#or at the same time as another tattoo because it's so stupid fuckin simple

[iateyourburrito]

Updated Tattoo want list

- Mars Rover (wrist)

- Crom Cruach Ouroborous (other wrist. Secret of kells style)

- The Aten (sleeve style, same arm as rover)

- Laika puppy [+ Sputnik?] (back?)

- Pale Blue Dot (ankle)

#can you tell I like space #i don't know if it's obvious #tempted to get a satellite too but I have very specific ideas on where I want things #might try those inkbox custom ones so I can test out some areas for them tbh #the undecided area ones anyways #if I do Laika i want her on my back but if I add Sputnik I'm not sure if I still want it on the back yk? #also I don't want hyper realistic tattoos #they're just not appealing to me tbh #i need like #weird al Yankovic style stuff that could be in one of his music videos yk #like the dare to be stupid MV #now I'm rambling #ah well #anyways I've been looking for a tattoo artist that's affordable though I will be saving up for the sleeve because I want it in the style of #the tomb paintings and getting that style right is REALLY important to me #also the secret of kells one #i think I want the secret of kells one lineless and just with color but I'd have to consult #the rover is actually already designed by one of my friends! i want that to be my first one tbh #also I'm tempted to get colored ink and do the pale blue dot one on my own #or at the same time as another tattoo because it's so stupid fuckin simple

[hermannsthumb]

Okay but what about Hermann is just horny 24/7, but he's repressing his feelings. And Newt who sees it and maybe is enjoying a bit. And one day Newt just pins Hermann to a lab wall, ties his arms with a belt or sleeves of his shirt and teases Hermann until he melts in his hands. And Newt murmurs to Hermann something like "sweetheart, you could have just said.." This thought makes me DEAD

a fic! somewhat obviously rated 18+/not for kids' eyes!!!!! so all hidden below the cut, lmfao. dedicated to people on side twitter bc boy do I love some light d/s + nerm

It’s not like Newt’s never looked at Hermann before. Look-looked, in like, a sexy, considering way. It gets lonely in the lab with just the two of them, after all, and usually Hermann is the only face Newt will see for hours, days, one memorable occasion when they were super-swamped with work, a week. His face is the only one that comes to mind when Newt wants to have sexy thoughts for that reason—it’s just, like, easier and takes less imagination to masturbate to the thought of the guy you see every day than anyone else. And Hermann is kind of hot, Newt guesses, in a weird, repressed nerd kind of way. He thinks it has something to do with not knowing what Hermann's bothering to repress so bad. Maybe he's got a hot bod under all those layers or sucks dick like a porn star or something. Or he's hiding how horny he is all the time and would love nothing more than to cut loose for once. (Newt would be happy to take one for the team!) It's gotta be that, because Newt can't imagine why else the thought of Hermann—scowling and hunching over a chalkboard in one of his god-awful tweed blazers—gets him so goddamn riled up every time he sticks his hand down his pants.

Whatever the appeal is, Newt's masturbatory fantasies tend to tilt towards very particular (and well-loved) scenarios: Hermann finally gets fed up with Newt’s obnoxious behavior and shoves him against a wall to teach him a lesson, or Hermann holds Newt down on a bed or the lab couch or the floor and has his way with him to teach him a lesson, or Hermann grips Newt’s shoulders and uses his mouth in any way he sees fit to teach him a lesson. Newt's real into the idea of Hermann being in control. Or, in other words, Hermann doing the doing, Newt doing the taking. Not that Newt is adverse to topping. He'd be down for it if Hermann was. (And not that Newt spends a lot of time considering what Hermann is down for, and whether or not letting Newt top him is on that list, but yeah, Newt does kind of hope it would be.)

He's just...always assumed Hermann would want things that way. Newt's kind of assumed that he would want them that way, too.

All of his preconceived sexy notions about Hermann come crashing down around him one completely ordinary day in the lab.

It happens in a flash, too. A couple of seconds max. Hermann is over in Newt's space (he flagrantly disobeys the tape line more than Newt does, no matter what he may claim), shouting at him about something dumb and waving his cane around for dramatic effect. Only he's not looking where he's waving it, and the end of it comes into contact with a vial of some somewhat lethal weird kaiju gland extract that Newt's been planning on experimenting with this week, and the whole thing fuckin' shatters. "Shit!" Newt says, at the same time Hermann says "Bugger," and, before Newt knows it, Hermann's reaching out to save a pile of Newt's lab notes from certain kaiju gland death.

Which is royally stupid of him. That stuff is already eating through Newt's wooden work bench like it's nothing—God knows what it'd do to Hermann's skin. Newt's messy notes are not worth it.

"Dude, no," Newt exclaims, and grabs Hermann's wrist to stop him.

And Hermann...moans.

They stare at each other. The kaiju gland extract drips to the metal floor, where it sizzles harmlessly.

Hermann pulls his arm away.

"Clean this up," he snaps. He turns heel and storms out, giving Newt a spectacular view of the fiery red flush spreading down the back of his neck.

Huh, Newt thinks. That's something new.

-----

"I'm not some sort of sexual deviant," Hermann assures him. "I have. Er. Entirely respectable—tastes. Typically."

"Uh-huh," Newt says.

"Only this is quite out of character for me," Hermann says.

Newt pulls his tie taut around Hermann's wrists to watch Hermann squirm and grins, just a little, before knotting it loosely. "No offense, Hermann," he says, "but bondage isn't exactly hardcore. Besides, it's fine if you like out-there kinda stuff. No judgement."

“But I don’t,” Hermann says.

“I’m not saying you do,” Newt says, “I’m saying—”

“And this isn’t bondage.” Hermann sniffs. “Bondage sounds—”

"Look, dude, do I need to gag you?" Newt jokes.

Except Hermann maybe doesn't get the joke: his eyes widen, and mouth hangs open. Not exactly the shouty, loud response and demand for respect Newt was expecting. Also something new. Newt's learning a lot of very, very unexpected things about Hermann, and part of him wishes he had a notebook or his tape recorder on hand to take inventory of all of it. Subject A (Hermann Gottlieb) likes having his wrists pinned and his big dumb mouth shut up. Conclusion: ? "I—I beg your pardon?" Hermann says.

Today marks a week after the kaiju gland incident. A week of furtive glances across the tape line, Hermann's badly-hidden blushes, and Newt reevaluating every single goddamn thing he's ever thought or assumed about the guy (and himself, to be honest), and Newt was finally the one to snap. In Newt's defense, it wasn't totally out of the blue. At lunch time an uncharacteristically quiet and bashful Hermann slid a cup of coffee onto Newt's desk, mumbling something about how Newt really needed to get more sleep, and Newt just...

Hermann didn't moan when Newt grabbed his wrists that time; his tongue darted out over his lips, and he looked at Newt through the dark eyelashes of his half-mast eyelids. "Please," he had said.

Newt gets why Hermann was being so weird and cagey about it, he really does. It’s hard to admit to yourself you want something kinda embarrassing, and Newt knows it’s just as embarrassing for Hermann to like him as it is for Newt to like Hermann. Newt’s weird, and small, and probably smells bad, and Hermann’s weird, and smells bad (cigarette smoke and moth-eaten sweaters, but Newt jerks off to it anyway, huh, doesn't he), and is slightly not as small. But holy shit, if he didn’t melt into a puddle when Hermann breathed that out all desperately, like it took all he had.

“Do you want me to gag you?” Newt says.

He’s using the skinny tie Hermann claims to hate so much on his wrists, or he might’ve seriously balled up the fabric and shoved it into Hermann’s mouth. There’s not much else in the way of gags readily on hand in the lab, no fabric scraps or anything like that. Maybe they’ll try it later. He kisses Hermann instead, slipping his tongue past those open lips, and Hermann parts them wider with a throaty groan. "Ah, Newton—"

Newt didn’t really expect their first kiss to go like this. He didn’t expect their first kiss to, like, happen in the first place, but it’s especially weird that it’s happening while Hermann is bound up and pressed up against his chalkboard. Newt's been keeping an eye on Hermann's leg, careful of any sign that it's going to give out and that they should move this to the couch, but Newt's knee between both of Hermann's seems to be all the support he needs. “I’m here, dude,” he says, and slips down to press a gentle kiss to Hermann’s jaw instead, then his neck. Hermann tilts his head back with another groan; he flexes against his restraints.

Is Newt the first person Hermann's ever done this with? Or trusted enough to tell he wants to do this?

The possibility kinda just makes this all hotter to Newt. He drags the tips of his fingers up Hermann's chest, feeling his heart pound through the thick layers of his button-down and sweatervest, and drags them back down. He stops just at Hermann's bound wrists. Hermann groans softly. "Do you want me to touch you more?" Newt says.

"Please," Hermann says, "ah, please, Newton—"

Newt does, smiling as he curls up on the toes of his boots and presses another kiss to Hermann's mouth. His right hand, he uses to ruck up Hermann's sweatervest and dig under his shirt; his left hand, he curls the fingers of in Hermann's skinny tie bindings to tug sharply. Hermann's chest is bony and warm beneath his palm. His heart is beating faster, and faster. "Please," Hermann begs again, and this time when Newt kisses him, he sags against Newt helplessly.

"Hermann," Newt murmurs. Hermann's breath is fogging up his glasses and making it difficult for him to see. Which is a goddamn shame, because Newt wants to, like, memorize the image of a flushed and panting and begging Hermann, tattoo it to his skin forever as a reminder of today, a whole big splash of color on his back where he was planning on putting another kaiju. Yeah, Newt takes back what he said earlier, Hermann isn't just kinda hot—he's very hot. He drags his tongue over Hermann's pulse point, and says, just as gently, "Hermann, you could've just said."

Newt would've done anything for Hermann when he grabbed Hermann's wrists and Hermann breathed out a simple please, and Newt would do anything for Hermann now. Newt would get every single tattoo removed if it meant making Hermann happy. He bites down on the sweaty, pale skin of Hermann's neck, unable to hold back a moan of his own when Hermann's whole body writhes with it, and shoves his hand down Hermann's oversized slacks.

"I want you to come," Newt mumbles, rubbing at him furiously, "I want you to come, I wanna make you come, I wanna—"

Hermann muffles his cry in Newt's shoulder when he does. Newt waits until he's stopped shaking to untie his wrists carefully, and isn't surprised when Hermann immediately grabs Newt's shoulders to steady himself. (Hermann thighs are still trembling from the awesome orgasm Newt gave him. It's pretty hot. But also, Newt should probably grab his cane for him.) "You—you've made a terrific mess of me," Hermann sniffs, vaguely annoyed, like he's reprimanding Newt for knocking a piece of kaiju intestine on the floor again.

Newt decides not to mention to Hermann that he kinda soaked the knee of Newt's jeans, too. He can do laundry later. "Sorry, man," Newt says, but Hermann gives another, happier sniff when Newt kisses his cheek. "I'll take care of it."

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag

[idontmeantosoundrudebut]

This is Home (stupid Eretlout oneshot)

Oh hello it is currently 4 am and I've just finished this impulse one-shot about Modern Eretlout haha lol bruh! It's set in Britain by the way, because I'm British and I love my British culture lol! This hasn't been edited by the way so... yeah, it's really bad in my opinion but I need to post some writing because yeah! I'm actually currently working on a long Eretlout fic but I have no idea when/if it'll be finished so haha lol bruh awkward! Oh yeah, warning of abuse and past child abuse and only slightly steamy content, really its just making out and all that!!! haha lol bruh enjoy

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Blood fills his mouth. It drips from his chin, pours from his head, spills from his nostrils.

He opens his red-speckled fist and a tooth lies in the scarlet pool gathered in his palm, it almost looks like gold beneath the glow of the streetlamp that slants into his car. His upper jaw throbs from where he'd yanked out the already loose tooth and he can make out the rivulets of gum-flesh still clinging onto the roots. He stares at it with an unbothered and tired expression.

"Couldn't even punch my tooth outright," He mumbles to himself, opening the glove box and chucking the tooth inside, "Had to yank it out myself,"

It makes a high-pitched clanging sound as it bounces off a half-finished bottle of Captain Morgan and then, silently, it disappears behind the several cigarette cartons that lay piled unceremoniously within (Marlboro Reds, Marlboro Golds, Caramel Blues, Regal Kingsizes, even the odd Mayfair for when he gets desperately low). He reaches a hand inside and rummages through the collection, most of them are empty at this point, he needs to restock and clean out his car, it's been a solid few months since he did that. He shakes a Caramel carton, empty. Another Caramel? Empty. Marlboro Red? Empty. Regal? Ah, lucky day, only half-empty.

A great sigh forces its way through his clogged nostrils and, with the abruptness of a cut artery, blood spatters all over his shirt and along his forearms. His hand freezes mid-air, fingers tight around the bending carton as he blinks slowly, anger simmering beneath his skin because really? Really?! He looks down at his shirt, it was ruined anyway. He'll never get the red out that white, looks like someone's just slit his throat from all the blood that's been pouring down his neck. That table-corner got him good in the head and cut a deep gash just above his eyebrow, the entire right side of his face is crimson with blood and it shimmers in the flickering lamplight.

He bites into the end of the cigarette and lights it with a silver zippo, the flame casting writhing shadows across his blood-spattered hand. The first drag is the best, the first hit to the back of his throat, the first exhale of smoke. Each heartbeat hurts a little less with a little more smoke, a little more tar, a little more death in his lungs.

Snotlout starts the car and drives away. He watches his childhood home disappear around the corner and it feels like goodbye. He can't kind it in himself to be sad about it.

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

He parks outside of Eret's house on the edge of the path, walking up to the red door with a tidy black seven nailed on it.

"Oh Snotlout, love, you alright?" Comes a familiar voice and he looks over to see Chantel from next door, wrapped in her dressing gown with a black bin bag clutched in her hands.

Eret's house is tucked in the centre of a row of brick houses, it's the kind of street where everyone knows everyone and everyone knows everything, whether you like it or not. In the last year, Snotlout has gotten to know a lot of people (and a lot of rumours) who live along this here street.

"I'm alright, Chan," He says honestly (because he is alright, it's just a bit of blood and few bruises) and stamps the butt-end of his fifth cigarette in thirty minutes into the cracked path.

"You 'aven't been fighten' again, 'ave you? With those Trapper boys?" Chantel asks severely, a mother of four, she's very intuned to her maternal instincts and even the slightest sign of distress has them flaring up, "It better not be with those Grimborn brothers! I'm telllen' you Snotlout, those two are shady bastards and its best to stay clear of 'em-"

Snotlout lights another smoke, this one from a full carton of Marlboro Red, and spits blood and phlegm onto the grass, tongue prodding the empty socket in his jaw.

"I haven't been fighting, Chan, promise," He reassures her, and that's also true because he didn't fight back at all, it was more of a beat down, "Just a disagreement with my old man, you know how it is,"

Chantel's back straightens like she's been in the army her whole life and she crosses her arms over her chest, red hair wet and shining like blood in the moonlight. Only four of the streetlamps work and they're further down the road, so the road and paths are alight only from the horseshoe moon that hovers amongst the star-filled sky, the black-asphalt gleaming silver. They've been complaints to the council to get them all fixed, but they won't do anything, they never do, they just leave the poor to rot.

She looks like she's about to say something about it, but he shakes his head at her. Instead of telling him to call the police, she says;

"You're bleedin' like a stuck pig all over the place, Lout, people'll gonna be thinkin' that Jack the Ripper is back from the fuckin' dead," He laughs at that and he offers a straight to her, as a thanks for not making a big fuss over finding him bloodied like a murdered boy in the middle of the night, but she shakes her head.

"You're grand, love, I got a pouch this mornin', save 'em for desperate times," Chantel looks him up and down, black eyes near white in the moonlight, "You look like you're in one now,"

Snotlout agrees with her. He waves a hand to bid her goodnight and goes inside. He closes and he turns on the hallway light. The marrow-deep tension in his bones slips away, causing a breath that comes from the very bottom of his tar-clogged lungs to fall from his lips, and his hurting heart finally stops beating against his ribs like a jackhammer as he leans against the front door.

He's safe, he's home. Because this small, shoddy house with its water-stained ceilings and peeling wallpaper and creaking floorboards is home. It's simple and a little broken, but it's home.

"Snotlout?" Eret calls from upstairs, he can see the bedroom light glow up the hallway at the top of the stairs, "That you?"

"Yeah," He takes a generous drag, then exhales slowly, "It's me, sorry I'm late... Went to see my dad, after work,"

Footsteps ring across the house and Eret appears at the top of the stairs, dressed in nothing but a ratty pair of grey jogging bottoms, his terribly handsome torso bare for Snotlout and Snotlout alone to see. He grins proudly around his cigarette at the sight of those hard abbs, those firm pecs, those faint scars, those old gang tattoos. Oh, what a handsome devil he is and Snotlout caught him all on his own.

"Fuckin' Hell, Snotlout!" Eret comes charging down the stairs like a mad horse and Snotlout barely blinks when he comes over to him, large hands gracing over his oozing temple and along his bruising jaw. The touch is very much welcomed.

"What happened? Were you jumped?"

"No, I wasn't fucking jumped-"

"You've lost a tooth!"

"It's in the car, in the glove box, I'll get Gobber to stick it back on,"

"I don't think that's how it works, darlin',"

Eret drags him into the living and posts him on the black vinyl couch. Hookfang, his German Shepherd, immediately bounds over to him and rests his snout on top of Snotlout's knees, wet nose twitching and throat moving with unfurling whines and whimpers. He pets him affectionally between his ears, humming lowly to Hookfang to help ease the old war-vet. Eret goes to snatch the half-smoked cigarette from his fingers, but Snotlout's reflexes are too fast.

"Hey! I'm not done, asshole,"

"Not smokin' in the house is your rule, not mine, I'm just helpin' you out,"

"Fuck that rule, just for tonight, fuck it,"

With a rich laugh, Eret saunters into the kitchen to get the med-kit. But Snotlout saw the concern and anxiety in those dark, earthy eyes and he heard it too in that laugh, it was a little shaky at the end. Hookfang barks at him.

