Did two redraws of some of Roseworks asks on the askcomboclub blog! They aren’t the best but I tried 😭

ALSO BONUS

I love those two cuties >.<

Aster, Cadet, Flip, Gradient, and Splatter by @askcomboclub / @roseworks

Swinkers by @halfbakedsans

Recent blood covered oc’s

Also really glad mod chose that outfit for Cu because that's objectively one of the most attractive looks he's got <3

[People seemed to really like the incest+intox combo, so I wrote another.]

C/W: Incest, Intox, Rapey vibes

Shot after shot, drink after drink turns into a hazy evening of laughter with your brother. You feel his fingers graze your thighs occasionally but you think nothing of it. It’s just your brother making himself comfortable… Right?

Wrong.

“You’re so pretty sis.” You hear his voice while you lay there paralysed with drunken delirium. “I’ve always wanted you. I’ve had to suffer through every boyfriend you’ve ever had but now I can show you who’s loved you the most this whole time.”

Your silly little brain can’t process him standing up. Unzipping. Your eyes are closed now. You can’t see his thick, aching cock. It’s aching for you. He’s jerked off to your tight, slutty body for years. He’s imagined what you’ve looked like fully naked since forever. He strips away your thin dress. You feel his hands grope at your soft tits. You feel his hungry lips latch onto your nipple. And then you feel it.

Fear.

This is your own brother. You grew up with him. You painted his nails and then laughed at him, calling him a girl. You screamed at him for finishing off the last slice of cake. And now his hands are wandering your body, like you’re a cheap whore. Like your tits are just toys for groping. You try to force your eyes to open while he brushes his cock against your face, humiliating you again and again. But you have no energy. Wouldn’t it be better to give into sleep? To give into the abyss and wake up without a memory of this ever happening?

You can hardly hear his depraved, delirious words now. But you can feel him push you back against the sofa and drag the rest of your dress off. You’re in your panties now, you think. It’s so hard to tell. You moan in frustration. He pauses. Then he continues. He prods your aching cunt with a finger, eliciting a soft groan from your mouth. It doesn’t matter who he is to you when you’re awake. When you’re drunk and paralysed, when you’re looking so fuckable, all he is to you is a man with a violent cock. 

A cock that he’s using to spread your cunt now. You can feel it. You can feel your slick cunt coat his cock. You wish you could do anything to stop him now. Is this a dream? Perhaps it is? Just think happy thoughts. It’ll be over when you wake up. You can forget the memory of your own brother splattering your skin with cum. You can forget the memory of his hands abusing your lewd, slutty body. You’ll even forget how much you hate him right now. You’ll go back to trusting him, despite the soreness of your pussy and the bruises on your body. 

He’ll keep doing this again and again.

Until finally, your body’s been conditioned to enjoy his cock, even when you’re knocked out.

anakin spitting in your mouth- WHAT WHO SAID THAT-

this post is 18+, minors dni.

cw for spit/spit kink, anything and everything to do with spit and sex. don’t like don’t read.

anakin spits everywhere.

sure, in your mouth, that's the most obvious place. sometimes he wants to watch it slide down your throat in a big glob, so he'll pry your jaw open and spit onto your tongue. he tilts your head backwards and watches his spit disappear down your throat, and it's even better when you cough/choke/gag on it. he likes watching it happen. other times, though, he wants you to keep it in your mouth. to let it mix with your own spit, to swish it around and get it all over every inch of your mouth. He wants it on and under your tongue, he wants it coating your teeth, he wants it to web up and stick from your tongue to the roof of your mouth when he has you open your jaw. if he's feeling extra nasty, he'll make you swish with his spit, then spit the combo into his mouth. then he'll swish it around in his, and swap it back to you. this goes on until you've both got your combined drool seeping down your necks in a glistening mess, sticky and cooling tight on your skin. then he'll lick it off of you, you'll lick it off of him, and you'll keep going. eventually he wants you to take half and swallow it, and he'll swallow the other half. it's disgusting, but it's what he likes.

he spits on your whole face too, though, not just your mouth. he likes getting flecks over your eyes that bead up in your lashes or streak over them so that you can't open your eyes if you don't want it dripping down. it gives him some sick little power over you; you can't open your eyes unless he helps you clean off your face. he likes watching it run down your chin, he likes watching you try to lick around your mouth to get as much of it off as possible.

he likes spitting on your tits: he likes to target your nipple and watch as it cools on your skin and puckers your nipple up, makes it all stiff and perky. he likes spitting on your collarbones too, and letting it drip down between your tits and trail to your stomach. he'll lick you clean, and he'll probably kiss you with it on his tongue.

he likes spitting on your ass: he likes to watch his saliva drip obscenely over the globe of your ass, especially if some of it gets stuck and pools between your ass cheeks. he'll lick it away for you, and he'll probably accidentally find the tight ring of your asshole with his tongue. if you think the spitting stops there, you're dead wrong. anakin's a messy eager, and your ass is gonna be covered by the time he's done.

of course he likes spitting on your pussy. he's gonna get saliva in there anyways, he's about to latch onto your clit and suck until you see the pearly gates. he likes splattering it over your cunt, sure, and getting flecks of it on your thighs and watching it drip down into your ass. but he also likes spitting on his fingers to then pump them into your cunt, feeling how wet his fingers are before he puts them into your hole and then feeling how much more slick there is on them than before. sometimes he can't see it, like if you're trying to do a quickie in public and he's just reaching into your pants, but he can always feel it and it goes straight to his dick.

even if he's not spitting, he still likes seeing his saliva on you. something just below his stomach clenches whenever he sees his spit glistening on your skin, whether it's where he'd just licked up the curve of your spine, lapped away slick that had pooled on your thighs, or kissed you sloppy and left your lips all shiny. it's a possessive thing, and it's a primally sexual thing, getting his gross spit all over you. and you like it, you like it when he gets his gross spit all over you, and he likes that you like it.

