#its a lot thinner than i thought it would be but it does have some of my faves in there

[killjoy-prince]

Yesterday's manga haul and lunch!!

#prince's talk tag #i now have every volume of w0tak0i #i saw a poster in kino advertising volume 8 of g/i/ven (Japanese version) and the illustration book and i knew i had to get the latter #bc i really like the art in that series #its a lot thinner than i thought it would be but it does have some of my faves in there #and this cool foldable piece in the middle that shows each of the main ones its so cool #i will say it did seem like kino either didnt pack out the night before/the morning before opening or they didnt get a shipment in #bc there were a lot of holes in the manga area. like empty space #and that's the main reason why i didnt buy a lot this time #i did go to b+n as well and while they had their section fairly full there wasnt a lot i was interested in getting #the top row of the books i got from kino and bottom was from b+n #and then for lunch i wanted to get my favorite ramen at a place only in the city #and i got takoyaki for appetizers and yo i fucking love takoyaki so much #the post that says what food makes you feel alive or whatever my answer would be takoyaki #and the ramen is spicy which is how i like it and its so good!! its kimchi ramen #food

[queenpiranhadon]

𖤓⎸⎸ 𝐄𝐞𝐥 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬 ⎸⎸𖤓

A/N: You all voted on this poll, and this poll, and this poll and after a LOT of voting (((again) again) again), we have this :) I’ll be honest though, I have mixed thoughts about this. Nova, I owe you my life for beta reading this ily girl (@that-multi-fandom-hijabi) Go follow her writing acc! (@novaaaaaa-writes) Here's my masterlist! Divider made by @cafekitsune

Warning(s): Enemies to lovers trope, mentions of blood, reader's a baddie, reader used to work for Azula, bad depictions of firebending, maybe some inaccuracies idk man, some people might be ooc idk 😅, thoughts about death (like once), lots of buildup, reader is a good cook, reader owns a restaurant, reader sets a table on fire, both of them are very attracted to each other lmao, reader refuses to fire bend, I kinda head cannoned, basically if a firebender doesn't firebend of a certain amount of time, the fire inside them builds up and can damage the wielder, like clogged pipe in a way, love at first sight (?), slowburn kinda, reader is GN but written with f!reader in mind.

Pairing: Sokka x Firebender!Reader

It was safe to say, you were screwed. Traitor to the Fire Nation and all. 

“Ugh…” you grit out, patting your side in discomfort, pulling your hand away to find sticky blood.  

It was safe to say that Princess Azula wasn’t too happy to find out you didn’t approve of the current ideals of the Fire Nation. Alas, you were too far deep into her scheme to leave then, and you were now- but this time, you ran away.  

You weren’t going to find the Avatar- joining him would only make things harder on yourself- especially since he and his friends most definitely hated you for all the stunts you pulled alongside the son and daughter of Firelord Ozai.  

So you were left with two options. Sit in the dark and disgusting alleyway you were hiding in and bleed to death, or find somewhere to stay, patch yourself up, and bunker down with a new identity. 

If there’s one thing the Fire Nation would underestimate about you- it was your will to live. 

The journey to the Earth Kingdom was torturous, your aching feet would be screaming in overexertion, yet you pushed on. Solitude was your only solace, though the lack of social interaction guaranteed nothing would stop the onslaught of dark thoughts entering your mind, it was comforting to you that you were finally free to make your own decisions without anyone else influencing them. 

You reached the gates of the Earth Kingdom battered and bruised- the month of so that you traveled for changed your appearance quite a bit- your hair slightly longer and the numerous different climates you had suffered through allowed your hair to settle into gentle waves. You got thinner, lack of food turning you into a near skeleton, but the muscles you had trained your whole life remained, and you were stronger than ever. Obviously, the guards didn’t recognize you, letting you pass without a hitch under a fake name. 

You found a kind older woman in the outer ring of Ba Sing Se, who offered you take you in for the night. 

There, you enjoyed a soothing bath and a good meal, and she was pleasant company. You slept on the couch that night, and left early the next morning, leaving a few gold coins as a subpar payment for her hospitality. 

And then you were on your own again. 

Days passed, and then months, you worked almost every job under the sun as you finally scrounged up enough money to open your own store. 

It was a nice and quaint restaurant, and you worked your blood, sweat, and tears into it- and that was a statement, you rarely cried. Not anymore anyways- experiencing so much loss does that to people. 

You called it the Unagi- your restaurant known for its excellent soups and eel rolls, both of which were comfort foods growing up. Even though you vowed to start a new life, and throw your old one behind, you kept this part of your old life with you. You stopped bending, not a single spark or flame left your fingertips after the day you left the Fire Nation. 

Months passed, 7 to be exact, and you had built quite the reputation in Ba Sing Se- travelers from all over had some solely to try your food, and they were not disappointed. Your cooking prowess as a force to be reckoned with- and you enjoyed in immensely. For the first time in years, you were happy. 

Of course, rush hour was the most overwhelming experience you had ever had to experience- as you refused to hire anyone to assist you run your shop- your trust had run thin, and you weren’t going to risk the product of your hard work to anyone. Eventually, you learned to keep all your ingredients preprepared- and then cook them in your soups and put them in your rolls the morning of each day, so that they were all fresh and it was less work for you. All your customers were understanding, and respected you for your time and work. People loved your story- a stranger and a traveler with basically next to nothing, and then turned your life around in just a few months. 

After a few months, you practically knew all the gossip in the city- always overhearing the snippets of murmurs from your customers. Usually, you paid no mind to them, but today, what you heard stopped you in your tracks.  

“Did you hear?”  

“Yeah! The Avatar and his crew were spotted at the gates this morning!” 

“Do you think Ba Sing Se is in trouble?!” 

“I hope not, after what happened in the Northern Wa-” 

You stopped listening after that, going back to the kitchen with the blood roaring in your ears. You stirred the soup you were making with a new intensity, as it your life depended on it. Dread pooled in your stomach- if the Avatar and his friends came around the Unagi, you were done for. The Avatar would recognize you, the only one to have seen you without the normal mask you wore- and the only one out of the group you had met.  

You sighed, deciding to ignore the fear you felt. Months of peace wore down your guard a little bit, and you were used to forcing your body into a state of ease after the first few weeks you had stayed in the city- nightmares plaguing you day and night. They were gone now, thankfully, but if the Avatar and his friends destroyed everything you worked so hard to maintain, you might break.  

Fortunately, weeks went by without a hitch, no sign of the Avatar, and no sign of the Unagi being burnt down.  

One day, on a relatively quiet day, you hear a few voices outside. 

“Here Sokka, Toph, take some gold and treat yourself to some food, I hear this place is really good.” A female voice says, she sounded around 14-15 years old. “We’ll meet you back in the square- bring some for the rest of us.”  

You don’t hear much of what the girl says afterwards, opting to resume taking orders. That’s when you lay your eyes on the boy in front of you. He had a wolf’s knot, something you knew to be common in the water tribe. He had the build of a warrior, toned muscles littered with scars that you knew weren't achieved easily. And his eyes, a brilliant shade of blue you thought you could get lost in, a pleasant contrast to the red of the Fire Nation you would be tied to for the rest of your life. 

It takes you a few minutes to realize you were staring, and a few more to realize that he was too. You cough into your fist awkwardly and look away, realizing you had company. 

The young girl next to him slams a few pieces of gold onto the counter, but you, unlike the boy across from you, didn’t flinch – you were used to it. “Whaddya got for us, lady?” she asks in a brash tone, but you weren’t intimidated, nor were you offended, but the boy you were staring at earlier still apologizes on her behalf.  

You chuckle lightly, it amused you to see the energy in the two of them as you respond to the girl’s question. “The gold can get you some soup with some salmon, along with eel rolls, on the house.” you say, smiling lightly.  

The boy’s eyes light up in excitement, though he seemed a little older than you, there was no mistaking that childish enthusiasm for a nice homecooked meal.  

“Can I get your name?” You ask, grabbing your notepad and quill to write down the order.  

“Sokka” he says, with a teasing sparkle in his eyes, and you can’t help but grin at his antics. It’s been a while since you felt like this. You, giddy over a crush? The feeling was a little foreign to you, but it wasn’t unwelcome.  

“And you?” he asks, leaning slightly over the counter. You reciprocate his movements, telling him your name and telling him and his friend to take a seat.  

Sokka and his friend, Toph, left shortly after, taking their soup to go and devouring their eel rolls. It was late now, you were sweeping up the floors, planning to leave and close the Unagi in an hour or so, before something unexpected happened.  

You feel a sharp pain in your chest collapsing to the ground, your insides felt like they were burning, invisible flames eating away and you. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, mind raging and all you could see what red.  

Why was this happening to you?  

You felt your body flare up in pain, and all you wanted was for it to stop for it to go away. 

“You will always be a part of the Fire Nation. “Azula had told you, with a manic look in her eye. “No matter how long you try to suppress it, your inner fire will never be satisfied. One day, your fire will turn against you, your body won’t be able to handle it anymore, no matter how strong you think you are. Let’s face it, you’re a monster, just like me.” 

You didn’t hear the jingle of the door opening.  