"Easy Hookfang, I'm okay," He barks again, louder, black eyes glistening with fear, "I know pal, there's a lot of blood, but it's okay, I'm okay, soldier," He ruffles the War-dog's neck lovingly, trying to ease Hookfang's unnerved mood and distract him from the blood. It probably brings back bad memories for him.

Eret comes back with the med-kit tucked beneath his armpit and a large bowl of water cradled in his hands. He set it on the coffee table and politely nudges Hookfang out of the way, the Shepherd in turn leaps onto the couch and curls dutifully at Snotlout's side. Such a loyal friend, Snotlout doesn't deserve something as honourable as Hookfang's fidelity.

"Look like a stuck pig," Eret whisper, running a wet dishtowel along the drying river of blood that pours down his face and throat.

"Ha, Chantel said the exact same thing," He chuckles lowly, watching rivulets of watery blood travel down Eret's powerful forearms as he sponges at the blood along his cheek.

"Chantel?" He queries, eyes briefly flickering to meet his.

"Yeah, caught outside just as I was coming in," Snotlout closes his eyes as he lifts his chin so Eret can easily swipe the already stained towel down his throat. It leaves a funny tightness in his gut and a nice shiver ghosts up his spine at the vulnerable display.

"Well, expect the whole street to know by lunchtime tomorrow," Eret replies, then adds, "I mean, I love Chantel to pieces, but by God, she gossips like there is no tomorrow,"

Snotlout nods in agreement, smoking his cigarette and tapping the ash into an ashtray that's always kept on the coffee table, despite his own rule of no smoking in the house. But he's never been good at keeping to the rules, even his own ones. Eret wipes away the twin-tracks of maroon streaking from his nose and begins to wrap the gash above his eyebrow up.

"We'll go to the doctor tomorrow mornin', yeah? Think you might need stitches,"

"Cool," Is his reply, tired and uninterested.

All the blood is finally cleared from his skin. The towel is scarlet. The bowl on the table is no longer a bowl of water, but a bowl of blood. A swathe of bandages is wrapped around his head like a bandana, but there hasn't been any bleed through for a few minutes so Eret looks satisfied (and rather proud) at his nursing work.

After a moment, Snotlout flicks his finished fag into the ashtray and stares into Eret's dark eyes; he's very tired.

"Thanks for patching me up, babe," Snotlout says quietly, not because he doesn't mean it but because he is full of such a sudden exhaustion that it feels well overdue. His head, his brain, needs a good rest or else he's going to start screaming.

"No problem," Eret soothes his large hands up and down Snotlout's thighs, "Now, are you going to tell me what happened?"

Snotlout sighs, big and heavy, hand settling on the nape of Hookfang's neck and running through the dense fur. His heart shudders, his lung quiver, his blood boils, his body doesn't like any of this. Just get it over with, as he did with his dad.

"I told my dad about us. About me... you know, liking guys and all-"

"And he did this to you?" Eret's voice goes low, like a growl of an animal with its teeth bared. Snotlout would be lying if he said it didn't turn him on a bit. Thick fingers curl protectively around his thighs.

"Eret, don't get yourself all riled up about it, okay? It's done. I knew he'd react like this, it's not the first time he's punched me around and called me a faggot, just this time, he actually had a reason to call me one,"

"Yeah, well, it may not have been his first time but it sure as fuck is his last, do you understand?" Eret snarls vehemently, hands moving from his thighs to his hips and sides, Snotlout doesn't even flinch when he accidentally brushes against a forming bruise, "You are never going near him again, Lout, I won't let you be hurt by scum like that,"

Eret's eyes burn. Dark soil and spitting embers in furrowed sockets. The firm frown on his face and the clenching muscles in his jaw, grinding teeth that thirst for a hating man's blood. It's making Snotlout's throat go dry.

"You're hot when you're angry, have I told you that before?" He says lowly and Eret looks at him, vengefulness fading as he takes note of the wanton look in those pale eyes.

"You may have mentioned it once or twice,"

They breathe on each other's lips, tempting, waiting for the first one to move. Hookfang books it upstairs, sensing the heady change in the air.

Eret pushes Snotlout back onto the couch and crawls carefully over him, their lips immediately locking in a wet and obscene kiss that stretches on and on forever. Snotlout moans as Eret forces his tongue down his throat, golden hands skimming beneath his shirt and touching the tender flesh beneath in a skilled and teasing way that drives him mad. They make out for a while, dominating each other's mouths with vigour and gusto till their breathless and sweating.

The bloodied shirt is pulled over his head and Eret stills above him when he sees the black and blue bruises that bloom along his ribs and chest and stomach, even Snotlout gazes at them with morbid curiously. Fuck, his dad got him more than he realised. Not that it matters.

"I'll kill him, Snotlout, I'll kill him," Eret promises in a snarling growl and Snotlout wraps his arms around his shoulders, drawing him down so he can mumble against his lips;

"I know, but fuck me first,"

Of course, Eret complies.

Later, tangled in a mass of sweaty limbs and exhausted desires, Snotlout knows that he'll be okay. With his head on Eret's chest, he closes his eyes and sleeps because he's home, home has always been in those dark eyes, in those large hands, in those warm arms. Home has always been here.

Eret, a wanderer for most of his life, a lost man at sea who was bound for dirty work, has finally found a place to set loose his anchor. Snotlout is home, is the harbour he'll always be homebound to. He'll protect his Snotlout because who is he but a wanderer without his home.

#snotlout whump #Snotlout #eret son of eret #eretlout #fanfic #httyd fanfiction #this is crack

[leavetwn]

* KAYLEE BRYANT, CISWOMAN + SHE/HER  | you know SUZIE TANAKA, right? they’re TWENTY-ONE, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, EIGHTEEN YEARS? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to VALENTINE BY HOPE TALA like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole ROLLERSKATES SCUFFED FROM YEARS OF USE, STARTING A JOURNAL ENTRY TWO YEARS SINCE THE LAST ONE, A SIGH OF RELIEF ONCE YOU'RE FINALLY ALONE thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is NOVEMBER 28TH, so they’re a SAGGITARIUS, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( claire, 22, est, she/her )

it’s me again ! bringing a character who i’ve played for a while now, just switched up & such for every rp, and now , i’m bringin her here. :^) i hope you enjoy her as much as i do! tw: mentions of mental illness (anxiety)

𝐈. ━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 .

full name: suzie tanaka. nickname(s): su, anything your muse wants to call her tbh. age: twenty-one. date of birth: november 28th. zodiac sign: saggitarius. gender/pronouns: ciswoman, she/her. sexual orientation: bisexual. romantic orientation: biromantic. hometown: san francisco, californio. current residence: irving, north carolina. occupation: part time waitress at cutie pie’s thanks to her skills on skates. full time student at the local college in her junior year as a creative writing major. she minors in film pro eye color: brown. hair color/style: dark brown, upper-mid back length & she usually just wears it in a simple ponytail. it’s more manageable when she’s out. however, when she’s at home, she’ll leave it down. height : 5′3″. clothing style: you can’t really put suzie’s style into one category. it’s inspired by several different eras & many times she pieces it together. some might call it a bit tacky at times, but she thinks it looks cute. to her, that’s all that matters. tattoos: none. probably could never attempt to get one cause she’s seriously afraid of needles lol. piercings: her ears and that’s when she was fairly young. reference the tattoos portion for reasoning.

𝐈. ━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 .

when you were around six years old  , you first realized that you were lonely. it wasn’t like you weren’t around other people. it was just that those people were mostly your mom and dad. occasionally your cousins would come over sometimes, but they were all older than you by at least four years. your parents were kind of eccentric, and for that, they experienced how harsh other kids could be very early on. they decided they didn’t want you to experience the same things, so since both were felt they were prepared enough to do so, they homeschooled you to keep you sheltered from those types of things. 

you’re sure they had good intentions. that’s not something you questioned, but you wished they’d at least find another kid you could be friends with or have another kid. you found yourself bored by yourself, so you immersed yourself in things like books or whatever movies they had around the house. this is where your love of fairytales began, and you’d fantasize about living in one while you read or watched the stories unfold.

you lived in your head, and you still pretty much do. you’re an idealist, even though you haven’t seen much of the world. perhaps it’s the fact that you haven’t ventured very far from your home that makes you so, and while life could still be boring, you always had another book or movie to keep you company. you grew content being on your own, and the more that you were, the more you began to enjoy your own company.

that didn’t change the fact that you longed for friends. in all the stories you read or watched, the protagonist had one other person along with them for much of their journey. sure, you had people that you were friendly with, but it was never to the extent that you wanted. it was never a best friend or a close group  —  just someone you saw on few occasions. it also didn’t help how you felt when you were around others. the way you monitored every step you took, the way you crossed your legs, or going over the way you would speak to someone in your head over and over. you figured for the longest time it was because you were shy, but a diagnosis of anxiety gave you a lot more clarity and almost a sense of relief. those things started to make more sense.

being alone helped a lot when it came to academics. you spent a lot of your time studying or looking up random ass facts on the internet, and because of this, you’d call yourself fairly smart. you know your shit. it also helped a lot when getting into colleges. you didn’t aim too high though, not yet comfortable being all the way on your own. so, you chose the nearby university to attend. 

you move out. you’re excited, and your parents are nervous but prepared. they’re not oblivious to the fact that this day would come. you’re ready to go out and face the world, but most of all, you’re ready to make friends. you’re ready to go out and experience the world, every small step at a time. you’re convinced at college you’ll become a brand new person, find yourself, and make plenty of friends. 

it doesn’t go like that at first. of course it doesn’t. it’s a new environment, and it takes getting used to. but soon, people loosen up and warm up to you. you’re quick to make a couple of friends. it isn’t at all like the stories you’d read or watched when you were younger. it is happy and fun and joyous, but you realize that friendships take work. it’s a bit exhausting, as someone who had become such an introvert, but you manage and form close bonds. 

as of now, you are working on your degree and managing life one step at a time. you’re doing pretty well, and things are looking up. you keep your head in the clouds still to this day, imagining what the future will be like. you’re still idealistic and optimistic, not that that’s a bad thing.  

𝐈. ━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 .

i was being exaggerative with the ‘being at home’ stuff rip. i mean, she did spend a lot of time at home, but she wasn’t always there. her dad would take her out to rockin’ and rollin’, and i mean, she fuckin rocks when it comes to skating. it was kind of freeing to her as a child. she def got a pair of rollerblades as a christmas present, and she probably was the kid skating down her neighborhood road and shit from sunrise until her mom told her to take her ass inside. 

maybe seems like she’s ditzy and she’s probably somewhat naive, but she’s definitely not stupid. she’s also a fast learner. she is, however, too nice for her own good. she’ll learn eventually, but she’s hopeful and an optimist at heart 💔

loves her dad but tells her mom everything. she doesn’t recognize it, but her mom was probably her first best friend lmaoo. they have a really good relationship. she has a good relationship with her dad too. he’s a bit more closed off than her mom, and she recognizes that but understands.

has an irrational fear that everyone’s like,,, staring at her & thinking she’s weird. really wants everyone to like her but she’s not sure how to make that happen (news flash, it won’t)

her fam is actually from san francisco but when she was 3, her dad got a better offer in irving so that’s how they ended up here. she knows this & she wonders what life woulda been like if she stayed back in san fran. probably wouldn’t have changed but she literally lives in her head and imagines shit like that’s her job at this point so yehhh 

dreams of being a screenwriter and maybe even a director one day. she saw how film and books influenced her life as a kid & she wants to have the same impact, yk? v cute to me i love that. maybe she’ll write a book one day too who knows

i’m feelin like she has a ton of online friends cause she was seeking connection /w people so it makes sense. shout out to all her online pals who kept her sane & shit, but it wasn’t enough for her cause she really wanted those kinds of things irl.

is a hopeless romantic rip to her. just wants someone to sweep her up off her feet and give her butterflies but this aint no damn fairytale so let’s make it chaotic

character parallels: lily (dash & lily, 2020) , amélie poulain (amélie, 2001) , belle in some ways lmao (beauty and the beast, 1991) more to be added.

𝐈. ━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 .

*  friends, best friends, etc.  — literally any friends at all. this is the connection she craves the most tbh. platonic over romantic periodt ! she just wants people to braid her hair and have deep, personal convos with about literally anything while legally blonde is on the television. 

* a bad influence  —  i mean, she stayed inside mostly & is kind of an introvert. didn’t have tons of friends either, so she didn’t really have time to go to parties, etc. BE A BAD INFLUENCE SHE NEEDS TO LET LOOSE LMAOO. it’ll prolly take a lot to get her out but hey 

* good influence  — someone she’s a good influence on & who she helps in some way. i could see it happenin’. if you see it happening, i mean... hmu you know where i am mwah 💖

* crush  — someone she’s head over heels with. i mean, it probably wouldn’t take a lot. in my head she be catching feelings way too fast. it’s just a thing, but yeah, it could go either way. maybe your character is into her too or she’ll end up getting her heart broken which is lmao bound to happen one day. could also be someone who’s crushing on her but she’s way to busy focusing all her romantic attention on someone else to notice? idk i’m just here for all the plots.

* annoyance  — someone who finds her ass annoying/does not like her. she wants everyone to like her so it would be so confusing and upsetting and she would be like wtf did i do but i want it cause i love angst. sorry to all my muses out there luv yall but i’m just bein real

* again, anything at all  — if you have an idea that you love, pls don’t hesitate to hmu and lemme know. i promise i will 99.9% of the time be down. the same goes for any wanted connection doodads that i reblog like if u see it and ur like omg i luv that... PLEASE hmu i luv u all already & just wanna have plots and write with you srsly

#irvingintro #well there u have it my last one done i am so THANKFUL AND HAPPY #takes a bow #the way it's almost 4 am see i did not lie i am up forever

[shortythescreen]

come over

Warning(s): NSFT/18+, friends with benefits, sex with feelings lol. 

Relationship(s): Octane/Female Reader.  

Author’s Notes: this was my first post on ao3 and i’m trying to actually start using this blog so. here’s the post, lmao! my spanish sucks but i understand everything, hence the ref to a meme in spanish. :) 

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3.

come over?

That’s what lights up your phone screen at damn near three in the morning. You roll over, squinting at the bright screen as you grab it from your bedside table. It’s one of the lamest texts you’ve ever gotten. It’s barely a step up from the even more basic ‘u up?’ and you’re half tempted to leave him on read. Octavio can do better than that.

Yet, you scroll through your compilation of gifs and send him one of a woman rolling her eyes. Sure, it’s disdainful but he now knows that you are, in fact, awake.

About three months ago, you were offered a job by Apex, the corporation running the well renowned Apex Games. The offered pay was astronomical in comparison to what you made at your humble little gig as a thorn in a journalist’s side. Room and lodging would be included in the miniature city built just for Champions and the people who made the games happen.

All you had to do was do what you do best. Take pictures.

Every advertisement, webpage, and piece of merchandise is covered with your pictures of the Legends. Those that you take in the studio given to you and those that you take off the clock. Every picture on your camera belongs to Apex, even with your signature scratched at the bottom of all of them.

Because of this, it had taken a select few Legends time to warm up to you. Others, not so much.

Octavio, better known as Octane, might as well have sat in your lap when you walked in with a camera hanging around your neck.

Though you’re a lot quieter than ‘The Adrenaline Junkie’, you have about as much impulse control as he does. So one night when he’d visited you in your studio a little past business hours, brandishing a bottle of Hennessey Black the size of your head, one thing lead to another and, well.

The events of that night lead to you getting texts from Octavio at damn near three in the fucking morning asking you to come over.

i have a box of wings and a bottle of Smirnoff with ur name on it.

You bite the tip of your tongue. The offer’s tempting.

and other things, if you can keep up. ;)

That, even more so.

Against your better judgment, you text him back with words instead of a gif. You’ll be over in ten minutes.  If he drinks all the liquor before you get there, you’re leaving. You imagine him cackling at his screen because if you know him at all, and you do, he’s probably polished off at least a quarter of the bottle on his own.

Octavio’s apartment is a five minute walk from yours but you gave yourself an extra five to brush your teeth and find your shoes. The penthouse suites offered to all the Legends is right across the street from your simple one bedroom.

When you first moved in, you thought maybe Apex Corp wanted you to take paparazzi sort of shots of their competitors. They’ve never asked you to and you haven’t bothered to try, so you guess they just gave you what was available.

Whatever. You don’t mind living in earshot of some of the deadliest people in the Outlands. Especially now that you’re fucking one of them.

God, you never thought you’d be in this position. Sure, you’re not fucking blind, most of the Legends are attractive. Bangalore has a smirk that drops panties and a voice that’s a little more gravelly than the average woman. Wraith’s got the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen, powers or otherwise, and her skin is flawless. Gibraltar could probably defeat half of his opponents by throwing them.

Even those that you can’t see the faces of have appeal – Bloodhound’s shroud of mystery has gained them quite the following online and what Octavio doesn’t show of his face is made up for by his stupid little crop top.

You just… Didn’t anticipate any of them finding you attractive too. Least of all the speedster with a penchant for picking up bad habits. Like fucking the photographer. You run your hand down your face as you exit your house, locking it behind you before jogging across the street to the penthouse suites.

Even if you had toyed with the possibility of warming one of their beds, you certainly didn’t think you’d wind up in Octavio’s. Maybe Elliot, who’s got a reputation for getting around, or Ajay, who’s could crush you with her thighs. Octavio, whose accent and stupid selfies had caught the attention of many Apex fans, was the last legend you expected to end up making your heart do the jitterbug-

It’s not, you’re not, you vehemently remind yourself as you enter the elevator of the Legends’ suites. Absolutely not. No way. You walk down the hallway to Octavio’s door, reminding yourself over and over again you’re most certainly not catching feelings and whatever dance your heart is doing has something to do with the lack of sleep.

Even though that makes no sense, it’s what you tell yourself, because there’s no fucking way you’re into Octavio like that. Not into someone you’re just hooking up with. Not into someone who’s only interested in hooking up.

