#as always..

[allphatauri]

envious of whoever has the omegatauri username rn

[cetoddle-archive]

hello..

[itlivesinbox5]

Wow, ok HSS:CA squad except Skye and Erin are CANCELLED. No apology?? Not ONE mention or acknowledgement that they treated MC like actual trash?

[vemodalarna]

Homesick

Characters: Suitcase, Knife. A lot of mentions of the Poker Pals. Ships: none Word count: 1071 Description: Suitcase feels homesick.

Hi there, again! This is a very self-indulgent fluff/angst. This is written to be read as if they were humans, but if you avoid a few details, you can read as if they were objects. Suitcase does have arms in this, but they’re partially paralyzed. Happy reading!

Suitcase didn’t feel like getting out of bed. She’s usually a morning person, and is always out of bed before 8 o'clock, but. Not today. Her limbs were stuck to her mattress, weighed down as if they were made of lead. She was drowsy and thirsty but she couldn’t bring herself to reach for the water bottle next to her bed.

She had things to do. It was late into the morning, and staying in bed any longer would just make her feel worse. Sunlight shone through the partially covered window, making her vision blur from the strong light. How much did she sleep the night before? Honestly, she couldn’t recall.

Everything felt uncomfortable, unfamiliar. A sinking feeling settled into her stomach; she didn’t want to be there. There was nothing wrong with Hotel OJ most of the time, but right there and then? She wanted to get away. Get away from the apartment that she considers her own and out of this place.

She wanted to go home.

Her parents were just a phone call away. She knew this, but she didn’t have the willpower to dial their number. Or to grab her phone, for that matter. It was on the desk, partially covered by the leaves of her numerous plants. She felt too tired to stand up.

Her home. Her fathers, her room, her bed. She missed her dad’s breakfasts, her papa’s smiles when nobody but his family was watching, and her pop’s lullabies. Suitcase was 17, for crying out loud, she should be able to take care of herself. It was her choice to join the competition, even despite her Papa’s complaints.

She had just turned 16 when she left. It had been over a year since she had last seen them in person. Of course, they texted her a lot as soon as the show was over, and called her too. They were there for her in any way they could. But she still missed them so much.

Suitcase missed their weekly poker nights, their weird job schedules, their loud arguing about whether or not they should get a freezer only for Freezy Pops. She even missed said freezer.

Her blanket pressed hard against her. She hadn’t felt this homesick in a while. Her parents were her home, and without them there nothing quite felt right.

A quick but effective knock on her door kicked her out of her thoughts. She sluggishly tried to sit up, but her arms just weren’t strong enough to pull her up. With a sigh, she plopped back down.

“Who is it?” Suitcase cringed at how tired and meek her voice came out.

“Knife,” a gruff voice answered from the other side of the burgundy door. “I’m comin’ in.”

Suitcase assumed it wasn’t much of a hassle for Knife to get in. She heard to clicks and the creaking of the door to her apartment. He had Suitcase’s spare key- just in case Suitcase needed help carrying something up all the stairs.

“Good morning. You look awful,” Knife off-handedly remarked, as he balanced a tray on one hand while pulling Suitcase’s chair next to the bed, sitting down on it.

“Gee, thanks,” Suitcase huffed, knowing he didn’t mean it as an insult. She probably did look like a mess; her hair was everywhere and she probably had eyebags larger than her actual eyes. “Good morning.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Suitcase knew Knife meant well; he just didn’t know how to show affection. He may pretend he’s a jerk but he genuinely cared and worried about his friends. He’d always been the first person to help Suitcase if she needed it, and then pretend like it wasn’t anything personal.

“Have you taken your medicine?”

... Eugh. Her medicine. “.. No.”

He stood, and headed towards her bathroom. He reminded her of her Papa so much; grumpy, and acting like he doesn’t care about anything. Anyone who knew them could tell that’s not the case, though.

“Balloon is really worried ‘bout you. He wouldn’t shut up during breakfast.” Stepping out with a pill bottle in his hand, Knife waltzed over to her desk. Grabbing her phone, checking some notifications, he plugged it into a charger. “Ace called you. D’ya want me to text him?”

Knife knew who her dads were. His guardians and her parents were friends- some sort of job related friendship? Swiss Army Knife and Dagger were both super nice, and she had met them before she even knew about Inanimate Insanity. And now she’s friends with their son. Who would’ve known?

“... Mm,” Suitcase rolled over, grabbing the covet. “I don’t know.”

Knife shuffled behind her. Judging by the scrambling of the bottle of pills and the chair’s screeching, he’d sat down. Suitcase didn’t want to explain her homesickness; it was silly, wasn’t it? She could call them, text them, or even book a flight and stay at home for a bit. It wasn’t a big deal. Inanimate Insanity was long over. She should just get over it.