Letting out an anguished cry, you thrust out your arms, cerulean flames setting one of your tables on fire.  

And staring at you, through the blue flames, were those sparkling eyes you loved so much. Staring at you with disgust and horror.  

“Sokka, oh my god-” you say, in shock. 

“Who are you.” he cuts in, his eyes sharp and cold.  

“I-I swear, I’m not with the Fire Nation anymore, I-” You stutter, your throat closing in. You stumble back, staring at the flaming table with a horrified look in your eyes.  

Sokka looks at you, unsure of what to do. You were the enemy, you were a firebender, one who could wield blue flames. Yet... he knew you were telling the truth. You were the same person who kindly gave them free food and didn’t turn them away even with Toph’s brashness.  

He sighs, and looks around, before turning back to you. “C’mon, let’s go find my friends. My sister’s a waterbender, she’ll put out the fire for you.  

You just stand there numb, your body still reeling from the aftershocks of feeling so much pain. You didn’t realize you were crying until Sokka walks up to you and wraps his arms around you, letting your tears soak into the fabric of his shirt. He strokes your hair lightly and holds you close. He smelled earthy, a musk that reminded you of the scent you smelled after it rained, all natural and grounding, soothing your worries.  

“I’m here.” is all he says, and you stand like that, Sokka’s frame blocking the blue flames from your sight- a barrier between the life you live now, and the one you left behind.  

BONUS: 

After Sokka and you find Katara and the others, you put out the fire- Aang recognized you immediately, but Sokka vouched for you, saying that you didn’t ally with the Fire Nation anymore, and that you were trustworthy. And then, once you guide them to the back of the store, where your living quarters were, you and Sokka were alone again.  

“Hey Sokka?” you ask, the boy in question looking at you with his full attention. “Why were you at my shop in the middle of the night?”  

Sokka chuckles sheepishly and looks at you with that sparkle in his eyes. “I may or may not have been craving those eel rolls of yours.” 

You snort, and you look at him with a teasing smile on your face. “You still hungry?” 

It was safe to say neither of you got much sleep that night, up laughing and throwing rice grains at each other.  

#sokka atla #sokka x reader #atla sokka #sokka avatar the last airbender #sokka #the gaang #gaang #avatar the last airbender #atla #sokka x y/n #sokka x you #the cloud archives ☁️

[coleslawleviathan]

okay so. i challenged myself to try and draw some snakes and try to capture the features i want to stand out for them. i wanted to see if i could make them all look distinct but where its obvious they look extremely similar.

heres the main lineup but i want to get into design elements for them as well as some personal headcanons.

FIRST! bibo.

okay so. i'm going to toot my own horn here. i think his beard looks so fire and i did a good job. i imagine this design is around the portable ops era... not much else to say because most of the interesting stuff (at least to me) comes from the differences the others have from him.

V!!! I LOVE YOU V!!!!!!!!!!

for venom snake, i made him look like big boss but Something's Off. in the game people often (notably huey and the boss' ai) don't recognize him as big boss for a few seconds. an imperfect replica because you cannot get that close with plastic surgery. i made the fat distribution on his neck a bit different from bibo's because i imagine the way that the human body configures itself is hard to change. if you noticed the little snake-tongue-shaped-hair-doohickeys, he is the only one with a slightly different shape. it's a genetic thing, you wouldn't get it. just thought that was silly. his hair texture is different, too. can u tell i like him a lot. also, my favorite detail might be his different nose shape. they never got bibo's nose right i guess. in mgsv, he actually has a bit of a downturned nose, and i honestly don't think i captured that enough.

TIME FOR MY FAVORITE BOY. LOVE OF MY LIFE. HOLDER OF MY GENDER ENVY. solid snake :3

SNAVID! the most obvious difference here is his nose. he broke it as a kid lol. i love headcanons. there's not as much to say about him as with venom, but i can say that he is incredibly handsome and i like him. i think he is cute. was he free yesterday? if so i would like to have dinner yesterday with him yesterday. well... i will say that out of this specific lineup i think he looks the most like good old dad. which is awful and i feel bad for him.

FINALLY: LIQUID!!!!!!!

i gave him his canonical sharp nose and high cheekbones! i based a lot of his features off how he looked as a kid so he really has little shit vibes about him. he also has thinner eyebrows, and i headcanon that he does them himself lol. he has less sideburny sideburns than his brother. his eyelids are also smaller. he also does look kinda like kaz so its plausible that he tricked dave! yippee! i also like drawing his hair. its such a great hairstyle. it reminds me of a lion's mane.

N E WAYS... i hope you enjoyed me rambling about giving these goobers a more realistic design for future reference. i like talking about this kind of stuff. life is so much better without same face syndrome.

#metal gear #metal gear solid #mgs #big boss #venom snake #solid snake #liquid snake #im going crazy

[kalembappe]

do with that what you will | j.b. 5 (feat. e.h. 9)

a/n: remember when I wrote? back in June? Time flies. Also hi anon who req'd this forever ago, title's yours. also proofread! but don't hold it against me, english is a hard language. wordcount: 4501 nsfw under cut! minors dni 18+...pwp(very little plot), choking, oral(m receiving), public(?), unprotected p in v sex, overusing of italics

You were moody today. He could tell by the way you avoided his eyes to how you’d only talk when acknowledged (by someone else) but not before plastering that scrunched smile that only he could tell was fake. It’s not like your reasons are invalid, if anything he was the one to blame for this but he doesn’t have time for your petty squabbling, you’re in public and you’re both adults. You know well enough that you should act like it.

At least that’s what he thought until he saw his old friend, the one that just completely bodied his team 14 hours prior to tonight is now standing next to his girlfriend, you’re talking with that pretty smile that was the death of him, easily would be the death of anyone else.

He looks like a lamppost, he observes the man dressed in all black; a complete contrast to his bright platinum hair slicked into its normal bun.

You looked more at ease now that you were talking to him, you both did. Compared to your stiffness to other people, you seem to warm up to him. You were so comfortable that you even let him stand by you with your arm pressed against his broader one.

Not as broad as mine, but you know I– Again, he catches himself. He should stop. That’s his friend too. The interaction unfolds, what should be friendly, is anything but to him. To him. He should look away, but he can’t.

This isn’t supposed to bother him. It wouldn’t bother him as much as it does if he didn’t know that Erling used to pine for you. Grovel at your feet even. He remembers that boyish grin he makes every time you would interview them post game or before. People would point it out online, saying things such as you favor the Dortmund players or that you’re so critical but praise Erling like he was god and even thought it was funny at first knowing he himself made you see god.

It’s unfair that he suddenly wanted to show Erling his place, he isn’t even sure if he knows that you and Jude were a thing at all and maybe only now had he suddenly found the confidence in himself to finally talk to you; but that was never a priority in his brain when he boils catching sight of a hand that isn’t his resting on your back.

Jude set the shot glass down a little louder than normally, clinking against the marble of the table. He picks up another one, it’s his third…or fourth. Actually, He isn’t sure, he lost count and he doesn’t leave his place. He doesn’t move when Erling’s pinky taps on your back, his patience runs thinner by every inch that finger dips lower than where it’s welcome.

The only thing that breaks Jude from his reverie is when he catches your eye as you turn back for the shortest moment, droopy and paired with a lazy smirk. He didn’t care much until he realized what it implied; you’re tipsy, not enough to be too vulnerable, but enough to let yourself be reckless to do something you shouldn’t. You wink, solidifying his conclusion–you know what you’re doing.

Before he knows it, you’re back to entertaining his “friend” only this time you’re a lot more confident, talking louder, smiling wider, even grabbing his bicep as you slightly tilt your head back from laughing. It irks him, but he’ll play your game. He wonders if Erling knows he’s playing too. *

You’ve been avoiding him all night. Even at home– his home you mean (where you luckily had some appropriate clothes), dodging kisses and pretending like you don’t feel his stare at the back of your head just like he was doing now; seconds before Erling asks you to go dancing. A bit of a surprise since you thought he only approached you to ask where the toilet was and now you’re dancing? He had to lean down to your height to be audible over the music. The question hangs in the air–Should you? Probably not.

“Sure.” It comes out before you realize, but the acknowledgement in his face tells you that you indeed said it out loud.

You have to stop yourself from turning back too fast when you feel Erling’s palm rest lowly on your back, he says something you don’t listen to– he’s getting himself another drink(looking back, his intentions were obvious if he started drinking right after he asked where the restroom was). His attention shifted long enough for you to finally steal a glance at Jude, who’s shot glass threatened to crack between his fingers. He liked to pretend it was Erling’s pinky, grip tightening as he watches it brushes on your back. His stare follows as you take the initiative of walking Erling to where the people are drunk and dancing.

From anyone’s point of view, it seems like the next story on Hello! Magazine, awaits Erling, but contrary to how it appears, your mind was occupied completely and utterly of Jude. How much you hated him, how he looks like sitting with his legs spread, wondering how far you could press till he cracks. It’s all fair play though, he out of anyone should know.

He promised himself that after the game, you would get to hangout. You were excited, you thought maybe you’d go out for dinner, do something intimate; just the two of you, but after a day’s rest (that you so generously granted him) he says he needs to attend a party, for old time’s sake.

