#the amount of kins I have that I would let fuck

[parkerthejester]

He can be just like me fr AND I want him desperately and blasphemously. Two things can be true

#the amount of kins I have that I would let fuck #its insane #i would let my clone fuck fs #text #shitpost #blorbo #taz #supernatural #dean winchester #taz taako

[donatellawritings]

୨୧ how sugardaddy!rafe found his favorite little muñeca

rafe wasn’t entirely sure as to what it was that piqued his father’s need to go on vacation every few months out of the year, but he wasn’t against it. since returning back to tannyhill, following his brief collegiate stint, rafe needed an outlet — a place where he could go and blow a few tens of thousands of dollars and not be reprimanded, a place where he could lose himself in copious amounts of coke without judgement, a place where he could be the man — the one who was needed, the one who had all the answers.

so, when ward came up with the brilliant idea to send his eldest of kin to the island of culebra, puerto rico — just to keep his volatile son out of trouble … rafe was quick and eager to oblige.

the villa was immaculate, completely renovated from the ground up, with the pristine view of the clear turquoise waters that crashed against the powder white sand. but what caught rafe’s bright baby blues was the little puerto rican girl who stood bent over, tiny white shorts sucked in the soft fat of your plush ass as you carefully picked at the bright fuschia hibiscus flower that grew alone in the patch of crisp green grass. shiny blown out hair cascaded down the small of your back as rafe tongued the inside of his cheek, watching closely as you straightened your posture, the shorts now almost entirely swallowed by your plump ass.

rafe couldn’t help himself, but continue to ogle at you, his bloodshot eyes carelessly drinking in the way your bronze skin shimmered under the sun, as well as the cute hot pink heart-shaped glitter tattoo that sparkled on your lower back. and fuck, it took everything in him to not shove his hand down his pants with the way the fat of your ass sat all heavy and perfectly curved against the flimsy fabric of your shorts.

smiling to himself, rafe obnoxiously clears his throat, causing you to flinch and whip your pretty little head at him, all wide eyed and open-mouthed, “uh, don’t think y’should be pickin’ at other people’s flowers, huh?” he questions, his voice dripping in a condescending cadence as you immediately drop the pretty flower from your small fist, allowing it to fall at your sparkly pink toes.

remaining silent, you awkwardly shift on your feet, blinking your wispy lashes together as you close your mouth, “i’m sorry, i just — hmph,” you sigh, your nose scrunched in frustration as you struggled to find the right words … in english, at least.

cocking his head to the side, rafe chuckles at your fussy state, his stringy bangs masking the way he incessantly stared at the way the swells of your breasts bounced against your one size too small lily pink triangle bikini top. judging by your thick accent, rafe could tell that communicating with you would be a bit of a struggle — lucky for you, he considered himself to be a proactive man of sorts.

taking a step closer to you, rafe feigns a sigh of disappointment, even going so far as to pinch the bridge of his nose “i don’t know, i may just have to tell someone that y’just comin’ here and makin’ a mess of things — i can’t have that, sweetheart,” he shrugs.

your little heart thumped rapidly against your chest as you bit down into your pouty bottom lip, swallowing thickly as you brought your terrified gaze to the ground.

deciding to twist the knife, rafe nudged the point of your chin with the side of his signet-tinged index finger with squinted eyes, “y’parents never taught y’how to talk to people, huh?” he questions, his pupil-blown eyes searching yours as you parted your swollen lips.

furiously shaking your head, you take a short breath, “i-i dunno how — the words are h-hard,” you speak, your voice small and mousey as your eyes meet rafe’s intimidatingly blue ones.

“well, y’gotta learn, yeah?” rafe shrugs.

with bright and naive eyes, you let out an excited gasp, “you can teach me?” you question, swollen lips pursed together as rafe licks over his pink chapped lips, taking another step closer to you as his rough hand grasps the side of your face.

you were a naive little one, a bit too welcoming … but he could fix teach you.

bringing his thumb to curve around your jaw, rafe shushes you, “y’shouldn’t be walkin’ around stranger’s houses dressed like that — your daddy ever teach you that?” rafe lightly pushes your head back, a shit-eating grin now playing on his handsome face as you obediently answer him with a forceful shake of your head.

your bambi eyes now welled with embarrassed tears, you gently attempted to pull your face from the young man’s tight hold, “yo no tengo …” you whimper softly.

shifting your face, rafe raises a corrective brow at you, “english, kid,” he scolds.

poking out your fat bottom lip in a wobbly pout, you lightly stomp your foot in frustration, “i don’t have a daddy,” you whine, a warm teardrop rolling down the apple of your cheek as rafe tutted at you with a knowing nod to himself.

“that’s the problem, huh? y’don’t have a daddy to keep y’little ass in line,” rafe mumbles, bringing his thumb to mush against your swollen and somewhat sticky lips as you stare at him with confused, yet needy little eyes.

letting go of your jaw, rafe runs a hand through his greasy hair, before swiping at the corner of his mouth with his finger, “listen kid, m’gonna take care of you, yeah? buy you whatever girly shit y’like — maybe even take y’home with me one of these days —”

“like a daddy?”

letting out a huff, rafe takes in the way you reach down to grab ahold of the wilted flower, boobs nearly spilling out of your bikini tops as you fist it tightly in your grip, “yes, but i’ll be your daddy —”

“papi!” you beam, a wide smile stretching your swollen lips as you bat your cutesy stacked lashes together, “that’s your name?” you ask politely, reaching your small hands to tug on the waistband of your shorts, unknowingly pulling them further up your ass.

“rafe is my name, pretty girl — but y’can call me papi, okay?” he coos, swiftly snagging the flimsy flower from your hand, causing you to pout as you roll your eyes, leaving rafe to snap his fingers at you, “hey — don’t start that shit, now come here and let me fix y’up,” he commands, internally satisfied with the way you quickly removed the frown from your face and walked over to him, the tips of your toes meeting the tips of his sandals.

curling a ginger underneath the waistband of your shorts, rafe softly pulls on the stretchy fabric, taking a mental note of the frilly thing you wore underneath. placing the flower in your shorts, rafe carefully secures the band of your shorts to hold the flower upright, you dainty belly button ring also catching his watchful eyes.

craning your neck to get a look of your cute new accessory, you scoff with excitement, “aye, es muy bonita, papi!” you squeal, rushing to swing your arms around rafe’s tense and warm neck.

lightly patting the top of the curve of your asscheek, rafe gently pulls you away from him, “listen, kid — y’can’t just trust every person you meet, yeah? not everyone is going to be nice like your papi, hm?” he clasps his hands around your bare shoulders, biting back a smirk as you nod feverishly.

“tell me that you understand,” rafe pushes, silently encouraging you with a small squeeze of your shoulders.

“i und-understand,” you breathe out.

bringing a hand to barely pat your cheek, rafe reaches his free hand down to tug the hem of your shorts down to cover your ass, “good girl — now why don’t y’come with daddy and i’ll buy y’some pretty clothes,” rafe hums, massaging your cheek with his thumb.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron x reader #obx #obx imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe x reader #rafe smut #rafe imagine #sugardaddy!rafe

[im-his-druidess]

The Deal

No one asked for this, but I needed something dark and gross 🤷‍♀️

TW: Dub-Con turned Non-Con; Infidelity; Cheating; Rough sex; Forced sex; Slight fuck-or-die but not really; Dead Dove Do Not Eat; Unnecessary amount of commas

Setting up the arrangement with Charlie Hewitt left a sour taste in your mouth at the way he openly leered at you the entire time, but you just kept thinking about finally going to bed with a full belly to get you through his poorly concealed innuendos and crass language. It wasn’t until you arrived at the Hewitt’s home, telling your husband you were walking to the next town for groceries as an excuse, that your plan began to crumble. The memory of Charlie’s words making fear squeeze your lungs and bile rising in your throat.

Just when you think you couldn’t feel even more worthless, here you were spreading your legs for a man that wasn’t your husband, all for the chance to get food on your table.

Your husband acted just as worthless as you currently felt and invited his parents to move into your already cramped house without discussing anything with you. Four grown adults living in a one-bedroom shack of a house, with your husband barely making enough money to feed you both let alone two more mouths, was enough to want to pull your hair out. Of course, it didn’t help that your mother-in-law found fault in every single thing you did which your husband agreed with to stay on his mother’s good side. Coupled with your in-laws living beyond their means, including gorging themselves on food that you managed to scrap together, which often left you going to bed hungry and riddled with anxiety. So, when you overheard the local gossip hounds whispering how the Hewitt family would give meat from their job at the slaughterhouse in exchange for favors, it didn’t take long for you to come to a steely resolve. It might have been the numerous days without a steady meal, or how you were belittled everyday at your home, that made you snap and jump at the chance.

‘As much as I want a piece of that pussy…I made a promise to my kin. Tommy’s birthday is coming up and it is far past time for him to become a man despite what mama says. So that’s who you’ll be fucking today. If you got a problem with that then you can fuck off.’

He was so matter-of-fact about the whole thing that it made your head spin.

Relief that you wouldn’t have to sleep with that disgusting excuse of a man making you giddy, before realization at his words struck you like white-hot lightening. You’ve only seen Tommy Hewitt once and the memory was seared into your brain.

You had come across him as he lumbered down the main road on his way home from the slaughterhouse and you were frozen in your tracks as his hulking form stalked past you. He was a large burly man, with broad shoulders, huge biceps, and thick thighs, and his dark shaggy hair didn’t hide the fact that he wore some type of leather mask on the lower part of his face.

He still wore his bloodstained apron.

You had reluctantly agreed once Charlie “sweetened” the deal by promising double the amount of food he would give. Now, here you were, propped up on a bench in the shed while listening to Charlie whisper harshly outside the door. From his tone it sounded like he was scolding someone, Tommy to be exact when you heard his slow heavy footsteps nearing the door, and you swore your heart was going to beat out of your chest the longer you had to wait. From the snippets you could hear it sounded like he was giving instructions and you grimaced when you heard him give vivid instructions on what to put in where.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Tommy came stumbling through the door looking exactly like you remember minus the apron. You realized his blunt appearance was because he was being pushed into the room. Charlie gave you a dirty lingering look, shaking his head with a wistful sigh, before slapping Tommy on a broad shoulder before ducking back out.

The door shut with a firm thud and then you were left alone with the behemoth.

Fear and anxiety once more rushed through you fast enough to make you lightheaded, your heart pounding rapidly in your chest, and the man lingered almost awkwardly by the door. You dimly noticed that he kept his head down, stealing glances at you and your body through his curtain of hair, and you took a deep breath to gather your courage. The bench underneath you was hard and uncomfortable and you knew the sooner you got this over with the sooner you can go home and forget this entire thing.

With shaky hands you hiked up your skirt, removing your panties so they won’t get lost or ruined, and spread your legs. Your face burned in mortification at your actions, even more so when Tommy’s entire body jerked as if sucker-punched, and he didn’t even bother trying to hide the way he openly stared between your legs with wide blue eyes. You fumbled with the small bottle of oil you brought with you, knowing you weren’t going to get properly wet enough to make things less painful, and you quickly waved Tommy over. He approached slowly as if you were going to bite before settling between your spread legs. With him so close you suddenly realized just how big he was, your thighs straining to accommodate the width of his hips, and you nearly jumped out of your skin when a large heavy hand landed on your thigh. His skin was rough and overly warm, thick fingers digging into the meat of your thigh curiously, and you spotted his eyes darting over the rest of your body before settling back between your legs. Your nerves were starting to crumble at his slow pace so you reached down and began unbuckling his pants with trembling fingers.

His entire body tensed up and you mumbled a quiet apology, but your hands continued their work. You knew this was supposedly his first time, but you were anxious to get this over with. Tommy made a low grunting noise as he shuffled on his feet before you got his pants open and his entire body seemed to spasm when you reached into his pants to grab his dick.

You immediately paled at the sheer girth you encountered as you fingers weren’t even close to touching.

He was clearly proportionate to the rest of his body, but that also meant that he was hung like a fucking horse. You let go and fumbled with the vial of oil with a quick prayer for things to be over quickly. You ignored how he jerked his hips closer to you as if willing your hand back as he restlessly pushed his pants down with a grunt to offer you more room to touch him.

His cock stuck out just below his button-down shirt, almost drooping from the heavy weight, and the thick tip was an angry shade of red. You couldn’t help but compare him to your husband. He was larger in every single way, almost laughably so, and you had the brief thought of if you could even get that inside you. It twitched under your gaze. You looked away suddenly embarrassed and saw out of the corner of your eye his hips jerk once more towards you. You felt sweat pool at your lower back, the hot summer air doing nothing to cool you off despite being in shade, and you nervously wiped the sweat beading at your brow the back of your hand. You chided yourself and focused once more at the task at hand.

You poured a generous amount into your palm, nearly half the bottle, and steeled yourself before reaching down to coat him thoroughly. The sound he made didn’t seem human, the punched out garbled growl making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, and you held back your whimper of fright as he thickened even more in your grasp. You tried to not think of how you were going to struggle to take him into your body. You dropped him once he was completely coated and dumped more oil into your hand, steadfastly ignoring the way Tommy panted through his mask. You leaned back while taking a deep breath before reaching down and slathering yourself, working the oil into your cunt while simultaneously trying to stretch yourself with two fingers in preparation. It wasn’t long until you felt calloused fingers brushing against the back of your hand making you nearly shriek in surprise. You whipped your head down to see Tommy had moved closer, eyes completely transfixed between your legs, and you realized he was gripping himself with his other hand.

