#those dimples are my PSIS

[tim-ee-sis]

Anyone else think back dimples are cute? 🥰

#those dimples are my PSIS #I hold all of my body fat in my midsection but I’m learning to love every inch of my body especially since I’m trying to put on muscle #me #gay #selfie #gayman #snap saw it first #progress #body progress

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Soulmate

Werewolf Erik Imprints on OC.

I don’t know what to do with this but I decided to post because it’s been sitting in my google drive for about a month now and I know Halloween is in two days so if you want you can read what I have written thus far. I may or may not finish with all the other things I have to complete.

Warnings: Fluff, slight humor, mentions of smut.

Theme: Halloween, supernatural, College

It was the middle of the Fall Semester at Florida A&M. The weather wasn’t too bad, around 80 degrees during the afternoon and dropping to as low as 72 in the evening. Currently, Erik was studying for his upcoming Advanced Physics midterm. The Kappa Alpha Psi house was relatively quiet and this gave him the perfect opportunity to study before his brothers came in to disturb him. Erik took his blue highlighter, highlighting a passage before recapping it. He flipped to the next page, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses to read. As much as he loved physics and engineering his mind just wasn’t there. It was the middle of October now and his focus on knowledge wasn’t as interesting as he’d hoped for. This time of the year wasn’t always the best for him ever since he was twenty years old. That’s when his life changed. 

“Thermodynamics and heat transfer.”

He read the topic while rubbing his sleepy eyes, AirMax covered feet tapping the floor to help him stay alert. 

“Fuck, I can’t read this shit right now.” 

Erik angrily closes his book, sliding it away from him, causing his calculus materials to fall over onto his desk. He leans back in his reclining desk chair, eyes to the swirling ceiling fan within his room. It wasn’t like he didn’t get the information, he knew it like the back of his hand. He just needed a distraction from her. 

People on campus called her Poison Ivy; she was a lot to handle and Erik hadn’t noticed that until yesterday when something that he didn’t expect to happen, happened.

Ivy Crow. She was a journalism major. Ivy wrote for the school news column and she was also an activist on campus. Sometimes her protests didn’t go so well and other times her podcasts could piss people off but that’s who she was. You couldn’t miss her on campus with her goth aesthetic and camcorder in hand. Ivy was now Erik’s weakness. He needed to talk to someone about this, and the only person he could think of was his friend Trevor. Erik rises from his seat, grabbing his cross-body bag, shooting Trevor a quick text before exiting his bedroom.

He instructed for Trevor to meet him at the library in the ancient literature section since no one went there anyway. Erik made it there before Trevor, looking about him with sharp eyes to be sure that no one was around. He paced, impatient and antsy. He hadn’t seen Ivy all day. His body couldn’t stand it. This overpowering desire for her made him hungry as well. If he was hungry for regular food now he was afraid of what he would be hungry for at midnight…

“Erik? What’s going on I had to skip out of class.”

Trevor was a programming major, tall, skin like midnight, one eye blue and the other brown. Girls swooned over him. 

“My bad man, I got a problem.” 

Trevor grabs Erik by the shoulder, pulling him further into the aisle of books. It was dustier back against the window.

Trevor lowers his voice, “Is it a Lycanthrope thing?”

Erik hated when Trevor refers to it as that. He kisses his teeth, letting out a sigh of frustration.

“Why can’t you just say Werewolf?!” Erik argues.

“Whatever, is this what I’m here for?”

“Yeah.” 

“Did you shift and get lost somewhere you weren’t supposed to be? Remember I saved your ass from nearly dying when you landed in a trap with silver near fucking New Orleans.”

Erik could still feel the scars from that on his back. If it wasn’t for Trevor, Erik would probably be dead. His back was scarred badly from that, deep gashes diagonally across his back.

“No, I haven’t shifted in two days.”

“Two days? Why?” 

Erik looks down at his sneakers, “Some weird shit happened to me…”

Trevor waited for Erik to speak. He figured Trevor would know more since he’d been a werewolf since birth. It was a family curse.

“So, I was on my way to my calculus class when a rally was going on. You know, that rally about making sure ‘blackface’ doesn’t happen for Halloween this year.”

