooping Kitty-Kim once he ‘gains it’s trust’ (but really it’s just Kim stuck between indecisiveness of just running back home or not and trying to figure this out on his own because he already trusts Harry!) and Kim allowing himself for ONCE in his life to be held and loved and pampered and cooed at without shame. BUT I also love the idea of this happening to the others too, like Harry immediately using this to get to know what Kim is like behind closed doors, feeling guilty but also just can’t help but still go and try to get adopted by Kim (newsflash, it takes FOREVER for Kim to finally let Kitty-Harry inside his apartment, and even LONGER for Kim to officially adopt Kitty-Harry, (bonus points if Kim is still in/at precinct 57) but then ! Kim wants to introduce Harry to his cat! uh-oh! Kitty-Harry also kinda afraid of Jean’s reaction to Kitty-Harry but going to be nosy anyways and turns out — Jean is a big animal lover! It barely takes any convincing for Jean to decide to adopt Harry. Harry feeling jealous that he doesn’t get this soft side of Jean but also gives Harry a new perspective on Jean overall. Que Kitty-Harry awkwardly being owned by two of his friends and THEN also imagine them both talking about the cat they own and finding out it’s the same kitty and they both feel sorta backstabbed(?) or are like ‘wow my/our cat isn’t loyal…’ Jean as a Kitty sounds very amusing… just hissing and very annoyed that they don’t clock it right away that it’s him! Knocking over mugs to get their attention and whatnot, getting scolded and put in kitty jail.. :( !

- SWAP AU! Do I really have to go into detail here? I love the idea of a ‘very, very sane’ Harrier du bois and just an absolutely pathetic failure of Kim Kitsuragi in the swap au… shout out to @/Danielcalmdown0 on Twitter for the new perspective/dynamic on this au!! Kim doesn’t own the kineema in this au because they gave it to a more dedicated officer and Kim is just… absolutely heartbroken over it, but also a bit petty and jealous like ‘I WOULDVE TAKEN CARE OF IT THE BESTEST!’ I wish people discussed Jean and Harry’s relationship in this au more though! I like to think in this particular au they would have a bit of a more father-son dynamic?? MAYBE? not necessarily father-son, but something close for sure, just older figure Jean looks up too… (Maybe Harry baby’s or coddles Jean too much in this au and it PISSES Jean off.) would he still be his brooding self?! Let’s just say yes. I think Jean would have a bit of a crush on this Harry, of course he denies it to himself but it’s there, until Kim joins the picture then its pathetic loser vs pathetic loser and Harry wanting them to be friends but it doesn’t really work to much at first… they figure it out later though. IDK! I have a lot of ideas! And a lot of them contradict eachother!

I have alot more ideas. But I been typing for far too long so I’m gonna call it wraps. If you read the entirety of this I love you. AND if you’re a writer… and you get inspired by ANY of these and if you write it?? Please let me know! I would love to read it!

[b1mbodoll]

girly please give us hentai recommendation (especially tentacle ones ) IM SO FUCKING HORNY

ok im gna list some but PLS note that i do not support the things depicted in them irl!!!! its hard finding a good hentai that doesnt include absolutely terrible things 😭 i try to find recs without disgusting stuff but if it is included i do skip the scene bc that shits not cool at all!!!! i do not sexualize children or glorify rape and i hope u guys dont either 👍 ps these hentai recs r ones i found from twt so lmk if u want the account that posts hentai! they have a lot of genres but some im personally not comfortable watching bc they always make the girls look so young and its weird to me bc i was sa’d when i was young so im not a fan of weird underage little girl stuff sorry

taimanin yukikaze 2 : cw noncon, tentacle, anal, inflation, mindbreak. i havent seen the entire series bc i know other episodes contain weird shit and idk the age of the girl at the end but i do skip through the episode at times and i always skip the end bc again, idk how old she is but she looks young which is weird

muttsuri do sukebe 1 + 2 : cw stepcest, noncon, oral, virginity, public sex, blackmail, schoolgirl, infidelity. skipping thru the episodes is v necessary !!!!!!! pls be warned it can be very triggering 

fela pure : cw incest, omorashi, oral, womb fucking, schoolgirl, exhibitionism. i accidentally watched this when i was like 17 and this is how i was introduced to omorashi

fella hame lips 1 + 2 : cw toys, breath play, boobjob, the girl is an onahole, masturbation, oral, creampies, spit/drool. the scene where he plugs her nostrils with his thumbs n then cums in her mouth so much it spurts out her nose in ep 1 is so insane

majuu jouka shoujo utea 3 : cw non/dubcon, yuri, titsucking, futanari, cosplay/fantasy, oral, creampies, masturbation. i havent watched the full series ive only seen this episode but its alright. i need more yuri hentai that isnt fucking weird torture stuff 😭

[organsoutsidelovinglydescribed]

Welcome to the horrors!

Hi hi, @needle-noggins here. @mydetheturk and I are planning a Trigun Body Horror week, slated for Feb. 11-17th, 2024. The week is open to any and all works regarding Trigun and body horror.

Prompts are officially up and ready to go!

The AO3 Collection is also officially up! We just ask you not start posting things until the 11th.

If you've got any questions, please feel free to ask us!

In the meantime, we will be reblogging some of our favorite body horror-related fan works and spreading the word about the upcoming event. Enjoy!

Keep watching this space for further updates.

