#tar & chip

[fuckyeahmarxismleninism]

By Brandi Morin

In May, roughly 2.7 million hectares of forest — an area equal to about five million football fields — were burned to the ground in Canada, said Emergency Preparedness Minister Bill Blair at a press conference. Over the last 10 years, the average number of hectares burned in the same month was just 150,000.

Chief Adam is all too familiar with the consequences of climate change, and particularly the contamination of his territories. Fort Chipewyan, commonly referred to as Fort Chip, is downstream from Alberta’s notorious tar sands, one of the largest oil developments in the world.

[kadinbennett]

Tar Heel Pie a pie made with pecans, coconut, and chocolate chips that is extremely rich. It's best to make small slices.

[emmastonecontentcreator]

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[jackwilliams09]

Best Tar and Chip in Bunclody

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[ijustwant2ride]

How do you Ruin a Great Motorcycle Road? Ohio State Route 555

[tojigasm]

Thinking very hard about Logan talking you through it

He knows you're close ultimately before you do. Seasoned by his many years of life, your tells are specific but not impossible to discern.

It's different each time he's come to realize. A different scent to you based on the mood you're in, how quickly he brings you there, your vulnerability, and how he speaks to you.

Logan's a greedy man. He knows that. And he knew as soon as the first time it'd happened that he shamelessly selfish in getting what he wanted.

You smell like cinnamon and vanilla and fuck if it wasn't better than all the drugs he'd ever tried combined.

A part of him still thinks he might be chasing your high.

He learned quickly how to manipulate you to get different responses. Testing out what you react to and which scent meant what.

When it's a euphoric intimacy, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla isn't so strong. It's diluted some, like a soft cloudy mist.

More emotionally frustrated intimacy smells far more tart, almost coppery. It often reminds him of blood in his mouth, soaking into his lungs and taste buds like tar.

When you're in a far more glum mood, you smell like rain on cement. He's starved for it.

You're so pretty beneath him. Eyes lidded and swollen lips parted loosely as he scissors his middle and forefinger against your velvet walls.

Logan bumps his palm against your clit and you let you a gasp – your hand jumping from the bedsheets to grip his forearm.

"Right there, huh?"

You can hear the smirk in his voice and you give him a nod at that, tucking your chin to your chest as he moves his other hand to press one of your thighs upwards to where your knee almost hits your breast.

He slips his hand from your cunt, moving to pull your other hand to hold your own thighs to your chest.

Wordlessly, he kneels and pulls you by your hips to the edge of the bed before hooking his arms around your waist.

Without warning, he runs the flat of his tongue up the length of your cunt to your clit with a deep hum.

You know he can feel you shiver beneath him by the way he smiles against the sopping folds of your cunt.

"Feel good?" He chuckles softly, looking up at you from between your thighs.

You're reduced to broken whines and choked gasps, but you manage a hum in response, readjusting your grip on the backs of your thighs as Logan slips his tongue past your folds.

You smell of faint cinnamon.

"Lo," you sigh, throwing your arm over your eyes with a chipped whine.

Logan hums into your cunt, the sharp of his nose rocking back and forth against your clit.

He unwraps his arm from around your waist, reaching upwards to weave your hands together with a soft squeeze.

"Haa... ahh." Your voice grows watery as Logan brings you closer to the edge.

"M'close, Lo," you breathe, readjusting your hand on your thigh to keep it close to your chest.

"I know, sweetie." He circles his tongue around your bundle of nerves before blowing a stream of air onto your clit, "m'gonna get you there."

When he sucks on your clit again, you're cumming almost immediately with a shiver that simmers itself down your spine to your toes.

"There we go. It's a big one, huh."

A wave of vanilla woven with cinnamon washes over him and he nearly cums in his jeans.

You hear Logan before you've noticed he's moved from between your legs to stand above you, thumb circling your clit softly.

Whining, you turn your head into his forearm beside you.

"Doin' so good, sweetie," He coos, stroking his hand, still held by your own, down the side of your face before placing a kiss on your temple.

Your smell is much more prominent there, as though it travels through the roots of your hair and tickles itself through your soft skin.

Another shiver runs down your spine, causing the air on your arms and the nape of your neck to stand.

"Need you." You sob, voice muffled by the skin of his arm.

He settles down beside you on the bed, chin propped up on the flat of his right palm, squeezing your hand with his.

"You're okay."

The vanilla sinners throughout the room, and he swears he can see it in the dust that floats past the Amber hues of his room.

[icarusredwings]

What things smell like according to Logan Howlett/ The Wolverine. A series of smell based headcanons. Do with these whatever you want :)

People:

Ororo: burnt marshmellows, rain, chunky chocolate chip cookies, protien shakes, spansih rice, chillies, and cocoa butter. She always smells great.

Scott: cucumber shampoo, the remaints of a bonfire the next day, fresh dry cleaning, axe shower gel, lavender sheets

Jean: caramel latte, lavender sheets, vanilla spiced chai, books, mint ice cream, fruit smoothies, stinky hair product, lemon poppy seed muffins, sassafras

Hank: Books, sanatizer, various chemicals, a very specifc fur dander, kinda musky but in a 'im covered in fur and sweaty' kind of way.

Rouge: "Dolly Parton", brick and concrete dust, cherry blossoms body spray, freshly engraved wood, strawberries and milk conditioner, spicy gaucamole and freshly sizzled sausages.

Gambit: tv static, a fresh deck of cards at the casino, spicy jumbo, gin, lime jello, hair gel, "suprisingly good actually"

Kurt: brimstone, smoke from franckinsense, myrrh, a less smelling dander then hank, Holy chrism oil (olive oil and Balsam made by catholic priests), metal, and blue raspberry. Fur/ beard pomade sometimes for special ocassions.

Morph: even when changed he can smell is sandlewood shampoo, he smells like how "Jack Outta smell", latex, pine and cedar, clear nail polish, "that ugly quilt that your grandma kept on the back of her couch that was the warmest, softest thing you've ever slept with."

Charles: Old man fart, metal, chalk, shoe polish, nutmeg, wool, "a trusting hug", books, mahogany, expensive champagne.

Laura: "teen spirit", a shitty cheap "girl power" deodorant that doesn't do well hiding the sweat, apples and peaches, kinda woodsy.

Wade: Cancer, gun smoke, citrus dish soap, blood, oranges, taco sauce, infected skin once in awhile, red dye 40, slight over cooked and crispy apple pie, sugary cereal

Puppins: wet dog, dog dander, oatmeal senstive skin puppy shampoo, chicken, "the dirtest trash she can find to roll in on her walk"

Althea: Old lady, way too strong perfumes, butter biscuits, tea, peppermint candies, more cocaine, "baby powder", lanvender linens, cotton and daisy's Landry detergent.

Feelings/emotions:

Big/serious lies: smell like Gasoline and salty sand near the sea.

Small fibs/playful/ teasing lies: smell like Anise

Lies with decent intentions/are bent truths: smell like honey

Those two are easily mixed up.

Innocent (the person truly believes it. Ex. A child saying dinos are real) truth: smells like thick vanilla creamer.

Filling, whole truths (the person knows for a fact its a truth) smells: like fresh baked rolls/buns

Cancer smells vary like: urine, nail polish remover, some people have a pungent semi sweet smell like rotting fruit, and tar is another smell, depending on which part of the body. If already in late stages, one can smell like cadavers. Even spicy almost.

Pregnant people vary in scent but he can smell the rise of different hormones: Some hormones sweeter then other. If you asked him he would say cinnamon or dying roses. If you're later in your term the scents are more soft like lotion or custard. Lemon ussually.

Serotonin; cheese, lemon cakes, fruity, a bit light, and flakey like a pastry. Marshmellow fluff.

Dopamine; sweet fresh coffee, doritos(?), cocaine. Don't ask why he knows what cocaine smells like. He was alive during coke cocaine.

Endorphins; Sweaty Sex, mint, dark chocolate, violets, chemicals, varies by persons pheromones

Oxytocin; "playful cherries", freshly washed cotton pillows, the warmth of a bath, skin on skin hugs, strawberries

Joy/relaxation/relief: Jasmine, vanilla sugar cookies, fresh soup.

Anger/disapproval/hurt: smoke, the back end of a cigarette, spicy curry, iron, blood, "spoiled raw chicken left out too long"

Fear/excitment/anxiousness: Adrenaline smells like oil, paint, salty pretzels almost.

Tears: Oceans, lillies, fresh water lakes

[penvisions]

shield and spear {general! marcus acacius x weaponsmith! reader teaser}

pairing: general! marcus acacius x weaponsmith! reader

warnings: adult language, adult content, allusions to sex work, allusions to slavery, violence, fighting, blood, more to be determined!

a/n: just a little something my brain yelled at me to get down in response to gift we all received yesterday and how could i not listen?

-> navigation || main masterlist

There’s no use for anything other than food and drink. Energy and hydration. This is not a life any longer but a task set into the callous hands of a man that had been far too young to understand the duty and devotion it would endlessly call for.

There is no use for anything but fuel for his body to carry him through the next battle, the next fight, the next weapon should his give out or bend to another’s.

He knows how to fight with his bare hands should that happen though he doesn’t prefer it. The shield of a weapon in his hands allows him to claim his killings and bloodshed are in the name of those he serves and not of his own volition.

But he sees in your eyes that it makes no difference. A slight thing hiding in the shadows as you watch and tally the use of steel, of bronze, or iron, and tar. Of the things to keep fired stoked high enough to burn them all down to liquid and mold to your orders of weapons to be forged.

He sees the disappointment each time he’s sent to you for collection, the way your eyes longer on the sword he had been gifted from the stash your father had kept for himself. His right as a weapon smith.

But it’s no longer your fathers like you are.

An aide to the efforts of entertainment and execution. Of punishment and pleasure.

He recognizes your sweat soaked body as it’s coated in grime and as it’s coated in the marks men leave on your skin.

He’s never taken the open ended offer up for himself. Only ever calling on you for the supplies you are to provide for the arena. He feels conflicted about how much demanded of you, both professionally and personally but he has no sway in making changes, in altering the life you’re to live.

Until the day he sees you in the arena, with a sword of your own in hand and a pack of wild cats circling you with snarling, snapping jaws. Their large claws swiping at you as if you are but a tiny play thing for them. A meal for them, entertainment for the public, and a punishment for you.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ He demands, voice booming as he enters the cordoned off section of seats. The balcony that just out further that the rest of them lining the walls of the arena.

‘She is proving the strength of her weapons. Too many have chipped and shattered in the last batch.’

He recalls the battle in which the man is referring to so casually. Placing the blame in your work when it had been nothing but devoted. The weapons had been as skillfully crafted as any others you provided, but they had been at a disadvantage in the hands of his men. Not due to lack of materials or skill but of what they had been up against.

