#skunk of rage

[fangomusic]

SCREAAAAM!!! MC Ride, Skin, Björk, Zack de la Rocha.

[fayrobertsuk]

Glorious Pop Song

Today can neatly be summed up by the lyrics of this song:

[piratefishmama]

Fake it Till you Make It | Part 13

“Buckley residence”

“Melissa, my second favourite Buckley! Hi, it’s Steve, is Robin there?”

“Oh Steve! Yes, yes one moment, I’ll just—weren’t you on holiday with your parents aaaand—?” he’d been calling Eddie his ‘partner’ for the week leading up to the big holiday. Never dropping any names, but given he’d found a sort of second home at the Buckleys… they were relentless in finding out who he was dating.

Since it’d never be Robin.

He wasn’t falling for it, no matter how deep they’d been into flower power back in the day. If he came out, Robin would end up coming out in solidarity and he knew she wasn’t ready yet so—“Yep, calling from Chicago airport, bit of a time sensitive call” he wasn’t giving it up.

“Oop, I’ll grab her—” there was a scuffle on the line then a quick “ROBIN, STEVE’S ON THE PHONE” another quick scuffle later and suddenly

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a plane right now, Dingus?”

“I’m in Chicago! Just checkin in on my baaaaaby, how’s my little bun today? Any morning sickness yet?”

“Robin!!”

“Mom get off the phone!!”

“Hahaha I’m kidding Melissa! Can I talk to Robbie alone though?”

“Unbelievable, you kids are turning me grey.”

“You’re as beautiful as ever though!” The other line clicked off, and Robin’s snickering laughter was all that remained. “One day she’s gonna stay on just to call my bluff.”

“But that is not today, again, aren’t you supposed to be on a plane? What’s up?”

“…Okay so, hypothetically, if you were fake dating someone you… I dunno… maybe, sorta… click really well with, can laugh with, and maybe sorta like a little, would you—”

“Steven Leopold Harrington do you have a crush on your boyfriend?”

“Fake, fake boyfriend, Robbie, fake. And that isn’t my middle name.”

“You’re not DENYING it! It's not even been a DAY yet, Steve!”

“No, I’m not—well… I’d call it more an interest than a crush, but that’s why I’m calling you, what would you do?”

“Pine uselessly for years, you know this.”

“Got it, pine uselessly” He could do that. He was doing that already, sort of. He’d watched in squinty eyed rage while a newsstand cashier with a nose ring flirted with his fake boyfriend while he grabbed a drink to down during the wait between flights. It didn’t go anywhere, Eddie barely even noticed, but Steve noticed. Steve noticed everything. “You really should ask Vi—”

“NO. Listen Steve, as the kids would say, you have found an ‘ultimate cheat code’ to asking your crush out, listen closely now, don’t want you to miss it… you’re already dating him!”

“It’s fake though!” Luckily his parents were off showing Eddie a cool mural they found last time they flew through. No chance of them hearing him.

“So?! Just act like it’s real! It’s like a test, you have a week to see if you’re actually growing ooey gooeys for this guy, and at the end of it, you’ll know if you wanna keep him.” Brilliant in theory but one small hiccup

“What if he doesn’t want me at the end of the week?” The fact that he hadn’t had a solid date in forever before the scheme looming over his head and heart like a dark cloud of suffering.

“I will eat my own shoe. Trust me dingus, trust me. He’ll want you, just work that mysterious Harrington Charm I’ve heard so much about. You’re already half-way there, you get to kiss him already.”

“…Okay, it’s gotta be the real stinker shoe though, you know the one.”

“The skunk one?!”

“Yep. The skunk one.”

“But we were gonna use that on—” Kevin, they were gonna hide it in Kevin’s office after he refused every holiday request Robin put in for a month after she, very politely, shot him and his advances down, why they still had it was… a mystery. They kept forgetting to get rid of it. “Fine, the skunk one. I will eat the skunk shoe, that is how confident I am that Eddie will want you, now please go and spend time with your way cooler than you boyfriend before your parents turn him into a normie.”

“Miss you already.”

“Miss you more”

“Miss you most.”

“Hang up.”

“No you han—” she hung up, and Steve couldn’t help but laugh about it knowing that undoubtedly. She’d be laughing on her end too.

The second flight was much easier to get Eddie onto. In fact, after they spent the hour between flights milling around the terminal, Eddie led him down the gangway, hand in hand, demanding he hurry up or “they’ll leave without us, my precious little harlot!!” there was no rush, they were actually first in line at the gate in front of his own parents, whom Eddie beat to the front of the queue, dragging Steve with him, still ribbing him for the mile high club thing.

He was not going to live that down any time soon.

The flight, in theory would give him a lot of time to think though. Nine hours. In seats that were too far apart. His parents in the middle of the cabin in a semi-enclosed pod-like structure comprised of two seats and a desk between them which they both shared to work on some paperwork, and he and Eddie on opposite sides of the plane.

Which sucked. Because he couldn’t hold Eddie’s hand.

He couldn’t make sure Eddie was okay, and that alone really dug into his time to think about things, because his brain was quite stuck on the fact that Eddie was alone on the other side of the cabin likely going through it as the second flight excitement could only last so long, and that just wasn’t okay.

Eddie couldn’t even do anything to pass the time, he’d packed all but one of his notebooks in his checked luggage, Steve was pretty damn sure he'd go insane if he had to just sit there with nothing to do for a whole nine hours.

So, they teamed up. From opposite sides of the cabin, because somehow Eddie just understood what Steve wanted him to do without having to be told.

It took them a joint effort all of one hour into the flight to puppy-dog eye his parents into switching seats with them.

This allowed them to pick at each other’s ‘gourmet’ meals, Eddie stealing several of his steak fries, and Steve stealing both the last bite of his steak, and two of his orange slices, it allowed Eddie to ramble on about the D&D campaign he was plotting to send the kids through when they got back, allowed Steve to subtly plant the idea into Eddie's mind that maybe... maybe he might be interested in seeing what that looked like.

Maybe they could hold the first session at his place when his parents went away again. Plenty of room! He could watch for once, instead of ribbing Dustin for it and purposefully never getting the name of the game right.

All leading to them both settling in their reclining seats, wrapped up in blankets, facing each other's smiling faces, and falling into an incredibly easy food-coma slumber for the remainder of their flight.

Both wishing the seats were just... a little closer.

Part 15

[robotpussy]

this is my friend this is my brother and we listen to pure hell, death, skindred, (maybe) bad brains, fishbone, skunk anansie, rage against the machine and danny denial (I haven't seen this movie yet btw)

[hellenhighwater]

Ooh, The Last Sequoia you're working on is really evocative for me. Part of my work two summers ago was helping with fuels reduction in a seqouia grove. 5 years after a hot fire killed more than half that grove. And months after the grove 10 miles away was saved from a big fire due to fuels reduction efforts the year before. I'm applying for a Masters program where I might be working on forest fire ecology... This is just to say that your painting isn't even done and it's making me Feel Things.

Thank you! I was thinking about this particular poem when I was working on it, it's stuck with me for years.

They will soon be down

To one, but he still will be For a little while    still will be stopping

The flakes in the air with a look, Surrounding himself with the silence Of whitening snarls. Let him eat The last red meal of the condemned

To extinction, tearing the guts

From an elk. Yet that is not enough For me. I would have him eat

The heart, and from it, have an idea Stream into his gnarling head That he no longer has a thing To lose, and so can walk

Out into the open, in the full

Pale of the sub-Arctic sun Where a single spruce tree is dying

Higher and higher. Let him climb it With all his meanness and strength. Lord, we have come to the end Of this kind of vision of heaven,

As the sky breaks open

Its fans around him and shimmers And into its northern gates he rises

Snarling    complete    in the joy of a weasel With an elk’s horned heart in his stomach Looking straight into the eternal Blue, where he hauls his kind. I would have it all

My way: at the top of that tree I place

The New World’s last eagle Hunched in mangy feathers    giving

Up on the theory of flight. Dear God of the wildness of poetry, let them mate To the death in the rotten branches, Let the tree sway and burst into flame

And mingle them, crackling with feathers,

In crownfire. Let something come Of it    something gigantic    legendary

Rise beyond reason over hills Of ice    screaming    that it cannot die, That it has come back, this time On wings, and will spare no earthly thing:

That it will hover, made purely of northern

Lights, at dusk    and fall On men building roads: will perch

On the moose’s horn like a falcon Riding into battle    into holy war against Screaming railroad crews: will pull Whole traplines like fibres from the snow

In the long-jawed night of fur trappers.

But, small, filthy, unwinged, You will soon be crouching

Alone, with maybe some dim racial notion Of being the last, but none of how much Your unnoticed going will mean: How much the timid poem needs

The mindless explosion of your rage,

The glutton’s internal fire    the elk’s Heart in the belly, sprouting wings,

The pact of the “blind swallowing Thing,” with himself, to eat The world, and not to be driven off it Until it is gone, even if it takes

Forever. I take you as you are

And make of you what I will, Skunk-bear, carcajou, bloodthirsty

Non-survivor.

Lord, let me die    but not die

Out.

James Dickey, “For the Last Wolverine” from The Whole Motion: Collected Poems 1945-1992.

[dreams-of-yunho]

birthday present

yunho x female reader

rating: m

genre: birthday smut

w.c.: 1.7k

warnings: sex, sex in the bathroom, mentions of alcohol and being drunk

summary: this is for a beautiful anon who mentioned an idea like this back in MARCH lol. I switched it around a bit which I hope is okay. yunho gives y/n some sweet sweet morning sex for her birthday <3

Neon lights, sugared liquor and the raging heat of euphoric bodies. The music was god awful and the drinks tasted as cheap as they were, but your friends were celebrating your birthday. How could you complain? Stumbling home at 3am, your broken left heel in hand, you were missing four red press-on nails, and the walls of the apartment seemed to be melting around you. Swaying and crashing into every obstacle in your path, you found the bedroom dark. The gentle sound of Yunho’s deep breaths filling the otherwise quiet space. Oh boy, were you wasted! But your subconscious reminded you to be quiet while the love of your life was sleeping so angelically. Removing your heels and stepping out of a dress two sizes too small, you crawled into the bed as cautiously as you could before immediately passing out. 