(many of the graphics have been created by the wonderful @hashtagcaneven)

[mxrtified777]

please read the summary and reviews for this cologne. It's hilarious

(some of my favorite summaries below the cut)

[maries-gallery]

IMPORTANT

I'm going to be honest, part of why I've been so absent is also because I've been working on an original story of mine that deals with some of my trauma. And whilst writing this story I've realised a LOT of things that might not only apply to me. So I wanted to share a few things with people like me who've dealt with the same thing (unfortunately).

wc: mentions of sexual abuse and its consequences

When someone experiences sexual abuse there are lasting consequences, and some of which aren't talked about enough so I just wanted to give a heads up to all victims that they are not alone. We're in this together!

That said, after SA it is totally okay and normal if you experience things such as:

Hypersexuality: We often think victims of SA suffer from hyposexuality, a form of fear of sexual interactions. But the opposite is also true and it's nothing more than a way for your brain to cope with your trauma. It's a way to claim back control over your body when it's been taken from you and this is NOT something we can control. You are totally legit as a victim, even if your brain's response to trauma is hypersexuality. More often than not victims alternate between phases of hypo and hypersexuality, so this is completely NORMAL, and once again not something you can control.

Rape fantasies: This is something we victims are constantly shamed for because that is not very pretty nor aesthetic. But once again this is a normal response called "traumatic excitement" and NOT something you can control. This is a way for your brain to minimise the trauma you went through, because if you can fantasise about it then surely it wasn't that bad, except it was. So please, please, don't feel like this is your fault or like you're a freak because of this, as once again this is totally out of our control.

Troubles identifying whether your consent is a product of your own desires: One thing I've noticed is that often, us victims, have difficulty identifying whether we are really consenting to something because we want to or because we don't know how to say no or have forgotten how to. Once again that is normal, our relationship with our intimacy has been blurred by what happened to us, and it takes time to heal from this.

Feeling like your sexuality isn't your own anymore: I've noticed this as well and don't think I'm the only one, but sometimes we might feel disgusted by our own sexuality or it might evoke deep sadness within us. Part of me, and I don't know if that's just me, honestly felt like having sexual desire meant that maybe part of me deserved what happened to me and that it was wrong in a way. But guess what, your sexuality is YOUR OWN and no one else's, and just because someone have stolen your consent doesn't mean that you owe them anything. If anything they owe you for what they did to you. What happened to you is and will NEVER be your fault, it is theirs only (whatever was the context) and it is not for you to be ashamed of your sexuality. If anything they should be ashamed for what they did to you.

Anyways, these are just a few things I noticed during my introspection and whilst learning more about the subject. Please once again know that none of these are your fault and that these are not things to be ashamed of as they are just responses to trauma. There is no other culprit than the person who took your "no", your "silence" or your "maybe" for a "yes".

[tending-the-hearth]

Also Jasmine almost kills Jafar using dark magic and we get a whole genie backstory about how his wife died in the apocalypse within the djinn’s world

[radio-to-trenchcoat-demons]

revel in my stupidity

a dumbass has entered the human realm

[inkykeiji]

Have you thought about a Tomura-nii? 🥺

ooooh my god anon

tw: pseudocest (adopted siblings), coercion, taking advantage of a younger sibling’s naive and innocent nature, implied size difference (reader is smaller than tomura), female reader, virgin!tomura, masturbation, blood, noncon, overstimulation, blowjobs, use of the word daddy to describe adoptive father, honestly just really fucking nasty and genuinely disgusting, please be careful with this lil piece words: 792

i have!!! i just feel like he’d be really fucking gross, you know??? disgusting in the most heinous way, like flawless tomura but a hundred times worse. i feel like he’d totally be a shut-in, completely inexperienced because your adoptive father (afo) never lets either of you—his fully grown adult children—out of his or kurogiri’s watchful protection. but that doesn’t mean there aren’t times when they aren’t looking.

tomura-nii has never been touched, romantically or sexually, by anyone else, but he is an avid consumer of porn + hentai, so much so that it borders on addiction. and eventually, it just isn’t enough. it isn’t enough to spend hours locked away in his room, jerking his cock until it’s red and wrecked, skin chafed so bad its flaking and peeling and bleeding, thin little wounds that weep crimson staining the lines of his sweaty palm a watery pink. it isn’t enough to throw hundreds and hundreds of his father’s money at those online cam girls, making them do unspeakable acts and recording it all for him. it isn’t enough, he needs more, he needs real; something he can feel, something he can touch, something he can own and mark and sink his teeth into—flesh and blood and bone filling his hands and yielding beneath his fingers and quivering around his cock. 

he needs you. 

and sure, he’s sheltered, but you’re even more sheltered, not even allowed access to the internet without daddy’s heavy supervision—so when he sees you, his innocent, naive, totally fucking clueless little sister, he knows he can manipulate you into doing whatever the fuck he wants you to, because nii-san said so, and nii-san knows best, right? nii-san is older, wiser, the boss, and what he says goes, always. he’s basically second in command beneath your adoptive father; even kurogiri seems to bend and break to his every will and whim and wish. 

so who are you to say anything, to know any better, against your bigger, smarter, better brother? who are you to deny him, to say ew and no and gross and it’s wrong! when he slinks into your bedroom in the middle of the night, waking you with his ragged pants and the vigorous slap of his fist against his pelvis, and streaks that lacy little nightgown with thick strokes of glistening cream, quickly cooling as they seep into the dainty fabric, heavy and gelatinous against your skin?