Flails and lances, stronger weapons in the hands of those they faced didn’t negate the strength of yours. But now you were facing those ‘consequences’ right before his very eyes down in the pit.

-

taglist: @pedgito @studioghibelli @sawymredfox @tuquoquebrute @hiddenbabynyc @joelsgreys @morallyinept @evolnoomym

[mostlysignssomeportents]

'We buy ugly houses' is code for 'we steal vulnerable peoples' homes'

Tonight (May 11) at 7PM, I’m in CALGARY for Wordfest, with my novel Red Team Blues; I’ll be hosted by Peter Hemminger at the Memorial Park Library, 2nd Floor.

Home ownership is the American dream: not only do you get a place to live, free from the high-handed dictates of a landlord, but you also get an asset that appreciates, building intergenerational wealth while you sleep — literally.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/11/ugly-houses-ugly-truth/#homevestor

Of course, you can’t have it both ways. If your house is an asset you use to cover falling wages, rising health care costs, spiraling college tuition and paper-thin support for eldercare, then it can’t be a place you live. It’s gonna be an asset you sell — or at the very least, borrow so heavily against that you are in constant risk of losing it.

This is the contradiction at the heart of the American dream: when America turned its back on organized labor as an engine for creating prosperity and embraced property speculation, it set itself on the road to serfdom — a world where the roof over your head is also your piggy bank, destined to be smashed open to cover the rising costs that an organized labor movement would have fought:

https://gen.medium.com/the-rents-too-damned-high-520f958d5ec5

Today, we’re hit the end of the road for the post-war (unevenly, racially segregated) shared prosperity that made it seem, briefly, that everyone could get rich by owning a house, living in it, then selling it to everybody else. Now that the game is ending, the winners are cashing in their chips:

https://doctorow.medium.com/the-end-of-the-road-to-serfdom-bfad6f3b35a9

The big con of home ownership is proceeding smartly on schedulee. First, you let the mark win a little, so they go all in on the scam. Then you take it all back. Obama’s tolerance of bank sleze after the Great Financial Crisis kicked off the modern era of corporations and grifters stealing Americans’ out from under them, forging deeds in robosigning mills:

https://www.marketwatch.com/story/us-breaks-down-93-bln-robo-signing-settlement-2013-02-28

The thefts never stopped. Today on Propublica, by Anjeanette Damon, Byard Duncan and Mollie Simon bring a horrifying, brilliantly reported account of the rampant, bottomless scams of Homevestors, AKA We Buy Ugly Houses, AKA “the #1 homebuyer in the USA”:

https://www.propublica.org/article/ugly-truth-behind-we-buy-ugly-houses

Homevestors — an army of the hedge fund Bayview Asset Management — claims a public mission: to bail out homeowners sitting on unsellable houses with all-cash deals. The company’s franchisees — 1,150 of them in 48 states — then sprinkle pixie dust and secret sauce on these “ugly houses” and sell them at a profit.

But Propublica’s investigation — which relied on whistleblowers, company veterans, court records and interviews with victims — tells a very different story. The Homevestor they discovered is a predator that steals houses out from under elderly people, disabled people, people struggling with mental illness and other vulnerable people. It’s a company whose agents have a powerful, well-polished playbook that stops family members from halting the transfers the company’s high-pressure salespeople set in motion.

Propublica reveals homeowners with advanced dementia who signed their shaky signatures to transfers that same their homes sold out from under them for a fraction of their market value. They show how Homevestor targets neighborhoods struck by hurricanes, or whose owners are recently divorced, or sick. One whistleblower tells of how the company uses the surveillance advertising industry to locate elderly people who’ve broken a hip: “a 60-day countdown to death — and, possibly, a deal.” The company’s mobile ads are geofenced to target people near hospitals and rehab hospitals, in hopes of finding desperate sellers who need to liquidate homes so that Medicaid will cover their medical expenses.

The sales pitches are relentless. One of Homevestor’s targets was a Texas woman whose father had recently been murdered. As she grieved, they blanketed her in pitches to sell her father’s house until “checking her mail became a traumatic experience.”

Real-estate brokers are bound by strict regulations, but not house flippers like Homevestors. Likewise, salespeople who pitch other high-ticket items, from securities to plane tickets — are required to offer buyers a cooling-off period during which they can reconsider their purchases. By contrast, Homevestors’ franchisees are well-versed in “muddying the title” to houses after the contract is signed, filing paperwork that makes it all but impossible for sellers to withdraw from the sale.

This produces a litany of ghastly horror-stories: homeowners who end up living in their trucks after they were pressured into a lowball sales; sellers who end up dying in hospital beds haunted by the trick that cost them their homes. One woman who struggled with hoarding was tricked into selling her house by false claims that the city would evict her because of her hoarding. A widow was tricked into signing away the deed to her late husband’s house by the lie that she could do so despite not being on the deed. One seller was tricked into signing a document he believed to be a home equity loan application, only to discover he had sold his house at a huge discount on its market value. An Arizona woman was tricked into selling her dead mother’s house through the lie that the house would have to be torn down and the lot redeveloped; the Homevestor franchisee then flipped the house for 5,500% of the sale-price.

The company vigorously denies these claims. They say that most people who do business with Homevestors are happy with the outcome; in support of this claim, they cite internal surveys of their own customers that produce a 96% approval rating.

When confronted with the specifics, the company blamed rogue franchisees. But Propublica obtained training materials and other internal documents that show that the problem is widespread and endemic to Homevestors’ business. Propublica discovered that at least eight franchisees who engaged in conduct the company said it “didn’t tolerate” had been awarded prizes by the company for their business acumen.

Franchisees are on the hook for massive recurring fees and face constant pressure from corporate auditors to close sales. To make those sales, franchisees turn to Homevana’s training materials, which are rife with predatory tactics. One document counsels franchisees that “pain is always a form of motivation.” What kind of pain? Lost jobs, looming foreclosure or a child in need of surgery.

A former franchisee explained how this is put into practice in the field: he encountered a seller who needed to sell quickly so he could join his dying mother who had just entered a hospice 1,400 miles away. The seller didn’t want to sell the house; they wanted to “get to Colorado to see their dying mother.”

These same training materials warn franchisees that they must not deal with sellers who are “subject to a guardianship or has a mental capacity that is diminished to the point that the person does not understand the value of the property,” but Propublica’s investigation discovered “a pattern of disregard” for this rule. For example, there was the 2020 incident in which a 78-year-old Atlanta man sold his house to a Homevestors franchisee for half its sale price. The seller was later shown to be “unable to write a sentence or name the year, season, date or month.”

The company tried to pin the blame for all this on bad eggs among its franchisees. But Propublica found that some of the company’s most egregious offenders were celebrated and tolerated before and after they were convicted of felonies related to their conduct on behalf of the company. For example, Hi-Land Properties is a five-time winner of Homevestors’ National Franchise of the Year prize. The owner was praised by the CEO as “loyal, hardworking franchisee who has well represented our national brand, best practices and values.”

This same franchisee had “filed two dozen breach of contract lawsuits since 2016 and clouded titles on more than 300 properties by recording notices of a sales contract.” Hi-Land “sued an elderly man so incapacitated by illness he couldn’t leave his house.”

Another franchisee, Patriot Holdings, uses the courts aggressively to stop families of vulnerable people from canceling deals their relatives signed. Patriot Holdings’ co-owner, Cory Evans, eventually pleaded guilty to to two felonies, attempted grand theft of real property. He had to drop his lawsuits against buyers, and make restitution.

According to Homevestors’ internal policies, Patriot’s franchise should have been canceled. But Homevestors allowed Patriot to stay in business after Cory Evans took his name off the business, leaving his brothers and other partners to run it. Nominally, Cory Evans was out of the picture, but well after that date, internal Homevestors included Evans in an award it gave to Patriot, commemorating its sales (Homevestors claims this was an error).

Propublica’s reporters sought comment from Homevestors and its franchisees about this story. The company hired “a former FBI spokesperson who specializes in ‘crisis and special situations’ and ‘reputation management’ and funnelled future questions through him.”

Internally, company leadership scrambled to control the news. The company convened a webinar in April with all 1,150 franchisees to lay out its strategy. Company CEO David Hicks explained the company’s plan to “bury” the Propublica article with “‘strategic ad buys on social and web pages’ and ‘SEO content to minimize visibility.’”

https://www.propublica.org/article/homevestors-aims-to-bury-propublica-reporting

Franchisees were warned not to click links to the story because they “might improve its internet search ranking.”

Even as the company sought to “bury” the story and stonewalled Propublica, they cleaned house, instituting new procedures and taking action against franchisees identified in Propublica’s article. “Clouding titles” is now prohibited. Suing sellers for breach of contract is “discouraged.” Deals with seniors “should always involve family, attorneys or other guardians.”

During the webinar, franchisees “pushed back on the changes, claiming they could hurt business.”

If you’ve had experience with hard-sell house-flippers, Propublica wants to know: “If you’ve had experience with a company or buyer promising fast cash for homes, our reporting team wants to hear about it.”

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Calgary, Toronto, DC, Gaithersburg, Oxford, Hay, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

[Image ID: A Depression-era photo of a dour widow standing in front of a dilapidated cabin. Next to her is Ug, the caveman mascot for Homevestors, smiling and pointing at her. Behind her is a 'We buy ugly houses' sign.

Image: Homevestors https://www.homevestors.com/

Fair use: https://www.eff.org/issues/intellectual-property

[emmastonecontentcreator]

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[descendantofthesparrow]

could i ask for some sort of Harry Hook x reader where she overworks herself and faints? if not thats okay! thanks

here you go! i actually really had fun with this and wrote it within two hours :D

Request-takes place during ‘Rise of the isle of the lost’

=

The waves of the isle shore crashed against the dock, making for an almost pleasant background noise as the crew of the lost Revenge worked tirelessly to get it in working order for its voyage to the isle of the doomed.

Repairing the hull, plugging holes, fixing sails, gathering rope, swabbing the deck-every crew member was hands on deck as they raced around to get it ready in time; which had to be within the day, before anyone else could have a chance to get the trident that rested at the bottom of the bay.

“Raise those sails, make sure tha’t anchor is connected, don’t ye dare let that sludge get on the deck!” Harry ordered the crew, his brow furrowed as he paced the deck-Uma was in the chip shop, unable to command her new crew, though she was far less knowledgeable about being a pirate captain, so Harry-the appointed first mate-was the best man for the job to make sure everything was in top shape.

He was already covered in sludge, a tar-like substance that acted like waterproof superglue-he’d already worked to plug holes and replace some of the hull’s boards but now he needed the crew to finish up the ship before the end of the day.

He turned as he heard a slight struggle from the gangway, seeing (y/n) Smee, one of his oldest friends-even older than Uma-carrying a shit ton of rope for the sails. Harry frowned, seeing how red in the face she was and how exhausted she looked. He looked at his pocket watch, and while he couldn’t exactly tell time-he knew the lass had been working for probably seven hours straight.