He was stroking himself at the same pace you were working yourself open.

Unexpectedly, heat simmered low in your pelvis at the sight and you couldn’t help but squirm in place. It was only about a minute later that you could tell he was getting restless, his hand squeezing his cock tight enough to make you wince, and you pretended to not notice him rubbing the weeping tip against your thighs. Tommy suddenly gripped your leg and spread you even further and you did whimper at the pain shooting through your hip at the unnatural position. He began grinding against your hand still buried in yourself, huffing in annoyance when he was denied entry, and you took a shuddering deep breath before moving your hand away to grip the edge of the bench.

“Go…slow, okay? Slow,” you muttered in a raspy voice and the only answer you received was the sensation of something blunt and sticky nudging at you.

He suddenly surged forward in an attempt to ram himself in, making you shriek and kick your pinned leg uselessly, but thankfully he just slid through your wet folds and brushed against your clit. He did that a few more times and was clearly growing agitated.

Even as you tried to weakly soothe him by weakly petting the hand holding you open, but that just seemed to work him up even more. Eventually the head of his cock notched at your entrance and he began to slowly push forward, seemingly learning from his mistakes, and you felt your eyes widen at the stretch. He was impossibly wide, nearly making you scream as your body attempted to reject the intrusion, but he was determined and those dark blue eyes never strayed from your straining cunt. You tried to help by shifting your hips, bracing one foot on the bench to widen your pelvis, and even stretching your other leg out to help ease the tension.

Nothing worked and you couldn’t escape the mounting pressure.

“It’s not going to work…Tommy, you have to stop. It hurts,” you pleaded, beginning to push on his thick chest while wiggling your hips away from him, and your vision blurred with unshed tears. Tommy didn’t like you pushing him away.

With a growl he pulled back, but your relief was short lived as he easily grabbed your hips and flipped you over and resumed his position. One broad palm was flat on your back between your shoulder blades, pinning you in place even as you squirmed and kicked, and you felt him trying to push in again with renewed vigor.

“Tommy, stop! I changed my mind! Get off of me!” you shrieked with growing panic only to have your shouts silenced by the feel of that fat head popping inside you.

Your eyes widened, body freezing and clenching down on reflex, and you barely had time to draw in a breath before Tommy drew back and slammed himself halfway inside you. The scream you let out was ear-piercing and your throat immediately felt shredded from the sound, but was cut off by him rearing back and slamming his hip back into you until he was eventually buried to the hilt.

His croaky moan of pleasure was covered by another scream from you.

Tears were now flowing freely down your face as you howled in pain, feeling as if you were being ripped in half, and you barely noticed Tommy’s other hand reaching down to paw at your wet cheeks as if to soothe you.

He only stayed still for a few seconds before leaning back and beginning a downright brutal pace. His hips were slamming into you with enough force to have the bench beneath you creaking ominously, your pelvis felt like it was going to shatter, and you had the stray thought that no amount of preparation would have ever prepared for you for him. Your gasping cries were short and choppy, from both his frantic pace and the hand pushing you down effectively squishing your lungs, but you still shrieked and yelped for him to stop or at least slow down to let your body adjust.

He didn’t listen.

He seemed possessed, grunting and snarling as he pounded into you mercilessly, and eventually your body went limp. You clawed helplessly against the wood beneath your cheek, blubbering incoherently, and prayed that Tommy would finish quickly. As if punishment for accepting this deal, you were granted no such reprieve.

He continued to rut into you like a mindless beast for what felt like hours, your insides swollen and throbbing as they were pummeled by his thick cock, and sweat was dripping off of him and mingling with your tears as he leaned over you to reach impossibly deeper. It wasn’t until his hips started stuttering and his thrusts turned deep and hard instead of fast and frantic that had you crying in relief at the telltale signs that he was nearing his finish. Then a horrifying realization dawned on you. Tommy wasn’t stopping. Instead it seemed he was spending longer and longer buried completely to the hilt, pressed flush against you as close as he could, and a new wave of terror-induced adrenaline washed over you.

“Not inside…Tommy don’t you fucking dare finish inside me,” you shrieked, renewing your struggles to escape him, and you grew increasingly wild as he only grunted at you.

You began writhing and attempting to twist away from him, kicking your legs and reaching back behind you to claw at his face, anything to get him away from you.

It only resulted in the hand on your back to slide up and fist painfully in your hair, nearly slamming you back onto the table hard enough for you to see black spots swimming in your vision, and his other hand grabbed your hip to further hold you in place. You continued to beg and plead for him to not come inside you, literally anywhere else but inside, but you were steadfastly ignored. His pace suddenly quickened, a low rattling whine escaping his broad chest, and you wailed as he stilled completely buried inside you. You felt his cock jerk and throb followed by a wave of scorching heat soothing your ravaged channel and you screamed in outrage and in despair. Tommy continued to grind into you, riding out his orgasm with small hurt noises escaping his throat, and by the time he was finished you were limp and shivering with shock. Realization of what all just happened rolling through your mind as fast as nausea rolled in your stomach at the feeling of wetness slipping down your thighs. Bile threatened to rise in your throat, silent tears spilling anew down your damp face, and your entire body felt both boiling hot and icy cold.

You wept quietly as he stayed buried inside you. He petted through your hair as if you were a frightened animal, his ragged breathing filling the stuffy air of the shed, and you swore you heard him cooing at you. You felt him lean down and nuzzle the back of your head as his hand moved from your hip to shyly pet over the back of your hand in some twisted form of affection after what just happened. The door suddenly swung open and you didn’t even have the energy to even twitch.

“Atta boy, Tommy! Heard that bitch caterwauling clear down the road!” Charlie shouted with clear glee and humiliation burned in your veins.

You heard the man move closer, no doubt wanting to leer at your crumpled body, but Tommy growled and moved his body more firmly on top of you. As if shielding you from view.

“Aw, what’s this, boy? You finally get your dick wet and now feel like you’re somebody special?” Charlie sneered and you felt the large body on top of you press even tighter to you.

You heard movement around you before a large item wrapped in brown paper tied with twine plopped on the table by your head.

“A deal’s a deal. Don’t be shy now. I’m sure Tommy would love to see you again,” he continued with a wheezing laugh, clearly finding the whole ordeal hilarious, and he walked back out of the shed laughing to himself.

Regret and disgust swirled in your gut at the sight of the paper bag, knowledge of what all transpired making you want to cry all over again, and you let out a small hiccupping sob. Tommy nuzzled into your hair once more, his body relaxing now that Charlie had left, and he resumed his petting. He was letting out a happy garbled sound, clearly not realizing how he had just brutalized you, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

You felt Tommy begin to harden inside you once more.

#Thomas Hewitt #texas chainsaw massacre smut #texas chainsaw massacre 2003 #texas chainsaw massacre the beginning #the texas chainsaw massacre #thomas hewitt smut #thomas hewitt x reader #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher smut #the cryptid posts

[baby-jaguar]

CoD Western AU and Mail Order Spouse Trope

Howdy!

Welcome to my version of a Wild West AU & Mail-Order Spouse Trope. Introduction of the reader scenario will be down below and a little digital art will be added in to show our lovely options of spouses. This is Gender Neutral.

This was my first Au and trope project I’ve worked on. While I learn and decide how I want to upload this, I hope everyone enjoys or just gets a kick out of this!

Introduction & Backstory

Your life wasn’t awful, per se, but sometimes you wonder if you say that to yourself to cope with what you’ve been through. Simply put, you were your family's breadwinner, caretaker, and damage controller. You were poor-ish, where you had to use scraps of fabrics to make your clothes, but yet your father could always afford a bottle to be in his hand, and your mother out on the porch smoking whatever she needed that day to cope and try to be a mom and wife.

Coat of many colors indeed.

You worked, and you have worked from a young age to continuously support your family as you didn't have a choice if you wanted to keep the roof over your head. Although, you were thankful that your mother was adamant you went to the schoolhouse and got at least a good amount of education.

After attending school for a few years until puberty, you were in the working class; your job as a domestic servant included the taste of farmhand, tailoring, and working to cann fruits that were grown on the farm. After a long shift on the warm and humid spring day, you walked back home to hear your father yelling as usual but stopped when you heard your name being spoken.

“As soon as we sell that damn nuisance, we’ll be rolling in dough. I can’t believe that damn bastard politician wants our kin. Said once he’s back from his campaign up north he’ll come meet ‘em.” He laughs before taking another swig of his drink, your mother laughing along with him as she has a lit pipe in the house for the first time in a long time.

Now, you to truly understand the depravity of this; the seriousness of her celebrating with a lit drug inside the house.

Your stomach drops, nausea rolling over you at the thought of them selling you off to the old and decrepit wealthy politician for marriage to get money. Money that they’ll blow through, having never learned to control their vices turned addictions.

A cold sweat breaks out on you as you swallow down the urge to expel the minimal amount of food in your worn-out body, and promptly turn around and walk back into town.

Walking the dark streets, you navigate quietly and hide behind the shadows of the night with only a few dimly lit light posts flickering their oil flame light. While walking the edge of the closed shops, you see a dirty newspaper thrown on the ground and almost step over it until a small headline catches your eye.

“FRONTIER MEN, LOOKING FOR CAPABLE SPOUSE”

Your eyes scan quickly over the matrimony company advertising for men located in the frontier lands, each searching for promising spouses and wanting to marry soon. You read over the information, seeing that the listed men below are located in newly booming towns out west, a few even located in mining towns or having their own company.

Your body zings with a chill of adrenaline at the thought of diving head first into chance and change, but you knew something much better could be awaiting you…

Should you do it?

looking around, the humid and small town looks back at you as you enter a hardened state of mind; What would become if you stayed here? The disgusting politician's new toy just to break? Your parents are already planning on how to drain their funds dry within a month of letting their addictions take over? You don't have friends, your boss is the closest thing to one just because you spend hours each and every day working.

Yeah.

You're gonna fucking do it.

Taking a seat, your eyes quickly scan down the page of advertisements, looking over the small blurbs of descriptions offered. The correspondence cost would be 10 cents, meaning you have one chance to get his attention and get the new life you need.

Simon Riley Biography, Meeting Simon,

John Price Biography, Meeting John

Kyle Garrick Biography, Meeting Kyle

John MacTavish Biography, Meeting Johnny

Phillip Graves Biography, Meeting Phillip

Alejandro Vargas Biography, Meeting Alejandro

#john price x reader #task force 141 #simon ghost riley x reader #john price #captain john price #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley ghost #gaz mw2 #gaz cod #john mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #phillip graves #commander graves #alejandro vargas #colonel vargas #Shadow company #los vaqueros #phillip graves x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #soap mactavish #captain mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #tf141 x reader #task force 141 x reader

[osaka-lilac]

Asking you to kindly elaborate on the strollonso football au:

hello raapija my beloved, i would love to elaborate <3

for those out of the loop, refer to my tags on this post!

warning: i am an american with a incredibly basic understanding of footy ("soccer"). there is a reason the actual talk of any gameplay is basic and limited

fernando is this new guy to Lawrence Stroll's footy team right. (because in every universe, lawrence has to own a Team.) i can imagine he's some draft pick from spain for a new striker or something like that. possibly some trade, maybe a mid-season exchange (they do that in american football but idk if they do that in footy) those who know specifics of positions in footy please let me know your thoughts on what position fernando would play

lance: couldn't give two shits about footy. he's seen maybe once in a blue moon on the sidelines tagging along, and he's known for being visibly bored or on his phone during matches. (he has the Pout Blast 3000 for this.)

the reputation he receives from fans is much like the perceived impressions he gets irl: some spoiled kid who shouldn't be there. he's more into hockey than any match his dad's team could ever play.

now when fernando shows up its like a fucking slap to the face. like. "holy fuck i didn't think they could be this hot" type beat.

for the first time, lance shows up to a team practice with his father, not just a match. but he's really not there for the team: he is enamored by fernando. his speed. he's a sly yet devilishly handsome fucker with this wicked grin when he knows he's tricked his opponent yet again, and lance is obsessed.

not only does he start going to way more matches. he also starts showing visible interest and gets invested. and he gets loud. the mumbles online about his "spoiled reputation" turn to joy. he becomes a meme of the team for a few weeks after a clip of him getting frustrated after a poorly-called card is given to fernando ends up going viral.

and maybe this entire time, fernando has been watching this young boy from afar. he totally believes he can't be with his literal manager's young son and jeopardize his spot on the team and a shot at glory. and maybe he believes that lance initially isn't interested. but maybe when he sees lance become more invested in the team, he figures he might have a chance. he just can't figure out why lance has become so invested in what was, quite frankly, a very short amount of time.

so maybe fernando's on the side for a while in a practice. lance is there, but he seems distant. not in the game. not really watching the drills by the other players with much enthusiasm. and fernando's a smart man. and he puts some pieces together in his brain. and makes a move.

he comes up to lance and asks to talk with him once practice is done. when all the other players are gone. in the locker room. of course lance agrees

flash forward a bit. n lance is like. hanging out by the exit outside of the locker room. he counts all the players. and when there's only one left. he goes inside. finds fernando sitting on one of the benches, still in his kit.

they get to talking. what lance does outside of being at games, (i can imagine him being a student but i don't have the will to kin assign him a major right now), what his favorite hockey team is (habs. of course) and of course, the loaded question:

"lancito, what's gotten you so interested in the team now?"

of course, lance doesn't really respond to this, kinda dances around the question. he gets flustered. he doesn't want to be found out. what if he sees right through him, what if he already knows, what if he tells his dad??

fernando leans in slightly, and slides his hand over lance's hip. he cups his chin softly, and slowly turns lance's head to look at fernando straight on.