who are you to refuse him, when he asks if he can see how pretty your pussy is, when he asks if he can play with it, unexperienced fingers grinding and pinching until your rubbed-raw clit is swollen and your trembling thighs are stained with copious amounts of your own slick and your eyes are lidded and glassy, vision downy at the edges and bleary with tears, because it (finally) feels so good, too good, that you’re fucking sobbing? 

who are you to reject him, when he says he wants to show you his cock, when he tells you to hold it in your soft little palms and pet it until it’s oozing something sticky and shimmering all over your skin, when he demands that your lick your hands clean, that you put the head in your mouth and suckle on it, that you glide the tip of your tongue, rounded and hard, over the slit as fast as you can—back and forth, back and forth, until he’s shoving the entire thing into your mouth and he’s stuffing your throat full of something thick and acrid? 

nii-san says that it’s okay, that this is normal and what good little sisters are supposed to do, that brothers and sisters who love each other so much do this all the time, and don’t you love him, too? don’t you want to show him just how much you love him? just how perfect and obedient you are? 

and nii-san would never lie to you, would never lead you astray, would never ever want to hurt you, so you should believe everything he says without question, right? right. 

and, christ, you’re so fucking good, so sweet and precious and daddy’s flawless, faultless little rule-abiding princess, adhering to every order and regulation given to you. but daddy doesn’t deserve you, or your good nature and kind heart and eager-to-please tendencies; not when tomura sees you more often, takes care of you better than daddy ever has or ever will, so shouldn’t you be his flawless, faultless little rule-abiding little princess, too? nii-san deserves your attention so much more than daddy does, don’t you think? you owe him this much, yeah? 

of course. of course you do.

[caitlynmeow]

Title: Dear Diary

Fandom: Resident Evil Village

Characters: Alcina Dimitrescu, Bela Dimitrescu, Cassandra Dimitrescu, Daniela Dimitrescu, Mother Miranda, Donna Beneviento, Karl Heisenberg, Mia Winters, Rosemary Winters

Chapter summary:

Dear diary, I really can’t help but worry about her. Part of writing this is to be truthful about this whole situation and if I'm being honest, my sister is not doing okay at all. [...] I’ve seen how traumatized she is, and I wonder if she will ever go back to the way she was before. Some things are major triggers and there is no way around it. 

[abla-soso]

Important thread:

X \ ❥ شمس على X: "Zionists lies are Zionist confessions Thread:" (twitter.com)

.

[questionablemuses]

Anonymous asked: directed to mammon: fizzy @peppy-jester may have given you another chance after all the times you lashed out on him, but it doesn't erase the fact how your past actions has affected him was NO DIFFERENT than the very same people who made the decision you should fall from heaven, left you with scars that still stays with you to this day.

Were they really still on about this? Didn't he deserve a chance at true happiness for once in his life?

"I get it ! " he snarls at the anon, eyes flashing irritably. "As if I haven't heard it fuckin' enough ! " He was about to go on a long complaint, defend his side & that he hasn't even done any of that when the grey face decides to cross a little line. 

He's tense, sharp teeth gritted together & each hand clenched. The other sins might not show any concern about this, at least he's pretty sure, but he was tired of it. 

A small hiss escapes him, fangs baring dangerously. "Fuck you & fuck Sera. Get out of my fuckin' office. Now."

[peninkwrites]

Karl and Quackity (don't) Date - Ch 15 of ?

Tubbo is brave, Schlatt is paranoid, and Quackity is fed up with both of them.

[CW: abuse, alcohol, violence, guns]

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 14

Mafia AU

~

The progression had been so gradual.  From the earliest days of their relationship, Schlatt only giving him a slap only at the peak of a heated argument, giving backhanded compliments alongside seemingly genuine ones, on bad days withholding affection even when Quackity was so obviously starved for it; to now, where Quackity is not only afraid Schlatt will kill him but has certifiable near misses to back it up, he doesn’t know how that shift had passed by so unnoticed.  Maybe he shouldn’t have been so tolerant in the beginning, like a frog in a pot of boiling water, but it’s too late for that now.

Not to say Schlatt hadn’t figured out ways to hold onto him early on, well before the need for all out death threats.  Over the course of the first six months of their relationship, Schlatt sunk his claws in deep.  He would be sweet and caring and give Quackity the attention he was so starved of; intermittently he’d cut off that attention until Quackity was panicked over what he’d done, desperately vying for affection, which Schlatt would finally give.  Then, Schlatt would threaten to leave him, and Quackity would beg Schlatt to never let go, to sink his teeth in if it would help him hold on tighter, because he was already convinced that he needed Schlatt to survive.  Not just physically, but Quackity needed Schlatt’s touch like he needed water, he needed his praise like he needed air, and he’d found he didn’t need food as much as he thought he did.

Two years on, Quackity was beginning to accept that while he had changed far more than Schlatt had, Schlatt still had a hold on him in more ways than one.

So Quackity goes to the hostage exchange, because why wouldn’t he?  Why would it be a big deal if nothing happened, right?  Fuck, Quackity is praying Schlatt lets this go.  It’s already unnerving that he’s clearly had this shred of paranoia stirring for weeks before now.  What if it’ll remain under the surface until he finds he needs another excuse to fuck him up?