“Smee,” Harry barked out, beelining it to her, putting his hands on her back and shoulders as she continued to tug the huge ropes onto the ship. (y/n) panted, tilting her head to look up at him, sweat dripping down her brow as she breathed heavily, almost heaving.

“Harry,” she panted out and Harry frowned, taking the rope from her hands and easily slinging the heavy ropes over his shoulder. “I was doing that,” (y/n) huffed and Harry just ignored her, tossing the ropes by the main mast where they needed to be.

“ye need ta’ take a break,” Harry demanded, grabbing (y/n)’s wrist and beginning to drag her off the ship towards the chip shop.

“I’m-fine-“ (y/n) said, pulling her wrist out of his hand with more force than necessary, and she suddenly felt dizzy and swayed. “-Harry-“ she managed to say before the feeling of fainting took over and her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she fell backward, hitting the railing of the gangplank and she went overboard.

Harry instantly reacted, not wasting a second as he dove over the rails and into the water after (y/n). “Man overboard!” Bonnie yelled and Gonzo raced to the ladder hanging off the port side of the ship and unlatched it, the ladder unraveling and landing in the water for Harry to climb back up on.

Harry grabbed (y/n)’s unconscious form and tugged her close, pushing off a jagged rock next to him and swimming back up to the murky surface, shaking the water off his face as he broke the surface and swam to the ladder with (y/n) in his arms, still unconscious.

“she okay?” Drey asked as Harry climbed up the latter with one hand, (y/n) limp against his side.

“she will be, she fainted from overworkin’ ‘erself.” Harry said, handing (y/n) to Gil as he reached the top and climbed onto the deck. He shook his head again and took (y/n) back from Gil. “all of ye, take a break, before someone else faints.” He ordered and stormed off the ship to the chip shop.

-

(y/n) woke up less than 20 minutes later, blinking awake to the feeling of a cold cloth on her head and lying down on Uma’s bed in Uma’s room that was above the chip shop. She groaned a bit, feeling like she had a wicked headache, and sat up; the wet cloth falling to her lap as she rubbed her face.

“There ye are,” she looked to her left, seeing Harry entering the room with a cup of water, handing it to her. “what did I say ‘bout overworkin’ yer’self?” Harry asked, sitting at her feet, and giving her a stern look. (y/n) huffed, drinking the water.

“I didn’t want to seem lazy,” she muttered and Harry rolled his eyes, leaning over to flick her forehead and she yelped, flinching her eyes closed. “hey!”

“Yer not lazy, yer not useless, just because you can't keep up physically as the rest of the crew don’t mean yer any less useful, ye just have different uses. Besides, ye helped enough in tha’ morning, and I had told ye ta help Uma in the chip shop instead.” Harry said, flicking her forehead again and she smacked his hand away, making him smirk.

“You’re just trying to make me feel better,” (y/n) muttered and Harry rolled his eyes, no shit. He instead scooped her up and carried her back down to the chip shop, (y/n) hitting his back on the way down. “put me down! Harrison James hook!”

Harry just snickered and dropped her in one of the chairs at the long table near the kitchen, grabbing a tray and dropping in front of her. “eat, take a break, stay ‘ere with Uma, I’ll be back when the ships done.” Harry ordered, pointing his hook at her as he swaggered out the chip shop.

(y/n) huffed, pouting a bit as some of the patrons chuckled and then turned back to their meals as Uma came out from the kitchen with a mean glare to silence them. “When has not listenin’ to him ever turned out well for you?” Uma snorted as she passed by (y/n), leaving a seaweed smoothie as she did. (y/n) just rolled her eyes, grumpily taking her break.

-end-

[0h0possum]

A Codywan and How to Train Your Dragon crossover that turned into a the Mandalorians factions are dragons AU, because I can never just do something simple and for the heck of it.

If you’re not interested the AU lore, leave now or suffer my rambling lol.

Basically, the idea is that Mandalorians started as a race that could shift into dragons. The Mand’alor line and those of most influence were notably ‘Fury’s (for example Mand’alor Tarre Viszla was a Nightfury and so is his generational line). But over time most Mandolorians who could shift were killed off or just lost the ability as more non-shifter Mandolorians married in. Eventually only a few of the Fury’s were around, and when Mandalore split most chose factions lead by the remaining Fury lines. AKA: the New Mandalorians/Lightfury’s, the Haat Mando'ade or True Mandalorians/Duskfury’s, and the Kyr’tsad or Death Watch/Nightfury’s.

Basically this also helps explain (in my head) why Mandalorians would follow Death Watch (terrorists) or the New Mandalorians (Intense Pacifist). It’s because they see those lines that can still shift as chosen leaders or a physical embodiment of the Ka’ra’s will.

How is Obi-Wan a shifter though? Well in this AU he’s the son of Tor Viszla. Long story short, early on when Obi-Wan was born he displayed being force sensitive, and Obi-WAN’s mom (Tor’s wife??? Idk it’s not important to the story) basically went ‘Aw hell naw’ and tried to drown Obi-Wan. Only to be stopped by a traveling Jedi who stole Obi-Wan and saved him. Totally unaware that this baby was Mandalorian, the son one of the biggest Mandalorian factions, AND also one of the last few existing Mandalorian dragon shifters. (Also Obi-Wan’s mom doesn’t want to admit that she lost Obi-Wan to a Jedi and just tells Tor that he was force sensitive and she succeeded in drowning him).

Maybe I’ll get into it later but basically Obi-Wan grows up as normal in the Temple, but obviously at some point he shifts and has the biggest panic of his life. But with help from friends (Quinlan, Garen, Siri, and Bant) he figures out shifting (enough to control it) and helps keep it a secret (Mandalorians and Jedi still don’t have best relations and Obi-Wan is paranoid about being kicked out of the Order anyways *cough cough Brandomeer cough cough Melinda/Daan*). To be clear, Obi-Wan isn’t like ashamed of what he is. He just doesn’t want the judgments of coming from CLEAR Mandalorian roots, and Death Watch at that. Plus he kinda just decides to not think about how he’s pretty much definitely related to well known terrorist Tar and Pre Viszla, because then he doesn’t have to address it. Besides he’s happy as a Jedi.

Anyways, NOW CODY-

So without getting to detailed (mission failed lol) all the clones ARE shifters (Duskfury’s just like Jango Fett), but they have it suppressed by the Kaminoans (probably part of their chips? I haven’t thought it fully out yet). BUT THINGS HAPPEN, probably Cody and Obi-Wan get stranded alone somewhere for a long time and Cody gets his chipped fucked up somehow, and now he’s shifting into a dragon???? And scaring the shit out of both him and Obi-Wan. But Obi-Wan exposes himself as a dragon shifter as well to comfort Cody and show that he will keep his secret. Plus he clearly understands him. (At this point they both are under the impression the clones aren’t shifters, and think Cody is just an outlier and “late bloomer” so to speak). Cue them learning how to be dragons together and be comfortable in their other form.

And eventually they get rescued and find out somehow all the clones are shifters, and therefore find the chips and discover Palpatine’s plan, SO THE GALAXY IS SAVED!

(Additionally the clones get rights and go to form their own society/group (Obi-Wan comes with to be with other dragons, but mostly to be with Cody), and they form an alliance with the New Mandalorians and accidentally unit Mandalore purely by the three Fury types (Nightfury/Obi-Wan, Duskfury/Cody, Lightfury/Satine) being around each other lol.

[pinkanonwrites]

Idea for a little angst. Leona has a nightmare about his s/o (fem or gn preferably) becoming an unfortunate victim to King’s Roar’s effect. Maybe having flashbacks to when he overblotted in a sense? Up to you!

Ohhhhhhh this is a PRIME angst prompt, thank you very much for this incredibly ouchie idea.

GN!Reader, ANGST, comfort

"Herbivore?"

In the center of Night Raven College's Spelldrive stadium, Leona stood alone. There was no grass beneath his feet crosshatched with play lines and goal marks, just cracked, dry soil. There were no cheers in the stands, no holler of food vendors or trumpet of pep bands, just a blistering, eerie silence. As the wind whistled through the empty field, little spirals of sand danced upon the breeze to land near his feet.

"Howl? Felmier?... Ruggie?"

No response.

He trod carefully across the arid dirt, moving towards the entrance of the field. Surely there he would find someone waiting, Ruggie or another Savanaclaw student or you, you had to be here somewhere. He was not afraid. he was not.

But dipping through the doorway and peering into one of the locker rooms revealed an equally eerie sight. No students, no coaches. Just heaps of dry, yellow sand. The alternate team's locker room revealed the same sight. So did the hallway out into the stadium entry, the vendor booths that lined the cobblestone path, the winding road leading back up to the school proper.

But along that road, facing away from him, finally he saw you.

"Herbivore!"

"...Why?"

Despite your distance, he could hear you perfectly. He tried to move towards you but it felt like her were wading through tar, each step a herculean effort. He tried to call for you again but found his voice dry and lifeless in his throat.

"I didn't ask to be here. I didn't know this would happen. But still... I just wanted to help. Why wouldn't you let me help?"

He was moving forward, he knew he was, so why did it seem like you were just as far away?

"This isn't even my home, but I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Is that so wrong? Why do you hate me so much?"

'I don't. I don't hate you. I never have, not really.' He tried to say, but the only noise he could make was a single choked rasp.

"Why would you do this to me? I just wanted to help."

He blinked. That's all he did, just a single blink. But suddenly he was upon you, crowding your space, a single clawed hand wrapped effortlessly around your neck. You didn't thrash, didn't scream, didn't make any attempt to pull away. Leona couldn't move either, frozen in time, watching in horror as the delicate skin around your neck began to flake and chip and dissolve to powdery sand. The tears in the corners of your eyes turned to dust before they could even roll down your cheeks.

"I JUST WANTED TO HELP!"

Leona jolted awake to blackness, the dull tick of an alarm clock sitting on his nightstand. He was coated in sweat, panting, throat dry and hoarse. He felt along the left side of his bed, palms thumping frantically over the blanket-clad shape sharing his space. The only one he'd allow to share his space.

"Hrrmph?- Ow, ow! Shit, Leona! You scared the hell out of me!" You grumbled, wrestling blindly out of your blanket to try and protect yourself from his swatting hands. You were here. Thank the seven, you were here. You were here, beside him, and he hadn't destroyed you. He hadn't ruined the one good thing that life had given him, not yet.

He hadn't, but he almost did. He almost did, some time ago.

The air was forced out of your body in a rushed whoof! as Leona bowled into you, draping himself entirely over your still sleep-addled form. Before you could protest or even question what was happening you felt the rasp of his sandy tongue against your temple, peppered kisses in between soothing licks. Was he... Grooming you? Leona never groomed you. He rarely even let himself be groomed by his own family. And yet here he was, pressing himself into you like he was afraid you were going to vanish from beneath his grasp.