Traffic and that dreadful chirping of birds invaded your dreams. Your eyes fluttered open only to be shocked by the morning sun’s orange light. You groaned, stretching your body and stuffing your face under the pillow; it was like one of those symbols playing monkeys was pounding against your skull. The mattress around you shifted and you skunk deeper into it as the weight of a 185cm man fell upon your legs. 

His hands grabbed your bare breasts, pushing them together and then watching them bounce back into place. “Late night, huh?” His voice was still heavy with sleep.

Bare boobs, you thought, the images of the night before flooding back in a tsunami of vodka and vomit. “Am I at least wearing panties?” You asked, disappointed in your life choices up to this point. 

His hands ran down your thighs to your hips, patting them with amusement. “Nope.”

“Well that’s unfortunate,” you pulled your head out from under the pillow. 

He was staring down at you in all his morning glory; messy, curly hair and puffy eyes. “Wow, babe, you look beautiful.”

“Oh god,” you pushed him off you, raising on your knees to look into the mirror on the wall across from the bed. Mascara was everywhere but your lashes. Your lipstick was gone, only your lip liner remained making you look like a clown. And someone had written your new age on your cheeks in Sharpie. “Oh god!” You jumped off the bed and ran to the bathroom with lightning speed, smearing cleanser all over your face and scrubbing. He watched you butt jiggle as you ran. 

He came into the bathroom after you, wrapping his arms around your waist, looking at you in the mirror. You splashed cold water on your face. A faint outline of sharpie remained and you knew you wouldn’t be able to rid yourself of it without ripping off your skin. “I like it,” he said over your shoulder. “Now, I won’t forget how old you are.”

You laughed sarcastically. “Sharpie cannot be good for your skin,” you dabbed your face with a washcloth. 

“I seriously doubt it,” he rested his chin on your shoulder, angling his face to press lips against your neck. 

“Hm,” you put the cloth down and turned in his arms. “What’s this?”

“I have a present for you,” he smiled, kissing up your neck.

You raised a lazy brow. “Oh really?”

“Oh, yes, I’ve been working on it for twenty-three years.”

“God, please don’t tell me it’s you-”

“It’s me!” He gripped your waist, lifting you to sit on the cold, granite countertop. 

His lips were on your jaw now, sucking to leave little red marks. “At least let me brush my teeth,” you offered. “I can’t promise you that I didn’t puke last night.” 

But he was relentless against your jaw, moving to the corner of your mouth, like he couldn’t hear the words you were saying. Fine, you relaxed into his touch, placing your hands on the soft skin of his waist. 

Hands dragged down your thighs, resting on your knees, spreading them apart. You pulled him in, eager to feel his warmth. His lips were now on your cheek and one of his hands moved up to press against your folds. He hadn’t even started yet and already you were putty in his hands. Your headache pushed to the back of your mind. 

“I’m liking this present,” your hands gripped his hair, urging his lips to yours. 

His tongue ran against your bottom teeth and he was now holding your ass so firmly that you were fully pushed against him, barely touching the counter. You wrapped your legs around him and grazed your teeth against his neck. 

His dick was pressed firmly against your ass and you needed it inside you. You reached a hand down, angling him. “Kinda needy for this present, huh?”

“Baby,” your brow pressed against his. “You have no idea.”

He chuckled, warm breath against your face. “Anything for you, birthday girl.” 

Your ass cheeks met the cold stone again but your legs remained crossed behind his back. Six press-on nails gripped the edge of the counter as you felt his tip brush against your clit. Your hips jolted slightly. “I feel like this is my birthday present,” he joked. 

You bit your bottom lip and looked up at him through thick lashes. You couldn’t help yourself! This man had you wrapped around his little finger, desperate for his every touch. He was just so perfect in every way. Compassionate, funny, and generous, Yunho was everything a birthday girl could ask for. 

He rocked his shaft against your clit and your head lulled back against the mirror. He continued to rock against you, collecting your sticky slick as he moved. 

Your legs were flexed from the pressure building up in your stomach and the sheer amount of effort you were putting into gripping the counter. The veins in your flushed neck pressed against your skin. His cock wasn’t even in you and you were going to come. 

Your walls began to flutter, desperate for something to clench around. “Put it in,” you whined, but he just continued to rock against you. 

You were so warm and fuzzy, the violent wave of your orgasm crashed down upon your senses. Her rubbed his thumbs against the supple skin of your inner thighs as you shivered through your climax. “Fuck,” you breathed, nodding for him to actually start fucking you.

You had grown to love the burn of his thick cock pushing into you. It hurt in a pleasurable way that brought tears to your eyes. He pulled on your legs, pulling one to rest up on his shoulder and pushing the other to your side. “Hold this?” He asked.

If you weren’t so desperate for his dick, you would have mocked him for that dumb line but you didn’t have time for that. You just wanted him to fuck your brains out and then do it again. So, you held your own leg back for him. 

Gripping your hips, he could push deeper at this angle, hit that spongy bit that had you seeing stars. He moved slowly, teasing you, his pelvis fully flush with yours. 

Even these gentle strokes had you breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling dramatically. Picking up the pace, his balls slapped against your ass. The drag, that delicious drag of his cock against your aching walls. The sounds in that small bathroom were vile and hot. 

You were just moaning constantly. Your breaths leaving your mouth in a constant, deep moan. 

“Shit.” He pushed his body down on yours, deepening the angle even more. “You have the best pussy, baby.” 

You couldn’t even respond, totally focused on the sensations he was making your body feel. 

He moved even faster now, ramming into the same spot inside of you over and over. The tears were rolling down your cheeks now. It just felt so good. His hands fell to circle your clit and you were spiraling. A complete mess, you couldn’t even grip the counter anymore, your free hand moving to his wrist. Your head was knocking against the mirror with every thrust but you didn’t notice. 

“Fuck, Yunho, right there!” He had found the spot that had you clamping your eyes shut and bucking your hips into his. Your moans had become short and high pitched; needy, needy, needy. 

He was grunting now, slamming into your hips at a terribly fast and deep rate. His dick twitched inside of you and you knew he was holding back his own climax. 

His fingers applied more pressure to your clit and the world faded away. White danced behind your eyelids. Your legs trembled and your body lurched as you were still being rammed into the counter. He was completely flat against you, lips on your neck as he came in you, thrusting a few final times. 

“God, present, that was amazing,” you breathed. He was still twitching inside you. 

“It was twenty-three years in the making,” he spoke against your sweaty neck.

You wanted to laugh but you were still catching your breath. 

He pulled back to place a sweet peck on your lips. Silly, how innocent that kiss could be as his cum was dripping out of you. When he did pull out, the thick, white stick dripped to the floor. 

“I don’t think I can walk,” you pulled your legs together, feeling a tight burn. 

He smiled. “I got you.” His arms wrapped under your legs and around your back, lifting you from the, now, wet counter.  

You sighed with content as your back met the plushness of your mattress and quilt. He bent down and kissed your forehead. “Yum,” he smiled. “Sweaty.” 

“Whatever,” you pulled him back down, kissing him again. “Best birthday present ever, Yunho, thank you.” 

“I’m glad you think so,” he moved to grab a damp washcloth from the bathroom. “Cause you're getting it every year.” 

You chuckled lightly. “Fine by me.” 

“Fuck,” Yunho cried out from the bathroom.

“You okay,” you asked from the bed.

“No,” he walked up to the bed, a piece of red plastic in his hand. “I stepped on one of your damn nails.”

You looked down on your hands to find all the press-ons missing. You smiled sheepishly, “sorry, baby.” 

[perrywrites]

just a funny thought i had 😭 🙏🏾

[Y/N]: i just read this article about birthmarks and it says they’re marks of where your lover from another life kissed you a lot but neither of us have any so i guess we were both single in our past life lol

Shidou: You have them!

[Y/N]: Forreal? Huh, I never noticed-

Shidou: Yeah, you’ve got hellas, like, one on your ankle, your inner thigh, your right asscheek, under your chest and your back!

[Y/N]: .

Shidou: Your past lover must’ve been some kinda medieval perv lmao

“YEAH, you mean LIKE YOU?!” 

You were glaring at him, an angry pout on your flushed face - you’ve never felt as embarrassed in your entire life as you do right now. Sure, you guys are lovers, yes. Fuck each other? Very much so, eagerly, yes, indeed. 

But, to know he’s been looking hard enough to… catch all of those details… 

Your ears burn up harshly, like angry metal ready for melding. Never letting him have a go at you with doggy style ever again!

“Awwh, are you implying I was your lover even in a past life? How romantic, sweetheart, didn’t know you were that sentimental.” Utterly unfazed, his shit-eating grin remains untouchable and undefeatable. 

“You skunk ass jackass, what I’m saying is, the two of you are the same brand of mediaeval pervert,” you snap, before huffing and sighing deeply. Alright, maybe you’ll relent on this point. “... Or I guess you’re the same person,” you grumble, voice almost as low as a whisper, begrudging. 

You glance at him, hoping to catch some sort of interesting expression on his face - but all you notice is his shit-eating grin widening and a familiar teasing glint edging itself into his eyes. “Awwh, that’s cute and all darling, but if it had been me, I wouldn’t have been so picky.” Shoulders relaxed, hands in pocket, he strolls over to you, eyes turning further mischievous with each step. “If it were me, I would’ve had your whole body covered in moles, marks of my love for you covering every inch of your skin…” His voice lowers, the raspy hint of it making you shiver as he loosely fingers a lock of your hair. 

The blush on your face rages ever so vivaciously, for a different reason now, as your heart pounds like it was in the palm of his hands - because it is. Your heart is definitely in the palm of this volatile romantic, a man that at times turns you blasphemous, manages to convince you that you’re divine - your very own Rasputin. 

Shidou Ryusei will either be your salvation or your damnation, you decide. 

Maybe even both. 

“... I suppose in my next life I might as well just be a huge mole because of you,” you murmur, an attempt to conceal how flustered you feel as you cowardly avert your eyes. 

He laughs, loud and bright, his hand discarding the lock of your hair to cup your cheek - and you find yourself within his grasps as he looks down at you fondly, his eyes creased with a huge smile. “Well, either way it makes no difference to me. You have my claim on you now. Giant mole rat or not, I’ll find you and keep making you mine.” 