You didn’t know how to react at first, should you be mad? You started to feel so, but thought to yourself; do you even have the right to? You shook that thought off your head. Of course you did! You let your insecurities go before settling on disappointment. Jude saw this, thought it’d be better if you spent what could’ve been your date together at the party. With his friends. Might as well bring his mum, she’s better company anyways.

Call it what you want, maybe It’s a bit childish how you hated the thought of sharing Jude to anyone, a bit possessive; but it’s hard having to arrive at a party together only to split up and socialize with other people so you can keep things hush, water down suspicion. You understand why he does it, you think it’s best too. But just for tonight, you hoped; you didn’t have to share him with the world. Alas, another day goes where you have to. Anyway, if he liked to do it so much then he shouldn’t mind if you share a little too.

The music changes once your heels click on the dance floor, the song’s slower. Erling’s stills, “I’m not good at this” Hands hover over your body, he didn’t know where to place them. He’s antsy, it’s cute–you won’t deny that; the drinks wear off when you’re nervous. Suddenly he’s aware that you’re dancing with him. You feel a little bad knowing you’re using him, regardless, he’s still a nice guy. Always thought he was a little sweet. Your eyes crinkle as you smile, watching him blush. Confidently, you push down the hands onto your hips before adding a firm pat to reassure him. “Keep it there.” You sound more serious then you’re supposed to, it makes Erling gulp. All his confidence may have just been the alcohol talking, and if he were being honest, he wished he drank a bit more.

Jude watched as you giggled–he scowled, you’ll have nothing to laugh about if you keep this up. If he was jealous when Erling put a hand on your back, he was livid when he watched you laugh with Erling, like you’re actually enjoying yourself. He’s not one to be insecure, he’d never even entertained the thought but that seemed to change when this jealousy turned into something worse. He couldn’t put it into words. It boils in him as your hips sway, you’re too close to each other, but he’s rooted where he stood. He’s mesmerized and enraged, but he won’t go down without a fight.

Minutes pass and Jude finds himself seated next to his friends, he figured he needed to let loose, maybe people were getting suspicious with how he’d only kept his attention to that girl dancing with Erling Haaland. Gio yells over the music, “did you order this?” his eyes shift to his friend, confusion replacing Jude’s then blank face. He almost said no before catching a group of girls giggling to themselves. Just as Gio was about to return them back, Jude tapped his shoulder, “I’ll be back.” He didn’t wait for a reply, already trekking his way to his next mission.

Erling’s let’s his limbs set loose, even if he’s just jumping to the music, you’re jumping with him. It’s dark, but it was lit enough that he could make out the shape of your jaw and the curves of your body, he doesn’t know why he hasn’t noticed but it drew him in even more. He spins you, back resting on his front, hands are on your hips as you sway to the rhythm. For the first time tonight, Jude was the last thing on your mind.

But from where you stood, you felt eyes on you; consciously, you opened yours only to get a glimpse of something that made your blood cold. Hands were on him. Everywhere. He’s got his arms out with two girls wrapped on him like he was a tree. The music tunes out, the hands on your body disappear, and it’s red. You see red. It makes your fingers twitch. He catches your eye, how your movements slow until your whole body’s rigid, and thought to himself; I’ve won. He grins, satisfied with your reaction. But if anything, you’re the stubborn one in this relationship.

Erling’s voice is soft on your ear, polite as he is. “Are you okay?” You don’t look his way, you’re busy making sure Jude’s watching. You trail your eyes back to Erling with a smile that fooled anyone.

He’s upside down from your point of view, the outline of his jaw more prominent under the shadow. The stare you give makes his cheeks hot. He’s about to say something but the words get caught in his throat when the feeling of your hips grinding back at him registers in his brain. He short circuits, forgetting every word he’s known.

Jude’s smirk leaves as soon as it arrives, dropping and taken over by his wide eyes–ironically mirroring Erling’s expression who’s grip lands on your hips for leverage. Your eyes look blown under the light, big and innocent like you don’t know what you’re doing–but Erling knows, they both know you do. You’re close to his face, enough that he could see the remnants of gloss on your lips.

It happened quickly, someone spilled liquid on you, mostly your shoes but also a little on your dress. It’s beer. You look up, both of you pulled away. Maybe you should’ve cared that you ruined it, the shoes that Jude bought you. Jude. Fuck. You look up, he’s already leaving sans the two girls he had all over him. Maybe you overdid it this time. Taking a quick glance at Erling, he’s occupied with the person apologizing to him, reassuring the man. He’ll be fine on his own, you think to yourself. When Erling picks his head up, you’re already gone.

You follow him amidst the sea of sweaty drunk people, shoving, and pushing. You think of what you want to say, apologize? That’s completely unfair. It’s not like you were gonna actually lean in and he shouldn’t have ditched you in the first place or canceled last second– And where does he think he’s going?

You curse this world for giving him long legs, walking two steps at a time. Everything just decides to be an inconvenience to you today. Your voice is dry with alcohol and the lack of use, but still you yell over the unnecessarily loud club music.

“Jude! Can you please– slow down! Asshole...” You say the last part in a normal tone only to realize you’ve said it loud enough for him to hear. There’s a cold breeze on your shoulders that tells you you’re at the exit, the door’s open and it’s quiet. Jude turns slowly, a more than displeased expression on his face.

“Me? I’m the asshole?” He scoffed.

“Yes. You ditched me!”

“And you seemed to find great company.”

A scowl disturbs your features, “You were doing the same thing!”

Before he responds, he pauses, Jude does something you both have been avoiding all night. He takes a deep breath, recollecting himself. His voice is steady, “Look, I can tell you’re upset about tonight,”

“Wonder what gave that away–”

“Let me finish.” You cross your arms on your chest, mumbling to yourself. Jude takes a step in your direction, enclosing your figure on the wall but (as much as you’d hate to admit) it isn’t suffocating, he’s warm and the scent of his clothes are comforting. His fingers stroke your arm up and down till they reach the space between your neck and your shoulder. They linger for a moment before softly brushing the hair clinging to your skin.

“I know why you’re mad, okay? I get it baby.” You sigh when his head ducked to your height. His voice is so soft on your ear that you can’t help but sink into the wall, his body pressing flush on yours. Lips graze the shell of your ear, leaving a soft peck on the sensitive skin. Jude… dazed, you whine his name. “I know you can’t help it..” He continued, “I know you can’t because,” fingers stroke your throat. “Well ‘cause you’re a whore.”

As soon as your eyes open, there’s a grip that tightens at the sides of your throat, squeezing out a strangled noise from you. A whimper or a moan, You aren’t sure anymore. There’s a pause in the air, he waits for you to say something. You don’t–no, you can’t. The damp spot on your underwear strengthens his claim. Heat rushes to your cheeks, you want to tell him off at least, leave a snarky remark but embarrassment floods in your stomach and his hold on you is immovable. His eyes speak for himself, Look at me–it read, but you never had the strength to look away in the first place.

“You think I’m gonna let you off easy? You’re used to that aren’t you. ‘Cause I spoil you too much, isn’t that right?” His tone is sweet, his hand brushes your temple gently, but it isn’t real–the only thing you could register with a lack of air in your brain. Your body shudders when the stroke of his hand travels lower, the one on your neck slacking but he still keeps you between him and the wall. So close that you could feel his breath on your cheek, his knee taking place between your legs and pressing slowly, you gasp.

“Jude not– here.” You curse at yourself. It was supposed to come out firmly, a command, rather it sounded like a meek plea. Jude’s leg bumped against your clothed front like he was playing with you, your thighs tried to shut but it only made things worse. “Please we’re in public–” He paused his movement before scoffing at your words.

“Really? You didn’t seem to mind while you were fucking around with Erling. ‘In public’, for someone in the media, you could lie better than that.” You wince when you recall the events earlier tonight and how he spat your name out in disgust. “Maybe I should just keep you on a short leash so you don’t hump on people like a bitch.” The words are shameless, and the lack of a better term, fucking vile that it makes you squirm. You look down, unable to meet his eyes.

“Why are you so bothered? Thought you liked this...? So open for everyone to see…” His hands massage low on your back, reclaiming what’s his. Jude’s tone was frustratingly cocky that you almost rolled your eyes if his knee didn’t come up and down again to get your attention, a surprised whimper escaped from you. “Hey, Don’t cry for me yet, I’ve barely started.”

Your hands press flatly on his chest, “Jude, can we just– let’s do it somewhere more private.” You do your best to coax the man with eyes he normally can’t just say no to, thinking that seemed to soften him just a little.

He takes a step back, enough that you can breathe your own air, albeit keeping you from sinking to your knees with his hands on your waist. He sighed, “You’re right.” *

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, the mascara that you meticulously applied earlier although waterproof is probably running down your cheeks. Drool gathers around your lips, he thumbs under your jaws; a reminder to keep it slack. Jude’s torturously slow with his movements, making sure that you take all of him. You do your best to do the complete opposite and take him in eagerly, the head of his cock reaching the back of your throat causing both of you to moan. Jude, having none of it, sinks deeper in response, causing you to flinch your head back in a fit of coughs. He wipes your swollen lips of the liquid that gathered with a dumb grin on his stupid face, enjoying the sight of you on your knees.