"be honest, niñito."

and when has lance ever been anything but honest.

#and then they FUCK NASTY ABOUT IT IN THE LOCKER ROOM #strollonso #thank you so so much raapija i have been vibrating to write something lately #asks #answered #my fics #(in a way. just tagging it that so i dont lose it in the swarm of posts)

[uchihaharlot]

Happy Smutty Shisui Sunday! I didn’t forget about my man.

This week I went to hell and back and back and back some more. Hardly had any Shisui or Uchiha simpy time for myself. 😩😭 Completely missed my ovulation horny thirst week!! I hope this makes up for it, to you and to me.

Ovulating or not, I’m still unbearably horny for this man.

NSFW; Shisui has been busting fat loads of his cum inside of you. In hopes that you’d end up pregnant & yes, I know Shisui’s birthday has passed. Consider this some sort of retroactive celebration on top of Shisui smutty Sundays.

WC: an ungodly amount of horny brain goes brrrr; mostly edited. My eye started to twitch so yea.

Well. Obviously after about six months he starts to think something is wrong with him or you. He wasn’t entirely shy when it came to making sure he thrusted his warm cum deep at your cervix. And even so far as to repeatedly fucking one load after another into you. You just sort of figured it was that Uchiha breeding kink and let him have his way to sate the desire. That maybe he couldn’t help it and that might be why you ended up beneath him for hours, folded like a pretzel and flipped over to be taken any which way.

Certainly the breeding was partial to it. Shisui really was and at some point admits to hoping you’d grow round with his baby. “…can we talk?”

Was there something wrong with the swim team? Last he checked; or well the yearly physical. They were in prime condition to root and grow inside your womb. There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with him. And maybe he peeped your file and saw everything was in working order for you as well.

“Shisui-kun.” You sit with him at the table; the concern that spreads his face is immaculate. “What’s wrong?”

How does he say this without coming off as weird and maybe even a bit creepy. “I’ve been trying to get you pregnant for the better half of a year and …” full stop when you grab his hand and squeeze.

“Oh, Shisui.” That soft smile he loves so much stretches your lips. “It’s severely impossible at this time.”

Severely?

Well how in the nine circles to hell was that? ‘At this time?’ So it could or had been possible before. “Explain this, please?” It sounded so desperate when he didn’t mean it to. The words wrapped around his larynx and dried his throat, and barely sounded normal as they scratched their way out.

“It’s called birth control.” You try not to laugh, how was he unaware of this? You’ve mentioned it in the past. Maybe long ago.

“No, I would have seen you take the pill. I figured you had stopped since…well, since things are more serious.” How cute was Shisui when he struggled to express his doubts, second guessing if he was full of it or not. Certainly he knew there were other forms of contraception. The look on his face as you explain what an intrauterine device was had you almost in tears of laughter. Even someone like Obito was aware of this.

To think that a measly piece of plastic wrapped in copper was interfering with his family planning!? This was inconceivable—literally! He was an Uchiha for fucks sake. How could something with no substance other than metal and plastic prevent such powerful genes from taking root. This simply did not sit well, but eventually passed as Shisui went through the phases of realization. It almost felt wasteful to think how many times he’s tirelessly laid you down, had you cramped beneath him. Talking filth of spilling into you and milking himself bone dry.

Hot and sweaty; orgasm after orgasm. Even a silent prayer to the gods that he would be blessed with a next of kin. The sour look on his face before he sheepishly smiles said it all as you speak. “I am sorry this disappoints you.”

In reality, couples talked before they had children. Shisui was an entirely different breed of man. He didn’t operate on reckless abandon but to say that the shock value of your uterus not being at his disposal was not something he counted on when he was purposely trying to fuck a baby in you. He almost looks pitiful.

Shrugs it off. Patching up his wounded ego, “it’s fine.” When it didn’t really feel fine. A small part of you felt guilty seeing him so forlorn over it.

And another deplorably sick part of you revels in it, how desperate was Shisui to make your body his in more ways than one. “We can talk about it sometime? Typically…this is a group decision.” With what little words he could manage now, Shisui deliberated the ordeal wasn’t in his favor.

That stung a bit. His irrational need to pump you full of his own personal brand of Uchiha specimen completely outweighed the rational sense of procreation. It was a dual effort and Shisui, too, felt a twinge of guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Yes, he was. You can see it, feel it. How adorably cute he looked with puppy dog reds. So caught in his emotions that the forehead kiss you planted took a beat for it to register. “No harm, no foul.” Your forgiveness was much appreciated. You took it far better than he anticipated in this instance.

From that day forward, a new idea populated in your mind. It was stupid as all hell, but what a better birthday gift than the very thing that tormented his ability to impregnate you. It crossed your doctor as weird when you asked if you could take it with you. Usually it was a firm no, this was a biological hazard. But having the privilege of dating one of the most influential men of all times, from the most prestigious clans the Hidden Village ever produced. The only time you would ever pull that sort of weight over your head. Shisui would surely not appreciate you using the Uchiha name to get what you wanted.

Much less to instill fear into the doctor with no recourse to back it up.

But it works in your favor. Wrapped up cute, the device rests in a small box. Of course this wasn’t a real gift, it was a gag. The real gift was some specially designed and crafted ninja tools, a subscription to that expensive ass hair care he bought throughout the year and well. Your undying love and affection of course. What better way to bring a man to his knees when he came home from a long mission than to tell him that your womb was for the taking? It was hardly romantic, how were you supposed to know this man would froth at the mouth as he entered the kitchen.

Well, you should have known. The skimpy crotchless lingerie you are wearing was a welcome surprise. Then bending over into the oven as if you hadn’t noticed he was there, I mean you did. Looking over your shoulder told you all you needed to see. That thousand yard stare as the kaleidoscope behind his eyes wound tight and instantaneously bled red. Even further widening to elicit what most would call formidable. It was a treat for you when Shisui salaciously threatened you with his Mangekyō. This was a special occasion.

There wasn’t any part of you that his eyes mapped out and took in as you approached him.

“Happy birthday.” You whisper, leaning up to pepper a soft kiss on either cheek before his eagerly opening lips nip at you. “Hungry?”

How easily she looked into the Mangekyō as if it wasn’t a loaded gun. “That’s an understatement.” His hands have been running up and down your sides already, thumbing at the lacy material that did fuck all for the imagination. It literally wrote the entire thing for him. “What’s this?”

Shisui obviously knew it was his birthday, though he hadn’t expected this display of affection. Ok; that’s a blatant lie. He did expect some sort of celebration but this was on an entirely different realm than what he considered.

The opener gag gift. That little wrapped box was easy tore through in swift fashion. Though, its contents perplexed him further. Looking to you again, red silk pearls spin wildly. “That was the baby inhibitor.”

Oh. This was the thing. “Was?” Mission lag had not been kind to Shisui, it was a rough few days. Too many stalled attempts before it was accomplished. But being a genius didn’t leave him entirely ignorant. “Oh.” Like, now it clicks. That this—this exact tiny thing was the actual thing. Which meant, “you’ve been liberated.”

It was a funny way to put it, but to Shisui it meant everything. It meant that he could actually move forward with you. Not that you hadn’t already been moving forward, but this was the sort of progression he desired most.

“…has it?” He asked again, your silence only made him reconsider, and as you held his face with both palms. You gave Shisui the most tender kiss, full-mouthed and deep, he whispered through broken kisses. “Are you truly prepared for this?”

Those words alone send a heat to pool in your lower stomach. That and Shisui’s hands gripping you tightly as they trembled at the curve of your waist. Whether it be excitement or lack of sleep. Probably lack of an actual meal too. He didn’t quite feel like eating dinner in this moment.

“The situation has been rectified.” Those simple yet effective words had more of a profound impact on Shisui. Had you not realized this was something he desperately needed? “It will take a few cycles—”

Words were futile for a man in Shisui’s position. This exact moment found you backwards walked in a series of scorching katon kisses. He nearly singed the back of your throat when he kissed you this way. Maddening him further was the soft touch to his belt as you unclamp it and untucked his cock. Searing more the same kisses your jaw, throat and chest when you stroked his flaming erection. How deliciously sweet but spicy that Uchiha katon tasted as it sat in the back of your esophagus.

Your dainty bodice was left somewhere in between the hall bathroom and the master bedroom door. You were already squirming on two fingers knuckle deep before your head hit the bed. Scoffed at the loss of his cock in your hand. That crotchless little thing had Shisui spreading your slick and tonguing at your clit before you put on whatever act you had planned.

“Your…gifts.” A hopeless mewl when you came on his mouth the first time, Shisui was far too gone.

“…fuck the gifts.” This was more precious than any gift, that you were fully capable of doing him the honors of taking his genetic material and making it into something so valuable and beautiful. “…I don’t care if you take to my seed today, tomorrow or next month. This right here is for practice.”

It wasn’t any sort of sex that you and Shisui had before. Sure, sex was sex when you looked at it from any angle. But this? This was being caged under a man who had little resolve left with his actions. By no means did he hurt or leave a mark that wasn’t planted with the utmost respect for you and your body. Red marks on either side of your neck, chest and thighs. Once Shisui determines you were properly worked out enough for him.

The twitch in his cock as he luridly strokes himself before you, wild eyed and tinted. As he divides you over his length, he shucks both your knees with his arms and full on dips the entirety of his hips into the padding of your ass. It’s almost painful when he presses into you this way.

Only then did he fuck you mercilessly. The consistent deep thrusts are the first to make your eyes roll shut. Hardly ever did he use his teeth, but when you moaned out his name like that. Needy and wanting. There wasn’t anything else he thought of than to bite every inch of skin his mouth came across. You were cramped up so snug beneath him, completely immobilized and at his mercy. The subtle touch of his testicles on a full cock length thrust every now and then. His rhythm unrelenting. Shisui attentively listens to every soft mewl and whimper out of your precious mouth when his lips and fingers don’t have it preoccupied.

But damn did he love the sound of you moaning around his fingers. Choked out on three of them, as your ‘cute little pussy’—or so he called it. Fluttered and milked another deeply buried load into you, at this point he was merely tap to release. Bottoming out into a seemingly bottomless pool of his own cum. It seeped and spilled on to the nice silk sheets you intricately place earlier today.

The dull pulse of another orgasm as he continued to pump so slow, but incredulously deep. As if he purposely never fully fucked his cock into you; which was a far stretch. The many times Shisui inundated the swell of your cunt with his ever throbbing need and used it as a dump was more than you could ever count. How effortlessly he coaxed three more orgasms out of you, each one spasms and threatens another deposit out of him.

This was undoubtedly breeding. No way to describe it overwise. If you hadn’t of guess it by now, the things he said to you were more than an indication of the long night ahead of you. Powerless, but pleased to no end. You didn’t think however many orgasms he worked out of you were possible. You lay almost limp and useless. Along for the ride. Not to mention how sticky and nasty your legs felt. The amount of pain this man’s testicles would bear tomorrow morning was worth while. As if continuing to thrust into you would make his cum leak out less, Shisui was operating on what you assumed was less than half a brain cell. His eyes were lost, distant. Even with the Mangekyō boring into you this way his foresight that he was thoroughly finished hadn’t caught up.

You patted his cheek lovingly. It took a real special woman such as yourself to understand a man like Shisui.

“…Shisui-kun. You can stop now.” It wasn’t a plea, more of a distraction. There hadn’t been any warmth filling you from with in. Just whatever he managed to slosh around inside of you. It caked your insides.

But your seeet voice thrummed through his ears and his heart sank, “…oh …gods.” It was that moment he regained some semblance of control. Having fucked you on autopilot. The apologies flood as the kisses peppered your cheeks.

Here you lie, plugged. Stuffed to the brim of your cunt with his cum. Whatever didn’t manage to leak out still ever present inside you. The viscosity of it only thickens as it sits. So gentle when he slips out, the massive bubbles as his cum fully empties out of you. Shisui didn’t realize the reach of his own body. Scooping you up, he plops you into the tub.

The clock reads three hours that dinner had been sitting on the counter. The warmth of the water soothes your aching legs and back. Shisui hardly used his full strength to outmaneuver you, but this time he hadn’t the slightest how far he took it.

“I’m fine.” You smile, wholly fucked and tired. “…it was just for practice right?”

Shisui ran both hands through damp curls. He had forgotten all that was said. “It won’t be anything like that again.”

But what if you had liked it? “I’m partial to it…” dipping just below the water, up to your nose and not averting your gaze from his. “It was hot.” There you said it.

Shisui smiles the width of his mouth. Hot, you thought it was hot to be fucked like a cocksleeve? “Is that so?”

“…yes.” There wasn’t any way around it. “Just maybe, we take turns?” This was something Shisui could work with.

Slipping into the tub with you, behind you. Shisui leans you against his chest. “I can manage that.” When you mentioned it was rather endearing aside from being mostly prone. He remembers, “about those gifts?”

“After you reheat dinner.” The soft white of the foamy bath water is washed over you by Shisui with a loofah.

He could do that. He would do anything you ask of him. Especially knowing that from this moment forward, he would be undoubtedly indebted to you once that beautiful body of yours was swollen for him.