You knock once on his door and you barely have a chance to step back before Octavio’s tearing it open. His mask is gone and even though you’ve seen his face a million times by now, you still take a moment to breathe him in. He’s got the prettiest green eyes you’ve ever seen, glassy with alcohol, and you notice that he’s in need of a shave, his cheeks tinted dark by pinpricks of facial hair.

“It’s three am,” you tell him.

“Yet here you are, amiga,” he smirks.

“For the booze,” you reply and he snickers, shoving out a plastic cup you hadn’t noticed he was holding. The stench of Smirnoff envelops you and you sigh, snatching it away and shouldering your way into his apartment.

“What are you doing up, anyway?” You ask, flopping on the couch and taking a large enough gulp of your cup to make your nose burn. You squeeze your eyes briefly closed, letting out a little ‘ahh’ as Octavio’s weight sinks the opposite side of the couch.

“Couldn’t stop watching The Flash. But Barry got kinda boring, so I texted you,” he says and you snort, opening one eye to glance at him. You hadn’t even noticed the title glaring at you from the flat screen only a few feet away, the only light in the apartment aside from the stove.

God, he’s so unfairly pretty. He’s resting his tousled head of green hair, the same green as his eyes, in his hand, propped up on the back of the couch. His PLUS ULTRA tattoo peeks out from the three quarter sleeved shirt he’s wearing and you go for your drink, hoping you can excuse the warmth in your chest as Smirnoff.

“Of course you were. You’re so fuckin’ basic.”

“I’m on brand.”

“You’re at home. Alone.”

“Not anymore.”

You snort, finally beginning to feel that warmth in your chest drip down into your stomach. The easy, fuzziness that comes with being here, with drinking and banter and the promise of something so much sweeter.

“Well, thanks for inviting me,” you say, “now where are those wings?”

As promised, Octavio brings you a takeout box with about thirty wings. With liquor brewing in your stomach, you probably could demolish them, but you’re barely buzzed and still willing to be polite.

It’s the wee hours of the morning, so you’re grateful that each of the Legends have soundproof walls. You and Octavio put on old telenovelas, even though your Spanish is slim to none, and he makes you laugh by describing the scenes to you.

“Oho man, she’s such a bitch. The mother basically just told the son’s lover acompáñame a ver esta triste historia.”

“I don’t speak Spanish, Oc,” you remind him around a mouthful of a wing coated in ranch.

“Remember how the girl’s parents died when she was six?” He asks and you nod your head, vaguely remembering the shitty graphics acting as flashbacks. “The son’s mother heard that and might as well have said ‘that’s cute’.”

You were right to assume Octavio had already had a hefty serving of alcohol before he’d texted you, as he brings out the bottle when your glass gets low, a little less than half of it gone. He’s got a higher alcohol tolerance than you and it’s obvious the more you two delve into the Smirnoff.

He smirks at you when you whine about the wings getting low, polishing off what must be your twelfth. You’ve officially had enough alcohol to stop being polite and Octavio loops an arm around your shoulder. When had he gotten so close to you on the couch?

“There, there,” he murmurs into your hair, “there will be wings tomorrow, mami.”

“But I want them now,” you complain, only to completely forget your train of thought as you bury your nose in the collar of Octavio’s shirt. “Fuck, you smell good. Do you always smell this good?”

“I smell like liquor,” he snickers, kissing the top of your head and you shudder as he slides his fingers through the small hairs at the base of your neck.

“And soap. What soap do you use? I bet you use Old Spice. Old Spice is so basic but it smells so fucking good,” you ramble, tilting your head just enough so that your lips brush against his collarbone.

“Gracias,” he hums, tilting his head back a smidge. You take this as an invitation and begin placing careful, open mouthed kisses up the length of his neck.

Octavio sighs through his nose, arm around your shoulders sliding down your side to pull you half into his lap. Your teeth scrape his pulse and his grip on you tightens.

“You didn’t say yes or no,” you absently mumble as he grabs a handful of your ass. He squeezes before you pull back just enough to meet those pretty green eyes of his, dark with want.

“Yeah, it’s Old Spice,” he says, then leans in to devour your mouth with his.

Octavio kisses like he moves. Quick, eager, his tongue pushes into your mouth and makes you groan. You haphazardly drape one leg over his, twisting so your chest is flush against his. He bites your lower lip and you whimper, half grinding against his prosthetic legs, cool against your heat.

His free hand sneaks down to grab your other ass cheek, pulling you up to straddle him. His lips leave yours with a pop and he bites his lower lip as you shudder against his dick jumping under your hips.

“We haven’t even started yet,” you say, allowing him to slip his hands beneath your shirt, gripping your breasts and rolling the peaks under his thumbs. You sigh, continuing, “how are you so hard?”

“How are you so sexy?” He snarks, releasing your tits in favor of grabbing the hem of your top. He pulls it off eagerly, eyes hot.  

“You too,” you half beg and he obliges, tugging that snug fitting shirt over his head. You hum, hot with liquor, and with lust, and with the look he’s burning into your chest. He leans back into the couch, drinking in your disheveled state before reaching up to cruelly pinch your nipples.

You gasp, trying to lean into the sensation and alleviate the pain. Octavio only pulls harder, biting his lower lip when you’re almost chest to chest.

“Asshole,” you hiss and he grins, giving you a flash of his tongue piercing.

“You like it,” he says as you relent, going still in his lap. Octavio finally releases his almost too tight grip on one nipple in favor of looping an arm around your waist. He’s torturous to the other, squeezing, rolling, tugging. As a reward for the way you buckled, he slurps the free one into his mouth. You moan, his mouth all wet warmth and cool metal. His thumb flickers teasingly across your other pebbled nipple and you arch your back.

“Oc, please,” you pant and he pulls off of you with a pop, cupping the tit he still has a handle on to flick his tongue across it.

“Por favor? Por favor que?” He half laughs only to break off in a needy groan when you grind against him. “Fuck fuck fuck, okay, stand up for a sec.”

You roll yourself along his dick for a moment longer, relishing in the way his hips instinctually jerk against yours. He squirms beneath you, opting to tightly grab your hips.

“Shit, mami,” Octavio pants, sharply thrusting up before trying to push you off. “C’mon, c’mon, you’re wearing too many clothes.”

You finally climb off him and he follows you forward, sharply pulling down your sweats. A long, sticky trail connects you briefly to them and he outright groans at how filthy that is.

“You’re so wet,” he all but whines, fascinatedly rubbing a finger between your lips. Your breath hitches as he pointedly drags his knuckle across your clit, teasing you with the not quite enough touch.

“Shorts off,” you growl, and he hurriedly obeys. His cock springs free as his shorts hit the carpet and your mouth waters. The tip is swollen and pink, leaking with excitement. You’re half tempted to get on your knees, swipe the pre up with your tongue and put him at your mercy.

“Oh, mami, yes, you can do that for me later,” he babbles, making you realize you’d said that aloud. You try to climb back into his lap, only to have him grab you by the shoulders. You yelp as he tosses you onto your back on the opposite side of the couch, maneuvering himself between your thighs.

You two have been doing this long enough to have done away with condoms and you’re so fucking grateful for that as he pushes himself between your lips. Your slick helps him along as he glides the tip against your aching, swollen clit.

“Oc,” you impatiently murmur and he smirks. Octavio is a bastard at the worst times and not even the bedroom is exempt, because he grabs his shaft and taps the leaking tip of his cock against your clit.

“How bad do you want it, hm?” He asks and if you weren’t so overwhelmed, you’d roll your eyes. You settle for propping yourself up on your elbows and thrusting your hips up. His cock catches on your hole and his breath hitches in his throat.

“That bad, huh?” Octavio breathlessly whispers and you glare at him through the fog of your lust.

“Aren’t you supposed to be quick?”

“You want it to be over? Aw, okay, guess I’ll-“

Before he can pull away, you wrap your legs around his waist and yank him against you. Octavio slips, caught off guard, and he catches himself on the arm of the couch, letting out a strangled groan as the tip of his dick breeches your swollen cunt.

“Fuck,” he grits out, suddenly unconcerned with teasing. He drives himself the rest of the way inside and you sigh, relieved to be so wonderfully full.

“I’m trying,” you gleefully counter and he sharply thrusts into you with a laugh that’s half moan.

You reach around, clawing at his lower back as he fucks into you. His elbow lands on the space next to your neck and you find his hand cupping the crown of your head, simply resting there as he fucks you like he’s trying to win a race.

Octavio moans and curses and whines just as much as you do, his green eyes squeezed shut. You rake your nails up the length of his spine and he groans, giving you an especially brutal thrust. Your mouth falls open and he takes the opportunity to sloppily kiss you, tongue pushing past your lips to twist with yours and he doesn’t taste so much like liquor anymore.

You sob into the kiss as he angles his hips down a little, hitting right there. He gets the picture quickly and he aims just so, abusing that place that makes you see stars. His hips snap into yours and you grab his shoulders for purchase. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

It’s him, pulling away from your kiss to watch you with amazed green eyes. It’s him, grabbing your hips and yanking you onto his dick. It’s him, passing a thumb over your clit, making your eyes roll back. It’s him, hissing your name as his hips begin to stutter and shake. It’s him.

“C’mon, mami, c’mon, I won’t last,” he gasps, fondling your clit desperately and your jaw drops at the sensation. “C’mon, baby, need it, need to feel that tight pussy squeeze my dick, you can do it, do it for me, please, baby, please-“

You say his name as your orgasm hits you, shaking legs tightening so harshly around his waist you can feel every tremor of his hips. He fucks you through it, relentlessly rubbing your clit and you whimper, reaching down to try and shove his hand away. It doesn’t seem to stop him and finally with two, three more thrusts, he’s coming.

Octavio buries his face in your neck, saying something so low and garbled that you barely pick up that it was in Spanish. You don’t care to ask what he said just yet, too busy catching your breath as you clutch his back.

“Shit…” He breathes, turning his head to rest his nose against your still racing pulse. Now, though, it’s not just with need, but you don’t tell him that.

“How’s that for keeping up?” You ask and he snickers, slowly pulling out of you. Octavio reaches down, grabbing his shorts and tucking them beneath your hips to catch the spunk dripping out of you.

“I’ll go get a wash cloth,” he says as you paw at the coffee table for the TV remote. You groan at the time it shows you.

“It’s almost seven, you ass! I have to be to work in two hours!”

“Guess I kept you up all night. At least you weren’t bored.”

“I hate you,” you groan, scrubbing your hands over your eyes. Octavio snickers, making his way towards the bathroom.

“Oh, hey, wait,” you say, propping your head up. He stops short, meeting your gaze. “What did you say? I was kinda preoccupied and didn’t hear.”

“Kinda? You wound me,” Octavio says, placing a hand over his heart. You unceremoniously flip him off. “You think I remember what I said while I was nutting, chica?!”

Octavio grins roguishly. You roll your eyes, throwing one of the couch cushions at him. It doesn’t get anywhere close to hitting him and Octavio snickers, bending down to toss it back onto the couch. “Who knows?”

Octavio turns back to the bathroom and his playful expression slackens. His brow scrunches up as he flicks the light on, closing the restroom door behind him and staring disbelievingly into the mirror.

Te amo, he’d gasped into your neck when he was overwhelmed with the smell of you, the feeling of you, the taste of you.

#nsft #apex legends #apex lemons #octane #octavio silva #apex legends imagine #octane x reader #octane/reader #lemon #shorty writes #apex octane #apex legends octane #female reader

[irwintry]

What Happens in Paris

Warnings: swearing, alcohol

Author’s Note: STAYs in paris!!!!!!!!!!!! anyway sorry i’m so Bad at writing anything good

also request for part two k bc i have ideas but like, i didnt want this to be so long

Word Count: 5k

part two

“It’s like, ten bucks, mate.”

Luke snorted. “For a fuckin’ scam, yeah.”

“Ya aren’t curious?”

“Y’know me,” he said. “I have a pair of five-hundred-dollar shoes in my closet that I’ve never worn. If I was curious, I’d be sittin’ in there with my head in my hands like an eager kid. Not doin’ it.”

Calum rolled his eyes. “Don’t you wanna know if you and that chic are gonna get back together? Just ten bucks.”

Luke sighed and glanced over at the pink neon “Psychic” sign that illuminated the stairs before them. The night had been rough–– breaking up and binge drinking followed by a muzzy stroll in back neighborhoods he had never visited before. The vibrant letters swirled and eddied around, and before Luke could catch himself, he began walking down the steps.

Calum let out a laugh. “All right, here we fuckin’ go.”

There was an overwhelming musty scent that filled Luke’s nostrils as stepped into the small apartment. He imagined it hardly smelled of anything at all, but his imagination was so strong, and the toxins in his blood were too intense. The couches and chairs were covered in large silk sheets and tapestries, and soft jazz music was playing from an Anker speak on the coffee table.

“Celebrities,” a low female voice said from a kitchen. She stepped out, tea kettle in hand and a smirk on her face. “That’s not a first.”

She was younger than what Luke expected, but a few laugh lines decorated the corners by her eyes. However, she spoke like a middle-aged smoker from Brooklyn. Her hair was in thick, red curls, and he imagined the difficulty of taming it–– he had trouble taming his own curls on the occasion.

“Take a seat,” she said, setting down the kettle on a doily in the center of a table. “You need it.”

Luke was unsure of the woman, but Calum was more eager to have his life spelled out for him. He nearly kicked the chair out from under him as he sat on the wicker beside a big, dusty fern.

“Tea?”

“Yes––

“No,” said Luke, his eyes narrowing in on his friend next to him.

The woman chuckled and began pouring hot water into two teacups. “Earl gray for you,” she said to Calum, and then she looked at Luke. “And rose for you.”

There was a knot forming in the pit of his stomach, and it grew larger as the teacup slid in his direction. The woman, who Luke would later know as Gina, sat across from the two of them and smiled. She spoke with her hands, and he found himself focusing in on the fluidity of the motions.

“I like the energy in this room,” she said. “It’s–– it’s light and positive. But there are some... interruptions. Like the positive is interacting with a negative, and it’s creating this ugly––aaughh––amalgamation.” Her eyes fell to Luke. “You. You haven’t been a good person.”

“What?” he asked, his voice reaching a high register while his friend laughed beside him.

The woman grinned. He didn’t like her grin. “Don’t act so surprised. Y-you have good qualities, eh, y’know? You love people and you always have. But you feel a lot of power. And, look at ya, honey. Money is a big part of that. You live in a constant cycle of excitement and stress, and the people that come and go in your life are greatly affected by you. But ya haven’t been good to them!”

“This is fuckin’ bullshit,” said Luke as he stood. “I don’t need this.”

“And you’re sad!”

“What?”

“But you’re too sad to realize you’re sad,” she continued. “There is a person in your life who is conflictin’ you. I’m sensing that they don’t mean much to you righ’ now, but the more you are around them, the more you will question who you are. Drink your fuckin’ tea.”

Luke huffed and returned to his seat. “What the fuck is happening,” he muttered, but it wasn’t a question. Calum was still stifling a laugh.

“They don’t like you right now,” the woman continued. “It is radiating off of you like fuckin’ UV rays, honey. They will mess with your feelings as you struggle to figure out your own. And–– “

“What is this shit?” Luke asked. “Like, what are you even telling me? Why is this person important to me?”

The woman chuckled darkly. “You’re going to fall in love with them, honey.”

-

“Who the fuck invited you?”

“I the fuck invited me,” you replied, hands folded across your chest as you brushed by the tall blond. “I’m here to see Cal, ya dipshit. I’m getting his house key.”

Luke let out a huff and pushed the front door shut behind him. The night before tour was a night full of traditions, and nearly all of his close friends participated in the so-called rituals. You, however, were not his friend. You were Ashton and Michael’s, and especially Calum’s, but you were not, under any circumstance, Luke’s friend. So, of all nights for you to drop by unexpectedly, it had to be the night of pre-tour traditions.

“Still didn’t fucking invite you,” he called after you, but you had already made your way into the kitchen where the group gathered. “Jesus fuckin’–– “

A loud chorus of “aye”’s and “hey”’s filled the room as you entered. He ambled in after you, his shoulders tight while he watched you go around and hug the people he was closest to. They all loved you, he knew that. And, he hated that.

“Ya didn’t tell me you invited Y/N,” said Ashton. He nudged his friend teasingly before adding in a wink. “When d’ya get the hots for her?”

Luke glared at him. “I’d run onto the 405 naked before I would ever consider even hugging her.”

“Damn, ‘kay then.” Ashton chuckled. He walked back towards the kitchen island where their mates were eating.

The traditions were light. They were simple, relaxing things that the band never had the chance to do, like movie nights and large orders of Uber Eats. Most nights, they went out and experienced life like typical chumps would do. But pre-tour traditions meant R&R, and you were not R&R.

To Luke, it seemed as though the rest of his friends enjoyed your company. His blood boiled at the thought of his night being ruined by you. His friends would tell him to avoid you and not let you spoil his fun, but he simply could avoid the frustration building while you laughed at stupid jokes. He would be laughing to had he actually cared for your company. If he kicked you out, it would ruin the night for his friends. Because of you, Luke really could not win.

And then, you said, “well, I gotta bounce. Am I dropping by your place at around nine tomorrow, Cal?”

To this, Luke nearly beamed.

“Nine on the dot,” responded Calum as he tilted his drink towards you.

“Cool beans.”

Another friend interjected the conversation. “C’mon, you can stay for a bit, can’t you? Maybe Luke will finally be the one to win the tattoo draw. Bet you’d pay to see that.”

Luke could feel perspiration under his arms at the thought of you staying and being touched by a needle.

“Tattoo draw?” you asked, dangling the key to Calum’s house between your fingers.

“Tattoo draw,” Michael affirmed. “Whoever won, well, lost the draw last time picks a tattoo for the next person who’s drawn. They’re small tattoos, but they’re often fuckin’ shit. I have a tattoo of Cal’s response to his dick pick on the back of my thigh.”

“That was so long ago,” someone piped.

You chortled. “No offense, but these pre-tour traditions are kinda–– “

“Oh, they’re lame,” interrupted Michael, “we know. But they’re fucking funny when you’re high out of your mind.”