"Herbivore... kitten..." He mumbled in between kisses, reverent, relieved. you let a hand come up to rest on his cheek and he stifled a sound that you could have sworn was a tiny sob.

"Hey, hey, I'm right here big cat. I'm not going anywhere. What's all this about?" You ran your thumb blindly back and forth over the curve of his cheekbone, and he melted weakly into the touch.

"...Right, right. You're not. Never go anywhere. I won't let you, not without me." Slowly the two of you sank back into the warmth of your shared mattress, Leona pressed against you like a second skin. "You're stuck with me now, aren't ya? Don't even think of... Of goin' anywhere."

As his words began to drift into exhausted mumbles you pressed yourself as close as you could into his warm side, letting him wrap an arm over your body and pull you into his embrace. You murmured a soft placation into his chest, hoping that whatever brought on this sudden influx of emotion out of your partner, it would be enough to soothe it.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

[tatumrileyslover]

i absolutely adored your amber fic, I was hoping you could write a tara x reader (with an established relationship) where she’s the first to arrive to see her at the hospital arriving long before the others? maybe tara could have been texting her during the attack?

Solace

☆〜Pairings: Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

☆〜Genre: Hurt/Comfort, angst, slight fluff

☆〜Word Count: 5.7k

☆〜Warnings: mentions of pet death, ghost face attack, blood, stabbing, hospitals, violence, language

☆〜Authors Note: I did NOT intend for this fic to be almost 6k words long, I literally have work tomorrow and it’s four am. You Tara Carpenter hoes gonna love this one, also the sheer amount of words making my tumblr lag so much

☆〜 Sequel: Redemption

Laying spread out on her couch, (Y/n) sighed in contentment. Tonight, their long-awaited date finally materialized as a beacon of hope after countless cancellations. The first time was due to Tara catching a stomach virus, and the second was cancelled when (Y/n) had a family emergency. Praying to any deities she could think of, that tonight would go exactly as planned, Tara had procured the snacks and (Y/n) scoured her parent's old stash of movies to find something good to watch.

As the golden hues of the Californian sun gently descended, casting a warm glow that seeped through the curtains of the living room, (Y/n) gazed out the window. Outside, the autumnal symphony of colors unfolded, as leaves gracefully danced in the breeze, their descent creating a delicate tapestry upon the porch. " I should get going," she groaned to herself, not ready to leave the comfort of her home, but eager to see Tara nonetheless. They were two souls who found solace in each other's embrace, navigating the highs and lows with unwavering support. Their mothers said the two were like two puzzle pieces perfectly aligned, they fit together in seamless harmony. Where you'd find one, you'd find the other.

Moving swiftly toward the coffee table where her phone rested, (Y/n) snatched it up and eagerly turned it over, her eyes darting across the screen in anticipation. Amongst the sea of notifications, a particular text caught her eye, demanding her immediate attention.

Tara:

hey any way we can resched movie night? ambers planning to come over

(Y/n)’s heart plummeted as disappointment crashed over her like a relentless wave. Not again. This week had been filled with one hardship after another, and the movie night had been the single gleaming light that had kept her going. She felt the weight of her emotions welling up, threatening to spill over as tears pooled in her eyes.

It hadn't escaped (Y/n)'s notice that something was amiss between Tara and herself. Lately, their once vibrant connection had dimmed, leaving behind an unsettling silence. Tara's responses to her texts were delayed, leaving them unread for what felt like an eternity, only to receive curt and simple replies. Their nightly calls, once filled with laughter and heartfelt conversations, had dwindled to mere whispers of their former selves.

(Y/n) had tried to attribute Tara's behavior to exam stress, desperately clinging to the hope that it was a passing phase. But deep down, a gnawing doubt lingered, as if an invisible force was eroding the foundation of their relationship. It was a silent ache that chipped away at her sense of security, whispering the possibility of something more significant beneath the surface.

With a heavy sigh, (Y/n) wrestled with her conflicted thoughts, battling between wanting to confront the issue head-on and fearing the answers that lay beyond. As tears streaked down her cheeks, she realized that the movie night had symbolized more than just a chance to unwind—it had become a symbol of the dwindling connection she desperately longed to reignite.

In the midst of her turmoil, the sadness transformed to rage.

(Y/n):

Seriously tar

(Y/n):

Istg we’ve been planning this night for months now

(Y/n):

I seriously need you right now, we haven’t hung out in so long and you want to cancel on me

Determined to break the silence and confront the anguish that consumed her, (Y/n) resolved to make Tara fully aware of the pain she was inflicting. She refused to suffer in the darkness any longer, vowing to express the depth of her emotions and lay bare the impact of Tara's actions on their relationship.

With bated breath, (Y/n) watched the notification indicating that Tara had read her text. Her eyes fixated on the screen, heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and anticipation, as she anxiously awaited the telltale signs of Tara's response. The seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity, every passing moment fueling her need for a reply, a sign that their connection still held a glimmer of hope.

Tara:

I’m sorry but ambers been having a bad day

In an explosion of fiery emotions, (Y/n)'s anger consumed her. The realization that Tara had prioritized a friend's well-being over her own girlfriend's struck a nerve deep within her. How could Tara fail to show even a shred of concern for what (Y/n) had endured throughout the week? The flames of resentment burned brightly, fueled by the perception that Tara lacked the basic decency to make an effort to understand and support her partner. (Y/n) yearned for acknowledgment, for Tara to see the depth of her pain and recognize the importance of their connection.

With each passing second, the fire within (Y/n) raged on, threatening to consume everything in its path. The time for silence and complacency was over. (Y/n) vowed to confront Tara, to unleash the inferno of her feelings and demand the respect and consideration she deserved.

(Y/n):

What about your own fucking girlfriend huh?

(Y/n):

Do you even know what the fuck happened to me this week!

(Y/n):

No you don’t, because it’s always Amber this, Amber that, Amber Amber Amber

Tara:

R u being serious rn

(Y/n):

my dog died on Monday

(Y/n):

it’s Saturday Tara

(Y/n):

and you didn’t even know because you aren’t even talking to me anymore.

(Y/n) let out a heavy sigh, frustration and hurt weighing heavily on her shoulders. She tossed her phone onto the couch, its screen illuminating the room for a moment before sinking into the soft cushions. She buried her head in her hands, seeking solace in the darkness, hoping that this act of vulnerability would finally make Tara realize the profound impact of her actions.

As (Y/n)'s fingers interlaced, a subtle vibration traveled through the cushions beside her. Startled, she lifted her head and turned her gaze toward the source of the unexpected movement. A flicker of hope sparked within her, wondering if perhaps Tara had sensed the gravity of the situation and was reaching out in response.

With a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, (Y/n) reached for her phone, hoping to find a message from Tara that would acknowledge the pain she had caused and signal a willingness to address the underlying issues.

Tara:

Milos dead?

As tears streamed down her face, (Y/n)'s heart sank deeper into despair. The painful truth hit her with a forceful blow—Tara hadn't even acknowledged her feelings, let alone shown remorse for the hurt she had caused. In that moment, (Y/n) realized the difficult decision she needed to make.

Her fingers trembled as she wiped away the tears, a newfound determination taking root within her. It became clear that she couldn't continue in a relationship where her needs went unacknowledged and her emotions were dismissed. (Y/n) understood that she deserved someone who would put in the effort, who would cherish and respect her.

With a heavy yet resolute sigh, (Y/n) made up her mind. She would give Tara the space to figure herself out, to confront her own shortcomings and decide if she was willing to put in the effort required to mend their fractured bond. (Y/n) knew that she deserved a partner who would meet her halfway, who would prioritize their love and demonstrate genuine care.

As she made this decision, a bittersweet sense of liberation washed over (Y/n). It was a painful realization, but also a necessary one. She was prepared to step back, to let Tara find her own way, and to focus on healing herself in the process. With newfound clarity, she resolved to no longer tolerate being taken for granted.

(Y/n):

Tara I think we should take a break

Tara:

WHAT

Tara:

(Y/n) you can’t be serious

Tara:

We need to talk about this in person

Tara:

Come over I’ve told Amber to stay home

(Y/n):

we’ll talk on monday

With a heavy sigh, (Y/n) flipped her phone over and gently placed it back on the couch cushion. The persistent buzzing continued for a couple of minutes before gradually fading into silence. As she sat cross-legged on the floor, her gaze fixated on the plain wall before her, her mind swirled with a mixture of emotions.

In an effort to divert her thoughts, (Y/n) decided to immerse herself in a familiar and comforting activity. Rising from the floor, she made her way to the kitchen with determined steps. As she gathered the ingredients for baking cookies, the room filled with the sweet and nostalgic aroma that enveloped her senses.

With each measured scoop and gentle mix, (Y/n) found solace in the rhythmic process of creating something warm and inviting. The familiar motions of baking temporarily transported her to cherished memories of love and comfort, memories intertwined with moments shared with Tara. It was bittersweet, a reminder of the love they had once shared and the warmth that had brought them together.

As the cookies began to bake, filling the air with an irresistible scent, (Y/n) couldn't help but be caught in a swirl of conflicting emotions. The aroma wrapped around her, providing a temporary respite from the pain and uncertainty. Yet, within that comforting scent, lay memories of the love and connection she and Tara had once shared. It was a bittersweet reminder of what they had lost, but also a glimmer of the love that still lingered in her heart.

As (Y/n) carefully laid the freshly baked cookie onto the cooling rack, her mind drifted into a melodic trance. Humming a tune that played on repeat in her head, she found solace in the rhythmic melody. Lost in the sweet moment, her worries momentarily faded away.

However, her blissful reverie was abruptly interrupted by the persistent buzzing of her phone. Buzz, buzz, buzz. The sound echoed through the room, piercing the tranquility she had cultivated. (Y/n) let out a weary sigh, wondering what urgent message or notification could demand her attention at this moment.

Her playful imagination offered a lighthearted explanation, imagining that Mindy must be spamming her with updates about a newly announced horror movie. The thought brought a small giggle to her lips, a brief respite from the emotional heaviness that weighed upon her.

Curiosity piqued, (Y/n) reached for her phone, eager to discover the nature of the buzzes that had disrupted her peaceful interlude. With a mix of anticipation and amusement, she unlocked the screen, preparing herself for the unexpected and hoping for a welcome distraction from her swirling emotions.

Tara:

there’s some psycho calling me

Tara:

I answered an unknown number they know my name

Tara:

Shit

Tara:

I’ve locked my doors

Tara:

Please come over asap

Tara:

i can’t leave cars with my mom

Tara:

He’s fucking calling again

Tara:

Ambers acting weird

Tara:

False alarm maybe?