Two Days Ago: 

“Catch you later, bro. You know we got that party before the hazing process.”

Erik shoulders his backpack, flashing his sexy dimples, “Y’all niggas partying before the hazing? That’s some new shit.”

His fellow Kappa brother shrugs before wrapping his arm around a random chicks shoulder, “Gotta warm them, boys, up first before the fun begins.”

He shared the Kappa hand sign with his brothers before walking away towards his class. He already missed a few for his own selfish reasons so he couldn’t afford to miss another. As Erik walked he noticed a large group of students- mostly black students crowd around a gothic chick and her protest friends, holding up signs reading “BAND BLACKFACE” Erik never really invested his time into these protests because he felt like they wouldn’t change anything but the sound of her loud voice brought his eyes to her.

And that’s what did it.

He felt as if he was gravitationally pulled towards her while glowing heat filled his veins. The class suddenly became secondary. On second thought, everything became secondary to him at that moment. He couldn’t explain it but the overpowering feeling made him want to stand there and watch her. Erik had a deep need and desire to support this girl and even protect her if someone went against what she had to say. His knees buckled, Erik stumbling a little and catching strange looks from some of the students. A few white students at Florida A&M looked frustrated with her words and that made Erik’s inner wolf growl. His eyes even turned golden without his control. He blinked, afraid that someone would notice.

“NO BLACK FACE FOR HALLOWEEN!!! It’s just as disrespectful as dressing up as an Indian!”

“She needs to shut up. She’s such a freak.”

Erik caught that and the person was on the other side of the crowd. He growls, his mind confused but his actions uncontrollable.

“She just needs some dick. She’s embarrassing us, black girls. I mean, none of these white people care about that. They wouldn’t even be dumb enough to try that.”

He felt deep disgust and rage from those words. He didn’t even know the girl and he hated the way those girls talked about her. He decided to look at her again, just focus on her to make him feel better. She talked with a sense of power, her movements confident and no care in the world that people saw her being a goth or that they thought she was a “freak of nature.” 

Without being able to explain it himself, Erik walked through the crowd and towards her direction, standing at her feet while she stood on the top steps in front of the main student services building. Erik looked at her like she was a goddess. Before he could stop himself, he climbed those stairs, taking his place next to her, clapping his hands loudly and cheering her on. 

Ivy pauses mid-speech with the megaphone pressed to her lips, eyeing Erik bizarrely. 

“Aye! Don’t tell her to calm down she preaching the truth right now!” Erik yells down at a group of snickering students who clearly still lived like they were high schoolers. They had a long way to go.

“If you are not angry, you are not paying attention!” At this point, he was yelling out anything to support Ivy. What he thought he was doing the right way he was only pissing her off. Erik didn’t know a thing about Ivy and how she hated when people disrupted her protests, especially when it was a guy who didn’t even know she existed. 

Erik snatches a sign from one of Ivy’s friends, holding it up proudly. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Ivy finally speaks, not realizing the megaphone was still pressed to her mouth.

Erik lowers the sign, flashing a charming smile at her. He looked her over with an impressive eye before putting his hand out for her to shake.

“I’m Erik.”

Ivy looks from his hand to his face, “Ivy.” 

Erik awkwardly lowers his hand, “You’re a fucking badass, Ivy.” 

She blinks with sass, “really?” 

She didn’t by that. This entire situation was strange. 

“Yeah…”Erik felt that same heat in his blood. This girl, Ivy, was driving him crazy.

“Fuck these people, you can tell me about it I’ll listen.” 

She laughs, pretty smile with lips colored blood red. The spiked choker around her neck along with the spikes in her ears made her look dangerous. Little did she know, Erik was even more dangerous.

“The less I care, the happier I am.” 

She looked down at the steps, a frappe tossed at her feet with the liquid staining her platform doc martens. Erik looked down as well, eyebrows creasing with anger.

“It’s okay, Erik. I look at people sometimes and think...really? That’s the sperm that won.” Ivy simply shakes her head, lowering her megaphone. The crowd began to scatter and Ivy turns away from Erik, talking to her friends and instructing them to pack up and meet her for podcast talk.

Erik was compelled to help as well, grabbing posters and stacking them neatly. Not only did Ivy give him a strange look but her friends did as well. 