You glanced over to Luke, who felt as though he was sweating like a pig, then back at the group of friends before you. “I’m in.”

-

Luke had contributed $200 to the pool. Throughout the past few years, the total money in the pot increased as the band’s fame continued moving up. And still, even after all of this time, he had been fortunate to not have his name drawn. The only bonus was the cash prize–– and you were also inked for the rest of your life.

But it wasn’t all that bad. It would be a memory, and Luke was fond of memories.

The anger that followed your presence had begun to fade as the night went on. Thoughts were foggy, words were garbled, and laughter filled the concrete walls and penetrated the thick, cloudy rooms. Plenty of crap foods had been consumed, plus two bottles of whiskey, by the time names were drawn.

You were right, Luke thought. Everything about the traditions were lame, and they were only routine because of their old teenage minds. The hazier he felt, the more he became lost in his own brain.

And then your name was drawn.

He had to keep himself from bursting into screeching laughter. It was easy to read the pure terror written all over your features from your wide eyes to your deep frown. Ashton, who had been last tour’s tattoo winner, nudged you playfully.

“’s all right, babe,” he said. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t wanna. Someone will be glad to do it for ya, I’m sure.”

You stared at the money pool on the coffee table before you. “I get all of that?”

Ashton nodded.

“You promise the tattoo’ll be small?

“Microscopic.”

You sighed. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Luke kept quiet for the next half hour as the group waited for the arrival of the tattoo artist. He watched your face, how it contorted and how it relaxed. He was hyper-focused on every little line and detail of your skin, and it was all because of how your demeanor changed. You appeared vulnerable now, a stark contrast to what Luke had known for nearly a year. You were witty. You were always ready to tear someone down with words when necessary. But now, you were nervous. You weren’t the same.

It bothered him tremendously.

Things only went downhill from there. Ashton, being the cocky bloke he occasionally could be, had a brilliant idea.

“I know how much you love Luke,” he said, an odd smirk toying on his lips as he exchanged glances between the two of you. “I want you to get his name tattooed.”

Luke choked on his glass of whiskey.

You snorted. “Nope. That’s a funny one, Irwin.”

“No money for ya then.”

“I don’t even know how much is in there,” you said. Meanwhile, the artist looked less than pleased to be here, and Luke didn’t blame him.

Calum winced and said, “’bout four thousand, babe. It’s a pretty big one this year.”

You gaped, mouth falling wide as you glared at Luke, who, truth be told, had no say in the situation. As much as he didn’t want his name on your body, it would have been kind of funny otherwise.

“I’ll shoot you a proposition,” said Ashton, his foot landing on the chair beside your thigh so he could lean over you. “Instead of his full name, just get his initials. L-R-H.”

Luke hated this.

“That’s–– “ You looked at Luke again, almost as if you were waiting for his approval. He didn’t speak. ‘That’s not so bad.”

Ashton grinned.

“Where would I get it?”

“Under-boob!” a voice called out from behind Luke.

A few groans washed through the group, and even Luke felt upset with the suggestion. He hated you, but he didn’t hate you that much.

“You shut your fuckin’ face, Stevens,” you responded, and that caused Luke to smile. There was the old you.

Ashton shrugged. “Anywhere you want it.”

And then, after looking Luke dead in the eyes for the thousandth time that night, you smirked. Finally, a rush of confidence flooded over you, and it chilled him to his very core. He didn’t understand why it cut right through his chest, and then you said, “under-boob it is.”

Luke decided he would no longer hold anything back. He hated you through and through.

-

Luke kept his mouth shut when his friends mentioned you. He kept it shut when they called you and talked about inside jokes. He kept it shut when they drunkenly stated they missed you. But when the Paris tour date came around and you were seated at their brunch table, he couldn’t keep himself from saying, “why the fuck are you here?”

And his friends were quick to defend, just like Luke expected. At that moment, it finally hit him that it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t be himself around you. It didn’t matter that he was the only one uncomfortable with your presence. It didn’t matter, because Luke finally realized he had no reason to feel this way. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling.

Maybe he didn’t hate you. Maybe his blood just boiled because everyone loved you, and he didn’t love you. Maybe he found frustration in every one of your actions because he was the only one who couldn’t enjoy himself when you were there. Maybe he just had to take two seconds to get over himself and let others be happy.

Luke sunk in his seat, eyes glued on the condensation on the side of his mimosa glass while his friends chatted and laughed. He thumbed his napkin, powdered sugar coating his fingers once more. For the first time since knowing you, Luke felt guilty for treating you the way he did.

He didn’t speak for the next hour and a half. And, when he did speak, it was a word or two at a time, gaze cast to the roads once painted in the blood of the French Revolution. He wasn’t much up for going out on the town when night fell–– it was better he preserved his voice for the concert tomorrow anyway. Instead, he remained in his tiny hotel room, sweaty feet kicked up on the thousand-thread duvet while a French dubbed Iron Man 2 played on his television. At one point, he ordered himself room service, and the apple cobbler plus a sparkling bottle of white wine were too big for him to finish alone.

And somehow, as if it were fate, there was a soft knock on his door.

Luke stumbled over, slightly buzzed already as he looked through the dirty peephole to see you. He swung the door open.

“Why’re you here?” he asked, surprisingly without a swear. “Thought you were with the rest.”

You glanced behind him. “I smelled apple cobbler,” you said. A shrug and a smirk later, you made your way past him.

Luke rolled his eyes and shut the door behind him. “Didn’t invite you in.”

You were already sat on the opposite twin bed, hand reaching for the fancy bottle on the nightstand before taking a long swig of the bubbly drink.

“Why’re you here?” he repeated.

“I–– “ You let out a satisfied sigh and set the bottle down. “I got tired. Got in an Uber pool with this gorgeous dude who kept using the words très belle, and then I remembered you were home.”

Luke sat on his bed and quirked an eyebrow at you. “You got tired and came here? What, are you on crack?”

You laughed, and he kind of did, too.

“Y’hate me,” he said. “You’re not here without reason.”

You raised your hands in surrender. “Kay,” you said, “ya got me. I wanna make out with you. Have a lil bang-bang-bang action.”

Luke had to keep himself from chuckling again. “Shut the fuck up.”

You grinned; your eyes were brighter than he had ever seen them around him. The two of you were both a little tipsy, and he chose to blame that for him not being totally upset with you invading his quiet night.

Things fell silent for a moment, and he let himself get lost in the foreign dialogue of Tony Stark and Pepper Potts.

“Why do you hate me?”

Luke’s head snapped over to you. You were relaxed, legs spread on the leg before you with your back against the headboard, and you were still facing the television. The bottle of wine was now in between your thighs.

“I wanted to be your friend so badly,” you said. “When I got your number, I put a little heart next to your name. And then, you never answered me when I tried to text you. You started rolling your eyes at everything I said, even when I was just walkin’ up to greet you. I thought my occasional teasing was just harmless. Is that–– is that why you hate me?”

Luke frowned. He had no idea what to say, especially since he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, and you couldn’t even look at him.

“I-I guess I just need you to tell me that my efforts are pointless,” you mumbled, hands reaching out to pick up the bottle from between your legs. “I feel stupid even bein’ around ya now.”

“No,” he said, “I don’t hate you. I’m sorry.”

Finally, you looked his way. “Let’s get drunk.”

The night muddled through, and to Luke’s surprise, he hadn’t had simple fun like that in ages. In your beautiful drunken stupor, you spoke your best French, although it came out as slurred gibberish while you danced around to the soundtrack from the movie Mannequin. His stomach ached from laughter, and at one point, he even joined you. He didn’t think twice about his hands lazily resting on your hips while the two of you passed the second bottle of wine around. The phone rang at about one in the morning; it was a lovely call from the front desk about a noise complaint.

Luke giggled around you. Colors and shapes swirled around him a little more than usual, and your touch burned his already-hot skin. By the time endorphins calmed and the night slowed to a stop, deep conversations met pillow talk. He was hesitant to speak on behalf of his feelings, but you were keen on sharing your entire life story and traumas with him. You cried, and he let it be on his shoulder. He chose to talk about himself for once, to get the pressure off of you. Cuddling became tickling, and soon enough, the two of you were shouting lyrics to “Beat Patrol” with uncontrollable laughter once again. When you said goodnight, your arms tossed themselves around his waist as you pecked his flushed cheeks. And then you were gone, and he decided he didn’t like the absence.

He didn’t forget about it the next day. You were quiet, and you kept your distance, so he did the same. But something had changed, that he knew. It pricked at his stomach, and when you hopped aboard a flight the next day after that, he realized he missed you. It was funny how a mere few hours could change a mind.

-

“Do you think Y/N was the one that psychic talked about?”

“What?”

Calum had been silently chewing on a cold slice of pizza when the question hit his brain. Luke, on the other hand, was washing down his midnight meal with a bottle of beer. The tour had been over for about a week, and they had all been sleeping for days straight. Well, all except for Luke, who found himself unable to close his eyes while he tried not to think about that one night with you. It was one fucking night. By this point, nearly all of the events had vanished from his mind, but he couldn’t shake the honest happiness he felt while singing along to cheesy songs from the 1980s. He couldn’t get over your impromptu stand-up comedy show and your terrible John Mulaney impression.

“The psychic, Gina,” said Calum. “You remember that, right?”

“Yeah,” Luke replied, a little wary of where the conversation was headed.

Calum straightened his posture and slapped the pizza back down onto the greasy cardboard box. “D’ya think Y/N is who she was talking about?”

“I–– “ Luke thought for a moment as he racked his brain. He hadn’t mentioned that night with you to anyone, but they all knew his prior distaste for you. Now, he couldn’t help but think of the accuracy of the psychic’s testament. You didn’t like him, he didn’t like you, but now he kind of did like you. “No,” he said, “not a chance. It’s Y/N. Fuckin’ hate her.”

Calum nodded. A frown pulled at his lips. “She’s great, mate. Y’oughta give her a chance.”

Luke had given you a chance, and it worked all too well.

“Maybe you’ll fall in love with her.”

The blond snorted. “I can’t even be in the same room as her, Cal. Don’t see romantic escapades in our future. No–– no drunken late-nights with comedy impressions and Starship dance-offs.”

“’s oddly specific, but okay,” said Calum. He shut the pizza box a moment later and slid it back into the fridge, and meanwhile, Luke felt a pit growing in his stomach. “You’re too stubborn,” his friend continued. “And ugly. Like, too damn ugly for her anyway.”

Luke smirked, tilting his beer in Calum’s direction. “Cheers to that, mate.”

Through the dying laughter, Luke’s smile fell into a frown, and he couldn’t quite grasp the reason why. It was possible that the idea of falling for someone like you didn’t seem so terrible after all.

-

A few dozen people had gathered in the backyard by the time you arrived. Luke spent the first hour of the party cradling a beer, keeping himself out of sight on the porch but in view of the pool. His shirt had already become unbuttoned, and his curls had loosened and stuck flat against his skin due to the humidity in the hot air. And you... you looked marvelous.

Luke had been so focused on trying not to think about you, he ended up thinking about you every hour of every day. He caught himself scrolling through your Instagram page after failing to fall asleep, and he thought about what would have happened had you stayed in his hotel room a little longer. When your face popped into his brain, his heart hurt. He had started to idealize the two of you together–– exactly what he hadn’t wanted.

So, he isolated himself in the kitchen after your arrival, a series of nonconsecutive thoughts whirling through his head while he chipped away at the sticker on his warm beer. The party was outside, and he was in there, wondering how on earth he let himself start falling for the person he never wanted to know.

“I told Calum to queue up some Starship.”

Your voice was confident as you slid the back door closed behind you. Luke focused on your footsteps, but he refused to turn around as you approached him.

“If I can’t jam to some “Beat Patrol”, then honestly, what’s the point of being here?” you continued with a light laugh. You were grinning from ear to ear when you placed yourself in front of Luke, the close proximity causing him to hold in a gasp.

He cracked a smile. “Who invited you?”

“I invited myself,” you replied, “thank you very much.” You tilted your drink in his direction before taking a quick sip and setting it beside Luke’s on the counter. “The question is: why are you in here alone, bud? Lookin’ so glum n’ all.”

Luke’s heartbeat had begun to pick up, and humidity from the outside had seeped its way into the kitchen. He placed his palms on his pants to dry them off.

You frowned–– he had taken too long to answer. “You okay?”

He nearly jumped at the feeling of your hand brushing against his arm, and then he noticed that you had moved slightly closer. “I–– “ Luke coughed. “’m fine.” The weight on his arm never left.

“C-can I ask you something?” you spoke up again after a few moments of silence. You didn’t wait for his answer. “Do you hate me?”

His eyes met yours, despite the pain settling in his chest because of the contact. “You’ve asked me that before,” he said and smirked.

“I know,” you said quickly. “But, do you?”

Luke shook his head. “No. I could–– I could never.”

You nodded.

He nearly leaned in a little. The heavy tension and spike in energy tilted his body and its weight on the balls of his feet, but he held back in fear. All he wanted to do was see how you felt beneath his touch.

“Okay,” you then mumbled. Your voice was hushed, and you refused to look at him again. Somehow, the distance between the two of you shrunk once again.

Luke swallowed. His fingers played with the neck of his half-empty bottle; they spun it around and around while his brain told him what to do and what not to do.

And then, the hand that had been grazing his arm moved up to rest on his chest, and Luke restrained himself from completely losing himself in you. It was as if the music from the world outside had been sucked into a vacuum, and the air around him was dense with heat and sexual tension, but he could only notice your breath ghosting his lips. There was something about the nudging of noses and fluttering of eyelids that pushed him over the edge. So, when your lips finally met in a soft, velvety kiss, he couldn’t hold back the desire that had been building up for months.

While your hands plaited through his hair, Luke’s were firm on your waist. He had pulled you into him, all previous thoughts out the door while your lips slotted against his. It was wet yet warm, and a familiar sensation tightened in his abdomen. His cheeks were hot and pink–– that he knew for sure.

But you pulled away quickly, gasps falling as you sputtered out apologies. “I shouldn’t–– that was–– weird, right?”

Luke wanted to shake his head no, but instead, all he could do was nod.

“We–– we hate ea–– I’m sorry,” you said, grabbing your beer quickly and making a b-line for the sliding glass door.

Underneath Luke’s eyes, the skin burned, but he quickly shook it off. He wasn’t going to cry because you walked out on him. He was, however, disheartened tremendously.

The rest of the night, he spent his time avoiding you. Truth be told, he spent his time avoiding everyone. He loitered around his practice room, used the bathroom for twenty minutes, and locked himself in his room until the crowd outside died down. No one bothered to check up on him, not even you. It was when he had come to terms with his isolation that you knocked on his door and stumbled in. Immediately, he knew you had a few too many drinks.

Neither of you said a word as you ambled over, giggles leaving your lips before you flopped onto his bed beside him. Pillows flew and the duvet slipped to the floor, but Luke didn’t care. In the beginning, he never wanted to picture you in his bed–– it made him sick to think about. But then he purposefully avoided the thought, for he simply knew he’d find himself wanting to picture it more and more. So now, he had to keep his stomach from knotting. He had to keep himself from looking over and spilling out a word-vomit of feelings that he didn’t even want to have.

And then, you started touching his face.

At first, Luke wanted to laugh. You were cute albeit clumsy, yet the silence and evident tension settled in his shoulders, and every graze of your fingers on his flushed skin sent shivers up his spine. Fingers running over cheeks and closed eyelids, your touch so gentle he could barely feel it, but he did. You brushed the ridge of his brows, the curve of his nose, and finally, the dip of his cupid’s bow. He couldn’t breathe as you lightly traced the soft skin of his lips.

His lips felt cold once your fingers left, but they soon skimmed the hollowing of his cheeks back down to where his lips parted in a silent gasp. You pressed one finger against the separation of skin, and he kissed it gently. Then, you placed another finger there, and he continued.

Luke wanted to shoo your hand away. He blinked up at the ceiling while your hand traveled down his Adam’s Apple and onto his collarbones. Your touch was so light, so beautiful–– he was completely enamored at this moment. He had to clench his jaw while your hand traced the hairs on his chest.

The weight in his bed shifted, and suddenly your body was wedged up against his, your nose nudging his chest as you peppered kisses up and down it. Luke’s heart rate decided to make a break for it.

“No, no, no,” he breathed out, reaching over and pushing you away from him. He rose instantly while his hands fumbled to button up his shirt. It would be obvious to anyone as to how utterly flustered he was. “No, you can’t–– you can’t do that to me.”

You grinned. “Why not? Yer so pretty! Like a fuckin’ angel that fell from heaven. You glow.”

“I-I don’t–– no, what?” Luke sputtered, nerves rising to his throat as he finally got a good look at you in your drunken state. He already knew what you were like drunk, but he never saw you like this while sober.

“Ya deserves to be kissed,” you said.

Luke wanted to smile; except he couldn’t have things end up this way. He felt so much, maybe too much, and he wanted it to be good. You had hardly blinked.

“Um,” Luke whispered, “thanks. I–– I should–– I should check on the party.”

“Oh, yeah!” you squeaked. “Go, go, go!”

He nodded, excusing himself quickly and then shutting the door behind him. But he couldn’t walk any farther than that. With a sigh, he pressed his back against the door and looked down to his feet. Every muscle in his body tensed and relaxed while his brain went black. Luke didn’t know what to think. He wasn’t sure he would ever know how to admit how he felt. However, he did know that needed to pay a certain psychic a visit.

part two

#5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfiction #5 seconds of summer imagines #5 seconds of summer imagine #5 seconds of summer blurb #5sos #5sos imagines #5sos fanfiction #luke 5sos #5sos imagine #luke hemmings #luke fanfiction #luke imagine #luke imagines #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings fanfiction #luke hemmings imagines #luke blurb #5sos writing #my writing #imagine #fanfiction #alcohol #swearing #5sos blurb #5sos blurbs #5 seconds of summer blurbs #luke blurbs

[citrighost]

Pinenut x tama with #5 prompt 😈

#suicide tw

Tamarisk was, despite everything, not a great believer in the gods. He didn’t believe in a lot of things, like the meaning of flowers, or the need to clean his hooves of a night, or the sanctity of a locked gate.