Your cheeks are a living fireplace at this point. “B-by the way, I meant the mole as in beauty mark, not the other mole…” Excuses excuses, distractions, why can’t you ever just be honest in the face of his flirting? It’s not like he even believes in past or future lives, he’s told you as much. You know he’s playing with you. 

“Giant mole rats are a funner interpretation, I like that better though, so I’ll stick with that,” he loosely asserts, before he pulls you in closer - hand still on your cheek. Clearly, he’s bored of this conversation now, because he’s not looking into your eyes anymore and just your lips. 

“What do you say I one-up your past lover right now, huh sweetcheeks?” He smiles against your lips, so close to kissing you… What a tease. “Well, you don’t need to answer, it’s a rhetorical question.” 

“No doggy-style this time,” you grumble against his lips, and he laughs right into your mouth. 

Rude, perverted bastard. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Cutie ma’amz you really had such a funny ask 😭😭😭 the laugh I sputtered out when I first read that. This was really fun to write lolol, thank you for the fun request! I hope you enjoy this mini narrative, it ended up being less comedic and spicier than it was in my head though DHFJHGSFJHSGDF

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

(For your lovely rollo event.)

Rollo, how do you feel about children? Either just in general or perhaps.. if you would ever want to be a father in the future?

Like Fire, Hellfire.

“Children?”

He handled the word as though it were a skunk—innocent and harmless for now but primed to spray at the first hint of danger. A muscle in his face ticked. It was though he wished to shift into a different emotion but hadn't yet decided which one.

Handkerchief out, Rollo sucked in a breath through his teeth. The usual disgust or disapproval was not present in full force. Today, it was tempered by hesitance as he tip-toed around the subject.

"They have the capacity to be rambunctious. Like fire, difficult to tame. I’m not certain I can match their energy," he said vaguely. “The children in the City of Flowers are free-spirited, and that tends to result in acts of mischief. Whether their pranks and games disturb public peace depends on the time and place. I'm not fond of the instances when they do."

A slight grimace crossed his features. "There was once an incident when a boy blew hard into a magically charmed handkerchief, and the noise it produced startled the baker at the cafe I was frequenting. He had just pulled out a fresh batch of croissants from the oven. The croissants ended up all over the floor... What a waste of perfectly good food. The baker, too, was quite upset, as you can imagine."

"What happened to the boy?"

"Ah, him. He attempted to abscond from the scene of the crime. In his rush to escape, he paid no attention to his surroundings and collided with me." Rollo waved a hand. "The baker's rage was upon him in an instant. The boy was shaking like a leaf in the wind—he grasped onto my robes to keep himself upright.”

Rollo drew out a sigh that ended in a small smile. “I managed to smooth things over with the baker, though I also spoke with the boy and had him apologize. One must atone for one’s crimes—that lesson was surely instilled in him that day.”

"Aw, it was nice of you to step in and speak on behalf of the little guy." You found yourself smiling as well. Even though Rollo-san always has this stern air about him… "You really have a soft spot for kids, huh?”

His frown quickly returned. "No, I wouldn't say that. I was merely holding the boy accountable for his actions. Children can so easily be led astray without proper instruction and moral guidance. Who is to say he wouldn’t be a repeat offender if he was let off the hook?”

"Someone's in denial," you said in a teasing singsong. “It’s okay to confess that you’re good at taking care of kids, you know.”

“… I am not,” he insisted. “I am most content observing the children go about their simple days. I do not wish to take a larger part in their lives beyond that.”

A terrifying thought nipped at him from the dark crevices of his mind.

I don’t have a right to.

If his heart were a house, then a window had been thrown open, letting the outside in. A hole opened in the dark, and incriminating light rushed to fill it.

A flower of pain blossomed in his chest, its thorns driving deep into his flesh. The blood that rose to the surface was both hot and cold. Burning scorn, icy remorse.

A deadly duo.

Spiraling.

I wasn't able to protect the one that mattered most of all. My magic came too late. I'm in no position to be a big brother, let alone a father, a grandfather, an uncle, a guardian of any sort…!

I’m not worthy.

Rollo gritted his teeth. His soul ablaze, his mind jumbled with emotions running high. He pushed back with teeth and nails.

It’s not my fault. I’m not to blame!! The one who cast this flame is…!

“Rollo-san?”

You were staring at him, concern seeping into your eyes. Curiosity, too, had bloomed there. It was the same sort of expression one makes at a a stray on the side of the road. Sorry for it, but uncertain about drawing near to check its condition.

He gasped—realizing he had been making a most frightening face. Rearranging his features back into some semblance of calm, he cleared his throat.

“… Suffice to say, it is impossible in this current state of affairs for any child to grow up safe and free of sin. Around every bend and corner, there is temptation of magic calling out to them. How cruel!” he lamented pityingly. “The poor things, like lambs led to the slaughter.”

You shuddered at the gruesome image—human children like lambs.

Poor things, echoed your head. Poor Rollo, echoed your heart, thinking such things.

“Until I can bring about that magic-free world into fruition, I cannot commit my efforts toward any other endeavors,” he concluded. “A world without all the pain and suffering of this one… I intend to see my goal through to the very end. That is my utmost priority.”

A fairer world for all.

For the children.

For him.

[yorshie]

Twitterpaited

Hey, These are my Springtime Headcanons!

That's right, we all know that I'm talking about mating season. I tried to not go explicit with these but by the vey nature of these headcanons they are adults doing adult things, so read at your own discretion. There’s cussing and mentions/alludes to adult activities. Set in 2023 so turtles are 24-25

Spring starts slow, creeping up like an itch on their carapace and a skin sensitivity. It hits them all in slightly different degrees of uncomfortableness, but by the end of the roughly two weeks they’re all done with each other and their own instincts. Splinter caught on to the signs of encroaching puberty in their early teenage years. When they were younger, all it amounted to was shedding shells and outbursts of manic emotion and moodiness, but by the time the the turtles are in their twenties it’s a full hormonal raging see-saw. He nopes out to Casey’s and April’s apartment every year by then. They make up the guest room for him and he turns off his phone for the duration. His sons are adults, they can figure out their own shit, and in his older age he values his peace and quiet. And the Lair in springtime is anything but that.

Everything comes out of left field and sucker punches the turtles every year. The human friends of the bale might have picked up on cues to determine when the craziness is gonna start, but to the turtles it feels like nothing is amiss until they’re in the thick of it nine miles behind enemy lines, ass deep in cleaning supplies, snack food, and suddenly unable to stand the sight or smell of each other.

Territorial out the wazoo, and that’s an understatement. They’ll get pissy over someone wiping their feet on the wrong shower rug. Everything in their space must be clean, must be straight, orderly and neat. For Leo this is no problem, but Raphael and Mikey spend a good day or two cleaning out their rooms because their turtle brains can stand the ‘pigsty’ all of a sudden and they can’t find the one object they need that they haven’t thought about all year. One year for Raph it was a particular pair of boxing gloves and he didn’t sleep for three days straight trying to find them. The compulsion to have a clean space drives Donnie up the wall the most, because the poor turtle will never have a clean Lab, no matter how hard he tries. The good side of that is, no one runs into hormonal Donnie as long as they stay away from the Lab- which is a good thing since he discovered years ago caffeine makes everything worse. Just imagine, hormonal Donnie with no caffeine. shudder.

One time Casey nipped down to grab something Splinter forgot, and when he came back home April Frebreeze-ed him outside the apartment before he was allowed to enter. The turtles stink during their springtime, especially with only rival males around to interact with. It’s like they’re each putting out ‘fuck you and fuck off’ stench and it permeates the air. Casey said it smells like a musky skunk, and April swears it smells like a boy’s locker room when she got a whiff of it second handed off Casey. Splinter shocked them both by mumbling into his tea “It smells like they’re horny and pissy.” Raph is the worst at this, but Leo is a close second. Every time poor Mikey sticks his nose outside his bedroom all he can smell is ‘fuck you and the horse you rode in on’ from his elder two brothers and being the smallest and youngest, his turtle senses equate it to ‘I’m gonna get my ass kicked if I leave this room’. 

Despite everyone being frustrated and pissy about it, there’s not a lot of fist fights going on. It’s more subtle postering than anything overt, and it’s mostly between Leo and Raph. Whenever they clock the other in their peripheral, they start up a warning rumble that, in Raph’s case, will shake the furniture in the room if he puts effort into it. At most it’ll escalate into huffing and flexing their arms and chests, but it’s likely to scare the shit out of anyone watching. Every once in a while Mikey will be feeling his oats and will rumble back, and it’s usually enough to shock the shit out of his bigger brothers and they’ll stop for a bit. Leo absolutely hates it. He’s the leader, but come Springtime everyone seems to forget that, and for him it feels like every time he sees Raphael he’s in a power struggle for the mantle. Raph is just pissed he has to see Leo's ugly mug and judgmental eye rolls when he’d rather just get his food and get the fuck back to watching tv in his room with his door locked. 

The one thing that will cause them to stop in their tracks, however, is the discovery of anything smol.  Raph turns on his tv and sees baby animals by accident? Bawls for hours. Families or small children running around exploring on Mikey’s instagram reel feed? Turtle is hit in the chest with the thought that he will likely never be a father. Leo finds old photos of when they were toddlers while cleaning his room?He’ll avoid everyone for the rest of the day, chest tight at the thought of little faces that resemble his own. Donnie finds all the parenting books he downloaded over the hope of ‘what if’? He’ll throw them in the trash and then dig them out hours later in a silent apology to whatever kernel of hope he has.

Now as the turtles get older, there’s always the chance they have an s/o during their Springtime. They learned the hard way that things can get really weird, really quickly, when one year April hugged Raph goodbye after a game night in March and she said “wow you smell really good for some reason”- cue the turtles locking eyes in dawning horror and scuttling out of the room like their pants are literally on fire, and April disgustedly cussing Raph out over the phone once she figured out what exactly was happening. So, needless to say, if the turtles do have an s/o during these two weeks, there is a strict order to stay away from the Lair. If the relationship is far along enough, the turtle could join their s/o at their place, provided they can take the whole two weeks and then some off work, because there is no way any of the turtles could chill enough to let their s/o leave the safety of the nest until turtle.exe stops hogging the brain console and logic comes back online. Even if their s/o leaves just to run errands, they’ll likely come home to find a stressed turtle panic cleaning and vibrating off the walls, rumbling every time they hear footsteps outside in the hall… Maybe it’s better just to leave him in the Lair to preserve his poor blood pressure.