“Are you feeling well, frat boy?” She placed the back of her hand to his forehead, Erik almost losing his control if it wasn’t for his impressive already controlled nature. He was a beast of the night, he had to keep it together. 

“Maybe we should reintroduce ourselves,” she held out her hand covered in silver rings. Luckily, Erik was in his human form. 

“I’m Ivy Crow, I run on caffeine, sarcasm, and inappropriate thoughts.”

Erik smiles, shaking her hand and enjoying the warmth. Since when did a chick make him delirious?

“I’m Erik Stevens. Kappa, science wiz, irresistibly handsome.” 

“That you are,” Ivy had eyes she could see Erik was clearly a looker.

“So you like what you see then?”

Ivy shrugs, looking away, “Don’t get your hopes up, Erik.”

“Why? I mean, a girl like you can use a guy like me in your life.” 

Ivy raises a single brow, “I see, you’re one of those niggas who think by flashing a smile and flirting with me you’ll get some pussy?”

“Nah, I mean…” 

“No need. I know what this is about,” Ivy turns away with a pained expression, grabbing her bag to leave. Erik was bothered by that rejection, following her down the steps.

“Aye? What the hell did I do?”

Ivy turns to him, a glare on her face, “My middle finger salutes you right now.”

Erik felt like his world was crashing down around him. Ivy being upset with him couldn’t happen. 

“Why are you mad right now? We were starting off cool.”

“I may not be the girl that everyone wants but at least I’m not the girl that everyone’s had.”

Erik understood then. She thought that he was implying that she needed him in her life to feel accepted because of who she was. 

“Look,” Erik lets out a calming breath, “can we start over? I’m not the type of guy you think I am. I’m not tryna get to know you for the wrong reasons, Ivy.” 

Ivy looked distant for a second until her shoulders relaxed. She folded her arms across her chest, eyeing Erik cautiously.

“I’m sorry,” Ivy pinches the bridge of her nose, “I just have a history of fuck-ups with guys.”

Ivy starts walking, motioning for Erik to follow along. He does, the pain in his chest subsiding.

“It’s just...you come out of fucking nowhere and you help me at my rally? It’s so fucking confusing.”

Erik was still confused. 

“I’m confused too believe it or not.” 

He needed to figure out what was going on, maybe it’s a werewolf thing. It is getting closer and closer to Halloween. Maybe he’s just having a strong sexual craving and he could see that in Ivy as well. It could be that Erik needed to fuck Ivy before a shift to sedate him. 

“I don’t know you well, Erik, and I’m not good with people.” 

Erik wasn’t either, he preferred to be a loner.

“I guess that makes two of us, Ivy Crow.”

“Ew, people,” Ivy cringes, causing Erik to laugh.

“Uh, is it cool if I have your number?”

Erik needed to communicate with her when she wasn’t around. In under twenty minutes he felt like he needed to hear from her. 

“Sure, frat boy, I feel like you’ve earned it.”

Ivy pulls out her cell, followed by Erik, both of them exchanging numbers. 

“Cool. I can hit you up later, right?”

Ivy simply shrugs, “that’s if my fingers aren’t preoccupied, frat boy.” 

That sexual innuendo made the burning desire within him growl. His inner wolf wanted badly to spring free. What was it about this girl that had him weak in the knees and ten times more aware? Her scent was unique, very sweet smelling like berries. It made his mouth water. 

“Listen, I'd love to chat but I have a podcast later that will more than likely stir shit up on campus.” 

Ivy backs away, Erik’s eyes scanning from her white crop top with the word “Salem” down to her tight black jeans that hugged her generous curves down to her Doc Martens. 

“I’ll make sure to tune in, Baby girl, what time?”

Ivy looks at him strangely, “1:00”

Erik gives her a farewell smile, never turning to leave as he watched her disappear. He stood there until her smell was gone, a heavyweight lifted from him only to be filled with emptiness. He missed her a lot for some reason. 

That night in bed, Erik was in a cold sweat, growling like his other half and tossing. What was happening to him? He needed answers and quick. The next couple of days were going to be challenging.

Present:

“You’ve imprinted on Ivy Crow.”

Trevor didn’t hold back information. He laid it out for Erik.