Tara:

She’s telling me to answer it

Tara:

(Y/n) seriously get your ass over here, the creeps using her phone, they knew when the landline was ringing

Tara:

I’m seriously freaking out right now

(Y/n)'s body went rigid with a chilling dread as the series of alarming texts from Tara unfolded before her eyes. Panic surged through her veins, and she knew she had to act swiftly. With a sense of urgency, she scrambled to put on her shoes, her fingers trembling as she hastily laced them up.

Her mind raced, consumed by a growing sense of unease. The cryptic messages from Tara painted a haunting picture of a dangerous situation unfolding. (Y/n)'s heart pounded, propelled by both fear for Tara's safety and a desperate need to unravel the mystery that now threatened them.

She frantically searched the couch cushions, her hands darting between the crevices, determined to find the misplaced car keys that held the key to her escape. Time seemed to slip through her fingers, each passing second amplifying the urgency of the situation.

Finally, her fingers closed around the cool metal of the car keys, and a flicker of hope ignited within her. With a gasp of relief, she pulled them free, clutching them tightly in her trembling hand. There was no time to waste.

(Y/n) dashed toward the door, her heart racing like a drumbeat of adrenaline. The gravity of Tara's messages resonated within her, spurring her forward with unwavering determination. She needed to reach Tara's side, to offer comfort, protection, and an unwavering presence in the face of their shared fear.

Sitting in the front seat of her car, (Y/n)'s hands trembled as she realized the urgency of letting Tara know she was on her way to help. With swift determination, she typed out a message,

(Y/n):

Omw gimme 5 mins I’ll call cops otw

Before she could even start the engine Tara had replied

Tara:

Hurry

Amber:

ANSWER THE PHONE OR AMBER DIES

Tara's heart raced as she sprinted towards the ringing landline, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. Every fiber of her being was driven by the desperate need to save her friend from whatever horrors were lurking on the other end of the line. She knew her girlfriend, was already on her way, determined to reach her side as quickly as humanly possible, speeding down the suburban streets, driven by an urgent need to make the ten-minute drive shorter.

With trembling hands, Tara snatched the receiver from its cradle, her voice filled with anger and defiance as she spoke into the phone, “This isn’t fucking funny Amber!”

The voice that emanated from the other end of the line sent a chill down Tara's spine. It was a voice shrouded in mystery, draped in a tone that seemed to drip with a malevolent aura. It held an eerie calmness, devoid of any warmth or humanity, as if it existed solely to strike fear into her heart.

As the words, “I told you, this isn’t Amber,”resonated through the receiver, the voice carried a bone-chilling quality. It was a voice that sent a shiver racing down Tara's back, conjuring images of hidden dangers and unseen terrors. There was an unsettling cadence to the voice, a calculated rhythm that left no doubt that it was intended to provoke fear and uncertainty.

Tara's immediate internal fear intensified in response. The realization that the voice on the other end of the line was not who she initially assumed filled her with a sense of dread. It was a realization that shattered any lingering hope of this being a mere misunderstanding or prank. Instead, it emphasized the presence of an unknown figure, one with malicious intentions and a voice that resonated with a menacing power.

In that moment, Tara's fear became palpable, her instincts urging her to take caution and be on guard.

Tara's heart skipped a beat as a message flashed across her phone screen. Her trembling hands reached for the device, and with a mixture of curiosity and dread, she opened the message. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she watched the video that unfolded before her.

Amber, caught in an intimate moment, unaware of the malevolent presence that lurked just outside her bedroom window. The chilling voice that narrated the video through the crackling receiver broke the silence, dripping with a sarcastic tone that sent a shiver down Tara's spine.

As the video played, Tara's breath hitched, her mind reeling with the realization that Amber’s phone had been cloned. How long had she been talking to this unknown psycho for? She felt exposed, vulnerable, and at the mercy of an unknown adversary who had found a way to infiltrate her most personal moments.

“What do you want?” Tara quivered, unsure of what the voice wanted from her.

“I told you, I want to play a game,”

“Stab movie trivia,”

The malevolent figure had known she didn’t know anything about the Stab franchise, just moments before, she had confessed to only watching the first movie—and even then, it was at a sleepover six years ago—Tara felt a wave of panic wash over her as the weight of her predicament settled in her chest. The options before her seemed daunting: she could reach out to the authorities, but the looming threat of immediate harm or worse, death, loomed over her. The malevolent figure had made it clear that any wrong move, any misstep, would have dire consequences for Amber.

Her mind raced, desperately searching for a way out of this nightmarish scenario. She felt the weight of the Stab franchise's intricate details and plot twists bearing down on her, her limited knowledge leaving her vulnerable to the malevolent figure's sadistic game. The questions that awaited her were poised like traps, ready to ensnare her and seal Amber's tragic fate.

“Question one, who wrote the original books that the Stab movies are based on?”

Tara's mind raced as she desperately tried to recollect her memories. A book? The details were hazy, fading remnants of a distant recollection. She racked her brain, grasping for any shred of information that could help her in this dire situation. In a moment of clarity, a name burst forth from the depths of her memory.

"Th-the chick from TV," she stammered, her voice quivering. "Oh, Gale Weathers! It's Gale Weathers, you motherfucker!"

A chilling silence hung in the air, interrupted only by the masked figure's sinister chuckle. "Correct," the voice responded, dripping with a perverse satisfaction. "Amber might live to see the sunrise."

“Question two, who played the dumb bitch in the beginning of Stab one, who answers the phone and gets carved up by the killer?”

Tara’s hands quivered, the voice speaking almost mockingly to her situation, she never thought such an innocent phone call would end up like this, “fuck you!” She whispered quietly.

“Is that the answer you’re going with?”

Tara's sobs escaped her lips, a mixture of fear and frustration enveloping her. Time was slipping away, and the pressure to find the answer mounted with each tick of the taunting noises in the background. Desperation fueled her actions as she hastily pulled out her phone, fingers trembling as she searched for the cast list of Stab.

The voice on the other end of the line relished in her panic, using the ticking noises to remind her of the ever-dwindling seconds. Tara's eyes darted across the screen, her fingers swiping frantically, searching for that one crucial detail she needed. Where was it? The pressure weighed heavily upon her, pushing her to the brink.

"Heather Graham!" she blurted out, her voice quivering with a mix of uncertainty and hope. It was the answer that had come to mind, a name she hoped was associated with the first Stab movie. In that fleeting moment, she clung to the belief that her response was correct, that it would be enough to keep Amber safe.

A pause hung in the air, the voice on the other end relishing in the suspense. Then, a response echoed through the phone line. "Correct," the voice acknowledged, a sinister satisfaction lacing its tone. "Now, the final question: Who was the killer in Stab one?"

Tara almost sighed in relief, her voice laced with a mix of distress and defiance. "Oh, I know this one, you fuck!" Her words carried a defiant edge, fueled by a surge of determination. With a swallowed gulp, she didn't hesitate to provide her answer. "It's Billy Loomis! He's Sidney's boyfriend, and he was played by Luke Wilson. I've got you, asshole!"

An air of relief and triumph began to creep into Tara's voice, ready to celebrate her victory over the voice that had tormented her. She was certain of her answer, convinced that she had outsmarted the sinister figure on the other end of the line. "I've got it!"

A chilling silence hung in the air before the voice delivered a shocking response. "Oh, I'm sorry, Tara, but that's just not correct."

Tara's look of relief crumbled, replaced by a mix of confusion and growing concern. Doubt gnawed at her as she attempted to double-check her answer, her fingers frantically navigating through her phone. How could she have been so wrong? Billy Loomis was the killer, wasn't he?

"The correct answer is Billy Loomis and Stu Macher," the voice coldly explained, reveling in its control over the situation. "There are two killers in the original Stab. I'm afraid someone's gotta die now."

With a surge of adrenaline, Tara rushed towards the front door, her sole focus on saving Amber's life. Her trembling hands fumbled with the lock, desperately trying to unlock it and swing the door open. As the door swung wide, her path was abruptly blocked by a figure standing in the doorway, clad in the iconic Stab Ghostface costume. The sight sent chills down her spine.

In the intruder's hand gleamed a knife, its blade poised for attack, slashing at her side. Fear coursed through Tara's veins, but she refused to let it paralyze her. Summoning her courage, she lashed out, delivering a powerful punch aimed at the intruder's face. The blow momentarily stunned the masked figure, giving Tara a brief moment of respite.

Seizing the opportunity, she pushed against the door with all her might, attempting to shut it on the intruder. A grunt escaped her lips as she exerted every ounce of strength, her body pressed against the door. However, the relentless assailant's gloved hand snaked through the narrowing crack, the glint of a hunter knife threateningly waving in the air.

With a final burst of effort, Tara managed to force the intruder out and swiftly locked the door from the inside. Trembling and gasping for breath, she clutched at her pouring wound, tears streaming down her face in hysterics. Despite the pain and fear overwhelming her, she managed to summon the presence of mind to activate the home security system, a desperate attempt to fortify herself against any further intrusion.

The deafening bangs against the front door reverberated through the house, each thud echoing with a bone-chilling intensity. Tara clutched a knife tightly in her trembling hands, attempting to assert some form of control. She threatened the intruder with the arrival of the police, hoping to deter them. Yet, as abruptly as the banging started, it ceased, leaving the house shrouded in an eerie silence.

Tara cautiously backed away from the door, her gaze fixed on it, her senses on high alert. The wound on her side throbbed with pain, each heartbeat a painful reminder of her vulnerability. The momentary respite was disrupted by a loud noise emanating from her phone.

ALL SYSTEMS DISARMED.

Fear gripped her heart as she realized the intruder had tampered with the security system. With a desperate rush, she quickly accessed the app, her fingers trembling as she frantically locked the doors once again.

SYSTEMS ARMED.

The repeating cycle of the security system continued, amplifying the tension that hung in the air. Tara's mind raced as she tried to regain control, her wounded body screaming with each movement. She tapped on the lock button in a frenzied frenzy, desperately hoping to deny the intruder any chance of entry.

But the unrelenting repetition of the words continued, mocking her efforts.

ALL SYSTEMS DISARMED.

Tara's fear escalated, her voice choked with terror as she attempted to shout for help. Yet, no words escaped her lips, only hoarse noises of distress. Her movements became erratic, each pause prolonging the time it took to secure the locks.

SYSTEMS ARMED.

ALL SYSTEMS DISARMED.

SYSTEMS ARMED.

The relentless cycle of the security system added to the mounting tension, amplifying the sense of impending danger. Tara's breaths grew ragged as she slowly backed into the kitchen, her gaze never straying from the front door.

The piercing ring of the landline shattered the silence once again, sending a surge of fear coursing through Tara's veins. Her scream of terror echoed through the house as she hit her back against the wall, tears streaming down her cheeks like a torrent. With hesitant steps, she moved toward the ringing phone, each movement laden with trepidation.

"Hello?"

"Bonus Question, Tara!"