Courtship behavior, however, comes out as well in the Springtime, and it’s something to contend with if either the warning isn’t heeded or the turtle heads aboveground. During the other months of the year, the turtles are more into romancing their s/o’s in a more ‘normal’ manner, but during those two weeks the little voice that warns them humans won’t really ‘get’ all the turtle-y interactions goes suspiciously quiet. Actions such as kissing, hand holding, and personal bubble space go right out the proverbial window, and in their place pop up some more hindbrain postering that, well to be honest, can be downright confusing

One of the most obvious courtships traits is dogging their s/o’s footsteps. It’s a shadowing instinct, made ten times worse by their ninja training and their ability to move silently, and nine times out of ten they don’t even realize they’re doing it until their s/o turns and runs into them. They’re always in the way, always underfoot, and if they can’t physically follow they’ll track with their gaze. It gets worse if the other turtles are around, to the point where their s/o might feel like they’re being stalked by a particularly rumbly bodyguard that covers their back at all times. Surprisingly (sarcasm), Mikey is the worst offender. Leo is the best at keeping himself to only following with his eyes, but eventually they’ll all break and find themselves one step from being up against their chosen partner.

Another turtle-y interaction that grips them hard is the need to provide. He notices his s/o hasn’t eaten in a few hours? He’ll make a point to get them to eat or to bring them snacks. The room’s too cold or there’s too few blankets to cuddle up in? He’ll bring the covers from the bed if he can’t get away with just relocating to the  bedroom, but no matter what he’s getting some article of his ill-fitting clothing on his s/o. It’s a ‘kill two birds with one stone’ technique that soothes the itch in his snout that absolutely freaks him out when he realizes his s/o doesn’t smell like him.

The turtles also turn handsy overnight. Their s/o better be prepared for casual touch at any open opportunity, because the turtles will not waste it. Everything from a hand on the small of their s/o’s back, to touching any bare skin, to fluttering their fingers against their s/o’s face. The latter happens the least, and only when no one else is around to witness it. If their s/o ever tries to turn the tables and return the favor around others, it quickly becomes apparent by the sputtering and coughing from the other brothers that they might not understand all the connotations associated with the action. Cue their turtle getting flustered and all but ducking their head into their shell in embarrassment over being propositioned in front of his family.

Cuddle time dissolves into massages as an excuse to rub up against their s/o, to the point that the s/o might have to point out that massages are usually done with hands and not by just bumping and rubbing a turtle snout over any body part they can reach, which will only be answered with annoyed grumbling and insistence that they ‘aren’t’ doing that… while not stopping doing exactly that. There is also no such thing as personal space while cuddling- if their s/o doesn’t want a heavy ass turtle in their lap, they better nab that spot first or risk being squashed.

Speaking of turtle rumbles, those aren’t the only sounds that come out with a vengeance during springtime. The turtles all churr more readily, chirp and click to get each others and their s/o’s attention, but when they’re alone with their s/o it ramps up, to the point where they’ll forgo words all together. Donnie is the worst offender as he’s battling not only hormones but also caffeine withdrawals, and as such he tends to only hiss at his brothers when they stick their heads into his lab to make sure he’s still alive. With their s/o's however, it's all rumbles deep in their chest and churrs that are likely to rattle the breath in their chests. Raph has the lowest auditory range with his rumbles while Mikey sounds the sweetest.

[dairy-farmer]

Saw some NICE Reverse Robins Art? And just? Eldest Blood Son Damian Wayne? All the gorgeous of BOTH his parents? A man who never felt his position threatened by these younger children? But still had that oldest sibling "they're talking my Father's love and attention AWAY from me" drama? Grew up. Lost his Tim.

Was BETRAYED by his maternal family, when they brought Tim BACK, mad from the pits, and never told him. The whole alt-timeline. Edgy Red Hood Tim. Red Bird Jason. Robin Dick.

But!

Multiverse shenanigans? Who is THIS?! It's a Cannon-adjacent Tim! He's HEROICALLY sacrificed himself by tackling the megalomaniac of the decade, into the Multiverse Destroying Portal BEFORE it could fully charge! While he, said maniac, held the control panel. Thereby shutting it down.

There had been no other way.

He had expected to be ripped to molecules.

But here he is, on the sort of Shitty Roofing that can only be Gotham infrastructure. So? No time to tremble in the face of near oblivion. Gotta beat this fuckers ass so hard his ANCESTORS rethink their life choices. Tim drags himself up. And makes Gotham proud.

Which is how Darkwing (Damian's edgy self chosen name he's now stuck with until his Father retires.) Finds him. Half dead and beating up a clear Supervillian, wearing Bat gear. Good enough for Damian. He'll get answers AFTER the scoundrel in imprisoned.

Only Tim passes the fuck out.

Wakes up, in the cave, to his own? But slightly different? Face. Two things jump out. One, that God awful skunk strip Jason was permanently stuck with after the pits (that he refuses to admit, is kinda sexy). And Two, either this Tim started Testosterone WAY earlier, somehow managed to keep to all his scheduled shots dispite Superhero Craziness, OR... this lucky bastard is Cis Gendered.

Unless maybe not?

Hey, Me, pronouns. (He/Him.) Nevermind! Bastard it is! Fuck you! Why do YOU get all the luck? I have to take shots! (I DIED.) OH, boo hoo, WE'VE ALL DIED! Ya'aint special! *Tim on Tim verbal violence intensifies*

No one can tell if... they are? Bonding? Or hate each other. Someone should stop them. Unfortunately, it has to be Bruce. Which is how they learn: No, actually, he DOESN'T know what universe he's from. It's never come up before and they don't have the technology. He expected to die.

It was a one way trip.

Now they have a New/Extra Tim. There are Tim Twins. One is An Angry Bad Boy. And the other? Strangely sexy. The competence kinks are developing by the minute.

Worse, for Damian? This Tim seems... almost? Baffled? By his politeness? Seems to expect violence and aggression? And become utterly FACINATED by him, once he realizes its not coming. Damian has never been the center of someone's attention like this. Had someone hang off his every word like this. It's breeding... Thoughts he shouldn't be having.

And RR!Tim is getting jealous. That's HIM. He should be interested in HIM. THEIR shared lives. Not Mr "ooooh look at meee, the Perfect Soooon". Other Tim should be... be like his TWIN. His BROTHER. HIS other half. His!

Bruce? Hates that he sees what could have been, in this Tim. Calm and collected. Not raging and destructive. A good Detective. A perfect Robin. Dedicated to The Mission. Not the unhealing, raging, wounded animal his son has become. He wants to protect this Tim. Hold him close. Cherish him. But he also loves HIS Tim. He feels so greedy.

And Jason? It's like the Red Bird he looked up to is BACK. Not the raging monster that swings between hating him and ignoring him. Even better! This Tim looks at HIM like he's some sort of miracle! So he plays up the spunky, the cute. Crawls into his lap and chats. Gets to hang out. Be the center of his world. He... he's in LOVE. Already formulating a long term plan. Gonna marry this Tim and have a house and kids and a dog! It'll be perfect.

Baby Dick? Robin? Was EXHAUSTED trying to hold everything together. Trying to pretend he didn't notice the tensions. Play the performance of "cute baby brother" to distract and defuse. Then this Timmy came! And FIXED everything. Took Dicks job like he'd been doing it for YEARS. Smiled so pretty and perfect. Told him he didn't have to pretend.

Like he KNEW Dick. Better then anyone else.

So maybe Dick goes... a little crazy. Follows him. Smells his stuff. Wants to crawl into his bed and DO things. But! He's not the only one! Everyone is going crazy! Timmy does that to people, he's decided. But it's okay. They're TIM'S people. So it's okay if they go crazy for him.

And really? It's just a matter of who's control breaks first. Because Tim adores them but doesn't think they'd be interested. Tim is situationally dense as bricks. They love him anyway.

-🐼🐼🐼

all of them intent on this tim not realizing the tim of their universe will never let them get dibs 😩

[yetanothergreyjedi]

Ghosts of Our Pasts: 10

DP x DC crossover

Damian Wayne and Danny Fenton Sibling AU

Ao3

Masterpost Previous Next

Jason nearly doubled over when it hit him. He'd been waiting for them to return with Danny, he'd been nervously excited mere moments ago. Now, old rage boiled from somewhere deep inside him. He'd thought he'd learned to control it! Now, he realized What he'd been dealing with from day to day was simply his own anger. This was the Pit's rage; this broiling thing that made the air seem too hot, and the faint smell of the Batcave into something rank. How had he forgotten it?

He grit his teeth and gripped the chair tighter. 

"Jason?" Bruce's voice grated his senses, how dare he feign concern now? He is concerned.  There was blood in his mouth, probably his own, but it made him want to bite someone else. But no, because teeth weren't the best way to make something bleed and—

"Well, this is not ideal," Someone else seethed. And it was them, Jason knew, who was causing this. And if he destroyed them it would all be over. Jason let himself look up.

Lazarus green eyes met Lazarus green eyes.

Jason lunged.

---

"Well, this is not ideal." Danny said through gritted teeth. He was fighting back physical waves of territorialism. Not how he'd hoped his first time in the Bat cave would go! The revenant gripping the table was probably family, and duking it out, in this situation, was probably not okay.

So, Danny had come into this fully intending to claim the batcave as 'his'(not taking it from Gotham, of course, but his claim would give it protection from any spirits who happened to take interest.). If he had known beforehand, he would've announced his presence and gotten permission the usual unobtrusive ghost-speak way, and no one would be the wiser. Now, he was attempting to make himself not want to fight this guy for territory he didn't need to claim.

Danny tasted the tangy sweetness of suprise from his Bio-family as skunk hair lunged. Danny had more than enough time to block the blow, no blows, to his face. He did not have enough time to decide what to do about this before he noticed Skunky pulling a knife. 

He hit back hard.(Probably harder than a human could take, but he doubted the guy would notice like this.) As he brought his arm back from the strike he hit Skunky's wrist, sending the knife to the floor. Danny kicked it it out of reach, but took a hit to the ribs as payment.