#shisui uchiha #shisui headcanons #shisui smut #Shisui smutty Sundays #uchiha clan #uchiha headcanons #uchiha family #uchiha shisui

[sansxfuckyou]

I've got the beats, I've got the bass (I've got the treats, for you to taste)

Summary: Floyd doubts there'll be a lot of him left to save when his brothers find him

Warnings: cannibalism, gore, amputation, Floyd is going through it, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: inspired by the Troll Twins AU by @ohposhers, im aware the cannibalism post was like, not official to the au, but the inner phan demanded i write this. title from DJ Whore by S3RL, hope ya'll enjoy and if you do consider dropping a reblog or checking out the ao3 port

edit 2023.12.28: WE GOT A SECOND CHAPTER OUT NOW!! it displays a small amount of comfort edit 2023.12.30: the third and final chapter has been posted, it's also been turned into a series because I have so many ideas about it

It's a little bit twisted, and a lot bit fucked up.

But they can't sing, they're Trolls and they can't sing, maybe if they were Classical it wouldn't be a problem. But they're born Pop and they can barely hold a note despite the fact they want to be famous so fucking badly. So they turn to the next best option, run away to Mount Rageous and make it big with a bunch of jello jointed freaks.

Of course, they still need an iota of talent to make it with even a bit of success.

Their method for getting that talent is beyond cruel, beyond human, beyond anything that could be conceived by a Pop Troll. But Velvet's everything but a Pop Troll these days, sadistic, uncaring, greedy- she'll get what she wants and she'll take her brother with her. She'll take her brother and the first unfortunate thing that has talent at that, figure out how to use that talent for herself and keep it.

Veneer always stared, unable to do anything as she worked, "Vel, this is-"

"Genius? I know," Velvet always answered with as she shucked slices of meat from the Troll under their ownership, paper thin and raw on a plate she'd hand to Veneer, "Eat up."

And he always did, he always fucking ate it. He always took his half and she always took her half, rejuvenating the talent they lacked with a small tray of raw meat from their own kin. She smiled this darling smile the entire time their captive watched them devour him, and Veneer tried to do the same.

"You two are fucked," Floyd argued as Velvet would bandage his arms and block off the bleeding because she had some civility despite everything. He'd clench and unclench his fist just to make sure he still could considering how spindly he was with how much they took away from him.

Velvet just giggles, "Maybe we'll take off your whole arm next, let you bleed out a bit," She traces a sharp nail across the joint of his shoulder. He shudders and tries to jerk away, the cuffs on his wrists make it shockingly hard to do so.

They get famous while he wastes away, chunk by chunk. They're erring closer to having a fame that reaches outside of Mount Rageous and he's erring closer to them having to nibble on his bones for his talent. The idea almost makes him laugh, but then he remembers that laughing hurts with how frail he is.

It's when Velvet enters the room with a hacksaw and a breaking knife that he cries for the first time. Tears welling up in his eyes and he can't bring himself to stifle them or wipe them away even though the cuffs are gone. He just sobs, aware of the fact that this is it, they're finally going to lop off his head.

"Oh don't be a baby," Velvet chided as she grabbed her marker, bright red, paint instead of ink, and dragged it along Floyd's thigh, just above his knee. She left a dotted line around his leg and he tries to stop crying.

"Do you have any anesthetic?" Floyd asked, trying to be smug.

Velvet gives this falsely contemplative hum, "Maybe," She lays down the jagged end of the hacksaw at the line, "But probably not."

Then she starts to cut, back and forth across the flesh with enough pressure to snap a rib. Teeth tear him open and he yowls, nerve endings fraying as his blood pools around him. It's shiny, not glittery per se, but definitely holding an almost opalescent sheen due to his Pop origins. It makes Velvet's mouth water, the fresh scent hitting her nose and she could tear into him with her own teeth right then and there but she doesn't.

No, she just forces further down through tendon and fat alike. His meat is both lean and marbled quite nicely with the diet they've been feeding him. Just enough to keep him alive, but fatty and carbohydrate heavy to make his flesh taste better and less tough. She presses the breaking knife beside the hacksaw when she hits the knob of the femur and presses hard until she hears something splinter. The scream accompanying it confirms her suspicions that she broke it as she cuts through marrow without any remorse.

He just whimpers and bites his tongue, hot tears still roll down his face as he watches her try and tear it the rest of the way. Twisting and yanking and it hurts so fucking bad but he can't do much to stop her. It comes off with this terrible sound and he wails as Velvet just lops off the skin with the breaking knife, aware she'll have to go at it more finely later.

"Shut up," Velvet demanded, tossing aside the leg and grabbing the bandage, "I'm not gonna let you die, or sleep through it."

He just nods as she bandages up his jagged stump, not even bothering to slice it smooth with her knife so the nerve endings aren't everywhere and torn every way possible. She bandages him with some semblance of care, he is their talent, he is their guinea pig, she can't just let him die. That'd be too nice of her considering how much talent is left on his bones, how much skill they can pilfer from his flesh.

"Hey Vel! We're running out of seasoning!" It's Veneer whose shouting down the hallways and Floyd hears.

"So I'm not good enough raw?" Floyd questioned, trying so very, very hard to be smug despite the pain coursing through every inch of his body.

Velvet scoffed, taking the leg and standing up, "Don't flatter yourself."

There's this stench of decay in Floyd's holding room by the time the twins are actually taken down. Even at that they aren't really taken down, just put in the slammer by their ever present assistant Crimp who would occasionally sneak some iron supplements into his food. She was nice, she was trampled on but she was nice, learned how to play ukulele to Floyd's singing and the such.

But she couldn't put back the flesh they stripped him of, tearing him down to his bones and even at that lopping limbs off. He's missing a leg below the knee and his entire right arm, shoulder down, and the rest of him is worryingly thin. Not because he was starved, far from him being starved, by the time he started running out of meat on his bones they upped his diet to try and make him last. It was futile really, they still tore off his skin and the flesh underneath it till all he had was bones with a paper thin layer of nerves and red wrapped in bandages.

The floor and walls are thoroughly saturated in the scent of his blood, his tears, and the medications they used to keep him from dying prematurely. Tranexamic acid to thicken his blood so he wouldn't bleed out. Midazolam to help him keep breathing even with the frailty in his everything. Benzodiazepines to stop his anxiety and force his muscles to ease up so his flesh wouldn't be so tense. Morphine, acetaminophen, risperidone, the list went on and on, he's pretty sure the nights he spent vomiting them up only hastened his wasting.

Dying would've been better than this though. Being torn apart, picked apart, used for his talent, having the life ripped out of him. At least none of his brothers had to see him like this, at least Branch didn't have to see him so ruined. He'd be the worst brother ever if Branch had to see him like this, if any of them did. Traumatized for life, he doubts he could live with himself if any of them got nightmares from seeing him in such a zombified state.

He winces when the door opens and light filters in, the rush of uncontaminated air doesn't reach him through the overpowering scent of decay. He can barely make out the silhouettes as Trolls, and instead of being defiant like he usually is, he crumbles. He can't fight it anymore, he's on his last leg to a literal degree and he knows he'll die if they take anymore.

"I'm out of talent," He begged, tears welling up once again, "I'm dead, just look at me," His voice catches on a sob.

They take one step further in, "Floyd?"

Floyd barely recognizes the voice, but he still sobs, even harder knowing it's one of his brothers, "I told you it was a trap, John," He's laughing now, it hurts so much but he's laughing regardless. He tries to shove himself up but everything hurts too much to do so, "Why did you bring our brothers?"

"Cause last time you were in a diamond holding cell! Now you're in a fucking closet that smells like shit," John snapped before stepping even further in, one step at a time. He was still getting used to the low light, his three younger brothers followed in suite.

"Don't! Just, leave!" It's a plea, it's the closest Floyd can get to a demand. He desperately thrusts out a paw like it'll stop them even though he knows it won't, and the action rubs the bandages against his raw nerves the wrong way. There's a hiss of agony, "Please, don't."

"We came here to save you," Bruce butted in with.

"I left my tribe to find you, Floyd," Clay said, stepping more gingerly than the others, "We're taking you home."

"Do you want to stay here?" Branch questioned.

And Floyd just sobbed, raising his paw to his face to try and hide himself away from them, hitching his good leg to his chest to hide the bandages. He whimpered and cried as they finally stepped close enough to see him in all of his ruination. The footsteps stop and he knows they're all riddled with disgust, riddled with fear, with regret, with shame. Their brother who looks like he was sent through the wood chipper, their brother who promised he'd come back, their brother, destroyed.

"I told you to leave," He whispers the word, eyes shut and body limp because he can't bear to see their disgust, "I fucking told you."

Paws gently lift him up, cradling him in a set of arms and he keeps sobbing, curling into whoever held him. He doesn't know which one it is because they all wear vests and open front shirts, in the past at least. He just knows he's holding on tight and apologizing for all the blood he's getting on their fur despite the repetition of 'its okay' being spoken back softly.

-/-/-/-

Floyd is out cold in the back of John Dory's van, strapped down with strips of the emergency roll of scrap booking felt that Poppy always brings with her. Branch has never been more pleased in his entire life that his girlfriend is a weirdo who always needs to scrap book because it's keeping his brother secured. He still feels absolutely sick to the stomach and he's not sure if it's the vile smell of rotting blood or the disgust with what Velvet and Veneer had done. All of them feel nauseated.

"Is he gonna make it?" Clay is the one who breaks the silence.

"Of course he will, we have the best doctors across any genre," Branch snapped back with, the sharpness of his voice unintentional.

Clay shrinks back just a bit, but shoots something back just as sharply, "Sorry to hit a nerve."

"Can we not argue right now?" Poppy asked, leaning between the two with this nervous look on her face, "Please?"

Branch crosses his arms and slumps against the wall of the van, Clay mirrors the motions.

Bruce clears his throat, "Poppy's right, we should just get Floyd under medical care as soon as possible."

"Is he even awake?!" John shouted from the front, eyes still firmly fixed on the road but body riddled with concern and fear and so many other things.

"He passed out!" Bruce shouted back.

Branch leans up against Poppy, "I'm scared," It's a whisper, it barely comes out at all. He never thought he'd admit an emotion as vulnerable as fear to a Troll as loud as Poppy.

Poppy just wraps an arm around his shoulders before whispering back, "It'll be okay," even though she doesn't know if it will.

"What if it isn't?" Branch asked just as quietly.

Poppy doesn't have an answer.

There's this low groan from the back of the van, no one up front dares to move because Bruce is already back there. They don't want to send Floyd ricocheting into another freak out, "Where am I?"

"In John's van," Bruce answered with.

Floyd tried to move but he couldn't, panic shot through him. His breathing hastened just a bit, "Why am I tied down?" He tries to quell the fear resting so heavily on his voice, weighing down on his calm and cool exterior.

"Because you're not doing so hot, it's for safety," Bruce said, trying to keep his voice soft, slipping into dad mode without even realizing it, "We'll take them off as soon as we get home, okay?"

Floyd gave this weak semblance of a nod, "Okay, is Branch here?"

The aforementioned brother scrambles to get to the back of the van, "Of course I am."

"Sorry you had to see me so messed up," Floyd apologized and Branch feels like crying at the comment because it's so fucked up that Floyd is saying sorry for being destroyed when he could do nothing.

"Floyd, it's fine, you couldn't," Branch tries to speak, he really does, but a whole lot of nothing comes up. He just holds onto Floyd's paw desperately tight, "We should've been there sooner."

"You had your own lives," Floyd countered with, "Thanks for saving me anyways."

"We'll always be there to save you, Floyd," Bruce supplied in place of Branch who was just rendered nonverbal.

"Is he gonna walk again?" Branch asked.

The doctor shook her head, "Even with prosthetics using Funk technology and Rock materials, he still doesn't have enough meat on his bones to properly move them to their full extent."

"Can't you give him a graft?" Clay asked, "I read about it, skin grafts, muscle grafts, take some flesh and use it somewhere else."

"I absolutely would but the thing is," She gives this sigh before gesturing to Floyd's body.

He's near skeletal, not enough of the right bio chemicals in him to scab up everywhere, he's torn up and raw. With the bandages removed he looks even more zombie, even if he is asleep over a hospital cocktail with light analgesia. It wasn't supposed to knock him out, just ease the pain, but apparently he was destroyed enough that the small amount of alcohol did knock him down. His arm is as thin as Clay's, in some places stripped to the bone. His good leg and his other thigh have chunks ripped out of them, whole sections of muscle and tendon alike removed but not quite to the bone there. His ribs are pronounced, so are his collar bones, and the crests of his pelvis, not enough flesh to keep the sharpness hidden.

"There isn't anything to take and use elsewhere. He's a shell of his former self, if we're lucky we can stabilize him and keep him on light foods until he fills out a bit. Then he'll be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, if we're lucky he'd be able to use a prosthetic with crutches on a good day," The doctor explained. A deep sense of horror knotted itself onto the brothers stomachs. Not enough flesh to do a graft, of course there isn't enough leftover, he's a skeleton for fucks sake! They're glad Floyd isn't awake to hear about his brand new future (they don't know he'll take anything so long as he isn't in the hands of Velvet and Veneer).

John Dory won't stand for it, "Hey doc, if you have a donor with the same blood type or whatever, it could work, theoretically speaking," He's grasping at straws really, but he doesn't want his baby brother to live a life without dancing, or going on walks, or any other thing that he can think of. He'd sooner die than use a wheel chair, his life was the mountains, his life was rough terrain. And even though he doesn't know if Floyd feels the same, he doesn't want his brother robbed.

"Are you insane?" Was what Bruce said before the doctor could answer.

"I was in the woods living off of swamp scum and bird carcass for twenty years, I absolutely am," He presses a digit to Bruce's chest as he speaks and shoves him back, "I want my brother to walk with us, to dance with us."

"He can do it in a wheel chair," Bruce countered with, "Medical advances have been made, we've come really far in twenty years."