bridge

[IMAGE ID: Digitally drawn fan art of One Piece made entirely with the binary brush tool. It features most of the pre-time skip straw hat crew, minus Brook. Luffy and Franky create a bridge over a ravine for the rest of the crew to cross using their arms. Luffy is on the left, he has a goofy smile on his face and is positioned on his hands and knees with his left arm stretched out halfway over the ravine, grabbing onto one of Franky's large fingers. Franky is on the right side, using his strong right to extend his arm halfway over the ravine. He is on his hands and knees as well. He is smirking and wearing sunglasses. From right to left; Robin, Nami, and Zoro are all walking across the arm bridge while holding hands with each other while Chopper rides on Robin's head and Usopp clings onto Zoro's head. Chopper, Robin, and Nami all look completely neutral while Usopp looks terrified and Zoro looks annoyed as Usopp's hands squish Zoro's face and Usopp presses the bottom of his head into Zoro's hair. Zoro walks upright and balanced despite the fact Usopp has his entire body curled up behind his shoulders, knees digging into his shoulders. At the bottom of the ravine, Sanji can been seen laying in a splatter of his own blood, face down with his limbs splayed out. He's drawn small with not much detail. Luffy is drawn with a wide nose and curly hair. His hat is scuffed and bits of grass and straw are caught in his hair. He is wearing his default clothes. Chopper has a three tone fur coat, primarily dark brown with lighter brown around his eyes and on his hands, and his chest is white. His nose is also wider and he has thick rectangular black eyebrows. He is wearing his default clothes. Robin is wearing an open purple jacket with a shirt that's green on the top, white on the bottom underneath. It's meant to look like a simplified version of her top during the Long Ring Long Land arc. Her pants and shoes are drawn all in one, as if she is wearing pitch black tights with no shoes. She has a small chest size and a completely rectangular body with no curves. She has simplified dot eyes that are colored brown. Nami is a bit shorter and chubbier compared to the canon material. She's wearing her blue striped shirt + yellow skirt combo from her first appearance, but is wearing the heeled shoes she usually wears. She has a cowlick with a bit of hair sticking out from the side of it in the shape of a stem with a leaf, freckles have also been added. Her torso is more rectangular and not curvy at all with a small chest. Zoro's arms are just drawn really thick rather than muscular. He is wearing his usual default clothes, though his pants and boots have been simplified with no clear indication where the boot starts and the pants end. Only the top half of Usopp's face is shown, and his nose is more fat and round than long and skinny, but still sticks out from his head regardless. He is depicted with much darker skin than in the anime. His bandana slightly covers the tops of his big eyes, but the edge of it is curled upward in the middle as if it is part of his brow. He is wearing his usual outfit. Franky's hands are exaggeratedly large with no wrists. His strong right is depicted as if Franky's arm was cut in half with a golden chain holding the ends together, with the exposed halves of his arm colored meat red. He is wearing his usual clothes. The background is simple and shows a few other cliff ledges in the back against a light purple sky. END ID]

DAZAI OSAMU AS A FATHER

✦ — ft. the agency + chuuya ! ✦ — cw : fluffy fluff with a tinge of angst :0 uh- broken humour and bad writing :( english is not my first language ! uh. dazai gets beat up by chuuya, feminine pet names so reader is female :3 NOT PROOFREAD !

feel like he would wanna have one girl and one boy :0 [s/n] -> son’s name [d/n] -> daughter’s name! they’ll be twins cause why not? :V 

he’s kinda of a 50/50. not the best but he’s definitely trying so that’s a point ! 

he would most likely would be the fun parent. always taking your kids out to play, letting them play with his hair and tying them up in silly hairstyles, or maybe just plain causes chaos with them. 

he would sooo take them to the agency to bother kunikida (failed) and to also take them to visit the rest of the agency members and staff of course! 

atsushi absolutely adores them! so that’s why you usually drop off [s/n] and [d/n] at his place. kyouka also helps with taking care the two of them which is the sweetest thing ever ! 

ranpo and yosano are like the fun uncle and aunts ! basically they take your kids out to everywhere. even missions. so that’s why they do get scolded by you quite often. but as long as they have fun and with the fact that they’re most definitely safe, why not just let them do it? (no one can get hurt with yosano’s ability soo no casualties!) 

mmm kunikida is the so very strict uncle that secretly cares for them. it’s super heartwarming to see him interacting with [s/n] since apparently your son likes him the most for some weird reason. and of course, dazai always complains and whines about it. which is hilarious to you. considering [s/n]’s personality was very similar to dazai’s. 

kenji is like a older brother figure to them! he even teaches [s/n] and [d/n] how to plant crops, etc. etc. but unfortunately they don’t really 100% listen to him. But kenji doesn’t mind at all! In fact, he even takes them out to the fields to have fun. 

naomi and tanizaki…well…your kids definitely think they’re weird. no offense! they just…tend to…y’know..

fukuzawa and your daughter are super close! sometimes you think you would get diabetes from seeing them together. he would always teach her how to play chess, and in turn [d/n] tells him about what she learned recently in school! 

and of course, chuuya knows all about them! despite not even meeting them! all thanks to dazai! of course, he’s happy for his ex partner. but sometimes it just gets too annoying so don’t mind it when your husband comes back home bruised and beaten, yeah?

“ouch- ouch-ow! lets just- ow!” Dazai repeatedly winces dramatically when you try and clean his wounds with a wet cloth, dabbing it on his skin as gently as possible.  “you wouldn’t have to go through this if you just didn’t bother nakahara y’know?” you chuckle, “awww..but I wanted to tell him how [s/n] beat the living daylights out of a classmate that was annoying him :(“ you pause your movements, obviously in shock at what dazai just said.  “[s/n] did what?” you asked, widening yours eyes before hitting your (stupidly loveable) husband in the head with the wet cloth, water splattered onto his clothes and hair. “ouch!” “I can’t believe you never told me! how could you?!” “dont worry! i took him out for ice cream!” “that’s not what I meant!” 

ahem. anyways! 

please please please don’t let dazai and your kids in the kitchen. they’ll practically burn it down to ashes without your supervision. and if they didn’t burn it down, the food would most likely taste horrendous. with horrible food combos. 

but alas, you’re already used to their shenanigans. what could you do? 

”I’m ba-what is this?” you froze at the sight of a black gooey looking dish, you had just returned from the agency to do something important and what you came home to was two children and a grown adult man stained with eggs, flour, etc. and a plate of suspicious food.  “we made it for you mama!” your son exclaims happily while your daughter and husband nods. “…I’m not hungry right now.” you laugh awkwardly, trying to escape from eating whatever that was. “come on honey, it wouldn’t hurt by having a taste right? aaahh…” your husband takes a spoon, scoops some up and raises it to your mouth, seemingly enjoying the petrified face on you. “…fine..” you slightly wince when you say that, regretting for agreeing to eat what they made and without warning, dazai shoves the whole spoonful of food into your mouth as you splutter. after you somehow manage to swallow it all, clasping your hand over your mouth, you look up to see the trio very very…happy somehow.  imaginary flowers and sparkles seem to shine about them. dazai was especially happy…goodness. he was the mastermind wasnt he? “mama! how did it taste?” [s/n] rushes towards you and looks up at you, a puppy expression on his face as you gulp. “v-very nice sweetheart.” you smile at him, still fighting against the urge to throw up all the contents. “Yay!” he cheered, running around the room “we did it!“ “haha.. no wonder ranpo told me to not go home yet..” you mumbled the last bit. “what was that, belladonna?” “nothing!” 

…you got food poisoning in the end. not suprising at all. but whnever dazai offered to cook, you promptly tell him that you already ordered takeout. 

and dazai would be so so so so so sweet with the twins when it’s their bedtime. like- he would literally hum a melody or read a story, whatever they like. and it just usually makes you chuckle at the sight of how gentle he was with them. 

he definitely is really cautious with them since he’s always scared that they’ll slip away. same with you though, that’s why he likes to hug you like a koala when the two of you are asleep.

and when [s/n] or [d/n] has nightmares? he would try his best to soothe them, sometimes ending up falling asleep in their room on the floor. 

but in the end, everything is peaceful and happy. 

even though dazai may be far, far from perfect, there’s no one else you’d rather to be the father of your children ♡

it’s done ! :D yay! ‘m rlly srry for all the grammar + my English since it’s bad aaahhh T^T *sobs* but I hope u liked it <3 thank u for reading !! (tried my best to not make this too long) I suck at endings :( 

A Squid and his Kids

Splatoon x UTMV crossover who’s this? 👀

They’re taking a little nap together! Shhh! Don’t wake them~

But yeah these are some of my interpretations of Ink and some of his fankids as Splatoon Inklings/Octolings! In swim form of course ;3

Baby inkfish are so cute aren’t they? ^w^

Now for credits!