You swallow back spit to clear your throat, holding onto his thigh so the strain on your knees wouldn’t hurt as much. Catching your breath, you glare at him, “Dick.”

He flashes a smile, “Yes, what did you think it was?” He looked completely unserious, relaxed even, bringing down one of his hands to his side. He tucks your chin between his fingers, “Come on, angel. The faster you get me off, the faster it is for you to get up off your knees.” Lightly, he slaps the head of his cock on your cheek. The pout you make is endearing, a glimpse of your usual adorable self that he’d nearly ruined by slotting himself between your lips. “Unless…you want to keep at it till someone walks in and sees the Fox sports journalist giving head to a Dortmund player? I can already see the tabloids– fuck.”

The sound is enough encouragement, Jude’s cock twitches as he watches you (all he ever does) your pink tongue licks a stripe up his length before you suckle on the tip, cheeks hollowing, sealed tight, taking your time. Your answer is clear, Jude doesn’t know whether to celebrate or crumble. His grunts are short and restricted, yet they echo in the wide restroom that you were dragged to on a whim, how you got here happened in flashes of red lights that disappeared when you heard the door shut, unsure if he locked it–you know you didn’t but it adds to the thrill, the thought makes your stomach swirl and your knees shut.

You’re kind enough to sink your mouth deep till you're half way. Slowly, you pick up the pace. The rise and fall of his chest accelerate, gasps turn into moans. His hips meet yours, although his movements were careful, he was desperate. It didn’t help his resolve when your eyes fluttered at him, all pretty even with you gagging on his dick. His hands absentmindedly found their way to the back of your hair, finally letting himself yield and start fucking your throat. You try your best to catch up even if you’re no longer moving in your own accord and just making sure to breathe through your nose. Just as his moans turn ragged, he pulls you off, leaving you gasping for air. He lends you a minute, tilting your chin up at him to meet his eye.

“All good?” he waits for you to nod–you do, still trying to breathe. He strokes your lips with his thumb, wiping it dry. You look up at him, eyes hazy and blown. “Get up.” He commands, tone stripped of all its grit. You’re a beat too slow that Jude forces you up your shaky knees himself. You have to hold onto him and lean into his body. He’s just as wobbly but he tries his best to be steady for you both.

You’re close enough that he could steal a chaste kiss. What was an intimate exchange turned greedy. You’re on your tiptoes to reach him, but you’re not close enough, urging him to lean to your height, his palm traveling from your spine to the back of your head. He needs to feel your body and engrain the scent of your perfume on his. He flips you over, back now on the wall, hands greedy on your skin like he doesn’t know where to with your body. You nibble on his bottom lip a tad too hard that it makes him hiss. You kiss it better, sweet for a moment before swiping your tongue across it. He takes the hint and deepens the kiss and slips his tongue in exchange. You part, he leaves a peck on your forehead, drawing his lips to your cheek then to your neck

You’re getting impatient. Your body’s a lot more fidgety, writhing with every press into you. “Jude can you- I want-”

“Be quiet.” His tone was cold, still he kisses you dumb, he has the lips for it. It’s physical and intangible. He draws you in and lures your soul out, it makes your knees weak and turns you breathless. Your arms settle on his shoulders–they’re taught and big, your clothed cunt brushes against his dick—it makes you dizzy, sinking further into the wall.

He shifts your leg up on his hip, the other following naturally. You breathe heavily, his hands are impetuous on your body while he hikes up your dress roughly, settling for the fabric to hug your ribs. He pushes the flimsy material of your knickers, groaning as he sees you clench on nothing when the cool air meets your throbbing cunt, shiny with arousal. Fuck, baby. He mutters, voice above a whisper, you can’t tell if he meant to say it out loud.

He strokes himself on your clit, rubbing with his cock, goading needy little moans out of you. You feel like crying when his tip finally stretches your hole. You’re loud enough that Jude has to silence you with his lips as he fully fits the head of his cock in. He catches your whimper in his open mouth, gasping together when he places you higher on the wall, pushing deeper. You’re tight with the lack of prepping, but you’re wet. So deliciously wet. Taking him in like butter on a hot knife. He presses his face against your neck, grunting and breathing heavily. You’re left in an even more muddled state, spilling incoherencies, trying and failing to hold in your noises. You’ve completely given up on the silence, fuck it.

A grip on your face stills you, it’s then when you recognize the familiar callous hand covering your mouth–your noises. You don’t have enough time to tell him off, you couldn’t if you tried. His eyes burn on your skin, the warmth in your neck gone, you feel the tightness of his muscles in every buck of his hips, slapping against your skin. His stare is heavy on you– that alone flushes your cheeks. You push his hand away, instead tucking your head in his neck to muffle yourself , holding on for dear life while he thrusts faster and faster still.

  Your alternative catches your noises, poorly at that. Your eyes are shut, meeting his movements as you focus on the heat building in your stomach. He’s driving into your pussy like he’s trying to fuck you into the wall. Each word that tries to escape is garbled in your pipes, strangled and aching for release.

“You gonna come? Already?” He mocks you. “Come on, let me see my dumb girl.” Your grip softens around him, Jude maneuvers your face with his hand before fixing his palm to rest on your throat like he does although now looser. “What a mess…” You’re close, he can tell. Your stomach tenses, clenching onto him as if you’re dreading the second that he’ll pull out. He laughs, unsure of why but he tightens his grip, one that’s become so familiar on your neck that it’s grounding. The lack of air and the heaping pleasure turns your brain into a puddle, everything around you clouds, your own voice and the muffled music louder than it was, bouncing off the walls.

It’s when you open your eyes that your stomach drops, it’s a second that slips as soon as it passes. Your legs shake, thighs tensing around Jude. The same eyes you spent looking at the entire night stares back at you, wide and struck. Erling stands there, tense in his spot, taller than the space between the open door, music leaks in, almost blending with your high moans but the sound bleeds into his brain. He can’t describe what he felt strongest; jealousy, shock, or the tightness in his slacks. For now he swallows his own spit, the picture of your writhing body ingraining itself in every memory he has of you. Ruined. You’re completely ruined.

“Oh my–Erling–”

Jude smirks, “No, It’s Jude.” He teased, loud enough that all three of you could hear.

“N–no, I mean– It’s– Fuck. Oh god!”

“Yeah, that one works too.” It’s embarrassing how slippery you are inside, Jude rocking in and out of you like a piston with the stamina of an athlete.

Erling’s planted on the floor, it feels like he’s holding in a breath that’s stuck in his lungs. He should look away, but he can’t.

“Go ahead,” He whispers between thrusts, holding you against the wall. This time his words are close, only for you to hear. You have no choice, unable to utter a word, gasping, forced to take it. “Come for me while you look at him.”

It’s pathetic how you follow, eyes fixed towards the door when your orgasm crests in an explosion that leaves you shaking and trembling, legs wrapping tighter around Jude’s waist. Ultimately, you fail the task at hand, eyes nearly rolling back when your mind goes blank, the sensation tingles all the way to your satin shoes, throbbing and pulsing. His grunts turn into gasps, nails digging into your thighs when he climbs his own high, finally spilling into you.

You recollect, breathing heavily against each other. The last thing you saw were a pair of icy blues. As soon as you pick your head up from Jude’s neck, they’re gone.

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham oneshot #jude bellingham fic #erling haaland x reader #erling haaland

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, part thirteen

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve

-

Sephiroth has a really good body! So fast and strong! The force he can put into the simplest attacks is amazing!

It really is like he's suddenly possessing Liu Qingge - with decades of training and bodybuilding and power at his fingertips. He's almost jealous, and a little bit offended! If this is anything like what Liu-shidi is working with, ah - where was he coming from, asking his scholar shixiong for spars, huh?! As if Shen Qingqiu could match this!

Shen Qingqiu was a spiritual cultivator - his sword seals were stronger than his actual combat abilities, so that's what he mostly stuck to, letting his very capable sword do the talking. Especially with Without a Cure sapping his strength. Liu Qingge had tried to teach him, and he'd really tried to learn too, he'd thought he'd need all the advantages he could get when Luo Binghe came back, but, ah, he just didn't have it in him to train like that. It was so much work!

It's so effortless now, pulling off moves he'd learned as Shen Qingqiu but never quite had the physical strength to pull off properly. He feels weightless and without barriers, like there's nothing, no gravity, no physical limitations, nothing that could get in his way!

Not even Genesis.

"What the hell was that?!" the man demands, sprawled on the floor, staring up at him in deep offence.

Sephiroth is a villain, so smiling smugly is alright. "Your form is off," and swings his ridiculous beautiful Japanese blade down, until it almost touches the floor. "You need to work on your footing."

The sword is his biggest hindrance, honestly - followed closely by the too tight coat. It's not just the length of the blade, but the design. He's used to Shen Qingqiu's Xiu Ya, which is a two-edged straight jian sword, never mind the fact that it's a spiritual weapon. Masamune can't even be compared to a dao sword - which Shen Qingqiu had occasionally helped his disciples with, but which he'd never been particularly comfortable with. 

The blade is much thinner and more flexible than he's used to, and he really has to wonder how it hasn't been broken or at least chipped against Genesis' straighter, heftier sword. Those were some heavy blows!