"Guys," Clay butted in with, they both snapped to glare at him, "Let the doctor speak before you tear your heads off."

"It could work, hypothetically, but if his body rejects the graft for some inane reason he might not make it through the night. Although he might not make it either way given his current condition," The doctor said, "It's up to you four to call the shots because he's out cold."

They all share a tense glance.

"We all have the same blood type," Branch got out quietly.

"Blood type O, universal donor, can only take other O's," Clay tacked on.

"And our fur would match his, he wouldn't look totally frankensteined," John said.

Bruce stayed quiet.

"It's up to you, Bruce, this could work," Branch pressed.

"Fine, just don't take too much off of me," Bruce said, "I have a wife who would not appreciate me coming home butchered."

"Bruce, this is about Floyd," Clay said rather sternly, "We all know your wife will love you no matter how bloody you are."

"Guess some things never change, like your whole 'gotta look good' thing," John teased.

The doctor cleared her throat and all eyes were on her, "If we want to have enough time we'll need to put you under for surgery in the next hour or so, the clock is ticking."

"I'm doing it,"

"Count me in,"

"Me too,"

"So am I,"

-/-/-/-

All of them are unconscious when they're stolen from, strips of flesh taken from their serratus anterior and latissimus dorsi so no one has to see the scars when it's over. They're carefully cut open and extracted, a little bit of skin came with it because Floyd didn't have enough skin himself these days. At least when he still had the bandages on they could lie and say he had scabs and skin, lie and say the stench was because he hasn't had a shower in months, not because his blood refused to dry properly and rot and infect instead.

Mismatched muscles are stitched into the gaping lacerations across his body, surgical glue used around the edges just to make sure. Patches of his brothers skin from where their flesh was taken are stitched atop to try and hide the raw flesh, bright red and shimmery, it might help stimulate his body into trying to regrow his own skin. Otherwise he'll always have scars a deeper hue than his blood beside skin held on with stitches like he's one of Frankenstein's monsters, unfinished and abandoned.

Except his brothers are risking their own hide to try and bring him back from his virtually undead state, so close to death he might as well bury himself. He has four brothers letting themselves be butchered so he'll be able to move his remaining limbs, so he'll be able to live without the risk of developing a medication tolerance too strong. He has four brothers that are giving a doctor permission to take a piece out of them to sew into him instead, maybe if he were awake he'd say something about how poetic that is, how they'll never be apart again.

But he isn't awake, instead he's blissfully asleep on a small shot that was supposed to make him more sociable and numb the pain. He passed out rather fast after taking it, and then his brothers could begin discussing the truth of the matter without Floyd. If he was awake when they brought up the graft they know he would defy it, they know he would say it isn't right for them to make that sacrifice. They also know their brother would waste away without their help, waste away without any extra meat, exposed bone doesn't scream 'healthy' in Pop Village.

There's an extraction from Bruce first, tactfully cut from his lower back and laid atop Floyd's rib cage. Slid over top the painfully thin muscles in thin slices, some if it was placed along his hips to add padding to his painfully prominent bones. To make him less skeletal, it was mostly cosmetic on that front, but if he tripped and fell he could shatter like glass with how exposed they were. He'd shatter and there'd be so much blood it would leave someone scarred for life, so much whimpering because punctured lungs leaves no room for screaming.

The doctor takes from John Dory next because of how insistent he was on the procedure, how insistent he was to make sure Floyd could have flesh again. It's taken from one thigh, a solid chunk taken out and replaced with an almost jelly substance. He'd collapse when he walked without a substitute of some sort, he'll be reduced to crutches until he gets used to it. A consequence perhaps, or just cruel fate that he has the perfect cut of meat to fill one of the larger gaps in Floyd's good leg. He's restitched with most of his skin, but again, a good chunk of it goes to his little brother, to keep him from drying in the sun.

"What's happening?" It's Floyd, waking up strapped down and held open with someone holding a piece of meat. He instantly goes to thrash, scared, afraid, oh god he thought he escaped. What a cruel dream, imagining his brothers would actually pull through, he's still stuck.

"Calm down, Floyd," The doctor said, "We're in a hospital, giving you a surgery, your safe, your brothers are safe."

Floyd tries to nod, "Why am I awake?"

"Analgesia knocked you out, it just wore off," She said, grabbing a needle, "So please, hold still."

He does as told, needle sliding through his skin with ease. It only stings a little bit as he anesthetic pushes through his veins rather sluggishly. The doctor falters on using another needle to actually knock him out and only chooses against it when he drifts back to sleep. There's a long pause of no motion, no advances, just in case he wakes back up again, but when he doesn't she continues.

Placing John's flesh into the cavity of Floyd's leg and stitching it closed, surgical glue to keep it in place after he's been closed up. The stitches almost match his fur, thread off by a single shade, just a bit darker than he is. And it keeps staining on the blood inside of him when the needle goes through, keeps picking up that red pigment that shines like liquid gold. She'll rinse it clean after the surgery is done, after he's patched up using chunks of his brothers who love him so much they'd tear themselves apart for him.

She hesitates to take anything off of Clay because he's already spindly. But he wants to give as well, he's the one who remembered their blood types were all O despite the odds. He gets the exterior layer of skin from his lower back shucked off unforgivingly, he's too thin to take his muscle, that'd put him in danger. The flesh is stitched onto the nub just above Floyd's knee, where he was amputated without any reason. The jagged gore won't connect to a prosthetic very well, it's smoothed with a scalpel before the skin is put into place. Definitely not the average surgical move, but whatever it takes to keep a patient alive, including slicing off bits of meat in need of replacement. It's rotten flesh anyways, always exposed to air and never allowed to properly heal, it reeks of death like the rest of his body.

Branch is the final one taken from, strips out of his thighs spliced into Floyd's arms length wise. They fill out nicely, rest atop the bone in such a fashion they look like they belonged in his arm instead of Branch's leg. The hue of the flesh and the hue of the skin didn't match, the gray that Branch experienced still held strong even upon being cut up and stitched to a new body. It really makes Floyd look chimeric, like a rotten, decaying, beast of mythology that shouldn't be able to exist. And if he makes it out alive he'll fit the description perfectly because his heart rate should've dropped off the face of the planet by now, but it hasn't, he's still alive somehow.

He's still alive and so far his body isn't rejecting the sacrifices his brothers are making for him. It's a miracle really, them getting him to the hospital on time to get him stabilized for a surgery is also miracle. And maybe the defiance John Dory held over letting Floyd be forced into a wheel chair will bring advances to the medical field, probably not. But this in itself is amazing, the fact he's getting pulled together by thread and woke up not coughing blood is absurd.

Maybe when he wakes up at the designated time he still won't cough up blood.

-/-/-/-

John Dory wakes up last, "What happened?" He swings his leg over the edge of his bed and hisses because it hurts real bad.

Bruce is face down on his bed, "We gave Floyd a muscle graft, remember?"

"Right," John answered with before going to stand, he instantly collapsed, heavily leaning on the small table. Crutches, he grabs them instantly to prop himself up, knees shaking, "Where's Floyd?"

"I'm over here," Came Floyd's voice from the other side of the room, he was hobbling over with his new leg. It looked sleek, a lovely metallic sheen to it due to the materials and the Funk craftsmanship ties it together, the shape similar enough to an organic leg. He's using a crutch to walk over, fresh flesh in his thigh sore, but working with a bit of weight alleviation.

"You look great man!" Elation is heavy on John's voice as he tries to take a step over with the crutches. He nearly falls, "Whose are these?"

"Yours, the substitute for the chunk they took out of you is still fresh. It's gonna take time to walk 'normally' with it, but crutches are easy after a bit," Floyd explained, "Thanks."

John sits back down on his bed, "Well jeez, your welcome bro, but I may have to take that flesh back if I can't walk."

"You're lucky you aren't in a wheel chair," Bruce stated boldly, rolling onto his side just a bit, "The doc said that it was almost so bad you'd need one, you're lucky."

"Say, where's Branch? And Clay?" John asked, changing the subject with ease.

Floyd shrugged with one shoulder, the prosthetic not responding as much as desired, "I'm pretty sure they're in the room next too us, still asleep. When I asked the doctor she said they were still alive."

"They fucking better be, I'll crush her skull with these stupid crutches if they aren't," John snarled out.

"See, you're already in love with them," Floyd teased, "I'm sure Branch will outfit them to your style once he's done with his recovery."

Bruce gives a laugh, "Karma."

"Shut up," He pointed the end of his crutch at Bruce threateningly.

Bruce just batted it away with his paw, "How dangerous."

"Guys, neither of you are in condition to get in fight,"

"Beg to differ,"

"I could kick his ass no matter what,"

Floyd sighed, taking a couple disjointed steps closer to take a seat at the foot of Bruce's bed. He leans his crutch on the edge, "You could not, you're a dad."

"Makes me even better at tossing little shits around," Bruce countered with.

John is quick to try and breach the small gap, he ends up face first in Bruce's bed. It garners a loud laugh, "Shut up," it's a muffled plea, "How long are we gonna be in this place for?"

"A considerable while," Floyd offered nervously, "It varies between us. Me, you, and Branch are gonna be here the longest because we need some physical rehab, might be permanent for you and Branch, it will for me."

Bruce hoists up John fully onto the mattress, "I'm regretting saving your life," Bruce clips the back of his head for that comment.

Floyd just laughs, "Gee, I love you too."

#troll twins au #trolls world tour #trolls fanfic #trolls floyd #velvet and veneer #trolls #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #tw gore #tw body horror #tw cannibalism

[sentientgolfball]

Ghoulette Appreciation: Week 1

I kicked the writer's block and was able to write the first prompt for @jesusbutbetterrr ghoulette months :3 I did a mix of start of something new and girl's night in

All the prompts I do are gonna be nothing but Mistshine! I'm taking this as an excuse to write for my favorite ghoulette pairing, but of course all of them will be making appearances :3

Word Count: 1937

Tags: ghoulette pile, drunk/high sex, Mist is intersex with a tentacle, transfem Sunshine

Summary: The band would be heading out on tour soon and the girls have their last Ghoulette Night before they're separated for months

Mist was one to usually keep to herself. They were quiet, reserved, preferring the calm silence over chaotic company. Some thought it was because she was cold, emotionless, and a bit of a prude. Others thought it was because she was too dangerous for even the other ghouls to be around them. The venomous barbs sheathed in their wrists were proof enough. 

That was the problem with humans, Mist thought, they never see the full picture. While some of their whispers had merit, they would never understand why. Mist was a deep sea water ghoul. Unlike your average ghoul of any variety really, the deep sea beasts were solitary in nature. The only time they’d see another of their kind that wasn’t immediate kin would be during the mating seasons. The only packs that existed were made up entirely of family, and even then those packs were minuscule. It was rare for deep-sea ghouls to have more than two kits. 

So yes, Mist could be described as cold and reserved, but it didn’t reflect all of her. Living on the surface taught her how nice it is to have packmates. To know that any of them would drop everything for her if she needed, and she’d do the same. Of course, as much as she cherishes each and every ghoul, that doesn’t change her basic nature. She still enjoys her alone time, needs it. They spend so much of their free time alone that they’re always a little surprised when ghouls come looking. 

It’s not often that they find themselves sitting on a lumpy bean bag in Cirrus and Cumulus’ room surrounded by the other ghoulettes and copious amounts of wine, weed, and self-care products. Mist would be lying if they said they didn’t enjoy these rare nights of pure indulgence. They’d let Cumulus and the newly summoned Aurora use her for makeup practice, they’d let them put whatever cream or lotion on her because it made them happy. Mist would let Cirrus keep her glass full of the wine she had Swiss steal from Terzo’s personal collection. They’d let Sunshine feed her a joint until she got bold enough to sit in their lap and shotgun. 

Mist would do the same for all of them. She’d bring the best food to complement the wine. She’d brush their hair and work knots out of their muscles with her rough hands. She’d give exactly as much as she’d take. 

Tonight’s Ghoulette Night was bigger than any they’d had recently. It was the last before Cirrus, Cumulus, and Aurora would be off on tour. The wine was the sweetest Swiss could get his claws on. The weed was harvested directly from Mountain’s personal store. Mist had even broken into the Ministry cellars to get their hands on the best meats and cheeses for the ghoulettes to snack on. It was a necessity, she had decided. 

Now they all sit in Cirrus’ nest, more than a little buzzed and lazily touching each other. 

“Fuck I’m gonna miss this” Sunshine sighs, resting her head on Mist’s shoulder. 

“Me too” Aurora giggles when Cumulus kisses behind her ear. 

“We can always make a shitty nest and drink shitty wine in the hotels” Cirrus chirps.

“No way! You guys aren’t allowed to do it without us!” Sunny sticks her tongue out and clings closer to Mist. 

Mist just hums and squeezes her waist. 

“Oh we’re still definitely drinking” Lus purrs “but it won’t be the same without everyone.” 

“I don’t wanna think about that. Don’t wanna think.” 

Sunny suddenly jolts from where she had been lounging against Mist. She crawls into her lap and Mist knows she’s grown impatient. It’s an unholy miracle it took this long for her to start this. Usually, when they’ve snatched Mountain’s weed they’re all wrapped around each other before a coherent conversation can be held. 

“Wow, Sunny I think that’s a new record for you” Cirrus laughs but starts to shift Aurora onto her lap. 

“Took you long enough” Cumulus slots herself behind Aurora, caging her in. 