Ink Sans belongs to @comyet ofc

Splatter (no not the combo) (pale yellow squid) is mine <3

Blueprint (blue octopus) belongs to @pepper-mint

Palette (lime squid) belongs to @lasserbatsu

Paper Jam (pink and yellow splotched octo) belongs to @7goodangel

Gradient (teal gradient octopus) belongs to @askcomboclub

Acrylic (baby Inktoling with the halo) belongs to @hexcia

and Quill (pale blue squid) belongs to @twinribbonz !

Since I'm being Riddler this year for Halloween it made me think uhhhhh how would the Riddlers react to reader wearing their outfit? Also love your writing btw Finnie :>💚

Wearing Their Outfit

Riddler Headcanons AH thank you lil bug!! and a happy halloween everyone but especially everyone who is dressing up as the riddler in one capacity or another 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: some suggestive stuff, nothing explicit i don't... think

arkham

regardless of which outfit you steal from him, the suit, the sweater vest, or the ratty vest and shirt combo he's gonna be annoyed. quite annoyed actually

you're sullying them! you don't deserve to wear them! what if people mistake you for him? he can't have that kind of damage to his reputation

so you better remove them, right now. and he doesn't care if you're then left naked and embarrassed, that's your problem. and it'll serve nice as an apology to him to get to see you in that state

zero year

he gets what you were going for, imitation is after all the greatest form of flattery and he can't deny that he deserves all the compliments in the world

but this is the wrwong way to please him, because here you are putting on more clothes, when he would rather you remove all clothes

the hat, however... that can stay on actually. you might have to hold on to it though, because he can't guarantee he'll be gentle with you

unburied

one of the very few times he has ever felt genuine adoration for you outside of his dry, sarcastic way of showing affection was when you borrowed his sweater

the one barbara gave him to wear, stained with his blood, torn and ripped and damaged, but a comfort item for him

and to see you all cosy and wrapped up in it, he can't help but consider that you might even be cuter than he is. but only just!

btas

that hat suits you but his shirt is a little big. doesn't matter though, because for first time in his life he's confused! he doesn't really know what to do

first of all, it seems to strange that something can be cute and sexy at the same time? you can't make his heart skip a beat and his cock hard at the same time, surely?

well, if anyone can, it's you. but that begs the question: what does he do next? smoosh your cheeks together? or... bend you over and clap the other set of cheeks?

dano

he'd lose his god damn mind, regardless of what you have underneath that coat, because his imagination is already running wild

just think how delightful it would be to peel back that mask while he was inside of you, revealing your face in pure ecstacy

even better if you were splattered in the blood of his enemies, but hey he's not going to be picky. the jacket and the boots are plenty

twojar

oh fuck yeah, because here's the thing about that outfit: the shirt isn't unbuttoned, it just doesn't have buttons

which means if you're wearing it he's getting a solid look at your chest, always a positive for him because getting to see any part of your body makes his day

but it proves a bit distracting for him while he's working on his overthrow of joker, so contrary to his desires, you might need to cover up

gotham

can we stay with sweet eddie? season 1 eddie? losing his mind over walking in on you in one of the labs wearing his lab coat, some rubber gloves, and his spare glasses?

the blushing, the flustered stuttering as he tries to ask what you're doing, knowing full well exactly what your intentions are but still finding it hard to believe

because how could this possibly be real? since this is exactly the same thing he dreamed about the ight before. and the night before that. and the night before that. and the night...

Padawan (TBB x Male Reader) Part 1

Part 2

Characters: The Bad Batch - Crosshair. Not much of Wrecker, mainly just meeting them.

Relationship: All platonic

POV: Mixture between 2nd (you/yours) and 3rd (he/him)

Pronouns: He/him, but referred to as they/them when identity is unknown to the Batch

Species: Unspecified, should be pretty neutral

Content: Angst?? Panic?? Introductions?? Beginning of found family??

Warnings: Panic attacks, minor injury description, thinking about your death (non-suicide), anything that would be in TBB normally. Possibly some lore inaccuracies. Cringe

Word count: 4,777

Notes: If you’re willing, please let me know if you think 2nd person or 3rd person POV is better, or if the combo is readable.

You balanced yourself on the beam, steadily walking across with eyes darting back and forth for anything that seemed of use.  Or, at least, a new pathway, or bridge, or anything that could lead you somewhere new, where there was the possibility of supplies.  Or food, or some type of communication device, or, quite literally, anything.  You weren’t picky, given the circumstances- couldn’t afford to be.  But in truth, there was little to no chance of finding anything new.  You’d scavenged through the ship countless times, and for the past…however long, there’d been nothing new.  You hadn’t missed anything from the previous ventures, no small creature had drug in anything from outside or from a part with limited access, nothing fell to reveal a hidden treasure of some sort.  Absolutely nothing.  But yet, each day you once again went out with a glimmer of hope- or denial- that there would be something.  Or maybe it was just a feeble attempt to focus your mind away from the events.  Not that it worked.

As the beam came across a body of water, you peered down to the pool, loathing at what was reflecting back- raggy, dirty, and bloody.  Kriffing Hell, I could be mistaken for a Tusken Raider with this shit-job of a covering.  Your normal Padawan robes, as well as ones from your Master, had been torn into several chunks, and wrapped around different limbs, as well as pieces of fabric from any corpses you’d stumble upon.  Layered on top of those was a poncho-cloak, barely holding on by a thread.  An oxygen mask hung limply around your neck, and was covered with a fine coating of dirt and grime, with splattered blood on top.  Bandages, cloth, and even animal pelts wound loosely around your head, leaving only small holes and strips for the mouth, nose, and eyes.  Your waist was adorned with a make-shift gear belt, holding a multitude of different bones- sharpened and shaped to become tools and methods of protection.  Your Lightsaber bumped lightly with each step, an eternal reminder to what happened- and as many bad thoughts as it brought, it would be an absolutely idiotic move to ditch the weapon.  Not wanting to look any longer, you pulled back your head and took a deep breath, continuing on.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Rex led the squad of modified clones through the dirty, deserted and desolate hallways, shining a light so nobody fell to their demise.  The group talked about the war, inhibitor chips, and the like until they came across a large canyon, so to speak.  Rex, Omega, Tech, Hunter, and Echo all shimmied their way across, leaving Wrecker to go last.  “You can do it!  Just keep your eyes on the table,” Omega yelled encouragingly.  With a few grunts and a shake of his head, Wrecker began climbing the cable upside down.  Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, it couldn’t hold his weight, plummeting him down to the murky water.

The collective panic from all six clones shot out an incredibly large Force ‘wave’ to the padawan, of which felt as though he was being hit by a speeder bike head-on and then ricocheted into a Bantha.  The shock of realizing that someone- scratch that, multiple someones- were here, on the ship with him, at this exact moment was more than enough to cause (Y/N) to stumble backwards from where he was standing and trip over some debris, falling flat on his ass.  Once (Y/N) could gather that he and the strangers had a decent amount of space in between them, his breathing calmed- but not enough to be normal.