Actually… 

Genesis jumps to his feet and swings his sword. "Again," he demands.

"Hang on a moment," Sephiroth says, considering his sword at length. Running a bare hand along the blade finds no dents, and the edge is as sharp as it was in the beginning. No chips. That's… impossible, right? It's just a katana blade. It's not a spiritual sword, it can't even heal itself.

Although it does have three marbles of Materia in its hilt. And there is something… it's not Qi, but there's something. The sword isn't exactly lifeless.

Lifting Masamune up, he sends a small fraction of Sephiroth massive, sluggish spiritual power into the blade, and - ah. It lights up with something similar to a sword glare. How interesting! That makes sense, since weapons like these are how people channel magic here. And he does recall a lot of sword beam types of attacks from the games!

"Do not throw that my way," Genesis says, holding his sword in front of him in a guard. "I will answer in kind, Sephiroth, I swear to Goddess."

"I wasn't about to," he answers with a snort and draws his energy back. Now that he's looking for it, he can still sense it.

So, Masamune is subtly drawing on his energy. It's not exactly how a spiritual weapon would do it, but it's… similar. Passive and constant. Hm. Maybe something to do with the metal itself? Fascinating - are all Materia-imbued weapons like this?

"Is Masamune alright?" Angeal asks worriedly, coming forward. "Did something happen?"

"It's fine," Sephiroth answers and lowers the sword. He nods to Genesis. "And yours?"

"The Rapier is just fine," Genesis says, swinging it as though shaking dirt if it. "No need to worry."

The… Rapier? "That is not a rapier."

"No, it's a broadsword, and I thought it was funny," Genesis sniffs and holds it straight up. "Rapier sounds more elegant. Mine is a weapon of finesse."

That's… surprisingly lighthearted for someone so dramatic. Well, he'd seen worse names for swords. And people.

"Now, again?" Genesis asks, swinging the sword challengingly down. "Or do you want to jump in, Angeal?"

"I think I'll watch a little bit more," Angeal says, stepping back again. "Remember, no magic."

"Yes, yes," Genesis says and holds his… Rapier in a guard. "Ready when you are, Sephiroth."

Taking in the man's posture with Shen Qingqiu's expert eye, he hums. "If you say so, Genesis," he says and shifts to a stance.

Now that he has some sense of his own energy running through Masamune, he has a much better grasp of the length and the curve. With it he dares to go a little faster, not having to worry about overreacting and hurting his opponent. He can also almost sense Genesis' sword now, and predict its movements.

It makes for a very short spar indeed.

"What the hell -" Genesis grumbles, again on the floor, and glares up at him. "Are you toying with me right now?!"

Heh. Kind of! "Your footing," he answers in his best villainous drawl, "Is weak."

"My footing is fine!"

"Then why are you on the floor?" 

Genesis mutters a curse and stands up, gripping Rapier's handle tightly. "Smug son of a bitch - I am going to end your legend here and now!"

The man attacks without warning, and it's such bad etiquette that Shen Qingqiu comes fully to the forefront. He ducks past Genesis' attack and whacks him on the butt with the flat of his sword in admonishment - and then, for a good measure, kicks his feet from under him.

"Footing," he says lazily while Genesis sputters at him in outraged offence - once more on the floor. "You let your sword's weight lead you too much. I know the blade is heavy and willful and wants to get its way - but you are the one guiding the blade, it's not supposed to be leading you."

Genesis gapes at him. "What the hell are you talking about?!" 

They're not spiritual swords, not exactly, so… "May I?" he motions at Rapier.

Genesis glares at him warily and stands up. He shares a confused, incredulous look with Angeal and then flips Rapier over, holding it out handle first.

Shifting Masamune to his off hand and holding it out of the way behind his back, Sephiroth takes Rapier, tests the weight, and then assumes the posture Genesis led with.

"You might have the strength to swing this thing around however you will, but the laws of leverage are still in effect," he explains. "This is a very heavy sword, and unless you weigh considerably more than you look, it will mess with your balance if you don't counteract it. When you swing," he demonstrates, "right now you are stepping up to follow the swing and so you're taking out your base of balance. And so you trip."

Genesis just stares at him, face completely blank. 

"Now, from the beginning, properly this time," Shen Qingqiu continues and demonstrates. "Plant your feet. Bend your knees. The movement begins from your hips, not your hand. From your hip, up the torso, to your arm. Your knees follow and support the movement. Feet stay on the ground. And… swing."

He swings the Rapier, a sweeping attack fit to take someone's head off. "Now, if you have to adjust to an opponent's block or attack, you can, because your wrist is still neutral - see? Like this I can easily adjust the angle of my swing without losing my footing, or the power of the attack."

Angeal slowly joins them while Genesis is still just staring blankly. They're both staring.

Feeling suddenly like he'd overstepped, Sephiroth hands the Rapier back and clears his throat. "So, as I said, footing. It's the same with your thrust," he mutters, looking away. "Don't just throw your whole body behind it like an idiot."

Genesis accepts the broadsword back dully and looks at Angeal. There's a moment of tense silence, and Sephiroth kinda wants to sink into the floor.

Awkward.

-

Shizun mode, activated.

(also I know fuck all about swordsmanship, so don't look too deeply into that)

#Fanfiction #svsss #ffvii #ff7 #Shen Qingqiu #shen yuan #Sephiroth #genesis rhapsodos #angeal hewley

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 13 - Evergreen Trees

(Ao3 Link) (Masterpost Link)

"How's this one?" Hob asks, pointing to the Douglas Fir that rests on the wood fence to their left. Morpheus looks it over, threading his fingers through the fine, stiff needles. It was just taller than himself, but much thicker than his own figure. The tree looked almost round it its bushiness. He is almost certain it would not fit in the living room.

"Much too wide," he says, walking a few steps down, inspecting each tree as he went.

Hob had insisted that for Morpheus's first Christmas as a human, they had to get a real live tree for their flat. Apparently the notion of setting up a fake one on such a special occasion was absolutely appalling. So here they were, in a section of a parking lot that has been converted into a pop-up shop for Christmas trees.

It smelled fantastic. The fresh pine and sap filled the air, twisting and tangling with the crisp winter air and the wafts of coffee and hot chocolate from the small drive-up coffee shop across the lot. He was bundled up in Hob's too large jacket (he has his own, but Hob's is comfier). A soft beanie was pulled down over his ears, and the fluffy scarf was tucked all around his face, the ends secured inside his jacket. His gloved hands held onto the paper cup of peppermint hot coca they had got before driving over here.

"This one, perhaps." Morpheus said, pondering the tree in front of him. It was of good height, and the branches looked strong and healthy. He had been uncertain of what made for a proper tree but recalled the many dreams of what people believed they looked like. Hob told him to look for sturdy branches to hold the various decorations and baubles he had. Stretching his hand out, he pressed down on a few of the branches and nodded. They seemed sturdy.

"That one looks good!" Hob says, reaching over and grabbing the trunk of the tree. Morpheus watches as Hob's shoulders and biceps tighten under the thinner jacket he wore. The tree rises to a straight up position. Hob made it look as light as a feather. He suddenly felt hotter than he had just moments ago.

Curious.

Hob twists his wrist, pivoting the tree for Morpheus's inspection. There was a large gap on the side that had been lying down. It was much too open.

"No, not this one." He says, turning around to look at the trees on the other side of the aisle. Most of these were too tall to fit inside the flat, but some at the end looked promising.

Hob, without prompting, proceeds to lift one of them up as he had the other tree. He sets it down with a grunt that goes straight to Morpheus's core. He takes a sip of his cocoa. It does nothing to settle the slow rolls of desire that are finding root in his body.

"Perhaps," he says, looking over the tree. No bare patches on this one, however, has he presses down on the branches, there is hardly any resistance. They are much too weak. "Mm. No, they will not be strong enough.“ Hob shrugs and sets the tree back against the fence. He shakes his hands out and sets them on his hips. Morpheus struggles to not watch each movement.

“Yeah, picking out live trees are hard. I remember I made the mistake of going with Allison to try and find a tree for the Inn.” Hob laughs. “Think we tried at least three tree lots before one met her standards. So don’t feel like you have to pick one here. There’s many other trees we can take a look at.”

Morpheus is tempted to travel to every tree lot Hob knows if it means he gets to watch his six centuries of strength at work. He will not, though, for he knows Hob’s joints would begin to ache. Hob would continue on, for him. This, Morpheus knows for a fact. Hob would gladly push his body if it meant he was happy. This thought does nothing to quell the flames.

Morpheus takes a breath. He will find a tree here. He will, however, “consider” more trees than he normally might, first.

Hob reaches over and turns around the next tree. It is taller than either of them. It would most likely graze the ceiling, if not try to push through it. It is also, clearly, heavier, as Morpheus tracks the slight strain of tendon and muscle in Hob’s shoulders and neck as he heaves it upright.

“How about this one? Branches look decently spaced.” Morpheus steps closer, perhaps a bit closer to Hob’s side than strictly needed, and trails a hand down the length of the evergreen tree.

“Do you think it would fit?”