Unfortunately, he also didn’t believe he needed to share the fear in his gut of a world barely clawing its way back from the brink it had reached. The hopelessness turned inward, coiled and growing dark and sour in the pit of his stomach, poisoning everything in his thoughts.

Unfortunately, as Mezereon discovered soon after knocking on the door to Tama’s van and a call to the cops that left his mouth tasting foul, he also didn’t believe in things like wills, or even a scrawled bit of paper explaining what to do with the body.

Unfortunately, as the only priest or priest-like thing in town that dealt with the unwanted dead, that dealt in those on the edges and gently cared for body and soul, without a care for money or their belief or lack thereof… Well.

The funeral rites of Pan are as follows

1. The Winter Rite: The Tending of the Body

It’s not the first time he’s seen Tama’s naked body. After all, the man was kind of a disaster, skinny dipping and drunken streaking, but somehow, he thought. 

He always thought it would be sweeter, the first time he got to touch it.

Instead it’s full of bitter loss, and Mezereon’s hands are shaking as he sews wounds packed with herbs and petals shut, as his fingers glance over stupid, self inflicted tattoos thatmatch his own, and the more delicate, intricate art of Mallow’s careful lines. Scars he remembers being there for, the times they climbed over fences and Tama got caught, the time he sat on broken glass. The broken line of his nose, never healed right after a fight he shouldn’t have started.

Mezereon tends to his body with hands marred from his inability to say no, drunk and laughing and feeling oddly intimidate with his hands clasped in Tama’s, and he shuts Tama’s eyelids with a kiss.

2. The Spring Rite: The Seeding Of The Grave

To start, he has to split the earth, alone in the woods with only the remains of his friend and Pan’s warmth from the shovel. Mezereon digs deep, turning the soil, and sends a silent plea to the worms he disturbs to treat Tama right.

There’s no coffin, not in this, no company- the burying of the dead is a lonely thing, cleaning up bone and sinew to let grass grow over it. So he lays Tama down into the earth’s embrace, bare as the day he was born, and for a moment, Mezereon kneels at that shallow grave, trying to find the words he needs.

He couldn’t find them before.

He can’t find them now.

“…Night, Tama.”

The burying of the body happens quickly after death, for those who follow Pan. Decomposition is an important part of it, and without any preservation applied, well. He always thought Tamarisk had a beauty in his rough edges, and settled blood has left flowers on his forearms.

The dirt covers those flowers too, and Mezereon begins to plant.

They’re simple things, the plants he’s chosen. An acorn, planted above his center, where it will find his body as fuel to grow. His spirit can live on in it, his memory, for a time at least, before it gives way to this new memory, the clock continuing. Wildflowers, native herbs, things with thick bulbs and glossy seeds, and Mezereon buries them with no gloves between him and Pan, and waters them carefully.

There’s no marker left on Tamarisk’s grave, but that’s okay. Mezereon doesn’t think he’d really need one to find his way back, after all.

3. The Summer Rite: The Celebration Of The Soul

Usually, this was Mezereon’s favourite part. A wake, bright and vibrant, gathered friends of the dead and loved ones of those left behind, sharing food and wine and letting the spirit know they were celebrated. They were loved.

When he couldn’t find any, on those few painful times, he’d gathered his own friends, and had joined in songs with a rough, deep voice, the only time he felt really comfortable making noise, and they’d celebrate the fact they could have been friends, been family. Not all of them believed, of course, running the gamut of full denial of the gods to full rejection of them, but even those who hated the gods for one reason or another would still accept this. Would still gather for a party, would join in the mourning and celebration of life, in part because it was important to Pinenut- an equal part, was, of course, that he always brought the best food to these things, let alone the booze. But still.

Tama had loved them.

They were quiet now, for a moment- one of their own lost, like the words clinging to Pinenut’s tongue, heavy and bittersweet, until Datura broke the silence.

“H-hey, I thought this was supposed to be a celebration, right? Come on- come on- do you really think fuckin’ Tams would let us sook like this?”

It was awkward, and her voice was thicker than she wanted, but someone had to, and it broke the still air. Starting slow but ramping up, Tama’s favourite, awful, cheesy songs burnt onto an old cassette blaring loud as tieflings shoved and jostled and told stories, loud and crude.

She watches with a critical, quiet eye as Pinenut started to speak, laughing with Spruce over a story of Tama lost in a catacomb, drunk off his ass and making an utter fool of himself by the time they found him, and for the most part, he seemed happy.

But he was still wearing thick gloves, and his hands were shaking, until one of hers slipped into his, squeezing gently, and he offered her a wobbly grin, ever the sweetheart. It was okay. She could get this started, for both of them.

…for the three of them, and Pinenut tries not to think about the fact his stomach dropped when she leaned into his side, as it always did these days. He’s sure it’ll be fine, and the summer rite passes.

4. The Autumn Rite: The Leaving Of The Heart

As the party dies down, the fourth rite starts up- a gathering of little gifts, of food, of flowers, dried meats and fresh bread and bundled, dried grasses. Amongst the traditional are more personal touches, patches sewn onto the back of a denim vest-

“…Needed new one…”

“Aha, right? I think he’s had that one since highschool, it was getting nasty, like-“

“…Croc.”

“… Pfft, don’t gimmie that look, Nutboy. We all know it was gross!!”

“…Croc…”

Tiny clay jars of homemade booze, strong and sweet with lavender steeped inside knock against rolled cigarettes, against cheap incense, a procession filtering into the woods to lay items for the dead.

Mezereon is leading the march, watering can hooked on his staff lighting the way, and as ever, he’s the last to leave. 

Their friends place items one by one on the freshly turned earth, vest taking point of pride, homegrown flowers laid out, and one by one they begin to filter back to town after goodbye. Mallow, despite her many criticisms of Tamarisk’s hobbies while alive, lays a needle floating in a little bowl of ink, and when she catches Pinenut’s eye, he slips her a little note.

Eventually, it’s just the three of them, same as it’s ever been, Datura standing high and keeping an eye on things while Mezereon crouches in the dirt, Tamarisk sprawled out between them. For once, it’s not just Mez that’s speechless, and she’s hesitating for a moment before finally speaking, straining for an even tone.

“Goodbye, Tama. I should get big guy home, so…”

Staring at the dirt, at the wreath he wove with shaking hands, Mezereon stays still, finally saying so soft and so low,

“Going to. Stay. Need to, pray, so…”

Datura tries, bless her, she tries to convince him to head back, and tells herself it’s just because of the cold. But sometimes she’s reminded just how stubborn he can be, when he decides to stay, staff planted firm in the dirt beside him, hawksbeard blooming delicate around it.

“…I, uh- l-look, just don’t stay out all night, yeah? Tama… he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t like that, you know? …I’ll. Catch you later, Mez. I. Need to talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

All she gets for an answer is a nod, a flower plucked from his staff, and oh. Her heart’s fluttering as it’s tucked behind her ear, the meaning lost to her but the tenderness, oh. Her sweet Pinenut…

Mezereon is there to greet the dawn the next day, dew settling on a heavy woollen cape. He’s there to catch the next day’s dew at the high cliff near his home. And again, and again, and-

1.The Winter Rite: The Tending Of The Body

The buzzing shuts off, Mallow humming as she wipes off excess ink. 

“How’s that, ‘Nut?”

She asks, petting at the thigh of her most loyal customer, careful of the delicate sprig now decorating his hip, and Mezereon digs his fingers into his gloves for a moment. She’s treated to a quiet mumble, actual verbal praise, how exciting!

“… love it.”

And he’s dragged back by a fist tangled in his cloak, when his heart breaks at the silence drawing on after a proposal, when a nod is forced from his head, when he’s gone silently for a walk to Tell Pan.

But luckily, unlike Tamarisk, Average can hear him loud and clear. 

#Anonymous #mezereon pennyroyal #tamarisk tamarisk tamarisk

[lashydsdomain]

1-154. you wont

bitch

bet i will

1: Full name

lashy. das all you get

2: Age

19

3: 3 Fears

stairs, glass breaking, not being able to get ahold of someone

4: 3 things I love

my ocs uwu, my friends, my fucking tablet goddamn

5: 4 turns on

not comfy sharing on tumblr

6: 4 turns off

ill say ill come back to this one then leave this in the post

7: My best friend

rn i would say it’s probably blitztrolls

8: Sexual orientation

pan uwu

9: My best first date

ahh.... i havent had an in person first date still ;u;

10: How tall am I

5′5″

11: What do I miss

not being stressed eue;;;

12: What time were I born

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

13: Favourite color

pale blu

14: Do I have a crush

ye u//w//u

15: Favourite quote

you know these things are asked and my mind goes blank

16: Favourite place

the woods just after it’s rained

17: Favourite food

im a basic bitch and just gonna say mac n cheese

18: Do I use sarcasm

no absolutely not. nope.

19: What am I listening to right now

ambles playlist- it’s on ocean eyes by billie elish rn

20: First thing I notice in new person

prooooobably like. their face? typing style if it’s online

21: Shoe size

uhhhhhh i think like a womens 10?

22: Eye color

blue/green

23: Hair color

dark brown

24: Favourite style of clothing

loose and baggy because if i cant be comfortable what’s the point

25: Ever done a prank call?

HELL YEAH

27: Meaning behind my URL

lashyd was one of my first fantrolls and i liked the way it sounded

28: Favourite movie

mmmmm either labyrinth, princess mononoke or annihilation

29: Favourite song

no clue my friend im bad at picking

30: Favourite band

same as above sweats

31: How I feel right now

excited but tired

32: Someone I love

passivetrolls u//w//u/

33: My current relationship status

in a relationship!

34: My relationship with my parents

love my dad, kinda dislike my mom

35: Favourite holiday

christ mass

36: Tattoos and piercing i have

none, im so scared of needles ;u;

37: Tattoos and piercing i want

mmmmmaybe something stupid and simple on like my ankle?? i dunno what tho sweats

38: The reason I joined Tumblr

another fandom and i got bored with homeschooling lmao

39: Do I and my last ex hate each other?

i dislike them but they have tried to contact me a few times before i blocked them

40: Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night ” texts?

not usually

41: Have I ever kissed the last person you texted?

i dont text so ill go w discord and no i have not the last person i messaged was you shenk gdi

42: When did I last hold hands?

the 2nd ;u;

43: How long does it take me to get ready in the morning?

7ish minutes

44: Have You shaved your legs in the past three days?

hellllllllllll no

45: Where am I right now?

room

46: If I were drunk & can’t stand, who’s taking care of me?

prooooobably my bf or my dad. hate alcohol tho

47: Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level?

loud but only w speakers

48: Do I live with my Mom and Dad?

only da

49: Am I excited for anything?

absolutely motherfucker im making new friends left and right

50: Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to?

i got two uwu

51: How often do I wear a fake smile?

:))))))) irl most of the time tbh

52: When was the last time I hugged someone?

last night

53: What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me?

i would probably cry ugnfldkjfgslfdjg the last person i kissed was my bf wheezes

54: Is there anyone I trust even though I should not?

i mean probably.

55: What is something I disliked about today?

ehhhh nothing bad has really happened today

56: If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

probably my friend from serbia uwu

57: What do I think about most?

ocs probably sweats

58: What’s my strangest talent?

burping on command? i dunno

59: Do I have any strange phobias?

glass shattering ouo;;;

60: Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?

beh ind

61: What was the last lie I told?

calling myself a basic bitch lmao

62: Do I perfer talking on the phone or video chatting online?

phone probably? video calls make me nervous

63: Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens?

hell yeah to both

64: Do I believe in magic?

hell yeah i yell tossing salt on all my rocks

65: Do I believe in luck?

yeee

66: What’s the weather like right now?

uhhh clear i think

67: What was the last book I’ve read?

Shibuya Goldfish

68: Do I like the smell of gasoline?

nop

69: Do I have any nicknames?

lash, lashy, gremlin and then stupid relationship nicknames gldsfgjfgs

70: What was the worst injury I’ve ever had?

prooobably almost falling down some stairs at a con and chipping my shin and probably partly pulling my shoulder out of the socket

71: Do I spend money or save it?

i try to save but end up spending it ouo;;;;

72: Can I touch my nose with a tounge?

nearly

73: Is there anything pink in 10 feets from me?

there are some half customized MH dolls so i guess yeah

74: Favourite animal?

cat uwu

75: What was I doing last night at 12 AM?

drawing ambles trollcall pick

76: What do I think is Satan’s last name is?

satan stan obviously

77: What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it?

Here - Ancient Magus' Bride OP

78: How can you win my heart?

art of my ocs ngl

79: What would I want to be written on my tombstone?

fuck if i knew

80: What is my favorite word?

probably fuck if you would ask my phone lmao

81: My top 5 blogs on tumblr

passivetrollsblitztrollstavvys-trollsfilibusterfrogwe-are-the-legion

82: If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say?

hey fuckers lets rumble

83: Do I have any relatives in jail?

not that i know of

84: I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is that power?

teleportation ngl

85: What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on?

probably 87

86: What is my current desktop picture?

87: Had sex?

sweats how about we move on

88: Bought condoms?

ye

89: Gotten pregnant?

hell no

90: Failed a class?

i think yeah

91: Kissed a boy?

yeeeeeeee

92: Kissed a girl?

nop

93: Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain?

does it count if we were indoors

94: Had job?

not yet wheezes

95: Left the house without my wallet?

ye

96: Bullied someone on the internet?

i dont think so i mgiht have when i was younger

97: Had sex in public?

n o

98: Played on a sports team?

ye!

99: Smoked weed?

ye.

100: Did drugs?

only weedles

101: Smoked cigarettes?

nop

102: Drank alcohol?

yes and i hated it

103: Am I a vegetarian/vegan?

nop

104: Been overweight?

ye

105: Been underweight?

nop

106: Been to a wedding?

nop

107: Been on the computer for 5 hours straight?

 every day p much

108: Watched TV for 5 hours straight?

nop

109: Been outside my home country?

ye!

110: Gotten my heart broken?

;;;; yeah

111: Been to a professional sports game?

ye

112: Broken a bone?

possibly?

113: Cut myself?

if this is on accident then ya

114: Been to prom?

prom is a waste of time ngl just go to arbys

115: Been in airplane?

yeye

116: Fly by helicopter?

n o

117: What concerts have I been to?

blueman group and the 4th of july ones that play around here

118: Had a crush on someone of the same sex?

yeeee

119: Learned another language?

bits and pieces

120: Wore make up?

yeah

121: Lost my virginity before I was 18?

nop

122: Had oral sex?

lets just skip the sex questions

123: Dyed my hair?

yeee

124: Voted in a presidential election?

ee

125: Rode in an ambulance?

nop

126: Had a surgery?

nop

127: Met someone famous?

yeye

128: Stalked someone on a social network?

god no

129: Peed outside?

this question is weird

130: Been fishing?

hell the fuck yeah

131: Helped with charity?

prrrrobaby?

132: Been rejected by a crush?

yeah ;u;

133: Broken a mirror?

i dont think so

134: What do I want for birthday?

money

135: How many kids do I want and what will be their names?

NO

136: Was I named after anyone?

i was named after two people uwu

137: Do I like my handwriting?

i can barely read it lmao i hate it

138: What was my favourite toy as a child?

my stuffed tigger uwu

139: Favourite Tv Show?

fuck i dunno probably cyberchase or fetch i dont watch tv anymore lmao

140: Where do I want to live when older?

somewhere quiet but convenient

141: Play any musical instrument?

flute and violin

142: One of my scars, how did I get it?

i have a scar on my knuckle from making garlic bread ;u; wasnt even good

143: Favourite pizza toping?

banana peppers

144: Am I afraid of the dark?

nah

145: Am I afraid of heights?

mmmm at times

146: Have I ever got caught sneaking out or doing anything bad?

yeah >w>;;;

147: Have I ever tried my hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end?

all the mc fuckin time

148: What I’m really bad at

telling people when im not up for something

149: What my greatest achievments are

being alive you fuckers cant beat me i won over hundreds of other fuckers and im here

150: The meanest thing somebody has ever said to me

Lets Not, Kids

151: What I’d do if I won in a lottery

buy so much cosplay shit and helping friends get what they need

152: What do I like about myself

im getting better uwu

153: My closest Tumblr friend

passivetrolls or blitztrolls wheezes

154: Something I fantasize about

being able to help my friends out of the places they are right now QuQ

155: Any question you’d like?

more questions for amble and my other girls!

#mun chitters #you thought i wouldnt do it did ya fucker #shenktrolls #ask

[msbigredmachine]

The Sweetest Thing (A Roman Reigns Story) - Part 1

Raising children is a lot tougher than it looks. And with two babies in the picture and one parent virtually out of it, things are twice as difficult. So how have Joe and Sasha coped? Or have they not? Mini-sequel to 'Into The Deep End' and 'Nothing Better'. Two-shot. Roman/OC.

Comments are greatly appreciated!

"Damn. You look crappy."

Frowning at his smirking wife through the iPad screen, Joe rolled his grey eyes. "Our first FaceTime session in a while and you had to start with the negatives." Huffing with annoyance, he picked up his bottle of water and chugged down half of it, then tossed it aside. "Glad to know you find my broken nose funny."

Sasha sighed, fighting the urge to roll her own eyes. Ever since he lost the World title for the second time, her husband of over a year had become the crankiest motherfucker on the planet. The past week had been even rougher for him and she was only trying to lighten up the mood. However it was clear that he had little appreciation for her effort. Again. "I didn't say it was funny," she said.

Was he sure about that? From the way they'd been bickering lately, barbs and jibes seemed to be all they had for each other these days. "Right," he murmured, sitting up straighter on his way-too-small hotel room bed. "So what's up? How are the babies doing?"

"They're good. Asleep for now."

A small smile spread across his face at the thought of holding his infant twins in his arms again. "I can't wait to see them. I miss them so much."

It no longer surprised her when he made no mention of missing her, like he used to before. "So...how are you doing?"