The setup is typical.  Guns watching their backs, Tubbo waiting gloomily to count the cash.  One of the men ringing the room is the same one tasked with following him; Morelli.  He avoids Quackity’s gaze.  A bold choice on Schlatt’s part.  What if Quackity recognized him and connected the dots now?  That, or this is Schlatt’s way of testing how good of a job the guy was doing, staying out of Quackity’s sight.  Quackity is good at pretending not to recognize people.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Schlatt snaps his fingers for them to open the doors.  They don’t.

“No one has showed yet, Boss,” the man standing to the right of the door speaks up, and with the uneasy glances he gives his nearest comrade, he’d been nominated to give the bad news.

“The fuck do you mean no one has showed yet?” Schlatt scoffs.  “Do they think their fucking wife, their fucking mother, their apparent loved one,” he says the word mockingly, “is just feeling all nice and cosy in the cellar?!”

The man knows better than to speak, watching Schlatt with bated breath.

“Fucking hell… fine, fine, I guess we’re killing her then!  Their loss!” Schlatt says it so loudly Tubbo flinches.

“Boss, I mean, shouldn’t we wait for a minute?  Just to see?” Quackity asks.

“Why the fuck would I do that?  I gave them the time, and if they’re not here, they’re not here–” Schlatt is cut off by the front door being forced open.  “What the fuck is this?!”  He snaps as eight armed men enter, one for each of them.  Considering one of their numbers is a kid, they’re still outnumbered.

“We’re here for Jennifer Bartlet and we’re not leaving without her,” the man at the head of the group calls out as the others aim their guns at Schlatt and his following.

Fuck.  Quackity hates a shoot out.  Why the fuck would these morons waste their hostage fund on mercenaries?!

“Yeah, and I gave you a fuckin’ price tag.” Schlatt laughs, unafraid to the point of suicidality.  If Quackity were a bit more suicidal himself, he’d smack him.  There is a weighted pause wherein no one bends to Schlatt’s whim.  Schlatt seems unperturbed and shrugs.  “Fine.  Kill ‘em, then we kill the hostage.”

Quackity doesn’t know who shot first, but both sides are definitely fucking shooting now.  Quackity is well versed in hitting the ground fast.  He sees Tubbo has done the same, hiding himself behind the stairs.  Quackity sees his ingenious partner has remained on the steps, high up and an obvious target, but he’s not the one firing a gun, so the mercs are more occupied with his dogs.

Quackity thinks he’s coping relatively well.  And he thought he saw Tubbo duck behind the banister, but evidently fucking not anymore since he’s currently standing between Quackity and the barrel of a gun.

“Whoa whoa, stop!” Quackity yanks Tubbo behind him, and they get lucky.  The man hits the ground in a spray of blood from a rogue bullet, dead or alive, he won’t be doing any more damage.

“What the fuck?!” Quackity hisses frantically to Tubbo, pulling him back behind the steps.  “Are you fucking kidding me, Tubbo–?!”  Quackity is distracted by Tubbo grabbing onto his tie and dragging him around the corner into the hall, “whoa whoa whoa, what’re you–” Quackity narrowly missing a bullet piercing the wallpaper above his head.

“We should– We should get the lady out,” Tubbo says, a tremor in his voice but shockingly steady.  He’s let go of Quackity’s tie, trusting him to follow.  “While he’s distracted, we c-can–” Tubbo flinches and ducks when the sound of another gunshot echoes down the hall, but it wasn’t toward them.

“What are you talking about?!” Quackity is almost shouting at him.

“The lady in the basement!” Tubbo snaps.

Quackity laughs, high and frantic.  “Are you fucking kidding me, Tubbo?!  The only leverage against the people currently trying to–” Quackity sees someone turn the corner at the end of the hall and drags Tubbo into the kitchen.  “To kill us?!”

“If we don’t you know he’s gonna kill her!” Tubbo snaps back, rushing to the cellar door.

“If we don’t get the fuck out of here, Tubbo, something is gonna kill us!” Quackity grabs onto Tubbo’s arm, dragging him back.  He desperately tries to think.  Tubbo seems to be doing the same.  Quackity grabs a stool.

“Oh, good idea!” Tubbo grabs one as well, to Quackity’s continued bafflement.

Quackity wedges the legs of the stool between the wall and the door handle, barricading it best he can in the circumstances and spins to the back wall of the kitchen, pulling his beanie down tighter and bottling the urge to throw a fucking fit.  “Okay, okay, we get out the door into the alley and we run for it–”

Quackity is distracted by Tubbo making one stupid decision after another, as he’s taken his barstool and has started trying to bash it against the padlock on the cellar door.  Quite loudly.  “What the fuck are you doing?!” Quackity lunges to grab the stool from him before it can make another thud giving them away.  So far he thinks the gunshots have covered for them, but it’s not going to last if Tubbo keeps it up.

“Me?! What’re you doing?!” Tubbo says fiercely.  Quackity is taken aback.  Tubbo is different.  Tubbo stares up at him, affronted and unyielding, wrenching the stool back from him.  “I’m not leaving when I know what’s going to happen, and neither should you!  At least not until we get her out with us!” He nods back toward the cellar door and gears up for another swing.

Quackity flinches when Tubbo bashes the stool against the lock once more.  It’s scratched the paint, it’s starting to loosen the screws on the latch, there’s no way of them hiding this happening at all now but if they get the fuck out of here, they can blame it on the mercenaries.

Tubbo stops when there’s a dull thud against the kitchen door.  Both of them freeze, staring at the door handle as it rattles.  Rather than freezing up, rather than that meek, rabbit in a headlight panic Quackity expects, to his continued exasperation, Tubbo starts attacking the lock with far more vigor.