It hadn't been ten seconds, Danny wasn’t sure exactly how many, the others were quick to try and separate them. The Bat went for Skunky, who went just as feral on him in attempts to get to Danny. 

This was bad. Danny reflected,  very bad. He had no idea how aware Skunky was right now, and after this sort of intrusion? The guy probably wouldn't feel secure for a few weeks after Danny had left. Especially if the fight went unfinished. Damian was pulling him back, he was also saying something, but Danny didn't catch it. Instead he did the only thing he could do. He flared his aura.

---

The breath in had been sharp. It had not contained nearly enough air to properly hold, as a turbulent rage froze over into pure unadulterated terror.

The thing behind Bruce might be wearing human skin, but it was not human. Jason didn't know what part of him was sensing it, but the thing's power was suddenly everywhere, blinding and suffocating all at once.

It retreated, as if that changed the fact that it could crush him without a thought. Jason had attacked it. It was in the cave. He needed to warn— but what could they do against it? It could destroy them just as easily. And it was already here.

The frantic thoughts were cut off when the pit stirred again. Not like before, this was unlike anything the pit had done before. The entity had put a drop into perfectly still waters, sending ripples through its entirety. It would be fine, only he was on those waters, and what was the smallest drop to it was a tsunami to him. He was glad Bruce was still holding onto him.

Embarrassment-Regret

Apprehension-Apology-concern 

Hope-togetherness 

Regret-departure

He was pretty sure he got the meaning. He had no idea how to respond and he didn't mean to laugh, it just came out.

He heard an equally relieved laugh, and now he couldn’t stop. 

---

Bruce did not know what his boys found so hysterical.

The laughing was less alarming than one suddenly trying to kill the other, but it was still concerning. Especially since Jason's eyes had yet to stop glowing.

He looked over to Danny, who's glowing had dimmed, but was now sitting on the cave floor with an equally bewildered Damian hovering nearby. 

It was a few moments before Danny managed enough air to wheeze, "We good, bro?

And for Jason to respond, "I think? What was that?"

"Teritorial ghost bullshit!"

Jason scoffed, "Zombie bullshit!"

" I'm sorry , do you eat brains?"

"Do you walk through walls and fly?"

"it's a personal choice,"

That set them off again, Bruce had to hold Jason up again... it had been a while, since he had been this close to him for so long...

When the laughter died down again, Danny informed them, "Technically, I'm a doorway spirit. You're giving off revenant vibes."

Jason nodded like he didn't know what to do with that. He awkwardly pulled away from Bruce. 

Before anyone could try to pick up the pieces of this interaction, Alfred swept in with a tray of cookies.

---

Batman: What is a Doorway spirit?

* John Constantine is typing. *

-

-

-

Shoutout to all the ao3 friends who made me realize I was spelling Jason like Jacen Solo and not Jason Todd so yall get the correct version first

* facepalms*

Taglist:

To get added, please send me an ask, I made a "mistake" and my notifications are drowning in cat pictures

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[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Outside Online:

On February 29, Daniel, Wyoming resident Cody Roberts allegedly ran a juvenile wolf down with his snowmobile, taped its mouth shut, transported it to the town’s Green River Bar, posed for photos with the animal, then either beat or shot it to death, depending on which version of the report you read. State wildlife officials received a tip about the incident, and later fined Roberts $250 for a misdemeanor violation of Wyoming’s prohibition against possession of live wildlife. No other charges or penalties have been brought against him. As of April 10, however, the Sublette County Sheriff’s Office announced that they—along with the Sublette County Attorney’s office—are now investigating Roberts.

“The individual was cited for a misdemeanor violation of Wyoming Game and Fish Commission regulations, Chapter 10, Importation and Possession of Live Warm-Blooded Wildlife,” says the Wyoming Game and Fish Department in a statement addressing the incident. “The department’s investigation indicated there were no other statutory or regulatory violations.”

The 206-word statement itself acknowledges the controversy that’s raging around the incident, saying: “The department acknowledges the significant concern and dismay expressed by many people from around the state and nation.”

Why was Roberts able to torture a wolf to death with no serious consequences? The answer lies not only in Wyoming’s incredibly lax wildlife regulations, but also in the violence that permeates the relationship between the state and its most famous wild animal.

After being extirpated in 1926, the United States Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS) reintroduced wolves to Wyoming in Yellowstone National Park in 1995. Wolves, the villains in many childhood stories, are a locus of fear for humans. But the animal also serves a vital role in its native ecosystem, where it helps keep ungulate populations healthy by slowing the spread of disease. And it does that at a net financial benefit to taxpayers, since tourists now flock to the state to view wolves. A study conducted in 2021 found that wolf-related tourism brings over $35 million annually to areas surrounding the park.

Speaking of taxes, before all the culture warring and fear mongering, it was the goal of the Republican Party to reduce tax burdens faced by the wealthy and corporations. The Republican Party’s policy positions are widely unpopular, so the GOP instead hoodwinks voters using fear and lies. The Republican-led Wyoming Statehouse passed a bill in 2021 calling to exterminate 90 percent of the state’s wolf population—a bill based on lies and misinformation. Pushing for policies based on fear instead of science has led to regulations around wolves that are unique among wildlife laws, mostly in their encouragement of cruelty.

When management of the species transferred from federal to state control in 2012, Wyoming’s political leaders established two distinct areas with differing population management goals. Areas adjacent to Yellowstone were set aside for trophy hunting, where wolf hunting is regulated. The rest of the state was designated a “predator zone” where wolves can be killed without regulation, reason, or justification. Wyoming also classifies coyotes, red fox, stray cats, jackrabbits, porcupines, raccoons and striped skunks as predators, and permits killing them throughout the state.

“You could pull a wolf apart with horses in 85 percent of the state,” explains Amaroq Weiss, Senior Wolf Advocate at the Center for Biological Diversity. In the predator zone, there is no regulation governing how or when wolves can be killed. This stands in contrast to typical hunting regulations in any other state, where what are called “methods of take” are carefully defined to ensure animals are killed in ethical, humane ways, along with precise dates, to-the-minute guidelines on legal shooting hours, and generally universal bans on artificial light sources. The age and sex of animals it’s permissible to shoot are also written in law. But none of that is true in Wyoming’s predator zone when it comes to wolves. You don’t even need a hunting license or tag to kill one, just the opportunity.

Weiss cites “wolf whacking” as an example, and it’s how Roberts captured the wolf he would go on to torture and kill. The term describes using a snowmobile to run a wolf to the point of exhaustion. Once it slows or collapses, you kill the animal by running it over. As Roberts’ escapade demonstrates, sometimes that might take multiple impacts, and sometimes the animal is simply left to die a slow, painful death.

[universitypenguin]

Part Three

The Princess & the Lawyer - Part III

Summary: The bargain is re-negotiated. Lloyd insists on an addendum, then the promise is fulfilled.

Word Count: 4,841

Warnings: No minors. 18+ readers only. Explicit sexual content, dirty talk, mentions of drug use, addiction, brief hint of child abuse in Lloyd's past, previous criminal activity by Lloyd mentioned, and mention of virginity (the reader insert character is a virgin).

Masterlist

Prior Chapter: Part II

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Despite the two drinks he’d consumed, Lloyd was clear headed.

It’d been years since he’d over indulged in alcohol. He was leery of the substance, a natural byproduct of having a raging drunk for a father. Of course, not recognizing the genetic dominance of addiction, he’d gone another direction: drugs. Starting in middle school, he’d smoked weed in bathroom stalls with the rebellious crowd. Then he’d taken to popping an Adderall now and again, to help him concentrate on schoolwork. A few years later, Xanax had been a glorious discovery that made everything just a little bit easier. At Princeton he’d gained access to a wider variety of drugs. Prozac, Vicodin, Percocet, Valium, Ecstasy, Ketamine… and Cocaine. 

The white powder was his biggest weakness. 

He’d taken the first bump sophomore year and been hooked from the get go. His habit was set by the time he’d gone to Cambridge. The NSA hadn’t noticed his addiction problem when they recruited him. Or maybe they hadn’t cared. He never could guess what went on in the head of the decision makers at “The Fort.” He’d worked there four years before getting caught on a random drug screen. Everything had been smoothed over and three more years passed before he’d gotten the ax for a second failed test. 

Things were easier in the private sector. In France, his top desk drawer had been stocked with all his favorite substances. Cocaine, Vicodin, and Xanax. By that point, weed did little for him, which should’ve been a red flag. Detoxing cold turkey in a Paris jail cell had been one heck of a wake up call. Unless he’d experienced that episode himself, he’d still be telling anyone who cared to listen that he was only a recreational user. A person could run their mouth all day, parsing facts and dressing up the truth, but biochemistry didn’t lie. 

He was familiar with being numbed. That was why he was particularly unhappy at the moment. 

You were plastered to him, arms linked around his hips, rambling. Lloyd guided you up the front steps, catching you by the waist as your toe caught on the top stair. He suspected your last drink was hitting, because you were suddenly drunk as a skunk. 

“Careful,” he said. 

“Mmmh.”

You weaved a path down the front hall and turned into the kitchen. Lloyd took a glass from a cabinet and filled it with water. He handed it over and you wrinkled your nose. 

“Don’t you have scotch?”

“You’re way past your limit, Princess. You need to dry out a bit.”

You waved him off. “Nah. I’m more fun when I’m drunk. Is that a bar cart?”

He stepped in front of you, blocking the path to his living room bar. 

“Princess. If you have another, you’re going to pass out in the guest room.” 

“I’ve had way more than this before and didn’t even have a hangover the next morning.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as you finally took a sip of water. 

He wondered what he was going to do with you. An hour ago, agreeing had been the only course of action. He didn’t want to risk your safety, and the idea of you taking home a random man disturbed him. Now, his fears had cooled and his more rational brain clicked on to sort through the details. 

You were his soft spot. Everyone from the corner office to the janitorial staff knew he was wrapped around your pinky finger. His buddies often teased him that when you found a serious boyfriend, he’d be devastated. Fortunately, you’d never shown much interest in the courser sex. Until these past few months. 