(Y/N) carefully got up, watching his foot placement, before turning to where he had been sleeping and recouping for the past few months.  His legs felt both stiff and shaky, his vision was blurry, and his breathing was ragged.  Once (Y/N) was finally in the small space that contained his very few belongings, he fell to the floor, backed into the wall, and curled up into a tiny, and rather pathetic, ball.  People were here.  (Y/N) didn’t know if they were good, or bad- or if they weren't much of either.  Didn’t know their motives, didn’t know anything.  When (Y/N) had prayed to the Force to find new things, this is not what he meant.  At all.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Soon enough, and with several general or head-based injuries, all four men had their inhibitor chips removed.  Omega and Hunter were walking around, exploring this and that and whatnot.  Mainly because Omega would have done so anyway, but she most definitely needs supervision on the death-trap that is so humbly called a ship.  Unfortunately for you, the pair was getting awfully close to his “hide-out.”  Even worse, it seemed Hunter was aware of that as well.

“Omega…I think there’s someone here with us.  Stay close,” he whispered, pulling out his blaster.  Your breathing grew faster and more shaggy, and your vision clouded.  What could I do?  They’re in front of the only exit, and I haven't fought a person, or even touched my lightsaber in Force knows how long!  Considering the only way out, other than direct confrontation, seemed to be a 100+ foot drop- the choice was more or less clear.  You shakily stood up, grabbed the lightsaber which had been doing nothing else than collecting dust (and bad memories), and began to sprint as fast as possible, shoulder aimed at the door.  Dank Farrik, please- don’t let me die like this.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hunter jumped back, quickly grabbing Omega’s arm and pulling her out of the way with him.  And lucky he did, otherwise she may have been crushed by the metal plate that went flying as the cloaked figure stumbled and bolted.  Immediately, Hunter reached up to his comm and reported, “There’s somebody else on the ship!  His motive is unclear- just blasted through a door and ran- looks like he’s going for an escape.”

On the other end, Wrecker almost jumped out of his skin in excitement- “Finally!  Some action!”  Tech couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Wrecker’s interest in beating someone to hell and back.  After some more information was passed through, Wrecker and Tech had an approximate idea of where they needed to head in order to intercept the stowaway.  Since Hunter had said that the mystery person appeared to be running away, stealth was not an objective for the pair- running through loudly was acceptable.

(Y/N) was solely focused on getting out- not where the others could be.  Which was a terrible mistake- if you’re running away from somebody, it’d generally be wise to know where they are.  Tech could guess as much, and used it to his advantage.  Although he hadn’t gotten a full map of the ship, based on Hunter’s location report, the mystery person’s motive, and the ship being heavily damaged, he could make a reasonable estimate as to where the person would be.

To no one’s surprise, Tech was absolutely correct.  After instructing Wrecker where to go, they had each blocked the end of a hallway.  Wrecker had cut in front and faced the mystery person head on, grinning as cracking his neck, while Tech had stealthily followed from a ways behind.  By the time Tech caught up, the mystery person had already slammed to a stop and immediately turned around to exit the other end, but to no avail.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You ran as fast as you could, and you really did try paying attention to your surroundings, but it was all utterly useless.  The intruders had pinned you.  One giant guy to the front, and one smart guy to the back.  Brains and brawn.  Your heart beat far too fast, feeling the thump thump in your head, being far too hot, and your vision was rapidly becoming smaller and more tunneled.

It didn’t help when the big guy spoke, and you realized they were clones.  Odd clones, granted, but clones, who, as far as you knew, executed Order 66, executed your Master, friends, your entire sense of familiarity and comfort.

You weren’t prepared for this- you hadn’t trained in months, or even used your lightsaber.  There was no means of escape, considering the second either of them saw you reach for a weapon, it would be over.  Running would do you no good, and if they had followed Order 66, talking wouldn’t do any good either.  It seemed you’d join the other jedi in whatever afterlife awaited.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The figure fell flat on their ass and scrambled half-way backwards and half-way to the nearest wall after hearing Wrecker’s voice- they were shaking, sweat drenching their clothes all the way through, and, all in all, resembling a caged animal who knew it was done for.  A loud echo ran out as the figure roughly contacted the metal wall, and pulled their legs up, semi-resembling the fetal position, as their hands were still on the ground.

Wrecker and Tech slowly approached the figure, blasters balanced on their arms.  Both took notice of the shaky and rapid breathing, the occasional twitching, and how the figure seemed to be ever-so-slightly rocking.  This person was a very good actor, or nothing more than someone scared, who was in the very wrong place at the wrong time.  They both assumed the latter.

As Tech walked forward, he used his scanner to find the general age and species of the subject, brows furrowing as results came forward.  The figure was somewhere in between 15 and 18, was (chosen species), and, as more data was collected, Tech discovered that the figure was a Jedi.  Or, at the very least, someone with a high midichlorian count.  He stopped walking, lowered his blaster- not a lot, but just enough, and gestured to Wrecker to copy.  Wrecker made a grunt in confusion, not understanding.  Tech sighed and replied, “I do not believe they intend to harm us.  If my data is correct, they are a teenager, and most likely a padawan.  And it would seem they do not wish to engage through a fight, anyway.  Put your weapons down.”

(Y/N)’s head darted back and forth between the two, confused- was he safe?  They were clones- were they not going to execute Order 66, or at the very least, kill him as a simple intruder?  Just then, a third clone appeared- one with half the helmet white, the other black, with a few more details and some large red stripes.  He had a vibro-knife in one hand, extended outward with a curve, and his other hand, holding a blaster, rested on top of it.  “Hunter, I do not think they are a threat- at least, at this moment.  There has been no attempt to harm us as of yet, and they appear to be force sensitive, which would most certainly warrant an attempt to flee from a group of clones,” Tech informed.  (Y/N) slowly reached his hand towards the lightsaber on his makeshift belt, but didn’t quite grab it- not yet.  Hunter slowly put his weapons away and set down his helmet, a small hiss ringing out when he took it off.

He crouched just enough to seem smaller and slightly less intimidating, without looking like he was getting ready to spring up.  He extended his hands, walking slowly towards (Y/N).  “We’re not here to hurt you- we're not like the other clones– we’ve had our inhibitor chips removed.  You’re safe,” he spoke slowly and clearly.  Tech jumped in, “The inhibitor chips are what programmed the regs– the other clones– to execute Order 66.  So we don’t want to hurt you.”  Wrecker grunted something in agreement.

“Now, we have a functioning ship with us, and we can get you out of here- somewhere safe, or at least, more safe than here, okay?  We have food, water, medical care, and we have a place to stay where the Empire won’t bother us.  Let us help you.”  By the time Hunter had finished his little speech, he was only a few feet away from (Y/N), crouching down, now eye-level with him.  (Y/N)’s hand slowly came away from his saber.  This felt safe- he could sense it, more or less.  There wasn’t actually any danger, and the clone, who (Y/N) assumed was Hnuter, felt safe and honest– reminding him of the warmth and comfort the Jedi Temple, his fellow Padawans, his Master, all brought him.