"Tired." Lifting his tattooed shoulder, he rotated the appendage gingerly. "I've been up since the crack of dawn working on this new toy ad. Took photos all damn day in this hot-ass warehouse. I think I did the same damn pose for about five hours straight," he grumbled.

"A lot of people would be happy to do the same pose for five hours straight," Sasha pointed out, "Especially if they're doing it for something they love to do, like you are. You should appreciate it."

Joe raised an eyebrow, not liking the tone she used to address him; the tone she would use on her daughter Mia when the pre-teen was being stubborn. But he forced himself to let it slide. Again. Steering down a calmer path, he said, "So what are you up to right now?"

"Just got out of the shower," She waved the towel she was using to dry her short hair, "The yoga session was great today. I feel so much better after every class," she added, her voice lilting with enthusiasm.

For the past number of months, Joe noticed that the gym had become one of Sasha's favorite places to be at. Every time they spoke she was out running. Every time he was home, she was at one workout session or another at Pam's gym. It was great to want to stay in shape but he couldn't help but believe that this was now a bit of an obsession for her. "Where were the babies while you were out?" he asked.

Sasha's brows furrowed. "With Gin's folks like always. Thought you knew that."

Joe frowned. "I don't like when they're so far away from you."

"It's Elgin's parents, babe. And it was only for a couple of hours. Relax."

"I am relaxed," he shot back.

Raising an eyebrow of her own, Sasha scrutinized her husband. "You sure about that?"

His reply was terse. "Yes."

Sasha pursed her lips at his attitude. It had been like this for some time now, the sniping and the arguing and the overall tension between her and Joe. Both when he was at home and on the road. Every time her iPhone or iPad rang and it was his caller ID, she found herself cringing with trepidation as she didn't know what mood he would be in. It was difficult enough dealing with two infants on her own and running low on sleep and energy every day as a result. The added drama did not help matters and it certainly was not welcome. He obviously was not relaxed, but for the sake of peace she let it be, because asking questions led to more unnecessary drama. Maybe for once they could have a conversation that didn't end with them blowing up on each other. "When will you be home?"

"I'm back Wednesday like always, and lucky for me, I get to stay home till Sunday since the house shows are cancelled," Joe said.

"That's nice. I'm sure you're looking forward to coming home."

Honestly...if it only meant getting into more meaningless fights with her, then not really. He spent most of his time with the babies and Mia mainly so he could avoid getting into it again with her. Ninety percent of the time, the plan failed. It was the story of their lives as a couple lately and it was starting to get tiresome. Joe cleared his throat, about to bring up a particularly prickly topic of contention. "By the way, I got a red carpet event next Thursday in New York." He paused, wetting his lips briefly as he met his wife's gaze through the screen. "When can you fly out? I want you to be there with me," he asked, but the moment he saw her gaze shift from his, he knew what her answer would be.

Sasha swallowed. Oh no. Not this again. Joe was, by all intents and purposes, the number one guy in WWE right now. That honor came with a lot of responsibilities, mostly involving the media, and in the times when her presence was required, Sasha was happy to accompany him. She was well aware that her status as his wife meant she was under constant scrutiny no matter what, but it didn't make her any more comfortable. Things started to escalate after she had their children, Giselle and Micah, and gained a few pounds in the process. Last time she checked, it was perfectly normal to carry a bit of extra weight after childbirth. But Joe's fans didn't seem to agree, judging from the way they trashed her when a picture of her surfaced a month after having the twins. She'd pretended to brush off that little incident but it ate at her every day from then on. She couldn't bear the thought of accompanying her husband somewhere again and have people tweeting about how fat she had become. She feared that Joe himself also felt the same way and was only asking her out of obligation. Like now.

"Sash?" As if on cue, his deep voice prompted her back to reality, and she cleared her throat.

"I um...I don't think I can make it," she murmured.

And he was right on the money. Again. "Here we go. What's your excuse this time?"

Refusing to meet his gaze, she picked at her towel. "You sayin' I had an excuse before?"

"Please. You always got some excuse. This is like, the third event you've turned down. Are you gonna keep backing down every time I wanna take you somewhere? I can count how many times you've come out with me in the last couple of months with one hand. What are you hiding from?" he demanded.

Sasha crossed her arms petulantly. "Fine. You wanna know? I'll tell you. I'm not going anywhere until I get rid of this baby weight."

Joe gave her a strange look. "What are you talkin' about? You ain't even that big," he said flippantly.

If that statement was meant to make her feel better, it didn't work. In fact it had the completely opposite effect. "Gee, thanks, Joseph. And you should tell that to your lovely fans," she retorted, "Did you read what they were saying about me last time we were out together?"

His free hand clenched into a fist as he felt himself get angrier. "Who the fuck cares what the fans say? You're the one who tells me to ignore them. How about you follow your own advice for once?"

"It ain't that simple, Joe."

"Yes, it is that simple Sasha. Stay off the fuckin' internet. I've told you that a million times before," he responded harshly, thoroughly irritated now.

Sasha blinked rapidly, shocked. "Are you kiddin' me? What the hell is your problem?"

"You are!" Joe shot back harshly. "You are my problem, Sasha! You don't listen to me anymore. When I wanna talk you either avoid me or start a fight with me! You always gotta have everything your way. When's the last time we did something I wanted to do? You never want to do anything except work out." The words continued to tumble out of his mouth in a heated, angry rush. "I'm sorry but I don't see why you should be going to the gym so much. Your job is to stay at home and take care of the babies, not spending all your damn time exercising."

It was like watching a clip from a movie, the way Sasha's face transformed at those last words. She looked like he'd slapped her.

"Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean? So me going to the gym trying to get back in shape, trying to feel better about myself, makes me a bad mother? Makes me a problem? Is that what you sayin'?"

"What? Of course not! I-"

But it was too late to backtrack. All hell had broken loose, and Sasha was in a complete rage. "I am at home taking care of your children, barely able to work, and you got the goddamn nerve to utter that bullshit because I don't wanna go to your stupid party? You asshole!"

"For fuck's sake Sasha, I didn't mean it like that! Will you just-"

"You never mean anything 'like that'!" Her hands flew up angrily to make sarcastic quotation signs. "That's always your fuckin' answer for all the dumb shit you say! I always knew you could be an ass but I didn't know you were an insensitive ass."

Hurt stabbed the Samoan's insides at her stinging words. "Oh, we're calling each other names now? How mature."

"So I'm the one being immature? Of course! Pin it all on the useless wife and incompetent mother!"

"When did I even say any of that? For fuck's sake Sasha, you are completely overreacting as usual!" He realized he should be placating her instead of fanning the flames, but he really didn't appreciate her putting words in his mouth.

Sasha shot him with an incredulous stare. "Overreacting? After the way you been treating me, the way everyone else has been treating me like I don't know what the hell I'm doing, like I can't handle the babies? You think I'm overreacting? We can't even talk without gettin' into a fuckin' fight, so you can kiss my black ass with that mess!"

Joe groaned loudly, exasperated. "This is insane. You are being completely asinine."

"Go to hell." Her voice broke at the last word, and Joe felt his heart splinter as he watched the tears spill down her cheeks. His heart lurched at the look on her face, a gut-wrenching mix of pain and fury that made him suddenly uncomfortable. "Sash...come on, what the hell are you cryin' for? Sasha, stop it," he attempted, cringing when she pinned him down with another murderous glare.

"Don't tell me what to do," she snapped, "Why does everyone keep trying to tell me what to do?" Taking yet another deep, ragged breath, she turned away and wiped her face with trembling fingers, unable to look him in the eye any longer. "I am so sick and tired of your shit. You don't even give a damn."

"Babe-"

"Do you know why I'm in the gym so much?" she interrupted him again. "Why I care about what your fans say? Because I have to care. Because I have to look and act perfect for you and for them and when I don't, I make you look bad."

"That is not true...Sasha, listen to me-" He was close to pleading now. This was nothing like their previous squabbles; this was much, much worse. He cursed inwardly, wondering how this conversation had spiraled out of control.

The mother of four started on another heated retort, but was distracted when something across the room hijacked her attention. The baby monitor was on and the sounds of crying filled both their ears. Exhaling tiredly, she pushed the tears from her face. "Gotta go. I'm off to take care of your kids like the good little wife I am," she said, her tone clipped and bitter, and as she rose to her feet, she jabbed her finger forwards, turning the iPad screen black.

"Fuck!" Joe knocked his iPad aside, too incensed to worry about where it landed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He pressed his fists to his face, his whole body heaving. What the hell just happened? He closed his eyes only to force them back open a second later, because all he could see were the tears on her beautiful, heartbroken face. How had it come to this? What was happening to their marriage?

"You dumbass."

He twisted around on his bed and found his colleague and one of his closest friends, Trinity Fatu, at the door of his hotel room, the expression on her pretty face like thunder. Her husband Jonny stood meekly behind her, looking rather fearful for his cousin. Joe could tell they'd caught part of their conversation, if he could call it that, but he was not in the mood for any lectures.

Clearly not getting that memo, Trinity crossed her arms and shook her head. "Let me guess why y'all fightin'. You've stopped paying attention to her," she said, her tone accusing. "Every time you call her it's only to ask about the twins. You barely ask how she's doing. You return home and it's the same rodeo all over again. Am I right?" Clucking her tongue, she leveled him with a glare very similar to the ones Sasha had been giving him for months.

"That is not true!" the Pensacola native retorted angrily. He didn't ignore Sasha, not at all. If anything, it was the other way around. At least it felt that way to him. "And frankly, ain't none of your business. This is between me and her."

"Like hell it is. Not when we can all see what's going on between y'all two," Trinity countered smoothly. "Did your little pea brain not learn anything from what happened with Andrea? Hey, I couldn't stand the bitch, but you pretty much told her back then that you were only keeping her around because she was carrying your child. Look how that turned out. You're about to replicate the exact same thing with Sasha. She had two babies...two...for you! She risked her body for you-"

"You think I don't know that?" Joe threw up his hands in exasperation, feeling ganged up on. "I've tried talking to her, Trin! But she don't wanna talk to me. I ask her about stuff and all she does is shut me down. I'm not a fuckin' mind reader so what do you want me to do?"

"Try harder," said Trinity, "You have to talk to her. Not at her, and not in a bored or aggressive tone either. Dude, she's going through a rough time. She thinks she's fat and she's feeling insecure about her body. You're gone for weeks on end and she has to deal with the children by herself. She feels alone and suffocated she wants support and reassurance from you. I understand that you got a lot on your plate too, but you've let it completely take over your life and pushed Sasha out in the process." Clasping her hands together, Trinity's eyes were imploring as she added, "Joe, I am begging you. Do not make the same mistake you made before. Sasha ain't just some random baby mama, she's your wife. Call her, do whatever the fuck you gotta do to fix this. Otherwise trust me when I say you're gonna have a problem with me as well."

She let the threat hang in the air, allowing her in-law to absorb it a little longer. Then, shooting him one last scolding glare, she marched out of the room, leaving the two cousins alone and swarmed in the palpable tension. Joe glared at Jonny, who looked about to speak. "Don't you start," he warned.

"She's right though," Jonny countered, shaking his head. "But damn man, I thought I told you not to mess up with Sasha when she's around," He stabbed a finger in the direction Trinity had stormed out from. "It affects me too." He shook his head and sighed heavily. "I'm willing to bet you right now, she's gonna go and and on about it all night and I won't get any damn sleep. Fix it, Uce. Please. You know she ain't playin'." Rolling his eyes dramatically with another shake of his head, he disappeared through the door after his wife as he braced himself for a long night ahead.

Blowing out a breath, Joe ran his hands through his hair. He had to admit, Trin was right. Though Sasha wasn't completely innocent, he knew he'd crossed a line with the things he said to her, and he needed to find a way to make it up to her. He could only hope and pray he was not too late.

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

Three days later, Joe returned home. He was welcomed by the sound of complete silence as he stepped through the doors of his lavish Tampa abode. Though it was only about eight p.m. the lights were already turned off, all the windows were closed and locked and the alarm system was on. There was no one downstairs in the living room or in the kitchen. It was rather strange for his household, and he wondered where everyone was.

Dragging his suitcases as quietly as possible upstairs, the first thing he did was to check on the twins. He strolled past the master bedroom and towards the nursery. Abandoning his luggage at the door, he gently pushed the door open and turned on the little lamp in the corner, which gave a soft, dim glow to the lilac-colored room that he really liked. However, he was surprised to find both cribs empty. Curious, he crossed through the connecting door and into the master bedroom, and a smile of relief tugged his lips at the sight that greeted him.

Lying in their king-sized bed was Sasha, flanked on each side by their twins; Giselle on her left, Micah on her right, all three of them fast asleep. The volume of the television was turned down low, with Mickey Mouse Clubhouse showing on the flat screen. Both babies' heads were turned towards their mother while she lay on her back, an arm wound protectively around each of them. It was a beautiful, Kodak-worthy moment that could not be ignored. He whipped out his phone, quickly putting it on silent before immortalizing the image on his device. He moved to pick up the children, but then remembered that he had to wash his hands. Germs around the babies was a huge no-no. Sasha read him the Riot Act every time he forgot. He dashed into the toilet and back, then, ensuring not to wake any of them, he carefully extracted Giselle out of Sasha's arm and rested her little head on his broad shoulder. Wow, she was so big now. He stuck his hand inside her diaper to see if she needed to be changed and was glad to find out that she did not. He loved his children to death but changing diapers had to be his least favorite thing to do. He nuzzled the baby's soft dark hair and kissed her forehead, breathing in her fresh talcum-powdered scent. "Come on Princess, let's get you to bed," he whispered.

He walked back to the nursery and found the crib on the left side of the room, and carefully, he lowered his daughter inside, making sure she lay on her back. He pulled the baby blanket over the baby, and after ensuring she was safe and sound, he exited the room to retrieve his son.

As he reached for Micah, his heart lurched a little when he saw Sasha start to stir, and she absently ran her hand over the spot on the bed where Giselle had been sleeping beside her. "Gigi?" she breathed, her eyes cracking open.

At that moment, Joe felt his anxiety melt into a warm pool of pride. His wife may have been half-asleep but her children were always on her mind, always her top priority. There was never a time she didn't realize when one of her babies was no longer near her. Joe decided to ease her fears. "I got her. She's in her crib," he said.

"Joe?" She would have opened her eyes a little more but she was just so tired. His hulking frame looked familiar but she couldn't really tell because the comforting haze of sleep still surrounded her. For all she knew, he was still on the road and this was just another vivid dream she was having of him.

"Yeah, it's me." Beside Sasha, Joe could see their son start to squirm. "I got Mike too. Go back to sleep." He watched as she relaxed and shut her eyes, then he reached over her body to pick up Micah, gently resting him on his shoulder like he did with Giselle. "Hey buddy," he cooed, rubbing his tiny back as he left of the bedroom. He'd since learned that Gigi was the lighter sleeper of the twins, often waking up at the slightest sound, while Micah was the one that slept like a rock. Either way, the last thing Joe wanted was Sasha being woken up by the babies' cries when it was evident how tired she was.

It wasn't unusual to find Joe sitting in the nursery for hours, doing nothing but cuddling his children. He always tried to reacquaint himself with their environment as much as he could before he had to travel again. Pulling Sasha's nursing chair between the two cribs, Joe settled down and lowered the side of Giselle's crib facing him so he could touch her. He wedged his littlest finger through her tiny fist, and smiled when the baby subconsciously grabbed it and held on. Micah was tucked underneath his chin, and the Samoan lightly swayed back and forth in the chair, giving his son a kiss on top of his head, basking in the child's smell, his softness, his innocence.

"I've missed you both so much," he whispered.

He couldn't believe they were five months old already. He still remembered it like it was yesterday, the day when he and Sasha found out they were having twins. Etched in his memory were the wide-eyed, shocked expression on his wife's beautiful face and the sound of his own pulse hammering in his ears...

"I'm sorry, what?" Joe gaped at Dr. Sawyer like she had two heads, which at this point, was a rather appropriate expression. Because unless his hearing had become fucked up by all the beatings he'd endured in the ring, it sounded a lot to him like she'd just said that there were not one, but two babies inside his wife.

Mona laughed at his expression. "You heard me right." She pointed at the screen showing the ultrasound. "See? Over here is the head of the first baby and over here...is the second." She turned back to the couple and smiled. "Two heads means it's twins. So congratulations."

Emotions of every kind swelled inside Sasha, threatening to burst from her chest. "Twins," she murmured, shock and euphoria and fear flitting across her face all at once. Shaking her head at her husband, she said, "How did I forget that twins run in your damn family?"

Joe laughed, as did Mona. "Would you like to know what you're having?"

The couple looked at each other, and Sasha squeezed Joe's hand as they exchanged knowing smiles. They had discussed this over and over without coming to an agreement. Joe looked back at the OB-GYN. "Well, we already know we're having twins," he said. "The genders don't really matter to me. I can wait until they're born. I just want them to arrive healthy."

"You sure?" asked Dr. Sawyer, noting Sasha's skeptical expression. "Some couples decide on one thing and then change their minds quickly. If you want, we can wait until your next appointment to find out, or I can write it in an envelope for you. Many couples usually prefer that."

"An envelope will be fine," Sasha piped up. She knew her husband. There was a high chance he would be unavailable for the next appointment, and it wouldn't feel right if she found out on her own. Besides, even if she did, she couldn't keep it from him. The suspense would kill them both. Personally, she preferred to find out the sex of their babies together, and sooner rather than later.

Sooner came much quicker than later. Two days barely went by when both of them bit the bullet. Unable to hold out any longer, the couple rummaged through the kitchen drawer they'd buried the envelope in and tugged out the paper. They were on the floor for an hour after that, hugging each other while crying tears of joy. One baby was already a blessing, but having two, a boy and a girl for that matter, was an incredible miracle.