His friends had been right. Your dating had gotten under his skin, irritating him like a bad rash. The disappointment you showed recounting a romantic misadventure was like a punch in the gut.  Aiden’s disregard for your time, feelings, and effort pissed him off to no end. He’d always been protective of you. Introducing a threatening entity had driven that instinct into hyperdrive. It wasn’t devastation or jealousy he felt, but a helpless anger that melted into hurt. Every sting dating inflicted on you made him bleed. His reaction ran deeper than mere empathy; he could feel your pain. It was as if you were a Voodoo practitioner’s effigy, used to crucify him from a distance. Your dates were a torment he was helpless to escape. 

Lloyd caught your eyes wandering around the room. 

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking this is a big step up from dodging Aiden’s roommate.”

“I bet. Come on.”

He took your hand and led you to the sofa. Lloyd settled into the far left corner. You tucked your knees up and settled, facing him, on the middle cushion. He caught the scowl, presumably because of the distance he’d put between you. It was deliberate. Between the bar and home, reality had sunk in. His worries about your capacity to consent were even stronger now. He needed to test your commitment before this went any further. 

“Wouldn’t the bedroom be more comfortable?”

“I want you clear headed, so we’re going to wait for that buzz to taper off.” 

“But we agreed. You said-”

“I know. Now, I’m stipulating that you’re completely sober before we have sex.” 

Your chin lifted. “This is an addendum to the original contract.” 

“No agreement is perfect on the first draft.” 

“I’m not so drunk I can’t consent.” 

There was a sharpness in your tone that made him suspect you’d been planning on the assistance of liquid courage to get through this. His instincts were usually correct where you were concerned. He felt a rush of gratitude that Aiden had shown his true colors. The boy couldn’t be trusted with this much vulnerability. 

“The addendum isn’t about consent. It’s about your mental state. I want you sober, meaning fully self possessed and aware, not tipsy and buzzed.” 

You pouted. 

“Princess, I have a serious question.” 

“What?”

“Have you texted a friend about where you’re at, who you’re with?”

“No. Why would I? I’m with you.” 

His heart fluttered. Lloyd didn’t know why your casual displays of trust always affected him like this. Even so, he devoured them as if he were a spoiled house cat gobbling down expensive, sushi-grade tuna.

“Alright. But if you’re with someone you don’t know well, make sure you have a friend who can come get you. Just in case.” 

You batted your lashes at him and primped, fussing with a lock of hair. 

“Why can’t we just get started?”

“Because you’re nervous. And still too impaired to satisfy the addendum.” 

“You know, tacking on a bunch of last minute qualifiers to a contract you’ve already signed is rude.” 

“Firstly, I didn’t sign anything. It was only a verbal agreement. And secondly… don’t mistake me for someone who cares about being polite.” 

Your eyes narrowed, and your hands went to the buttons of your blouse. Lloyd seized your wrist.

“What are you doing?”

“Hurrying this along. The agreement doesn’t say I can’t take my clothes off before I’m sober.”

“Let’s obey the spirit of the law, not just the letter.” 

He didn’t expect you to comply. When you lowered your hands he let go, but didn’t relax. Sure enough, you looked him in the eye and kicked off your pumps. They landed under the coffee table. 

“So much for the spirit of the law.” 

You twisted around, range of motion limited by the tight skirt, and crawled into his lap. His lips quirked when you burrowed into his chest, like a kitten nuzzling up to its litter mate. You laid your head on his shoulder, closed your eyes, and moaned when he rubbed your back. You looked so relaxed he almost expected you to fall asleep. 

Then you said, “How long until you agree that I’m sober enough?” 

“An hour and a half.”

“You’re not trying to back out, are you?” 

Lloyd took a hold of your chin. He tilted your head back and watched as your eyes dilated, then fixed on his mouth.

“I won’t leave you hanging. I promise I’ll take care of you.” 

Your lips parted, drawing his eyes. They were still swollen from earlier. He’d kissed the lipstick off and appreciated seeing the plump, unpainted flesh. If you let him kiss you every hour, you’d never need to buy another lip enhancing cosmetic again. 

Lloyd rubbed his nose over yours. He kissed you deep, loving the way your mouth opened instantly for his tongue. He couldn’t help but devour you. When he pulled away, your mouth was positively bee stung. He nipped at the full bottom lip and you shuddered, thighs clenching. Fuck. You were going to be a firecracker. 

You tugged him close and drew his head down. Following your lead, he rolled onto his back. You swung on top and took possession of his mouth. Your lips were satin smooth, and you tasted like whiskey. His hips jerked when you sucked on his tongue. Lloyd groaned at the press of your soft breasts into his hard chest. He doubted anything would ever feel as incredible as having you on top of him, showing him how much you wanted him without hesitation. Lloyd caught your hips as you gyrated against him. 

“Slow down, sweetheart. We have all night.”

You scoffed, and he smiled at the displeased sound. 

“Just remember, you can stop anytime you want. I’ll understand.” 

“Why are you trying to push me out the door?” 

“I’m not. But your feelings could have changed.”

“If they have, they’re more definitive than before. I want this, Lloyd.” 

Relief uncurled in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want to stop, but he was terrified of damaging your relationship. His jaw tightened and he took a deep breath.

“I… care about you, Princess.” 

The words caught in his throat. It was difficult to shove them past the mental fortifications and articulate how he felt. Your fingers seized on his shirt, as if preparing to hold him down. Belatedly, he realized you’d taken the statement as another attempt to shirk his end of the deal. 

“I’m not backing out. I don’t want to hurt you. What I’m trying to say is that I need you to be clear about what feels good, and what doesn’t.” 

Your expression softened. 

“Okay.”

Then you went for the buttons of his shirt. Lloyd laid back and enjoyed your enthusiasm. How could men think your virginity was a turn off? You were so vivacious. He lifted his hips to allow you to pull out the tails of his dress shirt and finish unbuttoning. Your fine motor skills appeared to be intact. If he were evaluating your ability to drive, he wouldn’t have been comfortable putting you behind the wheel yet, but there were signs you were sobering up. 

“Mmmmhhh… chest hair…” 

Your hands sank into the thickest area, between his pectorals. You licked your lips and stroked. Lloyd’s muscles tightened at the caress. 

“You’re warm,” you said. 

The blood in his veins was blazing from your light, innocent touch. Most of it had flowed south, bringing him to a painful state of arousal. He groaned when you rubbed your thumb over his nipple. Then your mouth was on his chest, trailing kisses down his sternum. 

He hissed. “Fuck.”

You nuzzled the area where his oblique met the swell of his pectoral. Your teeth grazed it, then licked at the sweat. You made a noise like a purr. Lloyd shut his eyes and groaned. He felt as if he were a frog being boiled alive. Your tongue swirled over his nipple and he snarled. He caught the back of your neck and dragged you away. Your exploration was affecting him all too much; if you kept this up, he’d lose control. It was imperative that he remain in control tonight. You wiggled in his restraining grip, but he didn’t let go. 

“Can I take off my clothes now?” 

Lloyd growled. “No.”

“I’m not drunk.” 

“But you’re not sober, either.” 

“Can we at least go to the bedroom?” 

Lloyd flipped you in one smooth move, making you gasp. He used his weight to pin you down and kissed you. 

“Drunk you is willing. But we’re staying here on the couch until you’re totally clear headed. How about you show me all the heavy petting you’ve done? Emphasis on the showing.”

You groaned. He laughed at your frustration. 

“When you’re sober, we can get around to the new stuff. Okay, Princess?” 

You sighed and ran your hands over his shoulders, up his neck, into his hair. He met you halfway for a kiss. It was soft and tender, but sizzling with more passion than any of the sex he’d had in his twenties. When you parted, he was panting, shaken by the intensity. You cupped his face, your eyes filled with emotion. The ease with which you offered such vulnerability captivated him. Like a triple dose of Xanax, it went straight to his head. The sight of your dilated eyes, full of passion, and the gentleness in your touch was dizzying.

Suddenly, he appreciated the danger he was in.  He’d never be able to keep his emotions compartmentalized with you. Fear surged, and he resisted pulling away, only because that would invite another Aiden into the picture. He pushed the negative thoughts away and drew you into a kiss. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Your teeth clashed with Lloyd’s as your tongues battled for dominance. 

His control just wouldn’t crack. Everything you’d done with the boys you’d dated hadn’t even tripped him up. He kept himself in check while teasing you until you were shaking with desire. This time his kiss was hotter, less restrained. You could taste the wildness. You moaned, arching your back and grinding against him, hands fisting in his shirt to hold him close. His mouth veered off to explore your cheeks, the underside of your jaw, and behind your ear. You gasped when he licked behind the lobe and shuddered at the tingle that ran down to your toes when he repeated the action on the other side. His mustache tickled, making you squirm. 

Without warning, Lloyd reached under your skirt. His big, rough hand pushed between your legs. The feeling was new, and thrilling. He nipped at the pounding artery in your throat. You whined. The high pitched cry was startlingly loud in the quiet room. 

“Steady, Princess. You’ve got half an hour of sobering up left.”

You parted your legs and circled his hips. Using their strength, you drew him tight against your heated core. His hand slid to your hip, and he inhaled sharply. 

“Just fuck me right here. On the sofa, on the floor, I don’t care. Please?”  

“You’re all wound up from just a few kisses? Poor baby. I’m going to enjoy taking you apart.”

“I’m ready.”

To prove it, you ground your aching sex against his crotch. The thick ridge under his belt made it obvious he was just as affected as you were. You couldn’t figure out why he wouldn’t give in. 

He flattened his hand on your belly and pushed you down, easily breaking the clasp of your legs. You struggled to hold on, longing for more contact. His eyes flashed in a silent warning as he moved to his knees between your spread legs. You were shocked when he took a fistful of your skirt, right in the middle of the garment, and bunched it up. He eased it higher, over your hips, and took your hand, placing it on the knot of fabric. 

“Hold that, sweetheart.” 

You scrambled to comply. Lloyd gave a low murmur of approval. 

He watched you as he stroked your inner thighs, exploring the sensitive skin. His thumbs rubbed at the hollows of your groin and traced the seam of your panties. The whole time, he studied your expression. You couldn’t help but shiver. His lips curled into a knowing grin. Lloyd stroked his thumb over your cloth covered clit. Your whole body jerked. 

“Lloyd!” 