(Y/N) tried to say something, but his voice caught and cracked horribly- a mixture of the panic, and having not talked to anyone in months.  He felt his eyes water behind the terribly dirty rags, which stung more than it should have.  “Let's start by getting those rags off you, okay?  Tech, bring over some bacta-spray and clean bandages,” Hunter instructed.  Tech did as he was told, fishing out some spray and bandages from one of his several pouches that lined his waist.  

Tech passed the supplies to Hunter, who indicated for him and Wrecker to go report to the rest what was happening.  He directed his attention back to (Y/N), calmly asking, “I’m gonna take off your face wrappings, alright?”  (Y/N) mumbling what Hunter assumed was an ‘okay,’ and felt his body go heavy and almost limp.  Hunter reached up, tenderly brushing against the Padawan’s face, swiftly untying the bounds of cloth.  He quickly used his other hand to bring the rest of it down, now draped around (Y/N)’s neck.  His face was dirty, caked in dirt, grime, and what appeared to be blood.  The mixture of paste, so to speak, was cracked and chipping, looking like a desert’s mud-crack.

Whether or not he meant to, Hunter grimaced at the sorry state of the Padawan.  He took his gloved hands to try and brush and scrape off the majority of the paste off, which was primarily successful.  After the layer of muck was removed, Hunter found one long gash, following the curvature of (Y/N)’s jawline, from just below the eye to just above his mouth.  It was inflamed and oozing, and was most certainly going to need stitches.  He held up the bacta-spray, and lightly spritzed it onto the wound.  A sharp hiss sounded out from (Y/N), who was now squinting his eyes.  Hunter mumbled some sort of apology before taking out the bandage and delicately, yet firmly at the same time, placed it on the gash.

“Are there any more major injuries we should worry about?  We can take care of the smaller ones on the ship, but still.  Better safe than sorry.”  (Y/N) shook his head no.  Hunter slowly stood up, and extended a hand, but (Y/N) just seemed to stare at it.  Slowly, though, the Padawan extended his own hand out, flinching and hesitating once his arm was half-way extended.  After a few seconds, though, he fully reached out and tightly grabbed the man’s hand.  Using the wall behind him, (Y/N) pushed himself up, legs shaky.  As soon as he was steady, (Y/N) ripped his hand away, bringing it close and pinning it tightly against his own chest.

Hunter commed Tech, instructing him to get everyone on-board the Marauder, and to try and use any spare pieces of clothing or blanket to form some type of clean cover that would fit the Padawan.  After what seemed to last forever, Hunter broke the silence- “So, what's' your name, kid?”

“(Y/N)...” he mumbled, quiet enough that only Hunter’s enhanced ears could make it out clearly.  The pair continued their walk through the broken up ship, eventually coming up to the ramp that led out to the Marauder.  (Y/N) brought his arm to his eyes, squinting at the sun- being far too bright, seeing as he hadn’t gone out of the ship in Maker knows how long.  Hunter took notice and briefly stopped, turning his head back to the teenager.

“You alright?  I’m sure I have something if you want to block out the sun for the walk,” he gently offered.  (Y/N) silently shook his head no, while slowly taking his arm down, bringing it back down to his chest, head and eyes solidly trained on the ground.  Hunter stared for a few seconds more, just to be sure, before continuing on towards the Marauder.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Your head was woozy, your heart beating out of your chest, and you were simultaneously shaking, yet felt numb.  All in all, it felt terrible.  And perhaps even worse, you knew there was no real reason to feel this way.  You were finally safe.  And there was no possible way that the clones would turn and execute you.  They would have done so already, without a doubt!  Why would anyone go against direct orders, and pure convenience, just to make someone suffer more?  That would be beyond inadequate. And it just made you feel terrible for not trusting them, or at the very least, for being suspicious of them.  And now your head hurt more than before.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, but was no more than a five minute walk, the pair came up on the Havoc Marauder, in all its battle worn glory.  Echo was leaning on the frame to the entry ramp, draping a clean, albeit worn and torn, wool poncho over his scomp.  From the time Echo had spent with them, he gathered that the Jedi seemed to really like their ponchos.

As you and Hunter finally came up to the ramp, you froze.  Your heart got significantly louder, palms sweater, which, by the way, was never pleasant under the dirty rags, and your eyes began darting around.  There was only one way out, it seemed.  If the group did have ill intent, you’d be done for as soon as you set a single toe in the ship.  That was not a comforting thought.  Hunter could hear your heartbeat and smell your sweat (or rather, the reaction it has with your skin) from a mile away.

Alerted by this change in demeanor, he turned back to look at you- who was completely frozen stiff, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape and pulled downwards.  He may have been prepared for any mission the Republic gave him, but there certainly wasn’t any briefing on traumatized teenagers- let alone force sensitive teens.  Kriff, he barely knew how to socialize with the Regs, and it was a miracle he could bond as much as he did with Omega.

Echo, even with his lack of enhanced senses, could easily see Hunter’s predicament.  “How about you get the rest of the squad together, keep it calm for the kid.  I’ll go take care of this.”  Hunter silently nodded in thanks, brushing past his brother to head inside and start giving orders.  That he was good at, no matter the topic.

Echo slowly, but not too slowly, as that would seem like a predator circling its prey, walked down the ramp and stood just in arm’s reach of the Padawan.  You seemed to stare at each other for an eternity before he slowly handed you the poncho.  “Here… seems you Jedi like ponchos, and we had one lying about.  Hope it works.  Got some more fabrics up on the ship, if you need any.  And better med-kits, stuff to find infections or fevers.  In case.”  He spoke both in a calm and precise manner, and continued on, “Name’s Echo, by the way.  Yours?  If you don’t mind, anyway.”

You didn’t respond for a few more seconds, taking it all in.  Finally, you mustered up a small response, “(Y/N)... and thank you.”  Echo smiled lightly, extending the poncho out a  bit further.  Quickly, you threw off the old poncho, which wouldn't have lasted another week, and put on the fresh new one.  “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, at least around the arms and face, yeah?  We’ll be on another planet soon, and then you can get some proper fitting clothes.”

Echo turned and walked back up the ramp, making sure he could hear your footsteps following him.  A few steps after you had gotten in, and the ramp seemed to slam shut.  Realstickly, it was probably shutting for a while, but you hadn’t noticed it until it registered that there was no way out now.  And everything seemed so tight.  Sure, you had just been in a wrecked ship for Maker knows how long, but it was a big one.  Now, you were stuck on a much smaller ship, with however many clones.  Before the claustrophobia and feeling of complete despair could kick in, a small blond girl tugged at your burnt, calloused, and wrapped up hands, attempting to pull you somewhere.  Of course, given your larger mass, as well as training, you didn’t budge, not one bit.  You stared down at the young girl, eyes wide, yet blank.  To say it disturbed her would be an understatement.

“Omega!  I’m Omega, and this is Lula- Wrecker’s tooka doll!” she exclaimed, bringing your attention to a large stuffed…rabbit?  Or… loth cat?  It was hard to say.  It had a black body, with red sock paws, similar to the red tips on its ears.  The tooka doll sported some pattern of white, clearly resembling a face, with two red dots for eyes.  Distracted by the stuffed creature, she could successfully pull you, where she then disposed of you in someone's bunk.  She all but slammed Lula into your chest before running off, what, or who she was looking for, a complete mystery.