“What the fuck is wrong with this door?!” Of fucking course it’s Schlatt’s voice.  He’s a goddamn cockroach.  It’s like he’s allergic to bullets.

Tubbo flinches at the three sharp bangs against the door, but he remains resolutely focused on breaking the lock.  It’s starting to tear away now, the wood is splintering, at the same time, Quackity is the one frozen in the middle of the room as he watches his makeshift door jam rattle ominously against the doorhandle.

“Who’s in there?!  Unless you wanna eat lead, I’d start fucking talking!” Schlatt shouts against the wood.

“I-It’s me!  Schlatt, it’s me!” Quackity doesn’t say Tubbo’s name.  There’s no fucking hiding what they’ve done, but maybe he can shove Tubbo out the back and take the stool so Schlatt thinks he was busting the door down.  Maybe he can even lie and say he was trying to get to the hostage first.  Maybe that will even work and he’s not about to kill himself or, if he’s being optimistic, just sign himself up for some egregious harm.  It won’t fucking work if Tubbo keeps hitting the fucking door.

“Aw, guns too scary for you, sweetheart? I thought you’d stopped being such a pussy,” Schlatt’s patronizing drawl doesn’t sound suspicious, but certainly irritable.  “Open the goddamn door.”

“One sec!  It’s stuck!” Quackity calls back.  He doesn’t even think he’s buying them time, because Schlatt is already trying to ram the door open, but anything to make Schlatt think they weren’t defying him deliberately.

Tubbo pauses once, staring at Quackity, daring him to open that door.  Quackity stares back, daring him to hit the lock again.  Tubbo maintains eye contact with Quackity as with one last hit, the lock finally clatters off the cellar door and Tubbo drops the barstool with it.  He’s opening the door now.  He’s seriously going to try to run downstairs and get that woman out the back door before Schlatt can get his dogs to break the fucking door down, which they’re bound to do any second.

So Quackity does something he hopes Tubbo will eventually forgive him for.  He grabs onto Tubbo by the collar of his shirt and yanks him away from the cellar.

“What’re you doing?!” Tubbo cries out.

Right in time for the other barstool to finally clatter loose and for the door into the kitchen to bang open.  Even then, even as Schlatt enters the room followed by four gunmen, Tubbo is still trying to get to the cellar, Quackity can feel him trying to pull away even as he cannot comprehend what’s possessed him.  Quackity grabs him by the shoulders, shoving him against the fridge.  “Stop trying to act strong!  Stop trying to act strong!”  He shakes him roughly, Tubbo’s eyes widen, stunned, mouth hanging open in wordless fear that Quackity has to ignore.  “You’re just a fucking kid!” Quackity shouts in his face, harsh as he is terrified.  He can deal with Schlatt, he doesn’t know how to cope with Tubbo being unpredictable.

Tubbo doesn’t say a word.  He doesn’t even look as Schlatt sends someone down into the cellar.  He just stares at Quackity, and once more Quackity cannot bury the thought that he needs to teach Tubbo how to have any semblance of a poker face, because right now, that kid’s miserable fucking expression bleeds hurt.  All that fear and confusion as he stares up at him, and it’s so raw Quackity feels like he needs to cut the kid’s heart out before it crushes him.

“You’re a fucking kid,” Quackity snarls again.  It’s all he can do.  And all of his terror on Tubbo’s behalf comes out vicious and cruel, his hands still pressed to Tubbo’s shoulders, refusing to let him move.

Quackity doesn’t know.  He doesn’t know that three days ago, Schlatt had told Tubbo something.  Utterly matter-of-fact, Schlatt had told his son that he’s not allowed to get out of this family alive.  It doesn’t matter when, or even if he turns eighteen, because Tubbo knows too much now.  He’s signed into this family for life and it’s over Schlatt’s dead fucking body that he runs away from this.

That changes things for Tubbo.  All he had been able to hope for was running away the moment he turned eighteen.  In four years time, it will change things even more.

Quackity lets go.  Tubbo doesn’t try to get to the cellar.

“The fuck were you two playing at?” Schlatt cuts in.

Quackity turns back to face him, and Schlatt glances between them.

“My idea, Boss.  Thought it was best we get to her first,” Quackity says dully.  There’s a gunshot in the basement and Quackity flinches.  He doesn’t look back at Tubbo.

“And you kept me locked out why?” Schlatt sneers.

Quackity shrugs and pretends his heart isn’t still pounding in his ears.  “Didn’t react fast enough.  Sorry.”

“I guess I’ll pretend to believe that bullshit, but what gives you the fucking right to go running off making decisions behind my back?  Eh?” Schlatt steps closer, towering over him like always.  “We’ve discussed this, baby!  Your job is to stand there and look pretty while me and the boys do the actual work.  Somehow I seem to find myself tripping over you instead.  When you should definitely know not to get in my way.”

Quackity is already running on too much adrenaline.  “Maybe you shouldn’t start a fucking gun fight without any fucking caution next time!” Quackity shouts in his face and he knows what happens next.  He braces, but it still hurts, Schlatt’s gaudy rings digging into his cheek when the man backhands him hard enough he stumbles.  His cheek stings and he wonders if it was enough to draw blood but he doesn’t reach up to check.  He refuses to react at all.  None of this satisfies the frustration boiling in his chest.