Tara's plea fell on deaf ears as the voice on the other end continued with sadistic glee. Her body curled inward, overcome by fear. She couldn't bear the torment any longer. Her thoughts raced to (Y/n), praying for her swift arrival. Tara wished she would come sooner, but deep down, she hoped the police would arrive first, shielding her from harm. In that moment, Tara realised she couldn't bear the thought of (Y/n) getting hurt. If she made it out alive, she vowed to never let her go again.

"Do you think I made it inside your house before you could rearm?"

An icy arm coiled around Tara's trembling torso, pulling her forcefully against a chilling presence. The killer's other hand, wielding the gleaming blade, plunged mercilessly into her gut. Agonized screams tore from Tara's throat as the knife was wrenched out, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake. Fighting against the searing pain, she managed to push herself away from her assailant, her front colliding with the cold, unforgiving countertop.

Summoning a surge of determination, Tara spun around with a sudden backhand, striking the killer with a burst of defiance. But her resistance was short-lived as a vice-like grip seized her hair, wrenching her down onto the unforgiving hardwood floor. The impact jarred her senses, leaving her disoriented and vulnerable, face pressed into the unyielding surface.

Desperation fueled her every movement as Tara attempted to kick away her attacker, her hopes of escape crushed under the brutal force of a stomping boot. The sickening crack of bone echoed through the air, intertwining with Tara's anguished screams. Her ankle mangled and shattered, rendering her attempts at resistance futile.

The killer, relentless in their pursuit, sought to position Tara for a final, fatal blow. But she refused to succumb without a fight. Summoning every ounce of strength, she raised her trembling hand in a desperate bid for defense. The blade tore through her flesh, eliciting a surge of searing pain, yet she persisted. Pushing against the blade with an agonizing determination, her blood mingling with the tears streaming down her face.

A fleeting moment of distraction granted Tara a brief respite. Seizing the opportunity, she mustered her remaining strength and launched a fierce kick at her tormentor. The force sent them hurtling backward, colliding violently with the kitchen island. Tara, lying prone on her stomach, dragged herself across the floor, a crimson trail left in her wake, intermingled with her anguished sobs.

The killer, slowly rising to their feet, taunted her with sadistic amusement. Their presence shadowed her every move as she struggled towards the distant patio doors, the faint wail of sirens growing louder. But her desperate escape was cut short as they viciously seized her ankles, yanking her back into their clutches. With chilling precision, they struck her back twice, puncturing her with each merciless stab.

A crimson halo enveloped Tara, her strength waning, yet she fought against the encroaching darkness. The killer spun her around, their malevolence masked by the reflection of red and blue police lights bouncing off their plastic Ghostface facade. As the world blurred and her life hung in the balance, a final cry reverberated through the night, a desperate plea for salvation.

“TARA!”

When (Y/n) burst through the front door, her heart sank at the sight of Tara's bloodied body sprawled across the floor. Ignoring the fading smudge of black, her focus was solely on Tara's well-being. She rushed over, cradling Tara's unconscious form against her chest, an instinctual need to protect taking over. If only she had come over as planned, if only she hadn't let jealousy cloud her judgment about Tara's friendship with Amber. (Y/n)'s tears streamed down her face as she held Tara's good hand, pressing gentle kisses to its back. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice laced with regret.

To her astonishment, Tara's hand weakly squeezed back, a glimmer of hope amidst the despair. (Y/n)'s touch shifted to cup Tara's blood-stained cheek, her eyes filled with concern. "Just hold on, darling. The ambulance is right outside," she reassured, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination. The sound of approaching footsteps alerted (Y/n) to the presence of others in the house, as people hurried into the kitchen, acknowledging the need for immediate medical assistance.

Tara was swiftly transferred to a waiting stretcher, (Y/n) steadfastly refusing to let go of her limp hand. A paramedic approached, inquiring about their relationship. (Y/n)'s voice trembled as she pleaded, tears streaming down her face, "I'm her girlfriend. Please, let me go with her. I can't leave her alone again." The paramedic nodded sympathetically, granting her request. "Go ahead," they said, understanding the depth of (Y/n)'s anguish.

With a mixture of hope and trepidation, (Y/n) followed Tara into the ambulance, her grip on her girlfriend's hand unyielding.

The ride to the hospital seemed like a hazy dream, (Y/n)'s mind clouded with worry and guilt. Tara remained unconscious, her pale face framed by the sterile hospital lights. The paramedics worked diligently, tending to her wounds with professional efficiency. (Y/n)'s gaze never wavered from Tara's face, her eyes searching desperately for any flicker of awareness. She wanted Tara to know that she was there, that she would never leave her side, even if the hospital staff tried to force her out.

The sight of Tara in the hospital bed, connected to various monitors and IV drips, filled (Y/n)'s heart with a mix of anguish and determination. This could have been prevented if only she had been there with her girlfriend. Now, Tara lay covered in gauze and dissolvable stitches, a stark reminder of the violence she had endured. (Y/n) vowed silently to be her rock, to support her through every step of the recovery process.

As the hospital staff continued their work, (Y/n) gently held Tara's hand, offering a silent reassurance in her touch. She whispered words of love and encouragement, hoping that somewhere within the depths of Tara's unconsciousness, her presence would be felt. The beeping machines and sterile hospital environment faded into the background as (Y/n)'s focus remained solely on Tara, her unwavering devotion shining through her eyes.

(Y/n)'s thoughts swirled with conflicting emotions as she sat by Tara's side in the hospital room. The urge to reach out to their friends and inform them about what had happened tugged at her, but a part of her hesitated. Almost selfishly, she wanted this moment to be just between her and Tara. She wanted Tara to wake up and find solace in her presence, to see the remorse and love etched in every fiber of her being.

Clutching Tara's hand tightly, (Y/n)'s eyes never left her girlfriend's face. She longed for Tara to open her eyes, to see the love and dedication shining through her gaze. It was important for (Y/n) to express her deepest apologies, to make sure Tara understood that she would never abandon her, no matter what. She needed Tara to know the depths of her love and commitment, to feel the unwavering support and presence by her side.

Growing weary, (Y/n) felt herself slipping into the realm of dreams, her grip on Tara's hand never faltering. But just as she began to drift away, a voice reached her ears, pulling her back to consciousness. With a sudden squeeze of her hand, Tara's touch broke through the veil of sleep. (Y/n)'s eyes shot open, wide with surprise and relief. There was Tara, sitting up in her hospital bed, her disheveled hair tied back, her eyes red and weary, and yet her presence was a beacon of beauty and strength.

Tears welled up in (Y/n)'s eyes, streaming down her cheeks like an unstoppable cascade. It was as if a dam had burst within her, releasing all the pent-up emotions she had been holding onto. Tara's loving gaze quickly shifted to concern at the sight of (Y/n)'s tears. "What's wrong? Please don't cry," Tara's voice, raspy from the ordeal, carried that familiar softness and affectionate tone that (Y/n) had longed to hear.

Through her tear-strained voice, (Y/n) choked out her words, unable to contain the overwhelming remorse and love she felt. "Tara, I'm so fucking sorry. I should have just come over, I should have been there for you-" Her words trailed off, interrupted by the weight of her guilt.

Tara's expression softened, a tender smile gracing her lips. "Hey, hey, it's okay," she reassured, her voice filled with warmth and understanding. "None of this was your fault. I know you would have been here if you could. What matters now is that you're here with me, and I love you.”

Tara scooted to the edge of the hospital bed, patting the space beside her, an invitation for (Y/n) to join her. The desire for comfort and solace radiated from Tara's eyes, a silent plea for the warmth of her girlfriend's embrace after the harrowing ordeal they had both endured. (Y/n) hesitated for a moment, mindful of Tara's injuries, but the need for their souls to intertwine and find solace in each other's presence outweighed any physical discomfort. Gingerly, she laid down beside Tara, careful to support herself and cradle Tara's head in her arms.

Nuzzling her nose into Tara's hair, (Y/n) whispered with a voice filled with love and longing, "I missed you." The words carried the weight of their shared experiences and the depth of their connection. In that tender moment, they sought solace in each other's embrace, finding strength and healing in their love.

Tara shifted slightly, snuggling closer to (Y/n)'s chest, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. The rise and fall of each other's breaths created a rhythm that matched their heartbeat, a synchrony of love and reassurance. (Y/n) pressed gentle kisses to the top of Tara's head, conveying the depth of her affection and the promise of unwavering support.

As they lay there, entwined in each other's arms, the world outside the hospital room faded away.

“I missed you too”

[crocswithoutsocks]

What do cogs eat in Toontown: Corporate Clash?

I'm doing research for a fic and have been scrounging the wiki for this information so I thought I'd compile my findings as a nice organised tumblr post in case anyone else needs access to this very specific part of the lore. There's actually a lot more than I thought there would be! If I've missed anything, feel free to add! The definitive list will be way at the bottom of the post if you just want the cold hard facts.

Section A - Foodstuffs that have a lot of evidence pointing towards their consumption by cogs.

Oil - Massive evidence for this in both Derrick Man and the CEO battle. Heals suits in Derrek Man, and seems to be their preferred food given its literally the only thing being served at the banquet? Maybe more of a beverage than a food? Still makes the list either way. Different varieties of oil are also mentioned, including carbonated/seltzer oil (from the Director's Cuts ARG andHigh Roller's trivia questions) and crude oil (discussed further below).

Cogfee (Coffee) - Cogfee is mentioned all the time. There's promotional art of Chip promoting cogfee, and his secretary also requests a new cogfee machine in the April Toons ARG. Cathal and Brian have also both delivered/refused to deliver cogfee to Allan, respectively. The Toxic Manager also gives the Insider a cup of Cogfee in the Director's cuts ARG, and there's probably even more examples of cogs drinking cogfee that I haven't included here. It's also worth a mention that Jennifer's favourite drink is a soyl mechiatto, which I would have assumed to be the cog equivalent of a machiatto with soya milk, but the fact that High Roller's trivia question on the subject makes a distinction between soyl mechiatto and cogfee mechiatto makes me doubt that the soyl one contains cogfee at all. Alas, I don't know enough about actual coffee to be able to tell you if you can even make a machiatto without coffee.

Cookies - Most of the evidence for this comes either directly or indirectly from Belle. Evidence for suits eating cookies comes from Belle's interview notes, the 1.3 blog post, the comic with Flint and Belle baking, and the C.O.O's 2023 dialogue. These also provide other things suits can eat in the form of cookie flavours: charcoal, ginger tar and crude morsels. I don't know if ginger tar is ginger flavoured tar or a variety of tar called "ginger tar", so that's up for interpretation. As far as I can tell, all three seem to function as a chocolate chip substitute, but could also possibly be replacing things like fruit or nuts in the cookies. The only non-Belle-related cookie evidence comes from the Director's Cuts ARG, where the Middleman gives the Insider a plate of crude oil cookies. I assume the crude oil used in these is a different thing than the crude morsels in the C.O.O's cookies, and I can't really identify what crude oil is supposed to be a subsitute for food-wise since it appears multiple times in different contexts.