“Imprinted? I thought that shit only happened in Twilight.” 

Trevor gave Erik an annoyed look, “You’ve been a Werewolf for about seven years and you don’t know what imprinting is?”

Erik shrugs, “that’s what I have you for Trevor. You’re my Werewolf brother and my teacher.” 

“Erik,” Trevor gave Erik a pointed look, “This is some serious shit, bro. You have to know everything about your Lycanthrope self or the enemies out there will hold that against you. You don’t want the enemies to know more about you than you, correct?”

Trevor did have a point, and Erik knew that. He was still trying to get over the fact that he was turned into a Lycan/ Werewolf when he was twenty years of age. 

“Aight, I’ll take it more seriously. All that other shit like silver, Mercury, angel blades to the heart…”

Erik lets out a deep sigh, “I already know about that shit.”

“Well, do you know about our origin? Why New Orleans is generally not safe for our kind? How there are vampire and witch covens there and we all equally hate each other? How imprinting can be a good and bad thing?”

Erik didn’t know everything, and it pissed him off that Trevor rubbed that shit in his face.

“You want your ass beat now or later?”

Trevor laughs, “nigga, you keep forgetting I’m stronger than you?” 

Erik bumps shoulder with him as he walks past, finally done with this conversation.

“We can meet up later tonight to discuss this imprinting situation. For the time being, try not to hound the girl, Erik. You don’t want to scare her away when you’re bound to her.”

That word, bound, wasn’t something he was prepared for. He was already bound to being a werewolf for the rest of his life. What if Ivy despises him to the point where she doesn’t want anything to do with him? What if she falls in love with someone else? All of those things scared him. 

Ivy’s POV: 

“What are you going to be for Halloween this year, Ivy?”

Ivy slips into a pair of dark turquoise high waist jeans, turning sideways to admire her outfit as a whole. She had on a black corset top with a layered silver necklace around her neck with multiple crosses on it. Her head was covered in a wig that would remind you of Uma Thurman’s hair in Pulp fiction, lips painted a glittery black and eyes Smokey. 

“Probably something DIY, maybe a corpse bride.”

Her friend, Treasure; the complete opposite of her, sat on her bed, painting her toes white. She dressed like Cher from Clueless, long curly hair in two space buns. She was ginger with freckles on her face. 

“I’m gonna be a Powerpuff Girl.” 

Ivy chuckles, “Which one?”

“Bubbles.”

“I knew it.”

Ivy grabs her coffin-shaped crossbody bag along with her Creative Writing books before her phone goes off for the fifth time. She knew exactly who it was, he was getting on her last nerve.

Erik: Why aren’t you answering my texts, beautiful?

She locks her phone, putting it away.

“Ready?” 

Treasure gives her a strange look. 

“What’s up with you?” 

Ivy shakes her head, “Just trying to prepare myself for yet another day of biting my tongue whenever Miss Petty Ass Bitch decides to piss me off. It’s not my fault I know more about your own class than you do. They just hire anyone these days.”

“You know she just does that Ivy because of your reputation around here,” Treasure reminds her, “Everyone is intimidated. Remember, they call you Poison Ivy.”

Ivy’s face lit up, a pretty smile on her glittery black lips.

“You know what, I just might have my Halloween costume in mind.” 

Erik’s POV

He waited outside of Creative Writing.

How did he find out about her class? He practically threatened one of her guy friends and supposedly her fellow band member to give him the information. The second he did that, Erik did a late enrollment for the course. Luckily, it could look good for his master's degree. Looking from one end of the hall to the other, his nostrils flared, her smell growing closer and closer. He closed his eyes, the veins in his neck protruding from holding on control. His backpack went down to cover his crotch, dick hard for the first time in two days. The more she drew closer the more his heartbeat increased and his skin reddened from heat. 

“Erik?” Ivy spoke with agitation.

His eyes snapped open from her sing-song voice, “Wassup, Baby girl?”

“It’s Ivy.” 

“Well, I like calling you Baby girl,” he teases, earning a strange look from her.

“Stop calling me that or I will pour all of this hot ass coffee down your pants.” 

He snapped his mouth shut, choosing to simply admire her. She tried looking at her phone but the scorching hot gaze he gave her made her look at him with annoyance.