Schlatt tuts him.  “Why the attitude, Quackity?  If you want me to hit you so bad, how about you just ask next time?  Didn’t know you were into that.”

“Come on, Boss.  Lay off.  He’s just… he’s freaked out from the fire fight.  Maybe cut him some slack?”

Quackity looks past Schlatt to Morelli, who had dared to speak, stunned.  Schlatt scowls at Quackity’s expression, before turning back to the man.

Schlatt laughs in his face.  “You’re lucky I don’t cut out your fucking tongue.  You don’t have the fucking right.  Why the hell do you give a shit, eh?  You don’t know him,” Schlatt sneers very deliberately, a warning, daring him to fuck this up.

Morelli has the survival instinct to back down, turning on a dime.  “Sorry, Boss.  Didn’t mean to overstep.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought.  Now, if you’d meant to, I’d just fucking kill you.” Schlatt says.  “You know better than to mouth off.”

Morelli just nods.  He does not acknowledge the obvious threat, nor the indignity of a grown man voicing any thought being referred to as mouthing off.

“Get this cleaned up and get out of my sight,” Schlatt waves them off.  He grabs onto Quackity’s arm tightly, dragging him back into the hall.  Quackity doesn’t look back at Tubbo.  He doesn’t want to know what that kid’s face looks like after that woman was shot.  Quackity sees only four dead in the front entryway, a couple of them are theirs, the other two from the mercenaries.  The rest must have decided it wasn’t worth it and fled.  Schlatt stops behind the stairs, cornering him against the wall.

“What was that about, Quackity?” Schlatt finally lets go, staring at him, sharp and accusing.

“I told you, I was just trying to get to her first and the kid followed, I wasn’t trying to keep you out, it just–”

“No, not that– not whatever,” Schlatt waves him off dismissively.  “You don’t think they give a fuck about you, do you?”

Quackity stares up at him, baffled.  “Uh, who?”

“The boys!” Schlatt gestures irritably toward the hall.  “My boys.”  He paces for only a moment before turning back to close in on Quackity.  “You’ve got no idea the shit they say when we’re not in the room.  You think that son of a bitch is any different?  Huh?  He’s acting like a goddamn gentleman right now, but you think he’s not laughing along with all them?” Schlatt says it like an accusation, and Quackity knows his answer matters, but he’s just so startled.  Quackity hadn’t viewed Schlatt as the jealous type until recently.  In the beginning he acted like giving Quackity any attention was a chore, like Quackity being allowed to grace his presence at all was something Quackity had to cling to like a lifeline.  This is certainly not that.  And it sure as hell isn’t better.

“I mean…” Quackity laughs, and has yet to partake in caution.  “How would you know what they’re saying if you’re not there either?”

Schlatt smiles.  “Because sometimes I am there, and I can tell them to shut the fuck up, or I can join in.”  Schlatt reaches out and pinches his cheek.

Quackity’s irritation is finally replaced by hollow disgust, which is exactly what Schlatt had been hoping for he presumes.  Quackity doesn’t want to know.  He does know they’re not all like that.  Schlatt acts like such a fucking know it all, but Quackity knows it means something when they look at him different, like he’s an actual person.  He won’t hold it against them for laughing along when Quackity has done the same thing.

“Right,” Quackity laughs and it sounds strained.  “Is that supposed to make me feel better, Schlatt?  Doesn’t exactly paint you in a very good light, now, does it?”

Schlatt startles him by grabbing onto his shoulders, not too tightly, but unnerving nonetheless.  “You know I’m the only thing standing between you and those animals?” He expects Quackity to look him in the eye, demanding he not merely listen but understand Schlatt’s point.  “You think I’m harsh, or… or demanding–” Schlatt cuts himself off with a brief, wet cough that makes Quackity shut his eyes. “Or whatever it is you bitch about all the goddamn time, do you have any fucking clue how much worse it could be?  I am the only thing keeping them off of you.  They don’t care if you fucking live or die.  I weren’t here?” Schlatt leans in closer, hissing a warning, “they’d be on you like fucking wolves.  You’d be dead by tomorrow.”

Quackity buries a shiver, hitting the wall behind him as he steps just another inch back.  He wants Schlatt to let go, so he nods.  Even if he refuses to believe Schlatt in entirety, it still makes his skin crawl.  It’s bad enough when they agree with Schlatt and just call him cute or stupid.

“Good.  I’m glad you understand,” Schlatt says, and that illusory calm returns.  He brushes out the wrinkles from Quackity’s shirt.  He continues, voice slow and measured and raspy.  “Now, we’re gonna go back in there, and the brat is gonna explain to me why he wanted to bust into the basement so bad.”

Quackity’s heart drops to his stomach.  Schlatt glances over his shoulder as there’s some well-timed shouting from down the hall; Quackity is more distracted by what Schlatt has said.

“Schlatt, that’s not–”

“You’re gonna tell me that’s not what happened?!” Schlatt cuts him off harshly, voice rough and weakened.  “Because it sure as hell wasn’t you, not from the way you were chewing him out.”

“I-It wasn’t– He–” For once Quackity can’t think of a lie fast enough.

This seems to confirm whatever suspicion Schlatt had, as he gives Quackity an almost understanding nod, and heads back toward the kitchen.

Someone else had the same idea as Schlatt.  Tubbo’s title as a mob prince gives him no authority nor apparently protection.  In the brief period out of the room, something must have gone down, because Tubbo is currently hunched over the kitchen sink and two of Schlatt’s dogs seem seconds from a brawl.