Mist had to agree. They had been painfully waiting for Sunshine to make her move. It always started like this. They’d all relax and let the alcohol and smoke turn time to honey until one of them couldn’t take the anticipation anymore. It was usually Sunny, save for Aurora’s first Ghoulette Night. 

Mist loved the way Sunny would always cling to her first. No matter what they did to her, Sunny would always come back for more. Mist would be lying if she said it wasn’t addictive. With Sunny finally in their lap, they made their move. 

“This is for making me wait” she whispers low before sinking their fangs into the side of her neck. 

Sunny whines high-pitched, twitching her hips forward, dragging her cock against them. Mist squeezes her hips harder, feeling their tentacle start to poke out of its sheath. 

“‘M sorry” she squirms.

“No, you’re not” Mist tears Sunny’s crop top off. 

She just giggles and shrugs. 

On the other side of the nest, Cirrus is lying flat on her back as Aurora scoots closer and closer to her face. Cumulus has one hand under her skirt and another in Cirrus’ underwear. 

“Don’t look at them” Mist grabs her jaws and forces her attention “You only know me.”

They crash their lips together in an almost possessive manner. It's filthy instantly with tongue and fang licking and clacking together. Mist yanks at the short hairs around the nape of her neck pulling breathy little gasps from her. She slides her hands under the hem of Mist’s shorts, slowly starting to pull them down. 

“Lords below it has a mind of its own” Sunny giggles feeling their tentacle writhe against her fingertips. 

“You say that every time” Mist deadpans. 

“Whaaaat I think it’s hot how excited—“ 

She’s cut off by Mist tweaking both of her nipples. They drag the flat of their tongue over the scars under Sunny’s breasts before replacing a finger with her mouth. She sucks and nips at her tits until they’re decorated with purple and blue marks as deep as Mist’s eyes. Until she can feel Sunny’s cock kicking in her pants. 

Her eyes briefly flick when Aurora moans. Cirrus’ face is covered by the fabric of her skirt and her thighs. Aurora shakes, grinding down on her face. Cumulus is laying on her stomach, face buried in Cirrus. 

Mist's attention is drawn back when she feels warm fingers teasing her cunt. Sunny is grinning down where she has her hand shoved into her shorts, tentacle wrapping around her wrist to pull her closer. 

“I think it’s unfair you get to look at them but I don’t” she pouts, but slowly slides a finger inside of them. 

Mist grabs her wrist, yanking her hand away. They shove their shorts down enough to let their tentacle fully free before popping the button on Sunny’s pants and wiggling her out of them. She seats Sunny back on her lap, letting the tentacle probe curiously at her ass. 

“You’re right. It is unfair” she wraps a hand around Sunny’s cock right as the tip wiggles in “but I want all of you.” 

Sunshine squirms and whines as the tentacle slowly slides into her, wet and sticky with Mist’s slick. They squeeze the base of her cock and Sunny yelps. Mist does it again and again and again, pulling those pretty little sounds from her. 

They latch onto her neck, trailing bruising kisses up her throat. She licks into Sunny’s mouth tasting her sweet orange and vanilla flavor. Sunshine pants into her mouth as the tentacle writhes within her. Mist starts to jack her off, pressing a cruel finger to the underside of her head every time their fist passes over. 

Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s the weed. Maybe it’s the noises of Cirrus, Cumulus, and Aurora. Maybe it’s just Mist, but Sunshine can already feel her balls drawing up as her cock spits pre.

Mist bites her bottom lip and trails wet opened mouth kisses up to her ear. They drag their tongue over the shell before biting the lobe. 

“Cum for me”  they whisper low. 

Sunny does. Hard. Everything is intense and floaty as she spills over Mist’s hand. Tears prick the corners of her eyes from the tentacle still moving inside her ass. Mist snickers, kissing across her collarbones. 

“Mist can we play? Pretty please?” 

They slowly unlatch from Sunshine and look down. Aurora, now completely naked, has crawled over to them. Her eyes are big, pleading, and a little red. Something inside Mist burns. She doesn’t understand why, it’s not like she dislikes Aurora. Quite the opposite actually, she thinks her bold nature is quite charming. But when Sunshine wiggles off of them at the call of Cirrus and Cumulus, the burn only intensifies. They make a mental note of this, something to examine later, before they push Aurora onto her back and climb between her legs. 

The tentacle immediately starts slipping into her cunt and Aurora giggles at the sensation.

“You didn’t let me have this last time.” 

Mist tears her gaze away from where Sunny is choking on Cumulus’ strap. 

“You were new. I didn’t want to frighten you.” 

“Please” she snorts, “it takes a lot to get me to crack.” 

Mist tilts their head with an eyebrow raised. 

“C’mon Mist I’ve heard the others talk. Give it to me.” 

“Hm. Not here. Not now.” 

“Why not?” She huffs. 

Mist leans forward, wrapping a hand around Aurora’s throat, and squeezes hard enough to make her gasp. 

“Because” they whisper “if I'm going to, I want you tied to my bed so I can break you.” 

Aurora’s eyes roll to the back of her head and she clenches hard around the tentacle. 

Mist tries to put all their focus on fucking Aurora, giving her a little something to think about as the tour starts up, but everything is clouded by the noises Sunny is making only a few feet away. Every gasp, whine, keen has a flash of heat coursing through her body. She doesn’t understand why though. They’ve been having these nights since the two air ghoulettes were summoned and not once has this happened before. 

She decides it’s the effects of Mountain’s weed, she was always a lightweight when it came to anything drugs. They shake it off and drop a hand to Aurora’s clit, circling it as they squeeze her neck. 

Aurora cums with Mist’s name on her tongue. They coax the tentacle out of her and help her sit up. She props her up, letting her lean against her as she snatches a nearby bottle of wine and offers her some. The two cuddle and pass the bottle back and forth as they watch Cirrus and Cumulus milk every last drop out of Sunshine’s cock. 

“You’re growling,” Aurora says sleepily. 

Mist hadn’t even realized. She stops herself immediately with a cough and swig. Sunshine cries out both of the air ghoulettes names and they nearly choke on the wine. That fire ignites in her belly again and now that she’s not buried to the hilt in Aurora she can place a name to that feeling. 

Jealousy. Possession. 

She wanted to be the one to get Sunny to cry like that. 

She didn’t want to hear another name roll out of her mouth. 

She was confused. Ghouls share everything, even the solitary deep-sea ghouls were strangers to monogamy. So why was Mist feeling this way watching Sunny be taken apart by someone who wasn’t her? 

This is new.

#the band ghost #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #nameless ghoulettes #mist ghoulette #sunshine ghoulette #cirrus ghoulette #cumulus ghoulette #aurora ghoulette #the band ghost fic #mist x sunshine #mistshine #ghoulette appreciation weeks 2024 #golfball writes

[kamiko1234]

I'm bored rn so imma just info dump all my favorite Arthur headcanons y'all XD

Arthur uses a BUNCH of very expensive and flowery perfumes. That man is smelling like the most expensive shit you can imagine

He also uses a BUNCH of hair products. He spends ATLEAST 20 mins in the shower JUST dealing with his hair. It's very thick and horrid to take care off.

On the topic of hair, he takes AGES to get his hair done in the morning. As someone with the same hair type and base hairstyle, let me tell you brushing it out once it get's tangled enough can be a straight-up NIGHTMARE.

The reason for his hairstyle (part of the hair open with the other over it in a ponytail) is that he needs access to his hair for sacrifices. Having it all up in a ponytail or smth would mess with that access, especially since he also needs it quickly. But wearing the entire hair open also wouldn't be an option since it would get in his face and bother him during fights. So, he compromised and got to the hairstyle we know and love him with now XD

When he feels safe and has no need to be alert or expect any fight, he wears his hair in a bun or some other way to keep it out of the way.

He's one big softy for his family. You don't normally see it since Jeremiah/The Uzais as a whole just aren't very affectionate people, but Arthur is a total pushover for them (THEY DON'T DERSVE ARTHUR OMFG)

The man is LOADED. Like, no joke he's RICH. In the same vein however he also has no conception of his actual wealth 💀 He's buy a 1000 dollar flask of wine or smth and think that's completly normal and reasonable.

The eight languages Arthur speaks and the reasons for them are :

1. English ("world language", can easily communicate with most people, also thinks he's part english)

2. Japanese (shown in the manga, used to live in Japan during Section 13)

3. Italian (works at the Vatican, which is in Italy, and also grew up there with the Uzais from 15 on)

4. French (Thinks he's part french, also general european culture, he's just fancy)

5. German (General european culture, he's just fancy)

6. Mandarin (Most spoken language in the world, helps with communication in asia)

7. Russian (Biggest country in the world, also was later stationed in Russia when the fake Gehenna Gate came up so maybe he knows atleast a bit of the language ?)

8. Greek (general culture, he's just fancy)

He also knows how to speak a bit of Latin due to being raised at the Vatican, and thus coming into contact with these things.

While Arthur does canonically has the Tamer Meister, he's genuine shit at it and dislikes it. He barely passed the exam, and he holds no love for the craft at all. He has an affinity for kin of light.

In terms of his fake heritage, he feels more connected to his "French side" than his "English" one.

The emotionless and detached behavior young him had during that flashback in the Blue Night time travel arc came from an emotional response, and not the elixir experiments. The reason for that is that he seems reasonably emotionally involved post-amnesia. With that I mean that Arthur does show genuine emotion, opinions and is overall more livley. The emotionless and dull stuff was a coping mechanism to deal with constantly being surrounded by death and the possibility of it for himself in Section 13.

That coat he wears is HEAVY.

Arthur is actually a pretty nice guy outside of business and all the demon hate. He's great with kids, even if he is more than a little dense.

He has a whole collection of ribbons for his hair with all sorts of different colours and patterns for different outfits and occasions.

Arthur's favorite colour is blue, specifically royal or prussian blue.

(omfg I forgot to add this one in the initial Post BUT-) Arthur sleeps in a bed with a frankly abnormal amount of pillows. Like that thing is SOFT AS FUCK. You sink into it like water.

AANNNDDDDD that was all ! Thanks for listening ^^

#plz share your thoughts and opinions on these with me XD #blue exorcist #ao no exorcist #arthur auguste angel #arthur a. angel #english isn't my first language #headcanons

[feladi-fority]

Happy Homestuck day everyone!

Fuck, insane I'm still obsessed with a comic THIS OLD but what can you do.

I feel like people often focus on what Homestuck did poorly or just discuss the characters or the comic abstractly, so in this post I wanna go into a bit more detail about what I think this comic did really really right which I'm yet to see done in other media.

The dialogue is just fantastic. Hussie really knows how to write naturalistic internet style dialogue and it breaths life into characters which otherwise are very flat. So many of the characters are objectively very simple but the dialogue is just so good they still feel like real people. Like Nepeta is objectively very boring, but the dialogue made her feel real enough to make past me kin her.

The format gets a lot of attention for using flash animation and games, but I think the real biggest strength of Homestuck's format is the pesterlogs. I read through Kill 6 Billion Demons a bit ago which is a very similar comic to Homestuck and despite loving it I found I didn't grow nearly as attached to the characters as I did HS. The reason I've come to as to why is that in K6BD the standard comic formatting just doesn't allow natural the characters to be normal people and have normal conversations without totally killing the pacing, so to maintain a fast pace it has to keep that to a minimum. In Homestuck, however, the pesterlogs allow characters to just kinda talk about whatever for normal amounts of time while not requiring the plot to just stop around them. John can ramble about his love of Con Air while doing important ectobiology shit. This gives the audience time to get to know these characters while maintain the lightning fast pace of acts 3 and 4 and a bit of 2 and 5.

The time travel, holy shit like I have NEVER seen time travel done so well, I used to think I hated time travel in media until I read this comic. The comedy gotten through time-traveling chat clients and the use of stable time loops for the story is just so masterfully done. The fact HS manages to have very few plot-holes in terms of its time travel internal consistency is seriously impressive compared to other stories featuring it. I crave so badly a story which can reach the peaks of the lil' Cal reveal and the conversions Karkat had with Karkat.

The fandom hooks. Like most stories are out here letting the fandom do some shipping or have a fun set of factions or a magic system to sort their fav characters into. Homestuck is here quadrupling the potential ships. "My story has 4 elements and what element you have is determined by your personality" Homestuck has a character personality sorting system with 336 possible combinations. Your story has one cool unique world to imagine being in? Homestuck has several. How would your fav react in the Hunger Games? How would they react to their entire planet being destroyed and being sent into a game designed to allow personal expression as much as possible! The lore is also overcomplicated but it does a great job at helping the audience through it. Like fuck this shit was crack to my neurodivergent ass.

The [s] pages were fucking AWESOME, like I am yet to feel the emotion the best [s] pages did since I finished reading the comic for the first time. The complexity of the storytelling means that when it's being told visually you need to actively interpret what's happening, causing strong moments of "oh shit!" when you realize what you just saw, further making an already awesome animation even better!

The way the comic mythologized the feeling of growing up online was so fucking cool to my terminally online ass. It made the worldbuilding feel so much more compelling than similarly complex fantasy worldbuilding ever has.

I might have missed a few things Homestuck did really well I'd like to bring up so I might make another post later, but like, damn. Homestuck was an incredibly unique work and I haven't seen anything like it since. One of my goals in life is to make a work that makes other feels how this comic made me feel cuz nothing has scratched that itch for me, but who knows if I'll succeed at that.

Either way, happy 413! I'm a derse sylph of heart btw <3

#homestuck 413 #homestuck #413

[shiorimakibawrites]

Warm (Kin Fan Fic)

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x fem! Reader

Word Count: 568

Summary: Michael keeps you warm. In more ways than one.