She came back with a collection of blankets, pillows, and snacks, and most certainly more than she could carry. Immediately, Omega got to work, bundling you like a baby in a blizzard.  You were too stunned to do anything, really.  What could you do, anyway?  After about two or so minutes of her layering, she paused, and frowned.  “How are you going to eat if your hands and arms are covered! Agh!”

She quickly began undoing her work, until your arms could be brought out, and then resumed the stacking of blankets.  All you could do was blink repeatedly, ever confused.  After another five or so minutes, she smiled triumphantly at her work.  “Perfect!  Here, have some mantell mix!” she said as she shoved a fist full of some clunky substance into your palm.  Looking down at it, mouth watering, you slowly reached down and plucked one of the misshapen balls, and popped it into your mouth.  And by the Maker, was it delicious.  Your eyes widened, and without a second thought, your hand flew to your mouth, sending the entire pile of mantell mix down your throat.  After eating random rodents, insects, and food that was quite possibly expired from the ship, this mantell mix was a blessing to your senses.

As you continued chewing and swallowing the treat, you leaned back against the hard wall of the ship, a quiet, content sigh escaping.  While it certainly wasn’t the most comfortable, it was ten thousand times better than anywhere you had slept on the Venator.  Lula was still resting across your chest, and Omega smiled proudly at your comfort before running off again.  Although it was muffled, you could hear her talking to one of the clones, before grabbing something and running back towards you.

“I was training with Nala Se and the medical equipment at the Kaminoan facilities, so I can fix you up!  Now, where does it hurt the most?”  She was a bit too excited about her ‘patient’ needing help, you thought.  It was cute, though.  The younglings and other Padawan at the Jedi Temple were like that, too– always eager to be the first to help, even in situations where most would never be joyous.  You supposed there wouldn’t be any harm in humoring the girl, even if she was, by all means, a possible threat, with everyone else on the ship.  I mean, if they did plan to harm or kill you, there’d be no chance of survival, so you might as well play along with the little girl.  Either your last moments wouldn’t be too bad, or you’d start bonding with your saviors.  Either version was a win, in one way or another.

Cocking one eyebrow, you raised a question– “How are you supposed to take care of me if I can’t move under all these layers?  That seems rather counter-productive, no?”  Her face molded into one of thought and consideration, nodding her head in agreement.  Before you could register her next move, she essentially lunged, quickly stripping you of the layers for the second time within the hour.  Now, the blankets all strewn around you resembled a porg’s nest, without the sticks and twigs, anyway.  Omega yanked your arm forward, a tad too eager, considering you should always be gentle with your patients.  Your eyes squinted, brows furrowed in a smidge of pain- Omega immediately noticed, and gave you a sheepish smile before apologizing and bringing it towards her more gently.

She carefully wrapped the bandages off of your arm, eyes widening at the…state of it.  Burn spots, blisters, scratches, bruises, and more littered the entirety of it, looking like it came out of a horror holo-film.  You stared at it rather intensely.  You had no clue it was this bad.  I mean, it hurt, obviously- you were in a crashed ship and had no proper care for however long.  Of course it was going to hurt.  But seeing it, that was still a shock.

“Umm… I should probably get Tech.  I’m not this good, I don’t think…” Omega whispered, frowning.  She scurried off, but you just kept staring.  How could you have let it get this bad?  Was all the training useless?  Or was it you?

Tech, the one with goggles and a plethora of gear, came over, holding what Omega had given him, and more.  His armor was still on, but the helmet had been discarded.  He bent down on one knee, and scanned over your body, checking for any and all injuries.  And, oh boy, did he have his work cut out for him.  Tech carefully took your arm in his gloved hands, and stared for a little bit before spraying a lot of bacta on.  You lurched forward, bringing your other hand to your side, in a feeble attempt to focus the pain elsewhere.  Your brows scrunched, and cheeks pulled down, biting your tongue in every attempt to not bother him any more.

“Let me know when it stops stinging.  Most of the bacteria should be gone, then.  We’ll still clean it out routinely, as they’ve been untreated for so long,” he spoke precisely.  After what felt like eternity, he was finally finished applying the spray.  “Hold your arm out.  Make it as level and steady as you can,” Tech instructed.  Fingertips barely brushing your skin, he brought the clean cloth around, wrap after wrap, from your palm to your elbow.  He took some smaller bandages and wrapped them around each of your fingers, leaving your entire arm covered.

You lifted up your other arm, and you both repeated the process.  Bacta, wrap, done.  He gestured at your legs, silently asking to both take off your shoes and life up your pants, to at least the knee.  There was a much larger and deeper gash on your left shin, courtesy of a falling metal plate as you finally managed to get some sleep.  “That…will need stitches.  Wait here.”  Not like you were going anywhere.

After what felt like hours upon hours, everything that was physically wrong with you had been fixed- or, at the very least, temporarily fixed.  Obviously, there weren't the best medical supplies on a smaller ship that had long left the army, and thus left behind the blessing that was gift-wrapped med-kits.  Finally, he gave you some type of liquid- not a lot, just a shot.  He could see the quizzical look on your face, and quickly explained– “It’ll help you go to sleep, for quite a while, and it’ll help reduce the pain.  By the time you wake up, we should be at Orl Mantell, where we’ve been staying.  Or, at least, close to it.”

In a fraction of a heartbeat, you downed the small glass and handed it back to Tech.  He ran one more scan on you, just to be sure, before getting up and heading to the cock-pit with his brothers and little older sister.  Your heart slowed, and your eyelids grew heavy.  That serum worked fast.  Half involuntarily, you fell face first onto the bed and drifted into the best sleep you’d had in countless rotations.

MHA Ch.401 leak reactions

A chapter about All Might, Stain, and AFO is called “The Lunatic,” which really describes ALL OF THEM. Next there will be a chapter with the Rooftop Trio, the Origin Trio, the vestiges, and Tomura called “About A Boy.”

STAIN KNOWS ALL MIGHT BY SMELL? And goes around sniffing random blood splatters in the street?

Do you think Stain had an orgasm doing a combo attack with All Might?

AFO’s combination of “Forced Activation” and “Phlebotomy” to desanguinate himself is some next level horror shit.

Then again, AFO and All Might bleeding out for each other right after Toga and Ochako ended up the same way is poetic (romantic?)

Lol, of COURSE AFO can change his blood’s composition. That’s why his blood type and true family lineage is unknown. (Uhhh what else can he change?)

AFO MOUTH VORE! AFO MOUTH VORE!

Ok, I did not have “Stain pulls an Obi-Wan Kenobi” on my bingo card.

All Might is told to live by Stain…and by his car. Like the car thought, “Stain’s right, better make sure to emphasize that point as I lay dying.”

AFO goes back to the laser again. Very uncreative after FORCED PHLEBOTOMY.

TOSHI GETS ANOTHER SPIDER-MAN MOMENT!!!! I think his one un-shredded limb is his right arm, aka the one that goes SMASH, though he seems to be using his shattered left to help him crawl too.