“Whoa whoa whoa, the fuck is going on in here?!” Schlatt barks.  “Which one of you fucking rats hit the kid?!”  He glares between the two of them.

Quackity goes to Tubbo, without a word getting him to turn to face him, revealing a bloodied nose still pouring into the sink.  Quackity tilts his head back so he can assess the damage.  Not broken, he doesn’t think, but Quackity sees Tubbo failing to hold back tears.  Quackity turns away from him to wad up some paper towels to stem the flow of blood.  Schlatt waits for an answer.

“Hello?!  Can you two not fucking hear or some shit, I asked who fucking hit my kid?!”

Quackity goes to the freezer to dig up some ice, glancing back at the pair of them.  He doesn’t give a shit what happens to the man responsible.  He’s for once grateful for Schlatt’s rage, because if Schlatt hadn’t started talking, Quackity would’ve gotten himself hurt doing something instead.  Morelli and some prick Quackity doesn’t know the name of stand in silence.  Quackity thinks Morelli isn’t a snitch.  He also doesn’t think the guy is the type to hit kids, hence, they’re waiting for the other man to crack.

“You saw it, Boss!  He must’ve been trying to–”

“Ah, ah ah!” Schlatt silences him with a tut and a raised hand.  There’s a long pause, and Quackity has a feeling the old man is holding his breath to dodge another coughing fit.  It’s easier to hide the other symptoms, the fatigue, even the dizziness, but that cough, that’s harder.  “I didn’t ask you what you fucking thought he did, I asked if you fucking hit him.”

“I…” The man struggles to defend himself.

Schlatt sighs, grumbling half under his breath as he gets out his revolver.

“Hold on!  Hold on a sec!” The man shouts hoarsely, backing up toward the back door.

Schlatt pays him no mind.  He snaps open the cylinder and sighs more loudly.  “Anyone got a bullet?”  A pause.  None of them are going to stop Schlatt, but maybe there’s some semblance of comradery there as no one replies.  “Quackity.  You didn’t shoot, correct?  You ran for it with the kid?” He says snidely.

Quackity nods.  He knows it makes him look weak, to immediately act as if on Schlatt’s side after the man hit him and dragged him out for a lecture, but he doesn’t give a shit.  He’s on Tubbo’s side, not Schlatt’s.  He unholsters his own revolver and feels a hand hold on tightly to his arm.

“Big Q,” Tubbo says, voice thick and muddled.

Quackity doesn’t respond.  He hands Schlatt his gun.

“Big Q,” Tubbo says again, and Quackity knows he sounds horrified behind the blood in his nose.

“I– He disobeyed you!  It was the kid!  He was the one trying to get downstairs!  Come on, Boss, wouldn’t you have done the same fucking thing-?” The man falls silent, holding out his hands as if to stop a bullet that way and flinching back as the gun goes off.  A bullet is embedded in the cabinet to the man’s left.

“Apologize.”  Schlatt says coolly.

“I’m sorry!  I– I wasn’t tryna go behind your back–”

“Not to me.” Schlatt cuts him off.

Despite the gun on him, the man still grimaces at the thought of being made to apologize to a child.  “Sorry, kid.”

“It’s fine!” Tubbo says, voice strained and high.

“See?  Was that so hard?” Schlatt sneers.  “Are we all clear, here?  Crystal?  None of you get to hit him.  None of you.”

One of the few good things to say about Schlatt is he never flat out hits Tubbo.  If Quackity thinks about it, the most he thinks he’s ever seen him do was throw something near him or shove him or hold on too tight.  For a brief, wild moment Quackity thinks that’s better.  He knows that’s ridiculous.  Harm is harm.  Schlatt is still a hypocrite.

Schlatt waits until there are a few nods of ascent before proceeding.  “Good.”  He glances back at Tubbo, and then again to the man responsible.  “Somebody break his nose.”  No one moves.  “Am I speaking fucking French?  Can you not hear all the sudden?  You, you already gave it your best shot, eh?  Try again,” he gestures with the gun for Morelli to hit him.

Morelli winces, but he does as he’s told.  Quackity sees Tubbo turn back to face the sink when there’s an awful crunch, and the man hits the ground, sniveling like a coward.  Tubbo’s nose isn’t actually broken, but he still took a punch better than this prick.  Tubbo meets Quackity’s gaze and quickly looks away, but from that glance, Quackity knows Tubbo is upset with him.  Quackity doesn’t fucking care.  He does care, but nowhere near enough to regret it.  He didn’t sign up for this shit, but he’s in it now.  Has been for years.  He keeps Tubbo safe.  From Schlatt and all else.  Quackity is startled when Schlatt turns and offers his gun back to him.  Quackity is quick to holster it, relieved that he hadn’t shot the guy if only because Tubbo would’ve taken it personally.

“Come on.  While these fuckin’ morons clean up, I want a drink.”  He nods Quackity to the door.

~

Schlatt has his drink.  Then another, then another.  Then another.  Unsurprisingly, that’s how the evening goes.  When Quackity finally drags him back upstairs, he’s all but dead weight.  Quackity thinks he might be trying to sedate the cough out of himself deliberately, but getting fucking wasted does nothing to help with the dizziness, as Quackity well knows from Schlatt leaning away from him before staggering back onto him.

Quackity finally dumps Schlatt onto his side of the bed where the man remains upright, barely.  Quackity takes a pause to catch his breath.  He’d stopped after two drinks when he realized he’d have to drive them home from the speakeasy he’d bullied into hosting them.  Not Niki’s, of course.