Hob hums, looking it up and down. “Yeah, probably not, huh? Would be close. But once you put it in the tree stand, it’d be easily half a meter too tall.” With a sigh, he leans the tree back and dusts his hands off. Morpheus watches as he rubs against the sap that coats his fingers. Hob’s tan hands are red with cold. Before he thinks, Morpheus is reaching out and cradling his hands between his free hand and his chest.

Hob blinks, looking up at Morpheus with a shocked expression that soon melts into a smile. “Thanks, duck.” He says with a chuckle in his voice. “Should have grabbed a pair of gloves.”

“You ensured that I had them, yet did not think to do so for yourself.” Morpheus arched a brow.

Hob’s already rosy cheeks turned redder as he stepped closer into Morpheus’s space. “Yeah, well, I never claimed to be a smart man. Just means I’ll have to steal your warmth here and there.” Morpheus looks down at their hands and tries not too think too hard about the heat and weight of Hob’s hand against his chest, just above his heart.

They stay there for a few moments, luxuriating in each other’s presence and warmth before Hob pulls away and jerks his thumb to the next row over. “Well, shall we see if our tree is over on that side?”

They look at nearly every tree in the lot. Morpheus doesn’t stop Hob from maneuvering each tree for his inspection. At one point, Hob jokes that they should take the three meter tall tree home and Morpheus does his best not to do something foolish when he watches his friend pull it forward with ease. Morpheus is actually salivating at the sight. Wants and desires, he decides, are much stronger as a human than he anticipated. He has the brief thought that his sibling is “turning it up” as they say, just to mess with him. He’d have to ask Death about it next he saw her. Surely, this isn’t how humans always feel? How could they function with such distractions?

Finally, after going back down some of the earlier rows, they decided on a tree. It was just a tad taller than they were. Hob reasoned that it should have enough room on top for a star, even with the base attached, so they were all set there. Morpheus approved of the spacing on the branches and the strength of them. It was as close to perfect as they had found.

“Alright! First Christmas tree picked out! Good choice,” Hob says, shooting Morpheus a warm smile. He nods in response, not trusting his words as he watches Hob bend down to grab the tree closer to the base. With a grunt, he heaves the heavy thing up and leans it over his shoulder. His face is nearly buried in branches and needles and laughs as his hat is pushed off of his head in the process. “Mind grabbing that for me, duck?”

Morpheus reaches down and holds the hat in his hands as Hob begins the walk over to the salesman. When he bends, he stares directly as the curse of his arse and finds himself not even feeling guilty for it. Not when he is certain he has dived head-first into his siblings realm.

He should not feel this way. He should not be staring at his friend in such manners. And yet.

And yet...

Hob passes over a small stack of bills to the salesman after the base of the tree is trimmed and the branches near the base are removed, leaving a healthy looking trunk. With a shake of the hand, Hob bids the man good night and squats, once again, to lift the tree. It takes far longer than Morpheus wishes to admit to raise his gaze.

“All bought and paid for. You, my dear friend, are now the proud owner of a live Christmas Tree.” Hob says, giving the branches a pat. “There should be straps in the back seat. Can you grab them for me while I get this on the roof?”

Morpheus nods and follows Hob back to their car. He sets his hot chocolate, nearly empty now, in the cup holder before snatching the handful of straps from the back. He closes the door and looks up just as Hob thrusts the heavy tree up and over, resting on the edge of the car roof. His sleeves are pulled back, showing the strain and strength of the muscles underneath. Hob huffs with exertion.

This is how he dies. Morpheus has lived barely three months as a human and he will die, here, in the Tesco parking lot, consumed with lust for his dearest friend. The universe is cold and cruel.

“Alright, hand me a strap, love?” Hob asks, reaching out one hand to Morpheus, the other pushing against the tree, holding it steady.

He’s proud that his hand does not shake (not noticeably) when he passes the thick fabric strap over to Hob. He watches as Hob’s cold, but still dexterous hands maneuver the straps between the rails on the roof of their car. He hauls himself up higher, feet on the tire to get extra height, as he tossed the straps over the tree to the other side. Morpheus watches, almost entranced, as he repeats this motion at the center of the tree and once again at the top.

Hob’s jean clad arse is right in his face as he’s balanced on the front passenger side tire. The strap is caught in the branches, from what he vaguely hears from Hob’s muttering.

His arse. Right there. Morpheus is close enough he could reach his hand out and touch it and his elbow would still be bent. He takes a sharp breath of the cold winter air in as he attempts to have some semblance of self-control. He will not grope his friend’s arse. He is better than that.

Hob must stretch his arms up higher because his jacket and shirt ride up along his back. A strip of soft, tan skin appears in Morpheus’s vision and a noise he didn’t know he was capable of making escapes him. He must have been loud enough because the strip of skin vanishes, as does the view of Hob’s behind. Morpheus looks up to see Hob turned and looking down at him, questioningly.

“You okay? I didn’t wack you with the end of the strap, did I?” Hob asks, oblivious to the internal conflict occurring inside of Morpheus. He clears his throat and steps back, putting space between he and Hob.

“I am fine,” he says, patting himself on the back for not squeaking as he spoke. “Just… cold.”

Hob hums and reaches into his jacket pocket. He holds out the car keys. “Here, you can start the car if you want. Get warm. Don’t need to wait for me out here. Should be done soon.”

That is the last thing Morpheus wants to do.

He takes the keys and gets into the driver’s seat. He turns the car on, as Hob has shown him how to, and kicks the heater up to high, sighing as the air turns warm and washes over his skin. Of the struggles of becoming human, whatever this was, was not one he had anticipated. Perhaps he’s skip over talking with Death and go straight to demanding answers from Desire. This had to be their doing.

Morpheus sits in the car, listening to the bumps and shuffling of Hob securing the tree down. He finishes the last of this hot cocoa in the meantime, hoping it would distract him enough to face his friend once he returned.

It did not.

Hob was done shortly after. The cocoa was finished, which left him nothing to do during the drive home. He sat, hands on his knees, gripping the fabric of his pants tight. Hob had shucked his jacket off before they left. His hair was damp with sweat and it clung to the sides of his reddened face. The short shirt sleeves did nothing to help Morpheus’s situation as he found his eyes flitting back to the fine lines of muscle that flexed and tightened with each turn of the steering wheel. He had worked up a sweat during their outing as well and his natural scent was beginning to flood Morpheus’s nose.

It was heaven.

It was agony.

“You alright, Morpheus? You look a bit warm. Not catching a chill, are you?” Hob asked, his eyes glancing over to Morpheus as he drove. He took a breath before answering.

“I am fine, Hob. Just cold.”

Hob makes an understanding noise as he turns them down the street towards The New Inn.

“Take a nice hot shower when we get home, yeah? Might help chase away the cold.”

Daydreams of Hob, basking in the warm rain of the shower, droplets falling over his skin, tracing over the lines of his muscles fills his mind’s eye.

“Yes,” he muses, turning his head to the cool glass of the passenger side window. “A shower sounds perfect.”

Hob finishes hauling the tree up the stairs when Morpheus excuses himself to the bathroom. He must really have been cold out there. Hob makes a mental note to go to the store for better winter gear for him. He is still rail thin. There’s just not enough fat on his bones to keep him well insulated yet.

He works on getting the tree set into the base, trimming a few extra branches, fluffing the upper branches out, while Morpheus gets warm. It takes a while, but soon, the tree is all set. It’s in position, trimmed, and watered. Just needs to be decorated.

He lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his forehead when he hears that same noise Morpheus made earlier. Not quite a squeak, but like his throat spasmed when he was trying to clear it, or something. Hob looks up at his friend who is now dressed in his usual black lounge wear set. His face is concernedly red, though. He’d need to check the water heater. It must be running hotter than he though.

Hob was trying to kill him. Of this, Morpheus was certain.

#dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #the sandman #ky writes #december writing list #kydrogen's december drabbles 2023

[crushedsweets]

What about some lulu headcannons since you seem to like her? :)

oh anon u are spoiling me.... heres a little sketch of her college life. let me begin . . tw for general creepypasta things, abuse, bullying, death, etc

ok. so a lot lulus og stuff is gross obviously (although a majority of the og creepypastas have gross origins/creators). as a kid, i was pretty attached to her, but looking back , its just. ugghhghgh. which is why i want to try giving her her own horror type story while still following some of the core things that made her her. BEGONE WITH MIDDLE/HIGH SCHOOL KILLERS...

lulu is 24 but described as 'physically 14' which bugs me esp bc theres so much emphasis on her body being like an adult. and frankly i am not crazy about yet another 'little kid bullied/abused then goes crazy/demonic' story so i scrapped the bullshit ‘is 24 but looks 14 but is drawn like she’s 24!’. So I decided to just to make make her whole zalgo poisoning occur later in life. since its now set in university, a handful of things changed. mayhaps she knows jack ?