“Can I ask you a question?” 

Erik smirks at her, walking over to be face to face with his gothic princess.

“What you wanna know?” He shoulders his bag, giving her his sexiest stare but it clearly didn’t change anything.

“Why do you insist on texting me ten times a fucking day?”

“Why do you insist on ignoring me? Forreal, you got a whole ass attitude, Miss Ivy. A nigga tryna get to know you and you ignoring me? Ima tell you this now, I don’t like being ignored.”

“I do a thing called what I want.” She reminded him. 

“You don’t like a nigga to be all sweet with you, huh?” 

Ivy picks at her nails, “I’m not built for a soft ass needy man, I talk back and I do not listen.” 

Erik’s dark eyes burned into hers. She didn’t fight it, looking at him with an equal amount of strength.

“I don’t like your type. You walk around here like you own the place and then you think you can have any girl you want? I’m not just any girl.” 

Ivy picks a piece of imaginary cotton from Erik’s letterman jacket.

“You are a mean girl,” he smiles down at her, “Don't get your hopes up though I’m not going anywhere. I like em fiery, you like em dominant. That’s cool, I’m that.” 

“I’m not mean, just brutally honest. It’s not my fault truth hurts. Want a bandaid?”

“As long as it’s from you I’ll take all that shit, Baby girl.” 

Ivy regrets giving him her number. She didn’t actually think he would try anything with her since she definitely wasn’t going to open her legs for him. 

“Ivy? Did you hear me?” 

She wasn’t paying him any mind, the class was filling up and she needed to take her seat.

“There is no need to repeat yourself, I ignored you just fine the first time.” 

He stood rooted to the spot, watching her disappear into that classroom. Her words literally slapped him. This is what he feared honestly. Erik couldn’t wait to meet up with Trevor so he could figure out how to work around this imprinting thing. Ivy was a lot to handle. Erik wasn’t going to back down by any means but damn, he didn’t expect a real challenge. 

Erik finally walks into the class, finding a seat just behind Ivy a row above hers. She had all her things neatly stacked in front of her, eyes focused ahead. Erik whispered “excuse me” to a girl on his right as he took his seat. He decided to just bring his Macbook instead of things to write with. This was an easy course for him, he’d already taken a similar one during his undergraduate education.

“Good morning, Everyone,” a woman who looked to be in her late thirties spoke, fuchsia and purple polka-dotted blouse with a black pencil skirt. Her thin blonde hair was pulled into a tight French roll, old stocking with tears in them and a pair of heels that looked like something his grandmother would wear. God rest her soul.

“Can I help you, sir?” She yells to the back row. Erik knew she was referring to him.

“I’m a late enrollee.” His husky voice caught the eyes of nearly all the women in that room except for Ivy who chewed on the end of her pen.

“Name?” She asked with an authoritative tone.

“Erik Stevens.” 

“I’m Professor Pettee, Why creative writing so late in the semester?”

Erik strokes his goatee, “Miss Ivy here gave me some inspiration since she’s a Journalism major and all.”

He could hear her clicking and unclicking her pen angrily. 

“Ivy Crow?” She looked at Ivy with a sarcastic smirk, “she’s your inspiration? Well,” Miss Pettee turns on her heel,  “She’s inspirational alright.” 

Tiny snickers scattered the class.

“What is this fucking high school?!” Erik blurts out with rage. Ivy turns to him then with wide eyes. 

“Excuse me?” Miss Pettee hadn’t expected that. 

“I’m referring to the snickering. What y’all fifth graders or some shit?” 

The entire lecture hall was silent, all eyes on Erik.

“What a ruckus,” Miss Pettee laughs nervously, “Are you finished, Mr. Stevens? I do have a class to teach.”

Erik sat back in his chair, motioning for her to continue. As soon as Miss Pettee’s back turned, Erik noticed Ivy staring up at him with a smoldering rage. The smile on his face turned into a blank expression. He was really getting under her skin. 

“Fuck You.” She mouthed to him before turning back in her seat to pay attention. This was going to be interesting. 

#erik killmonger #killmonger #black panther killmonger #werewolves #college #halloween #fluff #eye-raq

[activatingaggro]

+, Egg Hunt, Hemostuck AU.