Warnings: Swearing, unprotected p in v sex

Written for Mandy's Sweater Weather Writing Challenge using the "Don't move, you're warm" and "Let's stay in bed" prompt. This is my first time writing Kin. And I haven't written a lot of smut before . . .

Tagging @she-likesorchids since I believe this is your challenge, then @bellaxgiornata since she has mentioned the low amount of Mikey fic out there.

Warm

by Shiori_Makiba

It was cold this morning. So cold that you decided that you were not getting up. Not unless the house was actually on fire. You were going to stay right here, in your cozy blanket cocoon, snuggled with your boyfriend, until you got hungry. Or it got warmer. Whichever came first.

Which was why you were very displeased when Michael lifted the edge of the blanket – letting the cold air invade your cocoon – and even compounded the error by trying to slide out of bed. You tightened your grip around his waist, pulling him back into the nest. Something you knew he allowed you to do. Your Irishman was more than strong enough to break out of your grip or resist your pulling if he wanted to.

You burrowed your face until his chest and ordered, “Don’t move, you’re warm.”

“Pet, I have to go to work.”

“No, you don’t,” you retorted.

“Amanda will be mad if I don’t show up again.”

“Amanda can go fuck herself,” you said mulishly.

He sighed. You didn’t know why. He knew perfectly well that you didn’t like Amanda. And not just because she was his ex. Besides the feeling was entirely mutual. Amanda didn’t like you either.

“Ya are always cranky before yer morning coffee,” he said. “Let me up and I’ll make ya some.”

It was a tempting offer. Michael made good coffee. But that would mean letting him leave. Which was not happening. Not today.

“No, let’s just stay in bed,” you said, shifting into you were straddling his hips. Since you were still naked from the night before, his cock immediately took interest. Interest that you encouraged by grinding yourself against him, moaning at each brush of his cock against your clit or your entrance.

“Fuck pet,” he groaned, his hands grabbing onto your hips. “Ya killin’ me.”

But rather tellingly, he didn’t stop you. Even more telling, his own hips begin to move, matching your movements with his own. It felt so good but it wasn’t enough. You needed more.

“Michael,” you whined. “Need you now.”

Thankfully he didn’t need anything more to get the message. He lined himself up with your entrance and began to press himself inside of you. Inch by inch, your aching cunt was filled. He tried to give you a moment to adjust to his size, like he always did, but you were impatient. You raised your hips, then quickly thrust back down, making you both cry out.

It didn’t take him long to start meeting you thrust for thrust, hitting that spot deep inside of you that felt so good. Soon, the room was filled with your cries and his grunts of pleasure. Cries that got louder when his hand snaked down and started rubbing your clit. You felt the familiar pressure began to build and build until it peaked. Your cries of ecstasy were quickly echoed by a deep moan as your cunt clenched tightly around him. A few more deep thrusts and he was coming inside you.

Now feeling warm and blissful from orgasm, you were even less inclined to let Michael out of this bed. But you relented when he promised that he was only grabbing a washcloth to clean you up and would be right back. He kept his word and soon you were both drifting back to sleep, warm and safe in your cozy blanket cocoon.

#fan fic #kin amc #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella smut #mandy's sweater weather challenge

[pondering-gales-left-orb]

I love figuring out new ways to do things thats not the "PREFERED MOST PROFITABLE EFFICIENT WAY" in bg3

Like all the online guides and tips videos always end up destroying the Crèche and then dealing with lae'zel afterwards with checks to keep her in the party after she gets rightfully upset

ALL OF THEM

And yeah that might be suitable for some characters and some builds but i just didn't belive that was the only way to deal with this especially with my paladin with the oath of devotion the ppster child of "they would not fucking do that TM"

So i tried a new way carefully and it was honestly so much better and fullfiling and intense even

basically after the whole inquistor thing i got the lathander's weapon by Inserting the disk and not destroying anything then made my way back to the room with the wolves but the comander and the wolves met me half way there i was skeptical on fighting them but lae'zel said OUT LOUD "my kin want to kill me now? Fine lets bleed all of them"

so basically she will not get mad and you will not lose aproval points with her if you do it this way

but again my paladin would not just kill a massive amount of gith like that so after we dealt with the comander and the wolves we snuck into the storage area thing and entered another unavoidable fight with the 5 giths there but non lethal damage was on because you guessed it my paladin WOULD NOT KILL LIKE THAT

we knocked them out Astarion looted them for really powerful gear and then we used the side door to leave forever.

Thats it no gith kids or youth dead blown up no birds dead no destruction no angry lae'zel infact she was actually pretty content with this ending and EVERYONE was surprised we made it out alive peacefully and the quest was marked complete without missing any steps or content.

Honestly this just tells me that we need YouTube playthroughs to come back because just having the min/maxers do content is so boring and repetitive because they dont actually care about anything but efficiency and loot

Sigh

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #orb reblogs.exe #lae'zel #Crèche Y'llek #bg3 paladin #if i had good internet i would have started a yt playthrough but alas my internet is shite and takes 8 hours to upload a 30 second video

[jupitermelichios]

i've got teen wolf on the brain rn, so here's every member of the hale/mccall pack listed by what their favourite video game is

scott: he has been playing world of warcraft since he was 11, and he has done basically everything it's possible to do in game, unlocked every trophy and epic mount, reached the level cap with multiple characters, and still he logs in almost every day, even after stiles got bored and moved onto other games

stiles: he gets bored of games fast, but he developed a brief but intense crush on the masterchief when he was a kid, so if asked he'll say halo

alison: she's not great at suspension of disbelief, and mostly can't be bothered with games, but she has a sims 2 build that takes nearly 30 minutes just to load because of all the mods

derek: hates playing any kind of video game, which is probably good because he would get so addicted to rts games if he ever tried one. does know a weird amount of game trivia and lore though, because he goes away and researches every one of stiles's new hyperfixations but then actually sticks with them, unlike stiles. do you want halo lore? because derek has it, and he is desperate for someone to share it with

erica: she tells people it's metro 2033. it's actually barbie horse adventures. it's her comfort game, okay?

boyd: he played the arkham games for erica, and he loved him, but he imprinted on kirby at a young age and nothing else will ever touch it in his heart

isaac: such a sucker for roguelikes. if he knew what kinning was, he'd probably kin zagreus from hades. the fact that failing over and over is built into the game and there's no punishment is reinforcement his brain desperately needs. erica has written at least one zag/meg fic specifically for him.

lydia: she went 18 years without ever touching a video game, and then stiles persuaded her to try the witcher 3, and she was instantly addicted. if she finds out someone romanced triss over yenefer, she will take this as a personal insult

malia: it took stiles years of trying to find a game that didn't make malia immediately want to put her fist through the tv screen, but then DMC 5 came out.

kira: she likes her games fast, plotless, and button-mashy, so she likes most fighting games, but she's an absolute demon at smash

peter: you might think i'm going to say peter doesn't play games, and it's true that he doesn't admit to playing games, but it's also true that he knows nearly as much about street fighter lore as derek knows about halo, and has a frankly insane number of combos memorised. he would literally rather die than tell any of the pack this.

liam: he plays COD, you know it, I know it

cora: jeff forgot to give cora a personality beyond 'plucky' so i have no fucking idea. lets say it's horror games, because i feel like one of these weirdos ought to have strong opinions about bloodbourne and no one else is picking up the slack

jackson: madden, obviously.

danny: he believes strongly that adding an actual ui to dwarf fortress ruined it, and he was very excited about the abilty to export eve online data into excel spreadsheets

#teen wolf #mccall pack #hale pack #teen wolf meta #teen wolf headcanons #stiles stilinski #derek hale #lydia martin #long post #scott mccall #allison argent #peter hale #erica reyes #vernon boyd #isaac lahey #liam dunbar #cora hale #jackson whittemore #danny mahealani #yes i'm ignoring the post-liam kids #because i dgaf about any of them

[fionarara]

omg fifi i loved your dissertation on my selfship answers 😭 let’s talk about it!!

Taka having to grow up raising two sisters seems to be a dead giveaway to his ability to be patient!! mana and luna probably had their share of mood swings, pouty episodes, etc. not to mention, boy seems to be pretty familiar with depression and crazy family issues (bc of the shiba’s). i’m the type of person who would constantly give him an “out” because i go through waves of emotion sometimes, but GODDAMMIT Taka is just that type to keep holding your hand, rub your back, help you take a breath… how is one person so fkn composed?! 😭 he’d make your your favorite meal and run you a bath— man does he make little butterflies flap around in my stomach 😵‍💫😩

i also love that you love my tickle headcanon for Shuji. yk this guy being such a hardened delinquent and probably kept everyone at an arms length at all times, imagine his shock when you wiggle your hands into his sides and he jumps like two feet in the air like “what the fuck was that” and i just… personally i feel like he deserves to laugh and be a giggly goofy guy 🥲

and don’t EVER apologize for saying a lot bc i also have a lot to say about all these fine ass gang members 😌🤭

♡♡♡ EVERYBODY LISTEN UP ! I WANT IT SPREAD FAR AND WIDE ACROSS THIS FANDOM THAT SIN AND PUNISHMENT HAVER AKA HANMA SHUJI IS A CANON TICKLISH BISH (affectionate), little tickly fingers are his achilles heel which he has gone thru great lengths to hide, has spent a considerable amount of time trying to do so—not even kisaki knows—the only person that does know is the one he's dating,,, and whenever you do end up finding out that very first time, he just pounces you, wild and wide-eyed, pinning you to the couch. one playful tatted hand is clamped over your giggly mouth and his other has a tense singular index finger bolted up and out where it's then pointedly directed down at your face, while you're giddy and squirming beneath him, as he gleefully glowers down at you, it's a goofy lil threat, "—but don't you dare tell a fuckin soul ! " and oh mitsuya definitely has the best soft dom game out of the TR-verse, ~aftercare master extraordinaire~ ,,, only closely rivaled by draken's game, buuut tbh that's probably why they were bffs from way back ^_^ u know when they both had mohawks together ? they like gravitated toward each others' energy bc they have v similar nurturing dispositions\tendencies and sensed it in each other like finding your kin in the wild, since YEA they actually both grew up around vulnerable females, taka w his baby sisters, ken in the brothel, but i digress,,,lalala no no, rly, lex u speak big truths about mitsuya's love language: huge ACTS OF SERVICE guy, and when he's done running you a bath he will even brush the tangles out of your damp hair so gently because he is so practiced at it, please he fucking LIVES for that soft labor. . + .

#📞moshi moshi #hanma’s lex ♡ #leeex this is too cute tho #thank you for being a fan of WORDS #bc i always have too many of them T_T #and iono how to shut the fuck up #tahaha #🔌tr at the bookclub #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev headcanons #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo rev #hanma shuji x reader #mitsuya takashi x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader

[lumenflowered]

[A video file is attached. It appears from the surroundings that it is still being filmed within the Cerulean City Gym, though some of the lights are off, the pool is covered, and there is no sign of Misty. Instead, there are a couple of pool chairs pulled out. One is empty, and has Maria pacing behind it.

The other holds a (visibly sulking) Vera.

"To be entirely clear," Maria says, turning to the girl in question, "we are on the same side here. I know you stole something from Team Rocket. I need that something in order to root them out and determine what it is they are up to in the Power Plant."

"And if I tell you where I stashed it, you'll take it and leave me behind," Vera grumbles. "Why the Gym, anyway? Are you Misty's girlfriend or something?"

"To my understanding, she already has one of those. As I suppose, technically, do I." Maria pauses. "It's quieter here than the Pokémon Center, and Misty said it was fine by her so long as I locked up the place once I was done."

"That's—why'd she let you, though."

Maria hums to herself, weighing her options. "Because I am the new Champion of the Indigo League and technically her boss, I suppose."

"You. You what."

"I'd appreciate you not sharing that further, because as far as Team Rocket knows, the Champion is still Lance, and they almost certainly would take advantage of the transitional period if they knew that there was one to do so."

"I'm not a fucking snitch." Vera glares at the covered pool. "You're not the only one with a grudge against Team Rocket. You're taking them down. I want in. Don't ask me why."

"Very well." Maria leans on the back of her own pool chair, looking Vera up and down. "I have the strangest feeling that, if I turn you down, you will in all likelihood go after them on your own regardless."

"Yeah." Vera shifts her glare to Maria. "So if you want to be a hero or whatever, if you want to keep me safe, then take me with you."

Maria almost—almost—smiles. "You remind of someone else."

Vera visibly stiffens. If Maria notices it, she doesn't react. "Yeah?"

"He's close to your age, perhaps a little younger. He declared me to be his rival in battle shortly after I began to train Pokémon at all, a declaration that rather baffled me at first, until it occurred to me why."

"...Why."

"I'm honestly not certain whether anyone had ever been kind to him in his life, before that." Maria frowns deeply at her own words. "But everyone is worthy of kindness. Even those who believe they do not deserve such kindness. Especially those who believe they do not deserve it. He... looked up to me, for some strange reason, and this led to him attempting to take on Team Rocket on his own."

Vera makes a vague noise of acknowledgment, no longer looking at Maria, who seems to take this as a sign to continue.

"They nearly killed him, and he was younger than you." Maria's tone is sharper than some knives. "If I hadn't followed him, he would have died there. Team Rocket likely still believes him to be dead."

"Wait, they do?" Vera interrupts. "But you said nearly."

Maria breathes in. Breathes out. "They did kill him. His own father, he... he didn't hold back against his own kin. I rather doubt that Team Rocket would hold back against a stranger, either."