Quackity recovers somewhat, and sighs as Schlatt remains sitting there, making no effort to go to bed.  Giving in, Quackity leans down and undoes the laces on Schlatt’s smarmy oxfords.  He feels Schlatt clumsily try and run a hand through his hair and brushes him away, pulling off one shoe as if undressing a toddler.

“That fuckin’ kid, he’s always been scared as shit.  Freaked out by gunshots before he knew what they were…” Schlatt mutters.

Quackity pauses on the laces of the other, looking up at Schlatt.  “What?”

“The… the kid!  You know the kid,” Schlatt scoffs derisively.

“Tubbo?”

“Yeah, unless we got another one running around I don’t know about,” Schlatt says drolly.  He’s coherent enough to talk, apparently, but he doesn’t do anything to help or stop Quackity from slipping off his other shoe.

Quackity gets up, deigning not to be on the floor for the rest of this ordeal, and reaches out to unclasp Schlatt’s belt.  Schlatt starts trying to undo the buttons on Quackity’s pants.

Quackity smacks his hand away.  “Nope.”

Schlatt moodily returns his hands to his sides.  Another benefit to Schlatt’s growing weariness is he’s quicker to tolerate a firm no.  He’d always grudgingly get there eventually, but Quackity appreciates that it’s less of a fight.

Schlatt resumes his tangent like there was never any pause.  “Y’know, took him three years to say a word, and he skipped right to complete sentences!  Took me by surprise, I was about to call him a dud and have the boys put him in a sack and toss him in the river, y’know? Like a bag of kittens,” Schlatt laughs wetly, Quackity pauses, staring at Schlatt in stunned disgust.  “I’m kidding, Jesus fucking Christ, you think I’d kill my own blood?  Why d’you think I’ve kept him around this long?”

Schlatt meanders back to his original topic, while struggling drunkenly with the buttons of his shirt.  “First… first words were shut the fuck up.  Ha!  Probably heard it from me.  He didn’t say it to me, to be clear, otherwise I’d have smacked him for getting mouthy and then he probably would’ve been mute for another three years.  Made me laugh, though.  Y’know…” Schlatt seems to struggle to think something through, enough so that he has to pause with his shirt buttons to focus on it.  He lets Quackity pick up where he left off.

“I dunno who actually taught him to talk.  Must’ve just picked it up from the boys, I guess.  He had a nanny for the first two years or so, but the turnover rate was so fucking high.  None of ‘em had the guts to stick it out––Actually, one of ‘em tried to take Tubbo with them.  Some… some former military type, an old Captain or some shit and decided he’d rather deal with diapers?” Schlatt scoffs.  “Thought he wouldn’t be a pussy about my business with that kind of history, but nah.  He tried to run for it.  With the brat.  Bastard should’ve drugged him or something, you can’t smuggle out a crying baby!” Schlatt points at him intently, as if he’s offering pertinent advice before once more drifting off, hands slack at his sides.  “That was probably the last one.  Not gonna risk someone stealing my fucking blood.  So, at that point… I dunno.”  

“Wait!” Schlatt snaps his fingers.  “I remember!  I think… I think it was some British pricks, I dunno.  They thought it was funny trying to make him repeat the shit they said, especially after his first words were so fuckin’ ridiculous coming out of that tiny mouth.  They had that kid swearing like a sailor by the time he was three.  And… and they’re responsible for the fucking accent he’s got… back then I had a whole ring of Brits running around with me… probably saw him more than I did...”

“That’s how the kid learned to talk?” Quackity asks, his initial disgust traded for curiosity as he pulls Schlatt’s shirt off of him, leaving him in a white undershirt disturbingly damp with sweat.  “How does he sound like the fucking Queen now?”

“Fuck if I know, sometimes I think he started with the– the saying please and thank you and sorry, sir!” he says each phrase mockingly, “just to… just piss me off…”

“Right,” Quackity says dully, tossing the shirt to the floor and moving to leave.

“It’s his birthday soon, you know,” Schlatt actually puts a hand on Quackity’s arm to stop him, as if what he’s saying is important.  “He thinks I don’t know when it is, but it’s… it’s this month.  He’s still my kid, even if I… I didn’t really want a fuckin’ kid, y’know?”

Quackity knows when Schlatt gets into one of these rambling moods there’s no use dissuading him, better to just listen until he talks himself to sleep, but Quackity can’t help it, pulling away from Schlatt and going to the other side of the bed.  “No it isn’t, Schlatt.”

“Huh?”

“His birthday.  It’s not this month.”

“The fuck are you talking about?  How would you know?” Schlatt sneers.  “It’s… it’s the 21st.  The 21st of March,” Schlatt nods resolutely.

Quackity kicks off his own shoes and starts loosening his tie.  Maybe if Schlatt had been anywhere near close, the right month, or maybe even the right season at least, Quackity might’ve just moved on.  It’s too fucking much, all of it.  Every word Schlatt has said tonight.  “December.”

“Huh?”

“It’s in December.”

Schlatt scoffs.  “And you would know?  Like you know and I don’t?”

“Yeah, actually.  Yeah, I do,” Quackity says stiffly.  He flinches when Schlatt clumsily hits him over the back of the head, just enough to startle and sting.

“Shut the fuck up…” He mutters Tubbo’s first words and slumps over onto his pillow, and Quackity stops trying.