Despite being born premature, the twins were as healthy as ever. Micah Morgan Sika was the younger twin but he was slightly bigger than his sister – Sasha blamed it on his Samoan-inherited penchant for food – and looked exactly like Joe, from his wavy black hair to his tan skin and slanted charcoal-grey eyes. Giselle Maeva Josephina was the apple of her father's eye and already a little diva. She demanded his attention and he surrendered it to her without question. Like her brother she took most of Joe's gorgeous looks but her smile was a carbon copy of Sasha's. Their parents were overjoyed when they arrived, but honestly speaking, it was more because it meant her pregnancy was over. By no means had it been an easy eight months. If carrying one baby was tough, two had been a nightmare. Sasha struggled throughout, and even ended up needing a walking stick to move around during the latter stages of her term. It broke Joe's heart to see her in such pain and discomfort and it hurt him more that he couldn't be there with her all the time like a normal father-to-be. It was such a relief when the babies were delivered safely and Sasha turned out okay. It was by far the happiest moment of Joe's life and he did his best to be as hands-on as possible with the babies, looking after them when he returned home and bonding with them.

However, as his connection with his children strengthened, the one with his wife started to diminish. Neither had much time for the other as the twins became top priority. Soon the arguments started, and Sasha fought with him over the pettiest things like cleaning up the house and taking out the trash. He figured she was acting out because she couldn't return to work and was stuck at home while her body continued to heal. But she stopped wanting to go out with him, preferring to go to the gym than spend time with him. And then, to his chagrin, she began to spurn his advances when he wanted to make love, instead putting all her attention on the babies and losing weight. When he realized her fears over her body image had skyrocketed, he'd tried to be understanding, but Sasha did not seem to see that. To add to the turmoil at home, he was having a less-than-stellar period at work. The higher-ups in the WWE kept playing hot potato with their decision over whether to give him another title reign, and feeling frustrated and yanked around, he started to lash out at the people closest to him, most notably the woman he called his wife. And just like the woman he knew and loved, she lashed right back, making his life one big giant clusterfuck.

It was all very frustrating; his kids were growing up and he wasn't there to witness it. He was constantly arguing with their mother. It had reached a point where he internally timed how long their attempt at conversation would drag on for before it broke down and they were yelling at each other again. There were days he would come home and immediately wish he was back on the road so he wouldn't have to deal with her, and though he knew it was wrong, he couldn't help how he felt. It wasn't healthy at all, especially not when there were small children involved, and after replaying their last heated exchange over and over in his head and going over Trinity's advice, the Samoan decided it was time for the fighting to come to an end. It was all a huge mess over nothing. They could not carry on like this, and he vowed to resolve their issues on this trip home.

Kissing Micah's head one more time, Joe placed him in his crib and drew the covers over him. Once he checked that the baby monitors were on, he left the nursery and checked on his sleeping wife again. He noticed she was wearing a robe and her hair was tucked haphazardly underneath a satin hair cover, and he guessed that she was in bed when the twins drew her attention. Seeing it from her perspective, Joe felt bad for her. She hadn't got a break in over a year, and with T.K. off touring the independents and Mia being more and more occupied with school, Sasha was stuck with the babies with very little help. His parents occasionally stepped in, but it wasn't often as they themselves were getting on age-wise. No wonder she'd exploded like that. It was a lot to take on. He probably would have too if he'd been in her shoes.

Deciding to be of use while he was at home, he unpacked his bags and gathered his dirty laundry. Heading downstairs to the laundry room, he added a load of laundry to the washer, separating the babies' clothes and handwashing them himself. He then wiped down the kitchen, put on the dishwasher, and took out the trash. Afterwards he made his way to the den to tidy up Sasha's laptop and paperwork. He picked up the toys strewn around the living room and took them upstairs to deposit in the little toy box in the nursery. It was the least he could do. Sasha always kept the house in impeccable shape all by her lonesome and it was his responsibility to maintain that standard.

When he was satisfied with the state of the house, Joe returned to the master bedroom and climbed into bed next to his wife. Staring at her for a long, forlorn moment, he tentatively weaved his arm underneath her head, and his hand was halfway across the pillow when she moved. But instead of shifting away from him, her body relaxed and she snuggled into his embrace, all without ever opening her eyes. Expelling a huge sigh of relief, Joe wrapped his arm completely around her, then reached for the remote to catch up with his favorite TV shows. Sure, she was cuddling with him in her subconscious, but it was better than her being awake and hating him. This way he could pretend that things were still normal and all was well between them.

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

As another manic episode of How To Get Away With Murder flew by, the gentle movement of his fingers in her hair ceased when he felt her shift next to him. By now she was practically glued to his side, with her head tucked in the crook of his neck and her arm around his middle. He glanced down at her as her eyes finally opened, blinking slowly. She rolled away from him, rubbing her eyes, and a soft smile tugged at his lips at her adorable expression as consciousness slowly returned to her. He could see the proverbial lightbulb flash in her mind as she realized something was off. Fully awake now, she sat up and looked around the bed.

Joe instantly read her mind. "They're in the nursery, safe and sound," he told her, and he felt his heart grow when she slid down beside him again, resting her head on his shoulder as her attention turned to the TV.

"When on earth did you start watching this show?" she asked, causing him to chuckle and reply, "There was nothing else on TV and I wanted to find out what got you and Pam trippin' so much." He shook his head. "I get it now. Man, they crazy. Every single one of them." He smiled when Sasha laughed, the sound vibrating against his skin soothing him.

"Trust me, this episode is just the beginning," she said, her fingers idly stroking his pectorals. "How long have you been home?" she asked.

"About three hours, four tops. You three were out like a light."

It had been quite the crazy day for Sasha. The twins had cried all day for some reason, and she was forced to cancel all her plans for the day, including working from home. "Not gonna lie, it was a rough one today. They were super cranky. I think they knew their Daddy was coming home so they decided to give me a hard time," she quipped, not bothering to stifle the yawn that escaped her.

She looked so exhausted. Joe felt like shit. "I wish I'd been here to help."

"Don't worry about it," she replied, yawning again.

Joe stared at her, a million thoughts flitting through his mind. There was so much he wanted to say to her, so much he wanted to apologize for. But he didn't know if words could fully articulate how truly sorry he was for his part in the turbulence of their relationship. "I got you something," he said. Twisting his upper body towards his side of the bed, he reappeared with a long stemmed red rose wrapped in transparent paper.

Sasha raised an eyebrow. "There's hundreds of flowers in the garden outside, Joe," she informed him, the small smirk on her lips telling him not to take offence to her comment.

"I know. But that woulda been lazy of me."

Giggling at his statement, she took the flower and held it to her nose. "It's beautiful. Thanks," she murmured, sincerity shining in her eyes as she looked at him.

The air crackled with tension as Joe watched her intently. "I've been thinking...Can I take you out to dinner tomorrow night?"

Sasha lowered the rose, waiting for a beat or two. "Like a date?"

"Yeah, like a date." He could sense that she was trying to play it cool, but her anxiety was written on her face. "Don't worry. It'll be just you and me, alone and in a relaxed environment and we'll get all the privacy we want. I'd really like it if we sat down and talked and caught up with each other's lives. I think being stuck in this house all the time with only the babies for company hasn't been much fun for you."

Frankly, he was right on all fronts. Especially with the notion that they desperately needed to talk. Shifting to lie on her side, she nodded her head in agreement. "Okay. I'm fine with that. Where are we going though?"

His serious expression turned playful. "Sorry baby girl. You'll just have to wait and see."

Sasha grinned. "Ooh, a surprise, huh? What about the twins?"

"We can drop them off at my parents' place. Or Elgin's parents'. Or Mia will take care of them. She'll probably ask to be paid though," he chuckled, grinning when Sasha joined him.

"I'm sure we can negotiate something," she answered.

Joe smiled at his wife, watching her laugh, and decided to take advantage of the lightened mood before it slipped away for good. Gently stroking her hip, he said in a soft voice, "You probably don't believe me, but I've missed you. I...miss you," he corrected himself, locking eyes with her, his own swirling with apologies.

It was so difficult to stay mad at him. Even when she gave him the silent treatment to teach him a lesson it required all of her willpower because it was miserable not talking to him. Despite all the conflict they put each other through, she loved him to death. She always would. "I believe you," she answered, inching closer to him. "And I miss you too." And wanting to show him rather than just tell him, she tilted her head and gently placed her lips on his for a moment. Pulling slightly away, she watched his grey eyes, wide with surprise and hope and longing, and she gave her reassurance with a small smile. Emboldened, she leaned in and kissed him again, her lips parting wider for him. She moved, climbing slowly on top of his body, and she sensed his relief as he wound an arm around her, holding her tight to him while he massaged her scalp with his other fingers. This was so much better than arguing. Unfortunately they couldn't help themselves sometimes. They fought each other as intensely as they loved each other, probably always would, and both of them would have to come to terms with that fact and put up with it.

Trying his luck, Joe tugged off the robe Sasha was wearing, heartened when she made no protest. He pushed the clothing down her arms and pressed his lips to the exposed skin on her shoulder. Gently, he rolled her onto her back, delighted to feel her legs instantly slide up around his waist. Brushing heated, suckling kisses over her neck, his hands ventured upwards, closing over her naked breasts, which were larger and more sensitive now due to breastfeeding. Giving them a small squeeze each, her soft moan was encouraging, and he happily repeated the action. He bowed his head and licked her nipple, the faint taste of breastmilk coming away on his tongue. His name was a breathy moan on her lips, her hips lifting to grind against his crotch. Joe growled in reaction, tearing his mouth away from her chest to crash back against hers. They kissed desperately, and his hands continued massaging her breasts, his fingers tweaking and teasing her nipples. He was about turning his attention back to them when a small cry pierced the air out of nowhere.

"No," Sasha whined. Joe's forehead dropped onto her chest with frustration. "Fuck." The baby monitor had come alive and was indicating that one of their children was now awake and very upset.

Sasha exhaled heavily. This was one of the reasons she didn't bother with sex anymore. "That's your son," she informed Joe, patting his shoulder so he could move off of her.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"There's no frills with his crying," she explained, sitting up and tiredly drawing her robe back over herself. "Your daughter always whines first, always makes a dramatic entrance. With Micah it's short, sweet and to the point most of the time."

"You know them well." There was envy in his voice.

Sasha smiled tenderly and caressed his face. "You will too, baby. They recognize you now. That's a start." She started to get up but Joe stopped her. "I got him." He pulled himself up and kissed her lips. "Stay put. I'll be right back."

Getting off the bed, Joe crossed the room and towards the adjoining door, the baby's cries getting louder as he neared the nursery. Taking a second to look at Giselle's crib, he was relieved to see her slumber on despite Micah's noise. Reaching into the other crib, Joe picked up his wailing son and patted his back. "Hey little man. What's the matter?" he asked, walking out of the nursery. "You were right. It was him." He sat down on the bed, not taking his eyes off his boy as he began to quieten. "Gotta say nani, we got some good-looking kids," the Samoan remarked.

"Well, they got Samoan, Italian and Negro blood. They don't have a choice but to be good-looking." She carefully took their baby son. With her other hand she pulled her robe open and adjusted him in her arms, then guided her nipple into his mouth. Watching the baby suckle for a few moments, she then looked over at her husband, propped up on his elbow as he looked on with a soft, almost dreamy smile, and smirked. "Take a picture babe, it lasts longer."

His gaze zeroed in on her chest. "It's beautiful to watch."

"Or you just like that I whipped out my naked tits."

At last, his eyes flickered to hers, familiarly dark and suggestive. "Maybe."

Her face warmed instantly. "Pervert." But the smile on her face was wide and genuine, and the Samoan was glad to be the one to put it there. Glad that they were back to this, the playful banter between them. He shifted on the bed so he was facing Sasha properly, and he played with Micah's toes while he reveled in the sight of his wife feeding their son.

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

What's date night gonna be like? Hmmm. ;)

Let me know your thoughts with comments! And let me know if you want to ne tagged in the next chapter. Thanks guys!

TAGGING:

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#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #into the deep end #nothing better #the sweetest thing #jasha #msbigredmachine

[eccentricbinary-blog]

Hope Is Wonderful,

This drabble is a continuation of one I posted on @hopelessgrunt​ which you can read here. 

This was a lovely evening!

There were laughs. There was food! There were drinks! There couldn’t be anything better to celebrate a reunion such as this.

Kaido and Vincent sat at a booth in the back corner of a restaurant. One they mutually shared a love for. Red Fletchling was a top priority whenever they had time, and that was something they had decided upon when they had initially met.

They had both been drinking, but it’s evident that Vincent has definitely had more than Kaido had. The taller man looked to his friend in amusement as he stared back to him rather strangely.

Yep. He was definitely gone.

❝You want some water, Vinny?❞ The tone is jovial, but the concern is evident.

Vincent’s eyes sharpen ever so slightly. A single hand ruffles his hair and he reaches for his dish, or rather one of few french fries left on it, dips it in some ketchup, and scarfs it down.

❝Fuck you think I am? I ain’t a lightweight, and you know that. Deadass, b.❞ He spat, simple as that. Lightweight he was not, but that didn’t mean his tolerance was incredibly high. Kaido, however, rolled his eyes. He was no stranger to dealing with any of Vincent’s antics.

❝Well, do you want dessert then?❞  

Sweets. His one of many weaknesses. Vincent had almost forgotten that he had been absentmindedly sitting and eating chicken, fries, mashed potatoes and drinking, yet forgot about dessert. The dessert menu was an absolute must. He’d dine and dash if he had to. But he would eat dessert before leaving.

His hands shot up quick as an espeon, causing Kaido to laugh.

What a goof.

His hand stayed, awaiting for a waitress to show. A woman eventually showed herself and took an order for a funnel cake; a rather large one covered in ice cream, hot fudge, caramel, brownie bits, and oreo bits.

The look on Kaido’s face upon hearing that order was gold, at least to Vinny. He couldn’t help but start giggling ever so slightly, earning a roll of his eyes from Kaido.

❝What’s so funny?❞ He inquires, raising his palm to rest his head against. Vincent momentarily breaks his fit, though instead of answering, he grabs a fork, and begins to bang on the table.

Kaido’s ears twitched, his head perking immediately. Was. Was that a beat?

❝We here in Fletchlings Feastin like some kings The subjects come servin’ us some dope ass cuisine I got me some lovely, ludicrous, delicious, delectable Dishes with a side of fries It’s lit, b, ‘innit Hangin’ with my boy I ain’t seen in a minute Bout twice as long as it took to serve this Though, I know you don’t mean it Cause you here now, and, This meeting has love put into it Much as the food that the chef’s put into it But then you came Offerin’ Some dessert like my girl CA And here you are, lookin at me Like a deerling in the headlights I’mma get you And you deadass know why.❞

Pause.

❝Vinny...❞ Kaido began to beat on the table himself, shaking his head ever so slightly. Despite this, a smile crept on to his face.

❝Bitch you tryna square up? Step to me dude Lookin lost in the clouds like you did back in Kalos boy what you gon’ do? Your flow ain’t sweet, like cake with ice cream b What is your goal see, you know it’s ‘bout as gone as you Call me you know I come through Stand and deliver like UPS do Haters be sleepin’ on me like fruit of the loom But I got their girls sleepin’ on me like fruit of the loom It’s what Sootopolitans do I never try to do you Dirty my dude Fuck around with them fuckarounds and get Noctowl-ed like HOOT HOOT HOOT HOOT!❞ 

Another momentary pause. Vincent had stopped laughing. Not necessarily because that verse was better than his own, he’d rather die than say that. There was something about it that irked Vincent.

❝Never done me dirty?❞ An octave dropped, much like the jovial tone like a rock into water. Brown eyes narrow to slits as Vincent reaches to his glass and drinks some of his Sunset. As the glass parts from his lips, so do words.  ❝You full of shit and you know it. You been fuckin’ me ever since we met.❞

Kaido furrows a brow. He could feel this sinking feeling. Something, no matter how he would have prepared, was going to go wrong tonight.  ❝Vinny, what the hell are you talking about?❞

❝You know damn well what I’m talkin’ bout, with yo Deathklok lookin’ ass. But I guess it ain’t mean much to ya, much like me, cause you ain’t said nothin to me in years.❞

Patience is tested. Fingers tap against the table. It’s the only response that Kaido gives, and he averts his gaze from Vincent to the window.

❝You tryna avoid this like you avoidin’ me?❞

Silence.

❝Say something. I know you ain’t hard of hearin’ boy.❞

❝Stop. You know that this isn’t true. Stop trying to put the blame on me. If you really wanted my attention then you could have come to me. Not like I wasn’t busy or anything.❞

❝Ain’t no one busy for 6 years! What, you broke yo’ phone for six straight years?!❞ A fist slams against the table.  ❝Did I do something wrong? Tell me so I can fix it instead of avoiding me!❞

❝The only thing wrong are your delusional accusations! I’ve got better things to do than babysit you. Get. Over it. It’s not that deep!❞ Kaido’s voiced raise, along with the rest of his body as he stood up from the booth.

❝You my boy, right? Then you know good and damn well that I shouldn’t have to constantly reassure that we still kin!❞ Vincent stands up himself.  ❝You know I got trouble dealing with this! Stop fuckin’ testin’ me cause it ain’t cute or funny! That shit hurts!❞ 

❝Stop. I can’t help you! I’m not a professional. I’m a fuckin’ bartender and an expert in Mega Evolution! Not a fuckin therapist! Seek one out instead of being a leech for once in your life!❞

Words cut deeper than the cool ocean below. Vincent averts his gaze, opting to reach for the fork again. However, he decides against it. There would be no beat for this. His eyes returns to Kaido, and the two exchange an understanding gaze.

❝Look at you, look at me Startin a scene Got me lookin foolish cause you playin’ with my dreams Bitch, I hate you, I love you I’m fuckin’ crazy ‘bout you But you don’t feel the same Makes me feel stupid like yo’ name Kaido Black could be tattooed on my back And cover up Galactic, but you slow as molasses To Text back, call back, be someone to fall back On, like a tempurpedic mattress Which makes sense, cause when you here it’s like pillow talk And your presence makes me not want walk off a cliff And plummet to my death Because the only thing I got now is you, taxes, and death. Who is it? Who’s the bitch who’s More important than this shit who’s Fucking me by fuckin’ you and taking away what gives me life?❞

Kaido rolls his eyes. He hesitates as he notices that many eyes of customers have now fallen upon their table. If this continues, they would most likely receive a warning for disturbing the other customers.