Sandwiches and assorted ingredients - Cathal eats a sandwitch halfway through his battle, and you can't really get evidence more definitive than that. The wiki says it's specifically ham and cheese, and looking at his renders I can see that probably. In the 1.3 key art, he's got a different sandwich that looks like lettuce and tomato, so from Cathal alone, bread, ham, cheese, lettuce and tomato can be added to the list of things suits eat.

Ketchup - This is really a subsection of the last category given tomatoes have already been confirmed, but Count Erclaim steals 'Chup from Rocky on multiple occasions (notably the 'Halloween Hater comic') and Cathal also has two bottles of it in his office. There are also a concerningly high number of ketchup bottles inthe Mozzerella Styx freezer. So... Ketchup. Interestingly enough, the ad for Mozzerella Styx on High Roller's website lists 'Chup as a drink, so maybe its a suit beverage? Sure, why not.

Water - The existence of the water cooler attack implies that cogs can and do drink water, and it's also listed as an available drink three times on Mozzerella Styx's menu, as 'water', 'dihydrogen monoxide' and 'corporate water supply'. They also drink sparkling water/seltzer/carbonated water, whatever you want to call it, since Jennifer asks where she's supposed to keep her sparkling water after Spruce takes a bite out of her desk, and seltzer is one of the available options in the Mozzerella Styx drinks machine.

Cereal - Dave buys 500 boxes of cereal in the April Toons ARG. The picture identifies the cereal as 'Oil-o-Flakes', but the description says they're 'corn flakes', soooo... corn confirmed? Maybe?

Pizza - You'd think this one would be easy, given the fact that literally the only cog owned restaurant is a pizzeria, but the fact that Mozzerella Styx is a front kind of raises the question of whether they actually serve food there. Either way though, Count Erclaim orders a "none pizza with left beef" in one of his monologues, and even if his pizza is a meme it's still a pizza, and Erclaim is still a cog that's probably going to eat it. Oh. Also beef then, I guess.

The sustenance page on the gopher version of cogs.ink gets a special mention because I forgot about it completely and then felt like I'd struck gold when I stumbled back upon it. Things mentioned on this page that aren't already on the list include:

Coal, petrol-marinated beet and diamond dust inside a sandwich called the 'Money Christo'.

Sides include crispy steel bits, extra crude oil and gas-infused triple-fried coal.

Coal again, Turpentine Ansoff Jelly and Oxalic Acid patties, all of which are considered breakfast (or, deskfast, as the page says) foods.

Carbon carbonara, made with only the finest eggs and crude oil (but what ingredient can be used in cookies and also in carbonara?).

Canned bread (WHY IS IT IN A CAN?) and kerosene dip.

Compressed fish

Strawberry Daigou, which is a dessert according to the description, and also contains the allergen 'red'. I didn't know suits could be allergic to anything until now.

SODIMM SOda

Section B - Things that I'm not certain on but I thought were still worth a mention.

Pie - Allan asks if the pies the toons are throwing at him "are imported blueberry", which implies that he's eaten both imported and non-imported blueberry pies before, to be able to tell the difference. Either that or he's been hit in the face so many times with both that he's now able to tell the difference, and he doesn't actually eat them. He can tell its blueberry though, which does suggest he's had those before and knows what they taste like. Given strawberries are already confirmed, its probably safe to say that cogs eat blueberries too.

Wood - Spruce, basically. He takes a bite out of Jennifer's table during his interview, says he's got at chomping trees in his personal statement and he's always got that log in his mouth. It's never really stated whether he actually eats the trees or just bites them, though. Also, eating trees feels very much like a Spruce thing, and not something any other suits would do. Like, they probably can eat wood, but would they want to?

Coins - Its mentioned in the cog building music backstage blog post that Dave ate 20,000 Cogbucks worth of quaters in the Cashbot mints. I'm confident this is a Dave exclusive thing and that no other cog would ever do this. I think.

Section C - Things that depend entirely on the validity of Mozzerella Styx as an actual cog restaurant.

Mozzerella Styx seems like it would be a veritable gold mine of information on cog food, but that actually depends on who Mozzerella Styx's target audience actually is. Mozzerella Styx's target audience is important because if they're trying to appear as a reputable toon resturaunt, then there's no gaurentee that cogs would even eat the things on their menu, as they would be toon foods rather than cog foods. The menu is weird though, since it definetly includes things that toons would never eat, like oil, which implies either that suits are intended to eat there or that whoever wrote the menu didn't know that toons can't drink oil. The menu does seem to be geared towards toons in some way, though, given the two 'toon drink here' options in the drinks section. Who are your target market, Mozzerella Styx??? And that's not even getting into if they even sell food there. The short with the two toons ordering a pizza implies that you can definetly order there, but the outcome of that short (the toons never getting any pizza) combined with the menu says 'pay upfront', 'product not gaurenteed' and 'no refunds' makes me incredibly doubtful that anyone has ever managed to successfully eat food from Mozzerella Styx (the fact that the toons are going here also suggests its a "toon" resturaunt. Or maybe they're just chill with going to a cog owned resturaunt? They definetly at least heard Styx over the phone). HOWEVER! The fact that the 1.4.0 patch notes say they're generating more money through pizza sales, combined with the (presumably paid for) ad on High Roller's website and the fact that they have actual pizza ingredients in the freezer makes me think that maybe they are actually running a resturaunt with real food on the side of all the money laundering? Perhaps? Either way, this big long ramble has acheived nothing, and I've got no idea if these foodstuffs are any more valid than I did at the start of it. Well then. If we're assuming that cogs do eat at Mozzerella Styx, for the sake of having more data, then everything on the menu can be added to the list. This includes:

Pineapple - The head huntin' hawaiian pizza, despite the pizza pictured under it not containing any pineapple, does make another appearance on a poster where pineapple is visible. There's no sauce, though. Why is there no sauce on this pizza. (Also, I'm going to remove pineapple from the 'Mozzerella Styx Clause', since Jennifer says in Buck's interview notes that he smells like pineapple, meaning she's eaten or at least smelled it before. Therefore, it's probably a valid suit food).

Nuts and bolts - The same poster with the hawaiian pizza also suggests you add [photo of nuts and bolts]. They aren't mentioned by name, but they sure are there!

New Year Cabbage

Salad - No idea what this salad contains, so I suppose every vegetable and other thing that could possibly be in a salad is up for debate. If you wanted to make it out of already confirmed salad stuff, it would probably be lettuce, tomato and beetroot.

Mushrooms - The picture of the aledgedly hawaiian pizza appears to have mushrooms on it, and mushroom pizza is also an option.

Broccoli - The alleged hawaiian pizza also has what I think is broccolli on it, and I really like broccoli so I'm adding it to the list.

Bread-sticks

Junior Executive Juice - I hope this is juice made for junior executives and not juice made out of junior executives

Ice cream cone - Not specified whether this is an ice cream cone as in 'its ice cream in a cone' or 'it's an ice cream cone with no ice cream'. I'll assume there's ice cream involved because it seems cruel to deprive these robots of ice cream.

Waffle cone

Traffic cone - I mean... it's on the menu?

Onions

Pine - Pine needles? Pine trees? Pineapples? We will never know

Jellybeans - I find it funny that these guys are just casually eating the toons' money. Maybe there's a difference between currency jellybeans and jellybeans for eating, but its still funny.

Soda Cold-a - The drink machine by the front counter actually provides a lot of new drinks that I'm specifically exempting from the 'Mozzerella Styx Clause' due to the fact that a) Toons definetly cannot drink half of this stuff and b) this drink machine for sure exists and probably does dispense all of these things. Available beverages not yet counted include antifreeze, diet oil, coolant, Cold-a and gas (which completes the C.O.G.S trifecta! Horray, suits can officially eat everything that C.O.G.S inc produces!)

Slushies - The slushie machine behind the counter appears to dispense slushy in flavours DRINK, Zap and BLUE. There are no cups present near this machine, only cones, which implies it could be a snow cone machine, but the ad on High Roller's website shows a cup with a straw labelled 'BLUE', so either they're drinking snow cone syrup or its a slushie machine.

Snow cones

Salt and pepper - There are salt and pepper shakers on all of the tables. Horray for seasonings! Why you would put those on a pizza I have no idea.

The List

Okay, I've probably missed something but here's my definitive list, colour coded, alphabetized and sorted for your convenience. Items in black are pretty much 100% confirmed, items in blue are speculative with not much evidence and items in green depend entirely on Mozzerella Styx's validity as a cog resturant.

Human safe foods:

Beef, Beetroot, Blueberries, Bread, Bread-sticks, Broccoli, Cabbage, Carbonara, Cereal, Cheese, Cookies, Corn, Eggs, Fish, Ginger(?), Ham, Ice cream, Jellybeans, Lettuce, Mushrooms, Onions, Pepper (the seasoning not the vegetable), Pie, Pineapple, Pizza, Salad, Salt, Sandwiches, Snow cones, Strawberries, Tomatoes (and derivitives ketchup and tomato sauce), Waffle cones.

Things humans should definetly not be eating:

Charcoal, Coal, Coins, Crispy steel bits, Crude morsels, Crude Oil, Diamond dust, Extra Crude Oil, Gas-infused triple-fried coal, Ginger tar, Kerosene, Nuts and bolts, Oxalic Acid Patties, Petrol, Pine, Traffic cones, Turpentine Ansoff Jelly, Wood.

Beverages:

Antifreeze, Carbonated oil, Cogfee, Cold-a, Coolant, Diet Oil, Gas, Juice, Ketchup(?), Oil, Slushies, SODIMM SOda, Soyl, Sparkling water/Seltzer, Water.

Unidentified:

red

All of these things can probably be broken down into their core ingredients, too, which would really expand the variety of foodstuffs on offer. Basically, cog food seems to be pretty similar to human food, just with a lot more metal and machine-stuff.

[bridgetotheskyyy]

Take Care of You - Aki Hayakawa

Kinktober Masterlist

Warnings: 18+, hate sex, aggression lol, alley sex, spit kink

A/n: this was a loooot of fun, kinktober day 3 let's goooo

Word count: 2.2k

Read on ao3

“Fuck.” You caressed your throbbing cheek, quickening your pace to keep up with Aki-supreme-ass-Hayakawa. “What the fuck was that for?”

Aki dug into his pocket as he strode down the street, no doubt to fish out a lighter he surely had left on the balcony of his apartment. 

“I said I was sorry,” he said in a voice like cement. Hard. Colorless.

“You did it on purpose.” 

You glared at his disgusting, pony-tailed head and you knew, you knew, he was rolling his eyes. You loathed his stoicism. And you knew you would feel better if he had simply acknowledged you. 