“They’ll understand if you need some alone time,” Knife chuckled. “I wouldn’t be able to stand it if my parents texted me as often as yours do. I love them, but geez. I definitely need to be babied.”

“No, that’s not-!” Turning around, she caught his eye. He looked quizzically at her. “That’s not it.”

Static overgrew the silence in her ears for a few seconds. Her mouth felt dry and her eyes blurred up. She shifted her eyes to look at the ceiling instead of Knife’s questioning stare. Deep breaths. Don’t cry in front of Knife.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Knife shrugged, opening the lid to her medicine with ease. “I get it.”

Suitcase shakily nodded.

“But,” He picked up the glass of water from the tray he had placed on the floor. “You must take your medicine and eat. You won’t feel good, but you’ll feel better.”

“..Thanks,” Suitcase smiled weakly as she managed to push herself up to a sitting position. Grabbing the glass and the two pills Knife had taken out, she swallowed them quickly. Bleugh, gross.

“Don’t mention it. Now, eat up. I had to fight Pickle for that waffle.”

While Suitcase’s homesickness didn’t go away, she started feeling better during the duration of the day. Maybe her dads weren’t around, but at least she had her friend’s there to help her through rough spots.

[imagine-allthethings]

PLS CLAUDE FLUF

Ask and you shall receive anon! I’m going to write this as if you were a human who contracted him. (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ- Mod Trash 

One the rare occasion you can convince Claude to cuddle, he’s really not the best at it. Affection, not to mention physical affection, is a foreign concept to him. He’s either going to awkwardly stand there, awkwardly sit there, or awkwardly lay there.

Claude’s going to have a very slow learning curve. The more physical affection becomes the norm of his life, the more he learns about it. At first, he’ll just imitate what he observes. If you constantly have your hands in his hair, he’s going to start petting and stroking your hair in return. If you rub his back, he’ll rub yours. Go slow and do onto him as you want done to you. 

After the imitation phase ends he’ll start to experiment. One day he might keep a hold of your waist, and if he sees you enjoy that, he’ll do it more often. It may seem he’s doing this all out of obligation to your contract but if he cares enough to put up with it, he likes you a lot more than he lets on.

His skin is always incredibly cold and there isn’t too much he can do about this. His hands and feet are the worst. To compensate for this, he’ll often dress their bed in extra blankets if he’s going to be near you at night. If convinced to come in a snuggle with you, you two are about to make a nest of blankets and soft furs in the middle of the bed.

Even though he may not be the most affectionate guy out there, he learns to appreciate the affection he’s given. Even if it’s only a very short period of time of the grand scheme of this demons life.

Break down his walls enough and Claude may actually be a decently affectionate and protective partner.

[agron-rebel-general]

| Safe In Your Arms |

The memorial was over, and everyone was retiring to their tents. Agron’s body felt the effects of the abuse it had undergone. The beating. The nailing to the cross. The blood loss. The over exertion back to the rebels camp; for he refused to let anyone fucking carry him. Regardless, he had required the support from another, and that of course being Spartacus. Agron’s eyes had been downcast practically the entire way. In part due to the swelling on his face, but another reason . . . was for the simple fact that he felt ashamed. 

Especially when he was to face Nasir. Nasir; who had embraced him so easily. Absent anger. Absent blame. Only to speak of the gods returning him to his arms. Agron felt . . . a fool. And now, he was a disabled fool. The use of his hands completely compromised. And thus, his spirits broken. The hour was late and they were in Nasir’s tent. Agron supposed, their shared tent. Though he knew not where he stood with Nasir after what he had done . . . after having left him. 

He wondered in this moment, if it was almost better to have died on that cross, than to return to him in this state. Agron sat on the edge of the bed, not wishing to admit the drain his body had felt. Though, it was hardly a secret given the physical state that could be easily observed. He said nothing. What could he say about all this? He could not stop thinking of the two holes in his hands. His life had been his identity as a warrior. With that identity now stripped from him . . . he didn’t know who he was. What he was. 

The Romans had ensured he would never raise a sword again, nailing his hands rather than the norm of the wrists. Death, a kindness. But kindness was not something to be expected from those Roman shits. “Gratitude,” Agron said in a weakened voice, unable to keep the emotion from it. Though he could not look at Nasir. He was too ashamed, of everything. “For the aid.” For the support, physical as well as emotional that Nasir had immediately offered as soon as Agron entered camp. The Syrian’s heart too strong to give Agron what he deserved: which was nothing at all. 

@warrior-nasir

[hobipowers]

sigh