His index finger slid under the thin cotton. You trembled as the back of his knuckles brushed across your folds. Your panties were soaked with evidence of your desire. He kept rubbing at the cleft of your body, spreading the slickness around, never using enough pressure to give you what you needed. The wildfire of lust inside of you ratcheted higher with each stroke. He slid his fingers down for another pass, pushing the joint of his forefinger into your opening, collecting your juices, and rubbed delicately across the heated flesh, then up, around your clit. You shuddered, tossing your head back, moaning. 

“Please…”

“Shhh.” 

This time he pressed on the little bundle of nerves. Your legs stiffened. You whined and bucked as he did it again. He returned to your opening, collecting more slick, and caressed you again. His fingers move higher and higher… your breath caught in anticipation.

Lloyd stopped. 

“Breathe, Princess.”

You gasped. “Please… oh! Damn it!” 

He pulled his fingers out of your panties and readjusted them. He pried your fingers from the skirt and shoved it down. Your choked noise of protest was ignored. With one arm around your waist, he hauled you onto the far end of the sofa, opposite the corner he’d first sat in. Your back was snug against his front as Lloyd’s arm banded under your breasts. With his free hand, he cupped your right breast. You moaned, arching into the touch. His lips grazed your temple, a soothing sensation amid the raging lust. 

“Someone came prepared. Did you shave, or wax?”

“W-w-wax…” 

He grunted. “Your boy toy wasn’t worth the effort. I’ll make sure you’re treated right. Unbutton your shirt.”

Your hands couldn’t undo the fastenings quickly enough. When you went for the clasp of your bra, Lloyd tightened his arm, preventing you from reaching for the closure. You keened, the firestorm in your belly a painful ache and the heat unbearable. Lloyd kissed your temple again. His fingers teased along the curve of your breast.

“It’s okay. Remember to breathe. It’s just a little foreplay.”

“This… is… torture!”

He chuckled. “Aw, Princess. I bet you did all the teasing with your dates. I think you took charge, set the pace, and never really knew what heavy petting meant.” 

He squeezed your breast, his thumb stroking over the cup of your bra, across the nipple.

“Fuck!”

“Mmmmhh… Have you ever been touched here? Like this?”

“Yes.” 

He petted your nipple through the unlined lace and you arched into his hand. Your brain scrambled as electricity sizzled down your spine, straight to the pulsing muscles in your sex. 

“It wasn’t like this,” you gasped. 

“Well, it takes men a while to figure out how to make a woman smolder.” 

“Smolder?! I’m going to combust!”

Your chest was heaving as he used both hands to lift your breasts, teasing around the peaked nipples, but never touching them. He smoothed his hands down your sides to the waistband of your skirt. His hands were a little rough from calluses, but the toughness was pleasant. Your back bowed as he rubbed your belly. He held you tight, chuckling at your moan. 

“Princess, you need to learn some patience.” 

His hands moved to your shoulders and massaged the tight muscles. You cried, so strung out from desire that you couldn’t form words. You were frothing, livid that he could torment you so effortlessly. The lace bra was suddenly too abrasive on your hypersensitive skin. Your nipples were seized into pinpoints, tighter than ever before. They sizzled, craving his touch. Lloyd plucked at them and you cried out.

“Put your arms around my neck.”

You obeyed, hopeful that compliance would earn you relief. 

He delved into your left bra cup and lightly pinched the nipple. Then he pulled away to knead your breasts through the material. You sobbed, your hands gripping hard around his neck. 

“Come on, honey. Stop whining.” 

“Please. I need more.” 

Abruptly, he undid your bra and pushed it aside. You hissed as his fingers stroked and twisted without the barrier of lace between your bodies. It was electrifying. Your hips wouldn’t stay still. Lloyd’s hand seized your throat. You gasped, not in fear, since the pressure was light, but in excitement at the dominance. He forced your head back and took your mouth. 

He squeezed your throat when you moaned, and it made you quiver. The other hand kept tending to your breast, stroking your nipple. His tongue thrust into your mouth. You whimpered as wetness flooded your panties. He pushed you onto your back, situating your hips on the center cushion. Moving like a predator, he braced his hands on either side of your waist, lingering over your body. Slowly, he lowered his head until his lips touched your sternum. You shivered, so caught up in the moment you couldn’t help but react. 

Desire raced along your nerve endings, straining them until they frayed. Heat poured off your skin. Lloyd licked at the underside of your breast, then lifted it to his mouth. He sealed his lips and drew deeply. Your body jerked. He was merciless as he suckled. It was almost too intense, but so good you couldn’t even cry out. He released the bud and had latched onto the other one before you could take a breath. This time, a yelp escaped as he worked the tender flesh with his tongue. Your arms went around him, fisting in his shirt. 

“Fuck! Lloyd!”

He turned ravenous at your cry. Your body rippled as he lavished attention on your breasts. When your legs jerked together, he slotted a muscular thigh between them, forcing them open. Lloyd made a sound of pleasure as he licked at your straining nipples. You shivered. He nuzzled your collarbone, tasting the sweat that had collected in the hollow before licking it up. 

His mouth slanted over yours for a brief kiss. Then he patted your thigh. 

“Put your legs around my waist.” 

Once you’d locked your ankles around his waist, he stood up. Lloyd squeezed the globes of your ass, his broad hands spanning the entire area. You clung to his shoulders for balance and shivered at the possessive touch. You wanted all the barriers between your bodies gone so you could feel his rough hands on your skin. 

Lloyd carried you towards the bedroom. As he moved, the friction of his chest hair made you gasp. He paused. 

“You okay, Princess?”

“Y-y-yeah… sensitive… your chest hair…”

Your brain was still fuzzy. He caught the meaning and grinned. Then, very deliberately, he pivoted to the wall. Bracing a hand over your head and trapping you with his weight, he pressed himself against you and rubbed. Your muscles went taunt. You quivered, then shuddered. Lloyd crushed you into the wall, flattening you so there was no escape, even as you squirmed. You mewled, keening with physical awareness, and trembled with a tension you’d never felt before. 

“Lloyd! Damn it, please, please…” 

You caught at his shirt, jerking a fist full of material. When he eased back, you moaned at the loss. Lloyd laughed, his eyes dancing with pleasure. 

“Alright, I’ll play nice.” 

In the bedroom, he shut the door and set you down. His eyes were glowing with heat as he stared at you, skimming along your curves like a touch. Awareness sizzled.

“Take it off. Everything. Now.”

Lloyd stepped back. He made no move to undress himself, much to your disappointment. 

His face darkened as you undid the buttons on the waistband of your skirt. You unzipped and shoved it past your hips. Your shirt and bra went next. Getting the uncomfortable lace off your skin was a relief. Finally, you were left in nothing but a pair of Brazilian briefs. You stepped closer to Lloyd and his eyes narrowed. He hooked his fingers under the thin strap on your hip. 

“Everything. Off.” 

You swallowed hard and complied. 

Just as you’d shoved the scrap of material down your legs, Lloyd grabbed your hips and pushed them flush to the wall. You jolted in surprise when he knelt and pushed your legs apart. The broad hands on your inner thighs were a pleasure all of their own. 

Lloyd grunted and glanced up from under his lashes. He nuzzled your folds, his mustache grazing sensitive skin. One leg was jerked over his shoulder as he leaned in, adjusting his position for better access. You were struggling to remember to breathe through the bubbling excitement. Your blood felt thick as if lava was moving through your veins rather than liquid. 

A soft cry escaped when he parted your labia with his fingers and flicked his tongue at your entrance. He teased for a moment, then flattened his tongue, slurping at the wetness that oozed from your body. You grabbed at the wall for balance, and finding it too slick, gripped his shoulders. Lloyd purred. His face was now buried between your legs. You couldn’t see his expression, but his groans vibrated with contentment. Drinking from the wetness of your pussy, he explored higher, each stroke raising just a half centimeter above the last, working towards your clit. 

By the time he licked at the tender bud, you were a wreck of shivering muscles. Your knees were too weak to bear your weight. Lloyd flicked, circled, and stroked. He treated the bundle of nerves like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever uncovered. He was gentle, even more so than you would have been. Despite his delicacy, you were so wound up that every stroke of his tongue was overwhelming. 

“Lloyd!”

“Hang on, Princess. You’re doing great.”

Your hands clenched on his shoulders. It was just in time, because his lips fastened around your clit and he sucked, slow and firm. 

Your knees gave out. 

With a cry, you fell, only to be caught by a brawny arm. Lloyd used the wall and the bulk of his body to hold you in place. When he released your clit, you drew a sharp breath of relief, blinking away tears. 

“Holy shit… Ah!”

He sucked and tapped with his tongue. Your body jerked at the intense sensation. Lloyd growled. He released you, rising to his full height. 

You shuddered against the wall, chest heaving as your head spun. Lloyd wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you upright. His free hand slid into your drenched folds. You lurched onto your tiptoes when he teased your clit. Automatically, you grabbed his wrist to ease the pressure. 

“Let go.”

The tone brokered no discussion, and you released him. He murmured approval and drew you closer. At the moment, he was the only thing keeping you from sliding down the wall. Your hips rolled and your spine twisted as he stroked your clit. You were so wet. His touch was feather light, but so intense that you were already going stiff as your release built. Lloyd kissed your temple. You whined and rutted against his hand, begging for more. 

“You’re so sweet. Kiss me and taste it.” 

Your head fell back against the wall at his demand, your mouth already open in submission. He took your lips, and the added sensation made you quake. You moaned at the tangy zest he pushed into your mouth. 

Fuck, it was so much. Tears streamed down your cheeks as he kept up a steady rhythm on your clit. It was different to feel his big, rough, hand rather than the familiar softness of your own. He gripped you tighter and plunged his tongue deep into your mouth. On the heels of that sensual assault, his finger sank into you. 

His tongue muffled your gasp as he took the access even deeper. You moaned, bucking, taking the digit further, as he eased the kiss into a lazy thrust and parry of your tongues. Your inner muscles rippled around his thick finger. It was much longer than your own, and fit snugly against that sweet spot you could never reach. 

You pushed your hips into his hand and growled in a silent demand. Lloyd broke off the kiss. His finger was still slotted into your pussy as he narrowed his eyes at you. 

“Demanding little princess, aren’t you?” 

“Fuck me,” you said, breathless. 