ICONIC CONETL | 11 SWEEPS / 24 YEARS OLDVADAYA URVATA | 11 SWEEPS / 25 YEARS OLD

2,476 words

When you round the corner of Bloomrot’s warehouse, your first impression is of two brilliant violet eyes staring at you from behind a crate, half-hidden behind dark mussed curls, right before they turn and sprint the fuck away.

You have to give it to them: they run pretty fast for a violet of their size, despite the fact they’ve got more meat on them than a butcher’s back-freezer. You’re after them in a shot, curiousity driving you forward as you skate across the air. “Here, rabbit~” you sing out, and the box on your throat vibrates, transforms the sound into something deep and brassy. “Don’t run, rabbit~”

They hit a corner and slide, their feet slipping on the wet deck. It takes them a moment. They scramble, catching themself, and something purple glints at their finger-tips -

- and there’s electricity dancing down your spine as someone’s hand clamps down hard on your horn, and you come skidding to a different kind of stop.

By the time you break away, shaking your head, the violet’s gone. And Cramel’s just looking at you, her eyes judging behind the red arch of her mask. “What,” she says, “are you doing?”

You look over your shoulder, but the dock’s empty, now.

“Chasing shadows,” you decide. “Stretching out my legs! Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Isn’t that just how it goes?”

“Siparaja~” you call out, rolling onto your back, “Sipara, ashmote, don’t just push ‘n’ go – oh, look at that, she gave me two middle fingers. That’s hopeful, don'tcha think? That shows effort!”

The second time you meet your mystery violet, it turns out, it’s because you literally fall into his lap.

As far as things go, it could have gone worse! It could’ve made for a worst view, for starters, because when Vadaya peers down at you, his face screwed into something that could generously be called 'confusion’, the shadows falling just so to illuminate those eyes of his -

- well, it’s striking, that’s all! Striking enough that you pause, eyes caught on his, until he politely clears his throat. “Ah. Are you alright?” he asks. “I see your..” His eyes skirt to the horizon, where Sipara’s rapidly disappearing down the street. “.. auspistice has left you..?”

There’s a book digging into your spine. There’s people peering down at the two of you as they walk by, and your ass is half-hanging off of the porch that Sipara had neatly shoved you into. The view is excellent, but none of this is precisely comfortable, so you roll over off of his lap. With a little concentration, when your psionics catch you, spinning you neatly onto your feet, it’s easy enough to imitate the jitter that comes with burn-out.

It’s a shame you have to, but there’s always folks watching, and you do have an image to uphold.

“Sorry about that,” you drawl. He looks better when you’re upright, as it turns out: thicker than you prefer, with features too blunt to be of any proper interest, but he’s got potential. And you’d been certain from those eyes, but when you take in those shoulders..

Well, there’s no forgetting that. “Sipara’s just spirited. Gets over-excited, y'know? Full of all that ol’ razzle-dazzle instinct~” His face is unreadable, just enough to grate, but that’s fine. You can work with it! “Just doesn’t know her own strength. But don’t let me go and distract you over something as silly as that. What’re you reading?”

“This is a journal about the science of ships.”

You grin at him, dragging a hand through your hair. “I love the ocean,” you lie easily. “Shoot, why don'tcha let me buy you a coffee, just as an apo~lo~gy, and tell me all about it?”

Seducing a troll is supposed to be easy.

You’ve never actually had to put in effort before! But seducing Vadaya, as it turns out, is a little like posturing in front of a mirror. Oh, it’s fun, but you’re not getting anything out of it. All of your usual tricks just aren’t doing shit.

When you turned up to your brunch, dripping wet from what you’d claimed was a lusus spraying water right onto you, your filmy button-up clinging to your skin, he’d just offered you his jacket.

When you’d brought him back with an offer to show him some cheesecake, he’d gone straight to the refrigerator, and then his worried, hesitant question about how you’d made this dessert had shamed you into taking him to the store instead.

Even asking him about his quadrants - your foolproof method - had just gotten him looking at you like you had smacked his lusus in front of him. Asking about his red quadrants was just supposed to be a standard sort of hint. Everyone knew what you were getting at if you started asking about matesprits, long before any hearts even came up.