The corner store bell rang, grating on the oncoming migraine simmering at the back of your skull. 

You threw your hands up after giving Aki a few seconds leeway to explain why you were here in the first place. “Why’re we stopping here?” 

“I need to get snacks for Denji and Power,” Aki answered before turning down an aisle. 

“Right,” You scoffed. Never would you understand why a devil-hunter chose to pamper two fiends. “I’m going to pretend like that makes sense.”

You turned the corner just in time to see Aki kneel by the candy racks.

You leaned against a rack, forearm crushing some random plushies. “Remind me why the half-n-half can’t just eat more puke with that cunt devil. Didn’t he swallow it, anyway?”

Your eagle-eyes caught Aki’s eyebrow twitch, but nothing more. 

“That was Denji, and that was one time,” he replied as he grabbed a series of different chocolate bars, holding them up for consideration. “Besides, you don’t know them; they’re easier to control when there’s food around.” 

You huffed. Pathetic. Your eyes never leave Aki as he raises, picks all three of the candy bars and heads to the register to wait behind two other customers. You rolled your eyes and decided to browse the chip aisle. You grabbed something hot and spicy, to fit your mood, and joined Aki in line.

“I’m not with him,” You snapped, pushing Aki out the way as the cashier offered him a bag. 

You felt a flutter of satisfaction as you know he’s glaring at your head before exiting the store, where the two of you took a shortcut into an alley.

“Ow, fuck!” Your hand flinched to your cheek after biting into a chip, acutely reminded of the pain residing there. You emitted a sound of pure disgust as you eyed Aki’s head. “Next time, I’m gonna let you get split down the middle by the devil of the week.” 

A jolt of surprise. Aki halted his stride, hand in his pockets. He looked over his shoulder.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” You bit back. “Really.”

“Hm.” Aki nodded, understanding. “Then … Who’s gonna take care of you?” 

You bit down on what remained of your chip, despite the pain. 

“Ex-fucking-scuse me?” You growled. 

“It’s as I said.” Aki turned to face you. “Who’s gonna take care of you, if I’m not here?” 

Your lips parted. The nerve … You dropped your bag. You charged toward Aki, knocking the grocery bag out of his hand, head tilted up to sneer at him. 

“I outta kill you for that.”

Aki’s eyes remained leveled on yours. Before they flickered down to your lips. 

“But you won’t.”

You felt hot tar boil in the chamber of your chest. You squeezed the neck of the chip back until your fingers itched for something else ― 

Aki was there first: he plunged hands into your chest, dragged you to the sidewall of the alley and trapped you there with his arm, caging you in.

Shock sent your eyes blinking furiously. 

Aki’s gaze hadn’t left your lips. “And I won’t let you die, either.”

He surged forward, his lips crashing against yours. 

Your gasp lodged in your throat. Shock opened your mouth for Aki to slip his tongue in. He shared the spice in your mouth as surprise kept you paralyzed.

Until it didn’t; you kicked him in the shin and threw a punch at him, only for him to catch your clench fist and pin it to the wall. 

“The fuck are you doing?”

You struggled as Aki caught your other arm.

“Let’s settle something right now,” he said, monotone, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened in the last few seconds, and it infuriated you. “You don’t like me and I don’t like you. But this …” Aki pressed into you, “whatever this is ― is interfering with our work. So let’s handle it and be on our way.”

“I don’t ― nurgh ―!” You continued fighting him, “ ― know what you’re talking about!”

“Oh?” Aki brushed his knee against your crotch where it met the slick accumulating there, dampening the fabric of your pants suit. “This is odd, then …”

Your cheeks grew hot. 

Aki crept to your ear. “What’s this” ― Aki grazed the hill of his knee into your cunt ― “then?”

You were sick of Aki’s breath hitting your face, of the wafts of his cologne making you dizzy. If it weren’t for the fucking dumpster obscuring you from the alley way, you knew he would begetting stoned right now. Still, you could scream.

… So why weren’t you?

Aki trailed kisses up your neck. You were waning off the fight as he pressed himself up against you. You sighed as he nibbled and licked at the skin at the junction of your neck and jaw, fantasized about where to bury his body as he bit hard ― hard enough to leave you marked up afterward.

“Asshole …” You moaned as, in a flash, he had both your wrists by one hand while other found your breast, kneading the soft flesh and exciting the nub probing his palm.

He stopped to come eye level with you.

“I’m gonna let go,” he murmured. “We good?”

“Never.” Your eyes flickered to the side of the street. “Aren’t you at least a little weirded out about doing it in a public place?”

Finally, emoting; Aki raised his brow. “When’d you get so law-abiding?”

He let you go, as promised.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his face ―

“You’re an ass.”

You kissed him. One hand flew to his tie to drag him by it. You bit at his lip as he swept his tongue against yours ― this time you let him, sighing as his hands grazed your neck to caress your face.

“Always ― mm,” You spoke between kisses, “thinking you’re ― mmf ― better than everyone else.”

“In what way?” Metallic clinking told you Aki was unbuckling his belt.

You hopped into Aki’s arms and miraculously he caught you in his arms. You wrapped arms and legs around him, sucking against his tongue as he lay determined to explore your mouth. 

“You’re ― mmm!” You cried out as Aki, finally done undoing his pants, snuck a hand in yours to play with your clothed cunt. “You always ― ah ― think you’re above it all ―”

“I don’t think I’m better than anyone,” Aki said, slipping his hand past the band of your panties. He found your clit with expert speed that disgusted you. “Just you.”

Your head thud against the wall, lips parting as Aki slipped two fingers inside you at once. “Fuuck …” A series of drawn-out moans escaped you as his long, long fingers invited themselves into your drenched hole. 

“Fuck you,” You managed to finish.

His mouth moved against yours, the ghost of a smirk haunting your lips. His other hand gripped your jaw to keep you facing forward. He ground into you, the hefty brick of his erection rocking into your inner thigh. 

The bastard had the nerve to be huge.

“You’re not wet enough,” Aki observed.

You broke the kiss, a bridge of spit connecting your lips, to sneer at him. “Who’s fault is that, simp? Gonna get on your knees for me? Should be easy; just pretend I’m Makima.”

He glared, blue eyes growing glacial. “You’re such a bitch.”

You smirked, considering his anger a victory.

“Just for that ―”

Like lightning, his fingers were in your mouth, forcing it open. Aki spit onto your tongue.

You screamed ― a high, girlish scream brought on by shock ― as he took his fingers out.

“There,” Aki said. “That’s better.”

“Bastard!”

Aki worked his cock from his trousers as your face contorted with rage, pulling your panties and pants to hook on your knees. You refused to look down, knowing full well he was huge and would split you open so good ―

“Let’s just finish this,” he said.

“Yes,” You echoed as he slid the tip of his cock on your fleshy folds. How dare he accidentally discover a kink of yours? How dare! “Let’s.”

He slid into you. Your moan mingled with his. Aki’s fist slammed into the wall as he kept on entering inch by inch. You lurched forward, biting into the shoulder pad of his suit. 

Aki offered you no grace period, fucking into you immediately upon filling you to the hilt. One of your legs slumped to the ground as the other hooked tight around Aki’s waist. Your body bounced with the power of his thrusts. You clenched your teeth, too proud to admit you preferred his wolfish approach.

You reached behind Aki to tug at the ponytail you hated so much, wrenching it from his hair and pulling it free. Aki jerked his head and dark locks fell around his face. You pulled yourself toward him, lips grazing the side of his cheek.

“Knew ― ah ― you wanted to fuck me,” You said into his ear, biting at the shell of it. “Only ― aha ― a matter of when ―”

“Will anything shut you up?” Aki growled.

You laid your head back and rolled it toward him with a smile. You opened your mouth, waiting for him to take the hint. Aki rolled his eyes and shoved three fingers into your mouth. You sucked, closing your eyes to enjoy what of this you could. Aki slapped lazily at your clit; you dug your heel into his back.

Aki was all around you; inside of you, against you, surrounding you. His cologne numbed your senses as he fucked you out of what little sense you had left. His balls slapped against your ass as his pace quickened, turned harder, harsher. His cock speared your insides, turning your legs to jelly. Aki’s muscles grew taut underneath his suit as you tried clinging to him for purchase. His hips jutted into you, rocking you bruise-building into the wall.

You buried a hand in his hair, pulling so hard you were sure some would be free from his scalp and pile in your palm. Aki grunted as you swept at his fingers. You startled when his fingers circled your clit. 

“Wanna see you cum around me,” he said. “Wanna see you forced to shut your mouth for once.”

You opened said mouth to retort something quick and clever ― love to see you try, Makima-simp ― but a loud moan escaped as Aki tore at your walls. His thick cock bruised your insides so thoroughly you were sure you would soon feel him in your throat.

Shit, he might just do it.

He gripped your hips, brought you forward to meet one of his thrusts, and knocked the air from your lungs as he bottomed out inside of you. 

A tightness spread taut inside you, drawing your toes to curl and your head to fog. You clung tighter to Aki as his pace showed no sign of letting up.

“Ah! Aahh!”

“Go on,” Aki urged, the husk in his voice alerting you he was close to a climax of his own. His fingers whirled around your aching clit.

“Gonna cum ―” You rasped, out of your mind.

“Go on, finish on my cock ― urgh!”

Aki made to pull out ― your clenching pussy guaranteed he didn’t. He pressed his forehead against yours, grunting through gritted teeth as you fell apart around him, milking him for all he was worth and more. You pulled on his jacket hard enough to rip out the sleeves. A faint warmth filled you as you bit your lip, grinding up against Aki to ride out your climax. 

“Ah, fuuuck!” You bent your head, pulling Aki close by the back of his. “F ―Fuck …”

The pleasure crescendoed. You bit your cheek, surely drawing blood. The thrill began to wane. Minutes reclaiming lost oxygen restored your sanity. You opened your eyes and through the haze saw Aki pull out at last, a rope of his cum slipping from your cunt a few seconds later.

Aki realized it before you did. “Damnit.”

“Oh, good going, genius.” You hastened to pull your underwear and pants up before you could leak over yourself. “I can’t wait to tell everyone Aki Hayakawa’s pull-out game is weak as shit.”

Aki didn’t answer, watching you as he dressed himself. “I’m sorry.”

Oh, no. You were not about to let him turn this into a serious moment. “Don’t worry about it.” You sighed, waving him off with one hand while ironing your clothes down with the other. “I got it covered. You know I’m never gonna let you live this down, though, right?”

You laughed as Aki closed his eyes. His eyebrow twitched.

“Yeah.”

Aki languidly retrieved the abandoned snacks. The two of you resumed your way down the alley. You looped an arm around Aki’s neck to pull him close.

“Maybe I was wrong,” You whispered into his side. “Maybe you’re not so bad.”

He side-eyed you. “I hate you.”

You flashed him an innocuous smile.

“No, you don’t.”