"Okay." Vera's voice sounds a little shaky. "Where are you going with this?"

"If you want us to do this together, then we are doing this together," Maria says, extending a hand. "Because it will be dangerous, I'm significantly less killable than the average human here for reasons that I will elaborate upon if you wish, and I don't want you—or anyone else—being hurt by them again."

Vera stares at her. At her extended hand.

At last, she mumbles, "Yeah, Ho-oh probably wouldn't bring me back again, would they."

Maria's brow furrows, though her hand remains where it is. "How did you...?"

"Know Ho-oh was involved?" Vera grins. It's a familiar expression, one Maria has seen before on another small child with red hair and a similar amount of inner rage. "I said that if I was dumb enough to be in Kanto, I wouldn't be using the name Silver. Unfortunately for both of us, I am actually that dumb."

Maria stares at her, mouth falling open.

From behind the camera, there are a series of very triumphant Gengar noises. To those capable of understanding the speech of Pokémon, they would hear Ade exclaiming, "I knew you looked familiar! I fucking knew it!"

But, of course, neither Maria nor Vera—Silver?—can understand the speech of Pokémon, and so Maria simply glances over with a faintly amused look in her eyes.

"Anyway. It was mostly my idea. Don't blame Ethan for it." Silver sucks in a breath. "And it's worked great so far. No one's recognized me. Not even you!"

"I am starting to think," Maria says mildly, "that I would not recognize my own face in the mirror if I did not know better."

"Okay. That would be really funny though... anyway. Um. While we're in Kanto, it'll probably be easier if you just... pretend I'm some girl? No connection to Silver at all."

Maria slowly nods, as Silver finally—finally—takes her offered hand.

"I can do that," Maria says.

The video ends.]

#tw death mention #rotomblr #pokeblogging #pokeblog rp #pokemon irl

[nrdmssgs]

Hozyain

Masterlist

Angst

Characters: Yasha (a young journalist, an OC for this story), Olga Zhar Samoilova (OC from a Heart and Matters), Makarov (no romantic interactions between anyone).

TWs: Descriptions of acts of violence, descriptions of depressive episodes, this is overall really sad.

AN: I had this work in my backlogs since forever. There is no romance there, no good comforting things. This is a little AU, where my girl Zhar is living her worst life, having lost Nikolai. I can't, and I won't write anything comforting for Makarov, as well as I have no intention to fetishize 'bad russian boy'. But I have something to tell about him and about the circumstances that keep producing such people. Since this work is long - Ill keep translations from Russian right after the phrases (like that)

Thanks: @siilvan for being eternally patient and supportive.

Also this is a songfic

"Tell them, I got all the documents, they have asked for!"

"Ona sobrala vse dokumenty..." (She has all the documents...)

"And make sure, they don't forget, this is the fucking sixth time, they change the rules at the very last moment!"

"...ona rasstroena. Budet zhalovatsya nachalstvu..." (...she is not happy with the situation. She might file a complaint with prison superiors...)

Yashas` angry voice contrasts so much with a lifeless mutter of her guide and translator - it sounds almost comical. But these two women are bound by one goal: to get Yasha to the deepest circle of hell. Or maybe it's just Yasha, who believes in it. Because Olga, her guide, remains calm, seemingly not interested in anything outside her mind, dead inside. Olga knows the ways, knows the right words, but it all breaks against the goddamned Kafkaesque wall.

"Olga Borisovna, da ona mozhet hot` v OON zhalovat`sya! Poka hozyain eiye ne propustit - ona ne prohodit!" (Olga Borisovna, she might as well complain to the UN! As long as the mater doesn't approve, she is not coming in!) These words are thrown at Olgas still, unmoving face, but Yasha knows, they are meant for her.

She spent six years learning journalism, then four years learning Russian culture and language. Still, her mentor told her, 'You want to tell that story - you better get ready to become a part of it'. Becoming affiliated with any part of the conflict was the very opposite of what a journalist must do. But she was willing to take the risk, to bury her career long before it actually started. So she learned this twisted language, reformed her mind to match these sick rituals, even got a new name - the name, they would understand and respond to. All for the purpose of speaking to the filthiest, sickest human being out there. All for his captors to turn her away for six times already.

"...poka hozyain ne propustit" or "until the master lets her in"

Yasha knew Russian well enough to understand this. In fact, she spoke this language well enough to lead all the negotiations with the prison personnel by herself. But there was a very important part of Russian culture, that kept her away from that goddamned interview, she needed so bad: the Russians were ready to speak only with their kin. It was a miracle, Yasha found Olga, a mysterious guide, speaking many languages, seeming to be a part of any party out there. At the same time, it was a curse, as Olga seemed to be not interested at all in Yashas mission success. No amount of money, no promises of a better, more comfortable life seemed to change that woman's mood: she was ready to provide only a bare minimum of linguistic support and serve as a temporary host.

She tried everything: persuasion, entreaty, intimidation - nothing helped. Her guide kept repeating 'You either find a way to 'hozyain', or abandon this place and go live your happy calm life', all while emptying yet another glass of wine and looking at the prison wall on the far horizon.

Yasha was exhausted after the sixth round of negotiations with the prison administration. Today was the first evening in the last three months, when she was genuinely happy to get absolutely wasted with Olga, after they returned, to her place.

"To the losers party!" She laughs awkwardly, watching, as Olga places a full glass on the windowsill and goes back to take another one for herself.

"Here is to you never falling in that pit, kid..." Her guide gestures with a full glass to a window, from which Yasha sees a prison every day.

They spend some time in a comfortable silence, enjoying the wine, one would never find in this secluded place in other circumstances. But after a few minutes, Yasha speaks.

"Can I be honest with you? I'm sick and tired of this place, of all you, bowing before that 'hozyain', of this endless and pointless paperwork, of this shithole, that remains gray even in April! I spent three months, trying to meet Makarov, haven't made any progress, but I'm already sick of him too! Maybe, you're right, maybe I should just drop it. Maybe there is no story behind this man - only your collective helplessness and stupidity..."

Olga smiles into her glass, not seeming to protest any of those words. Yasha knows, it's high time, she shuts up, but she is too tired to hold back her anger.

"It looks to me, that you are all happy to just sit on your asses and rot here. You, Makarov, other prisoners, the whole prison staff, that goddamned 'hozyain', whoever he is... You are all just rotting alive, and you hate to be interrupted by me." Yasha takes a tiny sip and goes on. "You think, I didn't find it suspicious, you live in this half-dead village by the prison, have no job whatsoever and yet your fridge is always full and someone even provides you with an alcohol so good, you actually won't find it even in the nearest city? Do you really think i'm that stupid? I see you eating from your masters hands, I see you growing comfortably numb, drowning your sorrow in booze!"

She was ready for Olga to slap her face or drag her out in the cold, snowy night. But nothing, not even these accusations seemed to move anything inside this dead soul. A strange grimace breaks her hosts still face, and she whispers 'You are truly fucked, once you get the feeling, you understand this place and its people, kid. I, too, thought as you once. It was a mistake, that costed me everything. So be better than me - trust nothing you hear and see here'.

They don't talk anymore, not until the next morning, when Yasha wakes up with a heavy head, while Olga shakes her shoulder.

he is barely given time to wash her face and have a sip of water - Olga leads out of the house and on the road to prison barracks.

"Whats going on! Olga, please, slow down! I can't run through all these snowdrifts and gullies!"

Her guide remains deaf to her pleas. When they reach the familiar prison checkpoint - Yasha is a breathless mess, her head is killing her and a stink of wet tiled floor, washed with some cheap chlorine makes her stomach twist.

Olga throws a few words in the little window and the gates, Yasha was trying to get through for the past three months, open.

"Trust nothing you hear" - so that included Olgas words as well? She's been wasting Yashas time for months, when she could just... open this fucking door just like that?

She clenches jaw and avoids her guide's gaze, because all Yasha wants for now is to spit right into this lifeless face, yell at her, throw hands. So much time wasted for nothing. They are both get checked on three different gates. Every time the guards search every centimeter of their clothes, touch, slap, run their fingers through all the layers of textile. By the time they left alone in a small visiting room - Yasha already have no fury left for that woman. She just wants a minute of silence, without anyone shouting around and commanding them. Yasha sinks into dusty sofa cushions and closes her eyes, while Olga stands in the corner of the room above the radiator.

Heavy footsteps echo in the corridors outside the room. In other circumstances she would freak out and scream internally because for the first time in her life, she came on the interview entirely unprepared: no voice recorder, no notes, not even a piece of paper and a pencil. But now all that bothers Yasha is her terrible headache. Maybe its even better this way, she thinks to herself.

When the door opens it feels like all the oxygen is suddenly sucked out of the visiting room. One gaze, one single gaze lingering on her face for a few seconds is enough for her to forget about the hangover, the rage, the resentment. One can not possibly contain this much hate and menace just in their eyes. But then again - this is no ordinary man. Yashas mouth runs dry, she can barely breathe, so when this man proceeds to Olga and grabs her by the collar, Yasha manages only to half whisper half hiss 'hey!'.

"Ya tebya kogda zval? Skol`ko mesyatzev nazad?" (When did I call you here? How many months ago?) He doesn't pay the slightest piece of attention to Yashas attempt to draw his attention from Olga.

But her guide seems unbothered by this man's hand, dragging her collar back, causing her to suffocate. Olga closes her eyes, leans slightly to the wall and answers 'Otoidi, Makarov, i bez tebya toshno...' (Step away, Makarov, I feel bad enough even without your help). The way these two interact is very unsettling. No rivalry as well as no warmth in their voices - just tiredness and irritation, as if they wish to part their ways, but can't for some reason. Yasha can't understand, if the man is trying to hurt her guide, as he tightens his grip, or he is trying to check on something, as his other hand slips under her collar in one swift motion and squeezes something on Olgas back, making her frown in pain.

"Govoril tebe lechitsya? Ya k doktoram tebya skol`ko raz vyzyval?!" (Did I tell you to get a proper treatment? How many times have I called you to the doctors?!) His voice is low and angry, like a deep rumble of some forest beast.

When he slams Olgas head against the wall, Yasha jumps from the sofa, not being able to witness any second more. She shouts for guards to come and help, and that finally breaks the man's concentration. Two guards really appear in the room almost immediately, but they freeze on the threshold the very next moment, they see, who is holding Olga, while she tries to wipe her bleeding nose with shaking hands.

"And what do you think, they should do?" The man turns to face journalist, and his gaze seems burning right through her. "Chain me up? Set this piece of shit free? Maybe beat me?"

Yasha feels her hands turning cold. She takes a step back, shooting a desperate gaze at the guards, but they still don't move. "Please," she whispers.

An amused smile appears on the mans face. "Watch," he say and turns back to the guards.

"Oruzhie" (Guns) After this command both guards take out their guns, and approach him and holding it out.

"Na stol." (On the table) He waits till both guns are on the table and lets go of Olgas collar. She slides down the wall, gasping for air.

"Etu v lazaret. Nas ne bespokoit`. Stvoly zaberete cherez chas." (Take this one to the med bay. Don't bother us. You will get your guns back in an hour)

Yasha can't believe her eyes: prison guards follow his commands as if he was their superior - not the most dangerous prisoner. They help Olga up and guide her out of the room, leaving her alone with the man, who murdered and tortured hundreds, if not more. And just as if it wasn't enough - they leave their guns to him. For three months Yasha believed, there is this village, where the prison personnel lives, then there is the prison itself and above this all there is this mysterious 'hozyain', the master, who decides, how this place and its people will live today and tomorrow. But now she sees him, she can reach out and touch him and, to her horror, she realizes that the hozyain and the main prisoner is one and the same person.

"So, you are the journalist, that wanted to speak to me that badly. How many months did Olga draw the wool over your eyes, before finally letting you here? Four? Five?" He sits down on a chair at the opposite side of the table and casually checks both guns.

"Three... Wait, where are the guards taking her? What are they going to do?!" By this point, she already can't think about an interview. Maybe Olga was an absolutely unbearable person, maybe she was disgusting in her self-destruction, but Yasha would never wish to leave her in this man's hands.

"Live here for three months already and still couldn't learn a word 'lazaret'? It means 'med bay in prison'. You see, our Olga is a very sick person, a lost soul, if you want. She was left here to keep an eye on me, but instead it is me, who has to feed her, make sure, she takes her medicine, lock her in a hospital when needed..." He pushes both guns to the opposite end of the table and gestures her to sit back, finally.

"What, I'm ruining a beautiful romantic story about the scary Russian beast, that has no compassion whatsoever?"

"No..." Yasha slowly descends back on a sofa, still not daring to look him back in the eyes. "You are only adding to it. It's clear, you despise her for whatever reason. You don't beat up someone, when you wish them to heal."

She takes a pause, weighing her next words. They may cost her not only her career, but her life.

"You... are keeping her. You think, bullet in her skull would be too much of a mercy, so you sit and watch as she slowly drowns herself."

For a minute, that feels to her like an eternity, he is watching her in silence. His eyes are a torture, his very presence is a torture.

"Nu tak kak - ya zver` ili chelovek?" (So who am I - a beast or a human?) He switches to Russian and talks somehow a bit quieter. But Yasha understands this question.

"Ne znaiy." (I don't know)

He leans back with a satisfied grin. This man loves the fear surrounding him like an invisible aura, he thrives in others panic and lostness.

"Nu tak prover`." (Well check it out) And with that words escaping his lips, Yasha got her worst job ever.

#cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #cod makarov #vladimir makarov #makarov cod #cod angst #Youtube