Except for Vadaya, apparently.

“I don’t see any of you can even stand him. Oh, he’s smart, if you’re into books, but he’s a complete fucking idiot,” you snap at Raphae, taking a long drag of your cigarette. Shepherd doesn’t approve of you smoking inside her little control center - claims it’s bad for the biowires - but that’s why you’re just funneling the smoke into a ball in front of you. If none of it escapes, none of her precious wires can complain.

You’ve been trying to form it into a bear. But frustration’s making it into some sort of lumpy swirls, unreadable and hideous –

“Are you forming his horns? Seriously? You are. I can’t believe -” He laughs, letting his head loll back on the chair as he squints back at you. Raphae’s supposed to be working, and he’s been ignoring you for the past ten minutes in favour of his fucking computers. Or trying. “Honest to fucking god, Iconic,” he marvels, “just go pail him and get it out of your system.”

“Oh, hush that mouth of yours, you’re making it sound like I"m just about obsessed.” A beat. “And I’m not,” you snap, waspish. “He’s just - interesting. And anyone else would’ve caught a hint by now! I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here, sweetheart. Say, oh, sugarspade, I don’t think being upright’s your angle?”

“Look, babe, I’m sorry, but what, exactly, is supposed to be interesting about him?” He spins in his chair to face you, spreading out his hands in front of him. There’s still biowire dangling off of the back of the chair, where you know it’s coiled into the base of his skull. Shepherd’s one of the last surviving bioengineers on the planet, and Raphae’s little gang is the fruit of her labours.

For all that he’s looking at you, the numbers are still churning across the screens behind him, a hundred different calculations too fast for you to read. When Raphae’d heard that you pretended to burn yourself out to escape having to bother piloting, he’d laughed himself sick over it. But it’s not the same, what he does and what you’d be doing. He’s got wetware in his pan. He’s actually synched in.

You’d.. well, you don’t need them to install a leech to your psi, when you can’t even fly a ship hands-free.

“He’s yet another cusp who’s so lost in his own blood miasma, he can’t see himself in the mirror. He thinks if he jumps through enough hoops, and takes enough treats, the highbloods’ll stop treating like a beast, and accept him as a pet. Is it pathetic? Absolutely.” With a click of his teeth, he waves a hand. “Is he hateable? Fuck no. You can’t even have a rivalry with that. So if you’re so caught up on him,” he says, dry, “then stop pretending, and just go fuck it out already. I’m not going to judge. Urvata isn’t exactly competition, here.”

You squint at him. “Are you in my head?”

“Why?” Malnutrition’s a fucking plague down in the slums, and Raphae looks younger than his ten sweeps when he grins at you, all dimples and gray eyes. “Should I be?”

Raphae and you work because you want the same things: lowbloods, free to wander the streets without nullifiers hooked onto their horns like a beast’s harness. Oh, you grew up with the propaganda, same as anyone else, but you’ve never believed it. The only trolls that have to worry about mind control are the ones too weak to withstand it.

You know Raphae’s in your head, more often than not. There’s been too many slips over the sweeps to doubt it, and it’s not like he’s ever tried to hide it. It’s fine! He can rummage as much as he wants - he can’t erase anything you don’t let him. And it’s not like you care what he sees.

You broadcast everything enough already. “You’re the one angling like I’m thinking flush,” you say flippantly, tugging at his curls in a wave of pink. “Why, Raphae, are you getting jealous?” He leans forward into the gesture, arching his eyebrows at you, and -

- you’re not going to get distracted.

“Me, jealous? C'mon. We both know you like a little fang in your pitch, babe. That’s not the sort of thing you’re going to get from him.” Raphae reaches out, snagging you by the waist and yanking you forward. It’s easy to forget that your matesprit’s larger until he starts fucking manhandling you. “'fraid you’ll have to stick to the highbloods for that,” he murmurs in your ear. “Though for flush, I don’t know why you’re not just sticking to me -”

As it turns out, you end up distracted off of the topic entirely.

On your seventh attempt at a flushdate with Vadaya Urvata:

“We need to talk,” you tell him, tugging him to the side just before he steps into the bookstore. He looks nice. Lately, you haven’t been able to actually appreciate that, because every time you look at him, you’ve just been getting annoyed.