❝For fuck’s sake, get help You know what they do to snakes? They turn ya into belts Herb ass, nerd ass, beggin’ to be heard ass I’ll shoot you out the sky with your mandibuzz lookin ass! I know it’s hard but guess what? I’m not your shit And I don’t owe you shit Fuck the tattoo, get it removed for you Like I fuckin’ told you Now chill out, eat some more Have somethin’ sweet when that Woman gets back here with your diabetic treat And don’t you go splittin’ on me or your ass can split Cause you know I mean well and if you don’t, then I’ll might as well say Suck a fuckin’ dick!❞

As if on cue, the waitress returns, rather timidly, with funnel cake in hand. She sets the tray down and makes haste away. Anyone could sense the tension between them, and could cut it like a hot knife through butter.

Inhale. Exhale.

In his attempt to calm down, Vincent sits down, takes a fork and knife, and begins cutting off pieces of the cake. However, as he’s reaching the fork to his mouth, a bit of ice scream spills on to his coat.

. .. ... Wonderful.

❝I’m sorry.❞ Silence broken, for once by Kaido. His hand reaches towards a napkin, and attempts to wipe the stain off of Vincent’s coat. However, he only makes it worse, smearing it into the coat

Inhale. Exhale. You’re ruining everything, Kaido. Vincent’s eyes narrow once again and his hand instinctively grips Kaido’s wrist.

❝You’ve done enough today. Take care of myself, right?❞ Brown hues fall to his coat and he begins to unbutton it, throwing his previous caution to the wind. He had no more energy to care about what happened. Not now.

Off comes the coat, and the Skull medallion and uniform are revealed.

Kaido’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t been in Alola long, but he had been here long enough to notice the yahoos harassing others, attempting to steal pokemon from other trainers, assaulting others, and legitimately trying to steal bus stop signs. 

❝You. Have got. To be shitting me.❞ A hiss returns Kaido’s previous harshness.  ❝You really do want to keep yourself trapped in a cycle, don’t you? Using your illness as an excuse to continue joining these fucking gangs. What’s this one’s goal, huh? You gonna try and steal my pokemon too? Or are these dumbasses beating up stop signs and shit trying to end all of existence too?❞

No response. Vincent’s gaze returns to the funnel cake, and resumes eating. At least that tasted good.

It was better than Kaido’s mood. Definitely. 

❝Fine. Stay trapped in the cycle. You don’t want help. You want to be babied like the selfish impulsive brat you are. But don’t contact me when you realize that this won’t do you any good. Or at all, for that matter.❞

The taller man rises, slams down some cash, and storms out of the restaurant. The slam of the door echoes throughout the now silent room.

A sniff breaks the silence, accompanied by a single tear running down Vincent’s cheek.

What had he done?

#drabble #𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓿𝒆 𝓹𝒆𝓪𝓴𝒆𝓭 𝓶𝔂 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝒆𝓻𝒆𝓼𝓽; ic #guest muse; vincent

[voxplusherizes]

April Ramble: Eye Troubles, Hair Uncertainties, and Doll Instanity

I’m gonna try to do a monthly update about stuff from now on.

So, Lots of stuff has happened. and at the same time lots of stuff ...hasn’t...happened.

Eyes:

I’ve finished Erasii’s mouth and right eye. However, my confidence with dealing with resin came back to bite me in the ass. Severl years ago, i tried to start a project where i would make large plushes (like Erasii’s size with a wildly different pattern) or all the remnants and i started with Azur. I didn’t get past sewing the arms and legs, and thats because i started on the eyes right away. I used the exact same methode as this time: sculpt an eye from polymer clay, make a mold, cast the eye dome, attach a photo of the eye behind it. Simple. easy. Lmao. Nope. I recall casting three eyes and every one of the had bubbles. every one of them was cloudy. one was very sticky. I gave up back then, and the project was since abandoned.

Until two weeks ago, where I thought i’d done enough research to know how to do it right. Except i forgot that resin has a fuckin vendetta against me i swear to god.

The first eye attempt developed holes at the dome, aka: the front of the eye. This irritated me because when i poured the resin, it was super clear for two hours before i checked it and suddenly: a fuckton of bubbles. I havn’t no idea where they came from. So i tried again (also tried to cover the first attempt in more resin after pokeing holes to the bubbles, which.....ended poorly.) and poured another cast. i watched this version religiously, and it was amazeingly clear! I thought it went perfect.....until i went to check if i could remove it after four days of letting it cure and it was still completely liquid. two extra days did nothing. Evidently, I did not stir it properly enough (i call bullshit, i stirred for three minutes. i timed it.) and i had to scoop the resin into the trash and clean the mold. by far the most agaonizeing part of this one was that it was still completely bubbleless like w h y must u hurt me.

By this point, I’m incredibly irritated. Whenever I get the measureing and stirring correct, my cast developes bubbles for no damn reason. whenever my cast doesn’t develope bubbles, it doesn’t cure. I have browsed forum after forum, video after video, did every trick i could find, fallowed the instructions to the T. and still, my resin has failed to turn out.

I am torn, honestly. I am so pissed at my inability to cast resin properly that i’m determined to keep trying to get it right. but at the same time, i’m wasteing resin and not making any imporvments. on the other side, My mom has a coworker who owns a jewlery buiseness with her husband and most of their peices use a really nice clear casting material. I’m wondering if I could ask them if they’d be willing to make me a complete eye as a commission. I havn’t any idea how they make their casts, however (i assume molds, but not sure) so i’m not sure. i’m also unsure if their casting material is a type of glass. I’ll ask about the durability of the material, and keep it as an option if everything else fails.

I currently have a third eye in the mold. i havn’t checked it since i poured it. i’m scared to, thb. i don’t want to be dissapointed.

Dragon:

On a more lighthearted note, If yall rememeber my dragon pattern from a while ago, i started on that plush. Originally i was just going to work on it until i got the rest of the stuff to finish erasii, but since his eye is taking forever and i havn’t been able to get the yarn to the correct length for his hair, i’ve gotten a lot of it done. the wings and batting inside are completely done (witht he exception of turning and sewing the finger details+stuffing) which was the largest part of the project. I started working ont he gold tail decor but i need to pull out an entire side since the peice didn’t match up properly. i was going to leave it, but i dont want her to look ugly int he end so about two hours of sewing earlier are down the drain Lol.

Hair:

Returning to Erasii, for more bad news, I’ve decided I can’t use yarn for his hair. i can’t get it long enough. I also can’t make a wig for him like i wanted to try, because i forgot his horns existed. Instead, i’ve decided to order saran hair. This....doesn’t sit well with me. I was going to try wefts this time, but i dont feel comfortable attching them dirrectly to his head. but i havn’t any idea how else to attach them either. i was thinking maybe glueing? or somehow sewing the hair directly into the head? the bangs and sides are the main ones i want to look nice since the back of erasii’s head is litterally just A Mess of short hair. I dunno. i’m ordering a crapton of hair, so we’ll see what i can do when i have it in my hands.

Dolls:

I’ve made the mistake of watching doll customizations. and i wanted to do one. except i couldnt make up my mind, and now i have three planned whoOPS

The first one is Pumpkin Pie, a pumpkin themed girl I want to make arund halloween. I have an orange body thats faceless and lacking hair bc it was from a create your own monster kit. she’s the perfect starter.

The second one was the original one i wanted to make, Nyoul. My little girly boy with a taste for cupcakes and human flesh. He was the reason i first went through the way-too-big box of dolls my mom and i bought years ago (over 500 dollars worth like srsly.) to find a duplicate to tear apart. but surpriseingly, we didn’t have any duplicates. We have three frankies, yeah, but they were all different versions, so i didn’t feel comfortable tearing any of them apart. Most unfortunately, this conundrum gave me time to lament, during which time i keep peeking at my Gooliope. She’s 17 inchs high, and i loved that size. I didn’t dare ruin her (she’s by far my favorite) so i kept an eye out for other 17 inchers. And as luck would have it, while stopping by toys r’ us the other day, I noticed one in the clearence bin. orignally 30bucks, dropped down to 15. not bad. the reason for this was because the doll (a clawdeen) was a little bit damaged. both her ears have broken bits and theres a lots of weird plastic at the seems. not so good for a child, a miracle gift from the doll gods for me. i expected to feel a little guilty buying a doll away from a potential kid, but because this one is damaged, i don’t. parents would have told a little girl to put this one back and grab another one anyway, so no harm in giving this little misfit a home x3

There are some....drawbacks, however.

Nyoul already requided heavy modification (ie: tiddy-be-gone) and now he needs even more. I was originally aiming for a frankie, since she has a lighter skin tone and no ears, since my concept for Nyoul has him as very pale. this is because his outfit will have a lot of color and having his skin be near-white would allow them to pop like on a canvase. he’s also aupposed to look like a doll, but also sickly. Cute, but not quite right. I’m going to have to cut off the ears (and boobs), and then repaint the entire body. I do feel.....gross, about doing that. it feels insulting and wrong. But if i’m going to put all this effort into makeing him, why shouldn’t i make him completely what I want?

on the upside of workin on him, I get to make a prop eventually! I love doing that! he carries a big-ass axe and long scissors.

Nyoul’s going to be a very long project. This is why I want to finish both Erasii AND the dragon before i even start him. So Clawdeen’s just chilling with her deformities for a couple of weeks Lol.

And lastly.....my ball joint doll.

Years ago, i purched a ball joint doll from someone used. I’ve always loved ball joints, but they were all too expensive. I was so excited to have a BJD at last, i developed an entire design for her that sadly failed to come to be. I had a lot of trouble as a newbie seamstress back then that i eventually gave up, and tossed her into my closet for a few....years.

and then i took her out of the closet and put her in the attic for several more years. I rescued her afew days ago, and i feel super guilty. I never even put her pants or shirt back on!

I dislike the original design i had for her, so i’ve been trying to think of what to transform her into. I was thinking about a demon popstar, so i could make horns and wings and a tail, but....her face doesn’t fit. she has a very serene sad face, lidded eyes. I’m not sure if i could paint her face to make her look more evil or mischevious or a diva. I really want to try tho. I might have to save it for another 17 incher monster high tho. i keep seeing the popstar design with highheels and my BJD has flat feet. and I can’t order new ones because they’re expensive and also i have no idea what modle doll i even have so whoops.

if i do move ahead with that idea tho, i’ve taken inspiration from Sia and Lady Gaga (and Billy Joe Cobra if i’m being embarisingly honest) especially witht he hair idea. a boxy neck length thats pure white on top, but each later under is a different color of the rainbow with some rainbow bangs. She’d also have sunglasses, piercings, tattoos, long fake nails....just so much stuff.

But its a long way before i’m confident to even try to work on her. just holding her makes me scared i’m gonna break her. (even tho i kinda already did, accidentally had to restring her legs bc i dropped a string trying to take her head off.)

Her time in the closet and attic seem to have done something to her faceup. I’ve been struggleing for the past three days to remove it (bc i want to repaint her and also the colors were ugly and she has a stupid little tear on her cheek) useing everything i could. I tried acetone first (i did a test ont he inside of the headcap to see if it’d hurt the resin) and it did absolutely nothing. so then i tried rubbing alcohol, and again nothing. i tried a magic eeraser which finally worked, but not well. i don’t want to try to buy anything else, so i’ve been dealing witht he magic eraser. i’ve nearly removed everything besides the lips, and i honestly don’t think i’m gonna be getting that lip color out of there. I’ve tried to shove some eraser into there and scrub with a toothpick and it did not do anything. I was planning on coloring her lips a dark color anyway, so meh. bonus shadeing.

#VoxRambles #Text #not spellchecked #longpost

[ayatoayato]

Decided to do this off @therandomninjakitty so yay! Very long and probs no one is gonna care but eh whatever

LAST… [1] Drink: Diet Coke [2] Phone call: My dad [3] Text message: My best friend [4] Song you listened to: “Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing" Set It Off [5] Time you cried: Today actually lmao HAVE YOU EVER… [6] Dated someone twice: No [7] Been cheated on: Nah [8] Kissed someone and regretted it: Mmm maybe idk [9] Lost someone special: Yep [10] Been depressed: yepyeahyes [11] Gotten drunk and thrown up: Haven’t been drunk yet LIST THREE FAVOURITE COLORS… [12] Black [13] Navy Blue [14] Dark Red IN THE LAST YEAR… [15] made new friends: uh yeah [16] fallen out of love: yep [17] laughed until you cried: yesterday, making an mmd with Mello from death note to the tune of Kazoo Kid Trap remix (an inside joke with that best friend I always mention) [18] found out someone was talking about you: the naysayers are in a constant state of beration [19] met someone who changed you: Fictional counts right? [20] found out who your true friends are: OH BOI YEP MMMMMMM [21] kissed someone on your Facebook list: ain’t got no fb [22] how many of your facebook friends do you know in real life: no fb [23] do you have any pets: four doggos, two cats, bout six horses, yeah I live on a farm how’d ya guess? [24] do you want to change your name: eh I mean not really [25] what did you do for your last birthday: went skating with the gurls. [26] what time did you wake up: 9am [27] what were you doing at midnight last night: making that mello mmd [28] name something you cannot wait for: FOR AYATO TO BE REAL LIKE EXCUSUEEJ MEEIK WHERE ARE YOUOOIIIO? [29] when was the last time you saw your mother: today [30] what is one thing you wish you could change about your life: that embarrassing thing I did like four years ago that no one remembers but that I’m constantly reminded of [31] what are you listening to right now: Sippy Cup by Melanie Martinez [32] have you ever talked to a person named tom: He’s like my dad’s great Uncle’s cousin? He’s named tommy so does that count? [33] something that is getting on your nerves: my math teacher 🙃 not even just math in general just HER [34] most visited website: ummm idk usually I use tumblr on mobile as an app and YouTube too so?? Idk if those would count but on my laptop I know I use google docs a lot for writing fics [35] elementary: times were so simple back then cri [36] height: 5'9.5 I know it’s stupid to say half of an inch but that’s what it is 😂 [37] siblings: a brother [38] hair color: Light brown [39] long or short hair: Long [40] do you have a crush on someone: With real people, I won’t admit to myself I have a crush but I tell myself I have certain people that I would accept if they asked me out stupid I know, with fictional characters LMAO IS THIS A QUESTION BAHAHAHA [41] what do you like about yourself: eyes, personality [42] piercings: ears [43] blood type: I don’t know [44] nickname: bug, courtnoo, courtyee (yes I know they’re almost all memes lmao), courts, uhh I have some others but I can’t think of em rn I’ll put them later [45] relationship status: Single but is convincing self that I’m dating fictional ppl [46] zodiac sign: Libra [47] pronouns: She/Her [48] fav tv show: For show, supernatural, for anime, Tokyo ghoul [49] tattoos: Ain’t got none but I wanna get a matching TG one with my bestie, maybe a little tiny Kaneki mask or something? [50] right or left hand: Right FIRST… [51] surgery: when I was like a fuckin baby lmao [52] piercing: ears when I was like two [53] best friend: Her name is Skylar and we’ve been friends since diaper days, we have the same taste in music, love anime and manga, we’re basically the same person except for looks. She’s still my best friend now 😂 [54] sport: my first sport was probably karate [55] vacation: beach [56] pair of trainers: are these shoes, lmao I’m clueless, if so tennis shoes I have no idea RIGHT NOW… [57] eating: CHICKEN NUGGERS NUM [58] drinking: water [59] I’m about to: Make another stupid meme mmd [60] listening to: this question keeps coming up good thing I’m on my playlist lmao, sincerity nature: drastic measure of ignorance [61] waiting for: my manga from amazon [62] want: food, money, ayato [63] get married: it all depends on if I find the right person I guess like i don’t just wanna do it for the sake of being married [64] career: I don’t have an official one yet but you could say I’m a professional fangirl WHICH IS BETTER… [65] hugs or kisses: depends on he person. Both can be super awkward and comforting so I guess overall hugs [66] lips or eyes: depends but I tend to like eyes more [67] shorter or taller: I don’t really care I mean I kinda like being taller but people are like “NOUOUOUO UR THE GIRL YOURE SUPPOSED TO BE SHORTERR1!1!1” but honestly idgaf about height [68] older or younger: if it’s for relationship I just want people to be about my age [69] romantic or spontaneous: mmm if this is about what I think it’s about I’d say spontaneous [70] nice arms or nice stomach: idk? I guess stomach because I tend to like stomachs to lay on I’m weird af [71] sensitive or loud: tbh idk [72] hook up or relationship: mmm depends but overall probably relationship [73] troublemaker or hesitant: probs troublemaker? Idk HAVE YOU EVER… [74] kissed a stranger: A BOY WHO KEPT ME FROM FLOATING OUT AT THE BEACH WHEN I WAS LIKE THREE OKAY [75] drank hard liquor: nope [76] lost glasses/contact lenses: I wore glasses for a little while but never lost them [77] turned someone down: yeeeah [78] sex on first date?: been on a date, haven’t had sex [79] broken someone’s heart?: I probably have, no wait yeah definitely sorryz [80] had your own heart broken?: YUP [81] been arrested: no but tbh probably should be [82] cried when someone died?: yea, pets, my great grandpa, hideyoshi nagachika [83] fallen for a friend?: uhhhh maybe? Like I got a little crush on this dude but everyone I’ve liked before were my friend anyway DO YOU BELIEVE IN… [84] yourself?: sometimes I do [85] miracles?: I think it’s just conincedence [86] love at first sight?: maybe like at first sight but not romance level really [87] Santa Claus?: CHILDREN COVER YOUR EARS no [88] kiss on the first date?: hmm depends on how well I knew them before the date [89] angels?: eh idk OTHER… [90] current best friend’s name: Skylar [91] eye color: Greenish blue, but my mmd model has purple lmao [92] favorite movie: all my big favorites are sequences (avengers, Star Wars, transformers) so my favorite singular movie is probably milo and Otis, my favorite animated movie is big hero 6

#get to know me