she grew up as a rich girl being put through several private schools growing up. she wasnt the smartest, she wasnt the most social, and while i think that the og story did this really fucking poorly, she did deal with harassment cuz she developed early. ranged from people calling her a slut for the same clothes as a thinner girl, to getting dress coded for no good reason, to rumors, etc. so, she's being bullied by her peers, though its moreso a ton of gossip rather than stuff in her og. overall school sucked for her

finally she goes to university. shes away from all those people, away from her helicopter parents, away from dress codes and loneliness. she tries SO hard to keep up the perfect daughter persona in public bc she knows shes walking on thin ice(having been punished for things out of her control all her life), with a wardrobe full of pencil skirts and button ups, but then she finally meets this guy named josh. but that shit gets seriously exhausting. and as many kids in her position do, she wants to Rebel .. she starts going to parties and whatnot w her edgy ass roommate. random garage shows, raves, generally reckless behavior etc. its not her fully her thing but she's there and having fun.

idk his name in the og story but there was that guy that led her on just to further abuse her. i changed him up and made him some guy in a frat that she met at a rando party. he was so sweet to her the first time they met, they talked for a long time at the party, he was cool overall and she never ever craved attention like this before - she never even GOT attention like this before, coming from an all girls school, so she clung. but he wasnt actually gonna date her, so he said some bullshit excuse about 'you know how greek life is, my frat wont let me date u unless u join this specific sorority!! soz' and he chose the worst, most clique-y sorority that has the most insane hazing ritual for girls that arent sought after. he thought there was no way she'd give it a shot and he could get her off his back. a dick move, but he didnt think she'd do it.

but, she does - and the hazing is fucking shit. the girls in the sorority are worse than the girls in highschool (and maybe in cliché fashion, one of her highschool bullies ended up in the sorority before her?). it starts off as things like 'oh you gotta buy your sorority sisters coffee for a week' to 'oh you have to be drunk/high throughout all your classes for a week' to completely deranged shit like branding yourself or slashing a professors tires. things nobody in their right mind would do, typically.

i havent decided exactly how exactly lulu hits the point where they think she's dead, but a group of sorority girls think she is. they panic, and in their panic cannot feel her pulse or hear breathing. she's completely unconscious, cold, and frankly on the way to death - so they take her to slenders forest and get to work

they bury her in a shallow grave, unaware of all the different demons residing in the forest watching one of the most gruesome displays of humanity. if youve watched girl from nowhere, theres a scene where nano gets buried alive by a group of her classmates then she wakes up . . imagine that.

im thinking, similar to the operator, zalgo can infect people as well . . maybe people on their death beds ? anyway, lulu's infected. long after the girls run off, lulu manages to dig herself out of the grave. shes wheezing, coughing, sobbing, its dark and cold and foggy, and she now has to come face to face with zalgo making some weird 'i saved you, i want something in return.' and there goes her eyes !!! rip lulu. maybe zalgo did it cuz hes a dick, maybe he actually needs human parts to seal the deal.

theres some more interaction but overall lulu doesnt have a ton of demon powers or anything. new wounds heal quickly, but her past ones will never will. she can be eerily quiet, popping in and out with fog, doesn't need food/water/sleep. . she does have kinda crazy strength(no agility or speed), but she's so mentally weak it does nothing for her

for a while she does just wander the forest in complete and utter mourning, until one of the proxies finds her and is like Oh Fuck that's not human. toby describes her as a zombie. so she's another job for them to handle

eventually they settle her in the hospital with ann.. the hospital is likely an area that experiences more fog, being closer to the lake perhaps, so it just makes sense to put her in an area she can see. it took a while for lulu to calm down bc she now has a pretty big fear around women , and the proxies have to CONSTANTLY come around and check in for a while, cuz she feels safer with them. maybe they tried putting her with jack but jack said absolutely the fuck not. bc lulus legitmately scary. she's constantly croaking, crying, wheezing, dripping blood everywhere she goes, etc.

she eventually gets along with ann, who thinks lulus cute and fun to chat with. i made a joke about them doing tiktok dances together but like. i could see it. maybe ann reminds lulu of her roommate, the only girl whos been completely nice to her ? dunno. (despite the roomie being the reason lulu got into the partying and stuff)

mmmmmm yeah. that is basically the entire rewrite .

i likely wont include her too much in the story just because the rewrite is so drastic+shes not all too popular but i used to feel very fondly towards her when i was 10 and i do think her character cconcept is super cool (the fog, the eye stuff, zalgo poisoning etc). theres just hella weird stuff but its a creepypasta from 2013 idk what we expect

#hcs #creeped #asks #lulu creepypasta #lulu #sweetart #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon

[adobe-outdesign]

Will you review the Maraquan pets? I think Buzz is my favorite based on design, and there are so many really creative/punny ones. Personally, I’ve never liked Wocky.

Maraqua is probably one of Neopets' most distinct lands given that it's, you know, underwater. The idea of making a color that fits with the Atlantis-esq aesthetic just makes logical sense, and the actual designs tend to be pretty cool. I like how there's actual thought put into how [X] Neopet would function if it was adapted to life underwater, with the bubbling pit area vaguely implying it might be a natural mutation (given the amount of "painted" Maraquan pets we see in Maraqua).

Maraquan also didn't do too badly with customization, mostly because they're not compatible with normal clothing anyway so the poses are at least somewhat distinct. That said, it is weird that they changed the poses at all; they already have to have clothing drawn specifically for them, so why force things like fists onto some of them? It's so weird.

Even weirder is the seemingly arbitrary decisions regarding which ones got UC versions; Maraquan Chombys barely changed at all yet somehow got a UC, while Maraquan Zafaras changed drastically but never got a UC. What gives?

(I can't count it on the favorites list because there are too many good still-obtainable Maraquan pets, but shoutout to the unconverted Maraquan Zafara for being one of my favorite Maraquan pets. Shame it's no more.)

Favorite Species:

Gelert: While the unconverted Maraquan Zafara is my all-time favorite Maraquan pet, the Maraquan Gelert is a very close second, and is definitely my fav if we're talking pets that are still obtainable. I love Maraquan pets where the design is just abstract, taking cues from various sea creatures without being a 1:1 parallel of them, and the Gelert is particularly beautiful in this respect. It plays with the Gelert's long ears and tails by making it vaguely eel-ish—adding in a back fin, a few spots, and a lovely green and purple color scheme.

The UC version is particularly gorgeous, having this lovely flow that curves back from the head and leads straight into the curled tail. The converted version is still fine, as it's a fairly accurate recreation all things considered, but the pose is much more awkward (the body suggests an S shape, but the paws and ears are going opposite directions and the chest sticks out too much).

It does, however, at least fix the shading; for some reason the UC Maraquan Gelert has one layer of shading with no highlights or shadows to speak of, which is really weird. (See the above, which is an edit I made years ago that just adds the layers of shading that the actual UC is missing. The lineart should also probably be thinner but I digress.) Anyway, the point is that both are beautiful designs.

Uni: Maraquan Uni are also really beautiful. Similar to a Peophin (arguably too much so, but hey, there's no Maraquan Peophin at the time of writing anyway), they've swapped their legs for a tail and their wings and mane have become fins themselves, with a pretty curved horn and some subtle striping to boot. Even better, the converted version is basically the same as the old art, so there's no difficulty in obtaining one (other than the PB cost, of course).

Lutari: While there are still a lot of great abstract Maraquan designs that I love (Eyrie, Draik, etc.), I have to give a shoutout to the Lutari for being a really great design based off of an obvious animal (in this case, an axolotl). The cream and pink color scheme is lovely, and I love the subtle mottle gradients on its limbs. The multiple sets of ears forming the gills is fantastic, the tail is pretty, the black claws add contrast, and it still reads really clearly as a Lutari despite the animal influence. Really good stuff.

Least Favorite Species:

Kacheek: The Maraquan Kacheek just looks incredibly uncanny to me. The best Maraquan pets are either ambiguous or choose an animal that fits the Neopet, but here they just... took a Kacheek head and slapped it on a goldfish body??? Don't like that at all. The head in isolation isn't terrible and I could see it working on a more Kacheek-ish torso, but this... no. At least it's nicely drawn on a technical level, I suppose?

#neopets #neotag #maraquan #gelert #uni #lutari #kacheek #neopet reviews

[wazzappp]

Ok @moosemonstrous here we fuckin go.

OK SO. I apologize if it comes off more Evangellion than Pacific Rim but I thought that making The Charger more slender would help to differentiate it and allow for a focus on agility (also helps it to look more skeletal and unsettling).

The Charger is built in layers. An outer layer that constitutes the armor, a thinner covering, metal scaffolding, secondary thin covering, and then finally the essential wiring that makes the 'nervous system' of the Jaeger. Most of the damage (corruption scars, nicks, paint chipping) is just cosmetic, and the structural nature of the Jaeger is intact.

HOWEVER. The same can not be said of the reactor core. At some point (maybe during Eli's death?) corruption made its way behind the main fans of the outer engine and into the main reactor that powers the Jaeger. In theory this should lead to a catastrophic failure, but in this instance Im thinking there was a chemical reaction that essentially stabilized the corrosive nature of the Corruption (were gonna circle back to that).

For the most part my version of Robbies suit is fairly standard. I added an orange tint to his helmet screen for flavor because hey. Why not.

The spine of the suit is probably newly integrated to allow for an updated interface, I imagine theres at least a little development in the technology between the time Eli dies and Robbie comes into play. That would make the suit a weird mishmash of past and new technology which could be VERY fun.