The way he looks at you - sloe-eyed and soft - doesn’t help anything. “Yes?”

You don’t know how he’s supposed to look at you. But it’s not like that, and you let go of his arm, palm outstretched as you turn away. Resentment’s not something you’re used to feeling, not of the sort that isn’t easily resolved through violence or schemes. But this isn’t something that you can just swoop in, pin a fellow to a wall, and resolve with a little teeth.

Or, no. You could resolve it with that, if you cut out the teeth. You’ve been posturing so much at Raphae about how this is pitch, you’ve started confusing even yourself.

And maybe it’s visible, because Vadaya lays his hand on your shoulder, light as a leaf. “Ah,” he says, just like he always does, more an exhale than a real word. You do not grimace, but it’s a near thing. “Iconic. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m feeling -”

“Excuse me,” someone chirps, “can you move? You’re blocking the door.”

When you turn, there’s a troll staring at the two of you, their head tilted to the side. As you watch, they blow a bubble, and then fucking pop it. It’s almost a relief. For a moment, you thought you were going to get aggressive at Vadaya, of all people - that fucking wet rug of a troll - but like the clouds parting, the Sun sent you a better target instead.

“Are we blocking the door? My goodness gracious, Vadadear, look at this, I just didn’t know! Tell you what, sweetheart..” You step forward, placing a hand on your heart, and with the other, you reach out. “If you do not fuck off,” you simper, placing your hand on their shoulder, “I am going to rip off that pretty little face of yours and choke you with it –”

On your seventh attempt at a flushdate with Vadaya Urvata:

He paps you.

“Shoosh,” Vadaya says, his voice dropping into a chirr so rough, you’re not sure if he’s ever done it before. He’s stepped neatly between you and the troll in front of you, who’s scampered away, but - you can’t pay attention to that, not when his palm is on your face.

His hands are rough. They are so rough that they have, you realise with a start of horrified fascination, actual fucking callouses that’re chafing against your skin. It’s an amazingly novel experience, having someone with callouses gently rub them into your soft skin. Something is probably ripping right now. After all, it’s so rough, you can practically hear the scratch scrape of them at work -

Except that’s not his hand, it turns out, exfoliating your delicate skin one patch at a time. That’s you. Growling.

“What the fuck, sugarplum!” you demand, once you can get the words out around it. “Are you serious?”

Vadaya blinks at you. Then his brows knit, and he has the fucking audacity to wrinkle his nose, like you just did something obscene in a public park. “Excuse me,” he says, disapproving, because of course he’s disapproving. “My apologies if that was unwelcome -”

“If that was unwelcome?” You drag your hands down your face, or start to: halfway down, you give up, fanning your fingers out to squint at him. Then you drop your hands entirely, fingers spread before they clinch into fists. “If that was unwelcome,” you repeat, marveling. “Oh, sugarplum, dearheart, you splendid, over-ripened excuse for a half-rotted elderberry -”

“Elderberries,” Vadaya says, “are purple.”

“I did not waste an entire perigee trying to get in your pants,” you snap at him, “for you to think this was pale!”

Maybe that isn’t what you should’ve said, because Vadaya’s actually going and fucking blotching on you, a mottling plum that looks around ten times worse than it ever did in your head. And isn’t that just another kind of slap? If he hadn’t just papped you, you’d be marveling over every streak of colour.

You can’t believe he mistook this all for fucking pale.

You can’t believe you didn’t catch on. Of course he gave you his jacket. Of course he’s looking at you like you just pailed on his pile, because you just basically did. “This,” you say, flat, “is a mess. My goodness gracious! Well, y’know what, sweetheart? I think I’m just going to go drown something now, so if you’ll excuse me –”

You get five steps before you realise he isn’t following. So you spin on your heel and bite off: “- well, come on.”

– iDont [ID] is now trolling unmovedVillein [UV]! –

ID:

ID:

ID: So, are we still on for Sunday, or..? (*⌒▽⌒*)θ～♪

#au:hemoswap #is this canon? we just don't know #I will probably write a more serious version of this ship for this setting at some point #but in the meanwhile #have the worst romcom of the century #rebatrolls #thank you for the ask!