But now the goo teleport quirk is in play!! Will AFO keep being distracted by All Might? Will AFO warp All Might with him this time??? And if not, is that the opening for Kurogiri, Mic, and Aizawa? (Omg, if they help carry Toshi the way Toshi carried Aizawa at USJ, my brain will break.)

which interaction would be Krazier, natla!Iroh with animation!Zhao or animation!Iroh with natla!Zhao..... like I cant decide which one would be more funny... OG Iroh and Ken Leung would be a party for short kings which I'm into. a short kings convention. on the other hand... feel like the violence potential for the other combo is off the charts..

oh yeah right on the money. natla iroh would spontaneously think a chainsaw into existence just so he could kill og zhao with it. if you think him killing natla zhao with a fireball was crazy he'd make og zhaos life a splatter indie horror film that's banned in 25 countries

always smelling like/having something of the four’s on you :( wearing Steve’s blue jeans or jerseys that fit ever so slightly bagging on you to the point you always feel engulfed in him even though he’s away. wearing Robin’s rings and jewelry that always make her hands so pretty when she holds you or cups your face before a barrage of kisses. stealing Eddie’s leather jackets/band tees because they smell like sweet tobacco smoke and late night giggling with notes of tender love. always having Nancy’s back-up tube of lipstick or perfume roller in your pocket for when she wants to touch up from completely ingraining her skin and lips against yours. :( I’m so soft

Bonus points for: Jonathan’s camera with the worn straps, Argyle’s hats with little doodles drawn on the undersides of the brims, Chrissy’s kitten-soft cardigans and sweaters, and Billy’s sacred Polaroids of the west coast with dates and memories scribbled on the back :( miss Ellie I love all of them sO MUCH-

IM GONNA SOB. ANON UR ADDING YEARS TO MY LIFE ♡

Steve's blue jeans are classic, well-worn, denim soft to the touch. He pulls them up and fastens them for you on your hips, his fingers lingering there once they're set and the denim bunches up around your ankles. These ones are yours, your pair, that you can stretch or shrink or belt or do anything you want with. Splatters of paint on the shins from when he helped Dustin paint his bedroom, smelling strongly of his cologne--he sprayed a little extra on them so it'll stick to you. His smile brightens the room when he leans back to take a look at you, so soft and pretty in his pants. He knows you're gonna keep stealing his anyways, but if he minded, he wouldn't leave his closet open whenever he wanders away to use the bathroom or get a drink when you're over. It's worth it to have to dig in his father's dusty closet to find something to wear if he gets to see you in his clothes forevermore.

Robin has so much jewelry you don't know what to make of it all. Rings, necklaces, watches, bracelets--they make up a little ocean of silver and gold across the top of her dresser, a cracked mirror propped up for her to check them all out. They're unorganized, some a little tangled together. Easy for you to sneak something here and there just to wear it when you're both out together. It's a way for you to hold hands without your fingers touching, some divine show of ownership. You wear her rings, fiddle with her necklaces, you show off the glitz and glitter of her jewelry like it's a crown marking your royal status. It sometimes doesn't occur to her that you're wearing them until she's too close to hide her shyness, her cheeks a rosy hue as she swallows at the sight of her favourite pendant hanging around your neck. So pretty, you're the prettiest in the world--and you can have as much as you want, so long as she gets to see those gleaming gold and silver accents contrast your glowing skin.

Eddie's leather jacket is sacred. Pins piercing the fabric in perfect array, leather frayed in the way it's supposed to for it to fit perfectly. It carries the scent of tobacco and pot and the smell of his hair, both shampoo and cologne a sickly sweet-musky combo that floods your senses when he puts it over your shoulders. It's heavy for that frame of yours, but you keep it up, and he's struck with pride. What he wouldn't give to rip all those clothes off and leave you in nothing but his jacket. He could wear the stains of your sweat on the inner lining, could lift it to his nose and inhale the smell of you and instantly feel that head rush that's better than any special shit he could get off Rick. That thought is what pushes him to let you have it, to zip it up and tell you to keep it safe. Your doe eyes when you ask him if he's gonna do something dangerous, something scary, again. And he just laughs, despite knowing how worried you really are. Because Eddie knows he'll never run away again--but he also won't leave you to fret and cry at the thought of losing him, never again. Not his little angel.

Nancy's lipstick leaves a stain wherever she kisses you. Smudges, smears, blurs, brightens her skin when she's dragging you up and down against her lips, angling you so she can get every inch that she wants to mark. Prim, proper Nancy is also the martyr Nancy, the same hands that apply her lipstick with a delicate touch also wield the guns and fire and violence that you owe your life to. Her breath raises those goosebumps to your skin, lips pursed to suck one harsh, defining bruise in your skin through her teeth. One small, purplish splotch ringed with scarlet lipstick, made permanent only in your dreams as Nancy finally pulls herself off of you. Fishing in your back pocket, she produces those two tubes that she knows she'll always find on you--and with a practiced hand, she reapplies her lipstick and uncaps her roller to dust her throat with perfume, ensuring an image just as pristine as she arrived with when she wipes those smudged lines from her fair skin. Perfection.

Jonathan has little else but that. His camera. Beat up and old, cracked lens replaced with a cheaper but unbroken one, leather straps thinner than they were but still holding strong. There's no hope in affording a brand new one, much less a nice one, but the smile on your face when he bashfully gifts it to you makes it feel like he gave you the world. You don't have to take it, it's a piece of crap, I just thought you might want something to start--and you're kissing away those mumbled worries from his lips, eyes glowing with adoration as you hold it close to your chest. The strap fits perfectly around your neck, leather sliding against your skin and soft, already broken in by years of use. The first photo you take, lens held up with careful fingers, is of him. Off-colour and standing nervously, smile shy but sincere. You'll keep that forever, that one and many more framed up in the house you'll share one day.

Argyle loves many things, and few of those love him back. You slot into that category, he's sure, which is how he finds himself drawing out his love on the brim of his most precious cap. The underside, of course, to keep it secret--but almost nobody would decipher the symbols that represent you. A sun, a flower, a cluster of stars, a line of poetry he read once in school that fits you perfectly, makes the words stick in his head because they always make him think of you. His heart thuds against his ribs like it's trying to break out when you put that Surfer Boy visor on your head, plucking it off his own just to giggle and spin it to wear it like you've seen him do. Your awed gaze turned upward to survey those doodles when you notice them, and the smile you show off when you take it off to look at them closer...that's enough in itself. More than he could ask for, yet only a snippet of what he'll get when he finally brings himself to admit who those lovelorn drawings are for.

Chrissy's sweaters are a statement. Cheerleader. Princess. Hawkins' Sweetheart. When you wear each one, they spell out her love on your sleeves, her devotion to give you things so precious that she wouldn't hand over for anything else. Baby pink and mint green and pale yellow, blue and white and lavender and peach and all the colours that crystallize in the sky when a rainbow forms after a storm. That's what you feel like to her, that's what you are--a precious, pretty splatter of colours in her comparably dull world, the reward she's been blessed with after a life of locked doors and tears and a churning stomach. Your skin spells out so much more when the soft fabric of her clothing bristles against it, more than anything she ever hoped for herself. You wear them, and all she sees is love.