Lloyd’s lips twitched. He ground his palm into your clit. You keened, your arms snaking around his neck to stay upright as you shuddered. Then he crooked his finger, brushing a spot that made you squeak in surprise as your body rippled. You felt the touch everywhere. Each muscle coiled and quivered as if he’d found a master key to your whole body. 

“Lloyd! Ah, Lloyd…” 

The next curl of his fingers sent electricity zapping through every nerve ending in your body and you wailed. He abruptly withdrew his fingers and raised the creamy digits to his lips. You watched, dazed, as he licked them clean.

“Get on the bed, Princess."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Next - Part IV

[wingedflight]

he’s just an angry little boy

So I wrote a dpxdc fic that’s actually more of a fusion. In which Danny isn’t turned into a ghost during the portal accident, he just gains some really bad Lazarus Pit Rage

Title: Half Rage

Summary: Ever since the accident, Danny has been seething with rage.

Excerpt:

A heavy blow knocks the books from his arms. Danny jolts and opens his eyes again as mean laughter fills the stairwell.

It’s Dash, of course. Who else would think it the height of entertainment to corner a lone boy? Danny glares. The fury washes over him again, like he hadn’t almost managed to bury it deep enough to last the rest of the day. He feels hot, sharp with it.

One of the kids behind Dash stops laughing abruptly as he catches the look in Danny’s eyes. But Dash himself? He’s either too stupid or too arrogant to take warning.

“Oho,” Dash says, “Is skunk boy angry at me? You were standing right in my path, Fenton. I couldn’t help it.” He chortles at his own words, and his friends follow suit.

They sound like a pack of hyenas, thinks Danny derisively. This observation is not helpful, not calming.

Miffed that he’s gotten no reaction from Danny, Dash reaches out to flick his hair. “What’s with the skunk stripe anyway?”

Danny doesn’t blink, not when Dash’s finger first jabs towards his face and not when the offending lock of bleached hair drops over his eye. He doesn’t move at all, an utter contradiction to the raging whirlwind in his chest.

“Think this makes you look cool or something?”

The rage is boiling up, seconds from spilling over.

“Think a girl like Paulina would ever go out with a skunk like you?” Dash tugs on the lock of hair, a single jerk hard enough to actually pull a few pale strands out.

And that’s it.

Time’s up.

Danny’s done.

(Read More)

[konnorhasapen]

I HAD AN IDEA AND NOW I AM EXERCISING THAT IDEA

ASSIGNING EACH LISTENER AN EXOTIC PET AND ALSO NAMING THAT PET

I think this may have turned into an oc thing💀

°•°•°•°•°

Lasko's listener: I just established the other day that they own an axolotl named Cella (that Freelancer is hellbent on calling "Celery" and Huxley loves her ((the axolotl))sm) and this is canon to me now. They also have a Chinese water dragon named Lotus bc I said so :)

Freelancer: do rats count as an exotic pet?? (Google says they do-) They named her Gribby. This is also canon to me.

Angel: they 100% have a sugar glider named Goblin (and David is terrified of him.) They want a fennec fox and they will get a fennec fox and they will name her Deedee. Short for Speed Demon.

Baabe: snake. They own a snake and they named her Rory and Asher loves her to death.

Sweetheart: chameleon. His name is Karma and he and Aggro are besties to the max.

Darlin': a fucking raccoon. Or a badger. Either one named Cujo.

Lovely: they own a bat named Valentina.

Bright Eyes: also owns a rat, but they didn't him Remi. They couldn't remember the rat's actual name so instead they ended up naming him fuckin Ratatouille💀

Starlight: albino ferret albino ferret albino ferret and she's named Carina :)

Seer Obscura: literally owns a barn owl named Tiresias.

Cutie: they have a couple mice they named Allen and Atlas.

Honey: iguana named Geechee, but he also responds to the name Bee for some odd, unknown reason (*cough* Guy-)

Warden: snake. Burmese python. I feel like they would want to name her, but wouldnt know what to name her, so they'd settle for Mesii (to base it slightly off "burmese")

Mentor/Baby: four ferrets. Four ferrets that are specifically named Inky, Blinky, Pinky, and Clyde.

Smartass: they have a bearded dragon named Ivy and she vibes with Aaron.

Sunshine: they have chinchilla siblings named Nimbus and Nebula :3

Anton's listener: they have 2 tree frogs named Mika and Aivo, and a chinchilla named Seria (I like my chinchillas, okay?? I've always wanted one-)

James' listener: hedgehog named Morose and he's the cutest little baby James has ever laid his eyes on.

Asset: they found a mouse in the vents one time and they've kept it ever since. They named her Thias. They like to show Thias to Anton. Anton likes to see Thias(Thias reminds him of Seria). They have also introduced Thias to Brian. Brian also likes Thias. Most of the people working with/on Asset know Thias.

Precious: they aren't allowed to own a pet. Because owning a pet means giving their love and affection and attention to someone other than Regulus.

°•°•°•°•°

Bonus Bits!

Damien: ...Freelancer, I think you have rats.

FL: huh?? Oh, no, that's just Gribby.

Damien: *petting Gribby* who names a pet "Gribby"?

FL: I do. Oh- don't touch her left back leg.

Damien: why? Is she hurt?

FL: I got her checked out first few times it happened, but they said nothin' was wrong.

Damien: then why..?

FL: she just starts screaming.

Damien: what.

☆

David: Angel, I'm—

Goblin, who escaped his habitat: *zooms up the fridge and soars straight towards David, landing on his face and getting comfy on his head*

Angel: Goblin, where'd you go!? Oh! Aww! He loves you!

David: *frozen with fear*

☆

Sam: Darlin'?

Darlin': hm?

Sam: why's there a raccoon/badger on your kitchen counter?

Darlin': that's Cujo.

Sam: ...Cujo was-

Darlin': "mEhMeHmEhMeH cUjO wAs a dOg tHoUgH" let me name my trash panda/rage skunk whatever tf I want.

☆

Vincent: you got a pet bat?

Lovely: yeah! I wanted to name her Vincent as well, but then I thought you might get confused, so I went with Valentina instead! ^-^

Vincent: *teary-eyed* you wanted to name her after me??

Vincent: ...wait- you thought I'd get confused-

☆

Vincent: did you buy a rat?

Bright: I found it in the trash can and he's mine now.

Vincent: o..kay. Does he have a name?

Bright: um, duh. Anyone who owns a rat and doesn't name it Ratatouille is committing an actual crime against humanity.

Vincent: ...hold on.., wasn't the... wasnt the rat's name Remi?

Bright: ...

Vincent: ... I-

Bright: y'know what Vincent?

Vincent: wha-

Bright: shut the fuck up.

☆

Chat: you have a pet!??

Honey: yeah *fetches Geechee from his habitat* His name's Geechee

Chat: YOU HAVE A PET LIZARD!?!?

Honey: iguana*. Anyway, this is Geechee, but I've noticed he also responds to the name "Bee" and I have some speculations as to why that is.

Guy, in chat: I haven't the slightest clue what you could possibly be talking about.

☆

Baby: I found these poor little guys in a box thrown in a trash can.

Ollie: OHMYGOD CAN WE KEEP THEM? HAVE YOU NAMED THEM SO WE CAN KEEP THEM??

Baby: yes, we're keeping them and no, I haven't named them yet.

Ollie: ..suggestion?

Baby: I suppose.

Ollie, immediately: Inky Blinky Pinky and Clyde!

Baby: *sigh* goddamnit, those are gold.

Ollie: Inky Blinky Pinky and Clyde?

Baby: *nods* Inky Blinky Pinky and Clyde.

Ollie: YES!

☆

Asset: hi Marcus!

Marcus: jEsus chRIst- you scared me half to-...

Marcus: what do you have?

Asset: I found someone!

Marcus: you... found someone..?

Asset: *opens their hands to show a petite lil mousey* I've decided to name her.

Marcus: oh- y-yeah? And.. what did you...name her..?

Asset: Thias!

—

Asset: good evening, Anton.

Anton: good evening

Asset: Thias says hello, too!

Anton, with a tired but genuine smile: hello and good evening to you as well, Thias.

°•°•°•°•°

This was fun. I had much fun. This was so much fun :3

[enchantedchocolatebars]

Jack O'Lantern (Jack) x Reader Headcanons 🎃 ❤️

❤️ Original headcanon 🎃

🎃 Ao3 version ❤️

Requested by anon

• It was Halloween night in the spooky town of Endsville as you went door-to-door collecting treats in your plastic pumpkin bucket. When you rang the doorbell of the last house you were visiting for the night, the being who opened it surprised you greatly. It was a man who had a pumpkin for a head. The man appeared to be quite annoyed seeing you on his porch as he tapped his foot.

• You brightly beamed out the words, "trick-or-treat!" as you happily held up your bucket for him to drop candy inside. The pumpkin, befuddled, looked at your bag before bringing his gaze up to you, a sly smirking curling on his carved lips. He politely requests that you wait as he has a special "treat" for you. Elated, you nod, and he goes inside before returning to the door with a skunk in his hand. Tossing the animal into your plastic pumpkin, wicked laughter escapes him. The door is then promptly shut in your face. He could still be heard laughing inside.

• Such rudeness upset you to no end, so you decide to hatch up a craftly plan to 'return the favor' to the jack-o'-lantern jerk. The next day, you walked up to the pumpkin’s door and rang his doorbell. When he opened it, you immediately surprised him with a thank you card. The offer confused him, but he took the card and slowly opened it. Somehow, a pie flying with full force out of the card, hits him square in the face.

• It's impossible for you not to point and laugh.

• The pumpkin continues to stand there, a stunned expression still visable on his face. He blinks. His shock soon shifts to anger as his orange face begins to glow red with rage. He then lets out a chuckle followed by another, and before you know it, the pumpkin man is cracking up alongside with you, a twisted smile soon spreading on his face.

• THIS MEANT WAR, and not just any war, A PRANK WAR.

• The pranking between you two ultimately transforms into a platonic friendship.

• You both go around Endsville pranking the snot out of the stupid citizens.

• You soon learn that the jack-o'-lantern's name is Jack. Fitting name, you thought.

• Every night on Halloween, you and Jack work together to take down the Grim Reaper and snatch his sycthe out of his boney paws. After all, you both wanted Halloween to last forever.