Billy can recall the dates with almost complete accuracy. Each polaroid pinched between your delicate fingers has a story, a life behind it that you've never seen, but one that Billy remembers with relative fondness. Some are punctuated with painful memories, but those ones he glosses over and you move on to the next. He sits by your side on the floor, leaned against his bed, a cigarette perched between his lips and music playing quietly for once in the background, and you hold out each of the photos spread out in a vast array between both of your legs. Smoke stings your lungs but smoothes the ache in his chest, the burn that flares up when he's faced with image after image of that beach, those waves, and that smiling blonde in the sunhat that he was forced to leave behind. It didn't dawn on him before, but your piqued curiosity and the giggles and "awww!"s you fill the room with at seeing his baby pictures spark a new idea in his mind, and a smirk on his face. Those memories from the west coast have been replayed to death in his mind, those pictures old and fraying--he needs new ones. Ones that will never make him ache or burn with regret. Photos of you.

Your bio says requests are still open, so.. Author? Maybe Author and Dark? Could be an interesting combo. That's all that's rattling around in my head, do as you will, lol. You always pull together something fun

Co-written with @regalrain using their Dark!

Blood splattered through the air, landing all over his face and clothes, as the Author ripped the knife free of his victim's chest. The poor soul had just been a hiker, lost in the woods, but the Author didn't care. He'd seen too much, he'd seen the Author dragging the body of his latest expired character, and the he couldn't have anyone telling.

No one, except for the man in the shadows.

The way they twitched announced his presence. Then, the low pitched hum in the air. Finally, the way the colors seemed to drain from the trees and bushes nearby, creeping towards the Author. Solidifying, to rub a black, cold tendril over his leg, as one purple eye opened within them. The touch was to keep the Author from freaking out.

“Busy, Darling~?”

The Author started at the touch, slamming his knife into the throat of his latest victim, and watched them choke and bleed for a moment before everything went silent. He stood, dusting himself off — as if that did anything but smear blood around — and spun around, glaring. “Jesus Christ, Dark, you can’t do that. What if I threw that knife at you, hm?”

“Then I’d pluck it off and hand it back.” He made it sound so simple, as he reached his hand into his suit’s pocket. Producing a black handkerchief, thought he merely held it for the moment. Knowing Author would get a bit handsy, before he could clean him up.

And handsy the Author got. Licking his lips, the Author tasted blood, and he grinned. He sauntered up to Dark, placing a hand on his chest — and grabbed him by the lapels, yanking the man down into a brutal kiss, sharing the taste. Their kiss was fiery, even though both of them were colder then the average person. Dark merely letting Author have fun thinking he was leading it, and when they pulled apart, he held up the handkerchief. Dabbing at Author’s face, as his other hand went to settle on his hip. When he was done, he looked over at the victim, his eye boring into the wrecked mess as he hummed lowly, twitching. “What did it do to bother you this time?”

“Saw too much~” He gestured vaguely to the other body, not too far away, missing an arm and covered in bruises. He kept his hold on Dark’s collar, looking him up and down, before his grin returned. “How about we leave these for the wolves, and head back to my cabin~? Have a shower~ I got a little blood on you.” He swiped a thumb across Dark’s lips, before licking it clean.

“When don’t you.” Mirror images splitting off him, the red one was grinning at the tarnished body, arms folded neatly in front of it, while the blue one was staring lovingly at Author, giving a silent chuckle. All the actual Dark did was smirk, stepping back and out of his grasp to do a sweeping bow. Behind him, a portal opened up, and he stood, offering Author his right hand, then bringing it up to kiss the bloodstained back of it.

“After you, Darling~”

4 and 50 for kisses! Jaytimkon or some combo of?? And here! for luck! a kiss on your hand for you my friend!

🥰 thank you, leo <3333

i changed up one of the prompts a little~ mostly just the order tho. uwu i hope you like this!

>> AO3 <<

Jason hums absently to himself—his own, unique melody, blending the song his mother used to sing while doing dishes with the one Alfred hums, occasionally,  in the kitchen, or whistles in the garden. Sauce bubbles in front of him. The scent of it tickles his nose, making his stomach gurgle inaudibly. He lifts the spoon to his mouth, tasting.

Hm.

Needs more spice.

He sets the spoon aside. Tim is perched on the counter, right in front of the spice cabinet. Jason arches a brow at him. “You plannin’ on movin’?”

He gets a small, cheeky smile. “No.”

Jason rolls his eyes—the effect ruined by the way his lips twitch—and steps between the spread of Tim’s knees, reaching around him. Tim moves his head just enough to let Jason open the cabinet door, shifting back into place as Jason rises up, one hand on Tim’s hip.

Their lips brush in a brief, fleeting kiss; breath mingling.

Jason finds what he’s looking for through memory alone. It’s not hard. He has a strict organization system for his spices, to his boyfriends’ endless amusement.

As soon as he lowers, he sets the cayenne aside in favor of splaying both hands on Tim’s sides, nudging Tim’s head back with his nose before kissing him again, on purpose this time. Tim’s hands bunch into the front of his apron—a silly, frilly thing Kon bought him as a joke but which has become one of Jason’s favorites. It pulls taut around Jason’s neck, the pressure making him melt, fingers tangling in Tim’s shirt.

Kon enters the kitchen. Jason is aware of it, distantly, his hind brain picking up on the distinctive sound of his step but categorizing it as a non-threat. Neither he nor Tim acknowledge it—not until Jason starts, a little, as Kon presses up against his back, strong arms locking around his waist.

He melts again immediately, sighing into Tim’s mouth as Kon kisses up the column of his neck, and as much of his jaw as he can reach.

Tim is the one to break away. Jason is breathless, a little weak in the knees, the solid press of a boyfriend on either side of him feeling like all that’s keeping him upright. Kon presses one more kiss behind his ear—and then he presses tighter against Jason’s back, pushing him further into Tim’s chest. Kon kisses Tim over his shoulder.

It’s a gorgeous sight.

They kiss lazily, like they’ve got all night; like Jason isn’t sandwiched between them. It’s— There's something… Jason doesn’t know if he can call it hot, because honestly, he thinks he’d be perfectly happy if it didn’t turn sexual at all, but—

There’s something appealing about that, about the idea of being held between them for hours, as they trade slow, lazy kisses over his head.

A thought to indulge later, maybe. If he finds the courage to ask for it.

When Kon and Tim finally break apart, Jason finds himself pulled into another kiss—this time by Kon, his torso twisting to make it easier.  He’s got one hand fisted in Tim’s shirt—the other in Kon’s.

Tim is the one to kiss his neck, now, and everywhere else he can reach.

It’s overwhelming in the best of ways. Kon pulls away—and then there’s Tim again, stealing what little breath he has left.

Kon bites into his shoulder, worrying a mark there. Jason moans embarrassingly loud against Tim’s mouth. Tim grins, slipping his hands behind the apron and under Jason’s shirt to toy with the curls on his belly.

Jason’s head spins, dizzy with desire and the sweet, heady feeling of being loved. He sinks into it, into them—

A loud hiss breaks the reverie; all three of them tensing at the sudden sound. He flinches away from Tim, jerking his head toward the sound so quickly he hears his neck crack.

His sauce is splattering; droplets hissing and burning on the stove.

Jason swears. Fuck. He forgot about the sauce!

[ 50 Types of Kisses ]

some slightly older sketches: Splatter meets some new someones

Non-canon ofc

Here she is meeting her alt-multiverse not-nephew, and sibling(?) that shares her name

because how could I not make a spider-man meme from those two?

Mono belongs to @skoopskoop

Splatter (The Combo) belongs to @askcomboclub