Also I LOVED the white accents @cicada-candy added for their design but I didn't want to steal ideas so I just added it in my own places. Your art fucks severely bro I just wanted to make sure and let you know that <3

TIME FOR MY FAVORITE PART: SPECULATION ABOUT THE CORRUPTION AND ITS THEORETICAL GENETIC EFFECTS IN DOSES ON A SUBJECT!!!!!! (AKA self indulgence part 2 electric boogaloo)

I believe you mentioned the Corruption being a Neurotoxin which would be Very fun and VERY cool but I also have a suggestion. Mainly because you also referenced an increase in Robbies strength, as well as another person who got fuckin deaded shortly after.

A rapid growth in muscle density to allow for this strength would be very interesting, but why would the Corruption cause that? Simple answer; it isn't. At least not intentionally. Whats actually happening is a kind of nerve damage that changes the brains regulation of muscular exertion. Our brains really only let us use a certain percentage of our real strength, because if we just let loose and used it all we would cause significant physical damage to ourselves. Like. ripping your own tendons free from their anchors. you could break your own bones. you would die SO fast bro.

Now it is POSSIBLE to access this strength in situations of extreme stress and thats how you get people lifting cars off of loved ones, but this does still cause damage. It also gets more complicated when you consider Fast Twitch muscle reactions but for the sake of simplicity: You Would Die.

So a release of cortisol and other stress hormones, combined with a lessened ability to control strength. This means they would be USING that strength A LOT against ANYONE AND EVERYONE. But maintaining this sort of metabolism is not reasonable. Someone suffering from Corruption would likely also suffer from Hypoglycemia fatally. So extremely strong, extremely scared, and extremely short lived is the kind of deal we would be talking about here.

SO. Having said ALL OF THAT. WHAT IS ROBBIES DEAL. Well heres my proposal: The Corruption is a virus that causes neurodegenerative disease.

If Robbie was exposed to very small amounts of it as a child, it's possible it was inactive or defective, which would have allowed for an immunization point. Its also highly possible that this is a virus that can not survive (well i say survive very lightly. theres significant debate as to wether viruses are actually alive at all but I digress) outside its usual area AKA Inside a demon. He could have been exposed through contaminated water, direct contact, maybe even breathing burned version through the air. Either way, he came into contact with a weakened version of the virus and it helps him later on.

As he comes into DIRECT contact with Corruption via plugging into The Charger this is when we would start to see some more interesting effects. This Corruption would still be different though because of the aforementioned stabilizing chemical reaction in the reactor. Also, because I think Eli's DNA would be integrated into it. This provides Robbie with genetic compatibility for the virus to jump off of. Remember, viruses don't want to kill a host, they just want to reproduce as much as possible (which does end up killing a host but still). And a fun fact about viruses is that we never actually get rid of them, we just get rid of the symptoms. Once you have it its in you forever.

SO. 1. Immune response from Robbies body begins to cause the nervous damage that would allow for his rapid increase in strength. 2.Immune system recognizes the genetic material is familiar (Eli doing something good even inadvertently I guess). 3. Immune system neutralizes the virus and incorporates it into Robbies genetic coding. All good right? Happy ending? WRONG.

BECAUSE WHEN THERE ARE COPYING ERRORS IN YOUR DNA (SOMETIMES FROM VIRUSES) WHAT DO WE CALL IT?? DING DING DING 10 POINTS TO THE MUTUAL THAT SAID ✨MUTATION✨

This virus still carries genetic material from demons, this would also be getting integrated into Robbies DNA. Places like his spine which would have the most regular contact with the Corruption would probably take the brunt of these changes. It's possible that the nerve damage never truly goes away and he continuously tears and then rebuilds those muscles, resulting in overall increased strength thats technically?? stabilized?? Also I could totally see his body going 'oh shit were finally growing with decent access to fuel? BET' and just. Reactivates the growth plates in his bones ('Look! I've fixed his runt of the litter insecurity!' 'YOU FUCKED UP A PERFECTLY GOOD PILOT IS WHAT YOU DID. LOOK AT HIM. HES GOT ANXIETY ABOUT THE STATE OF HIS HUMANITY').

Oh yeah its also worth noting that this would be like. Pretty painful. We're talking constant soreness, cramps, deep aches that just won't go away. General suffering <3

Of course tapetum lucidum OF COURSE TEEF obviously as if I could go without it. You can get funky with mutations because hey. fucky wucky demon genome integration whoop whoop. Also could be interesting to see damaged areas on the Charger manifest on Robbie as damaged tissue. His skin says 'AH. Damage' and copies itself as scar tissue instead of the usual.

Oh god Ive been writing for a solid hour and a half I was supposed to be asleep a while ago ok. Moose I love this au and its making me unwell thank you for sharing with the class I hope you will consider my virus proposal for body horror purposes.

#love the idea of him just getting up one morning and going '??? Was the floor?? that far away before??' #im a sucker for it dude #also I am like. not a biologist . just enthusiastic about biology without the education. so take everything here with a grain of salt lmfao #i gotta go to sleep now. how am I gonna do that. much excitement. i make responsible choices like an adult. #ughhhh #robbie reyes #ghost rider #im prolly gonna look at this in the morning and edit the hell out of it because in my joyus haze of bullshit I didnt connect paragraphs #but fuck it we ball #pacific rim ghost rider au #my art #digital art #sketch #oh its also worth noting that the ✨mutations✨ im talking about generally result in like. cancer. very cancer #eli morrow #<- naughty. goes at the bottom of the list

[jessenitrogen]

cybertronian anatomy ?? (headcanons)

FAIR WARNING, I STILL DONT KNOW THE MOST ABT TRANSFORMERS, I KNOW THERES A TCOG AND A SPARK BUT THATS IT AND ALSO WHILE I DID TAKE ANATOMY CLASS I FORGOT A BIT OF IT BUT and doesnt help I know next to nothing abt mechanics stuff

and another fair warning, the headcanons are canon to ME when I put them in the context of my continuity and exist bcuz I thought of it to fit in my continuity/my designs bcuz fuck it we ball

DENTA/TEETH/DIGESTIVE SYSTEM?

I think the purpose of their denta would not to chew but to bite into energon. Theyre metal beings, that are BIG in most cases, I believe they have a bite force strong enough enough to bite into energon in its mineral state.

For denta appearance, (while I dont know the best shape there is to cut into rock) would be sharp teeth, yknow pointed teeth. Some cybertronians have sharp pointed teeth and then there are some who dont. Well heres the kicker since these guys can also transform, I feel like they can alter their denta shape as well. highly compacted plates that can loosen and move when need be or something. Their sharp teeth can pop out like that HTTYD scene with Toothless popping out his teeth

They dont have tongues, cuz they dont taste, or use it to swallow, or use it to talk. They just kinda. Lean their helms back to get energon into their throats, like birds!!

And they dont need a tongue to formulate their speech, for their voice box is like, a literal box that generates sound waves that is the cybertronians voice. A cybertronian moves their mouth as to not muffle their voice.

While their denta is not designed to chew, in order to get energon into a shape/size that can get to their version of stomachs, their throats grind the energon into smaller bits so it can travel easier through their esophagus. or whatever the cybertronian equivalent is.

Once the energon gets to their stomachs, its melted down into a liquid state so it can flow to the spark where it is essentially "charged" and then can flow throughout tubes and circuits and power their bodies/frames and systems. And I believe, the cybertronians were created in such a way that they can utilize every component of energon so nothing goes to waste.

Cybertronians were created before the technology was made that could convert energon into a liquid state. That tech was made as to cut down digestive time and save energy that could be used for other things.

SKIN/INTEGUMENTARY SYSTEM

idk what cybertronian skin is called and I barely remember what the integumentary system is other than its skin it helps regulate body temp and helps fight infection?

ANYWAYS their skin is like a very flexible metal, its thinner in parts where the frame has more armor, but thicker in places that dont have armor to compensate for the lack of armor.

Here in this thin layer of metal are receptors that can sense touch and pain, and like idk abt this part but wanna say there is a thin layer of wire net/mesh that can either warm up or cool down as a way to assist the cybertronians ventilation system (ventilation system does most of the work when cooling down the frame)

This layer can repair itself over time. It can also be replaced with external metal if the layer is too damaged. During the early times of the War for Cybertron injuries were repaired with external metal. This external metal did not include touch/pain receptors or the wire net/mesh that assists with temp regulation. Those who were frequently repaired with this external metal have some resistance to pain but have the tendency to overheat, in severe cases need an external source to cool down their frames. ie, dipping in water

Cybertronians need to stay at a constant temp, normally a LOT warmer than we do, in order to keep the energon in a liquid state and stay warm during the nights on Cybertron. If they get too cold the energon can solidify again and cause blockage in circuits and tubing. But if their frames get too hot, the processor can fry, circuits can melt, etc

EXTRA/HALFBAKED HEADCANONS

these I dont have detailed thought on atleast yet, but

They wouldnt have noses. they dont breathe, or smell, so.

They dont have ANY reproductive organs, internal or external. They cannot reproduce with eachother or by themselves. their numbers only increase bcuz of the Allspark

AND THATS ALL I HAVE rn I'd like to state here and now that these headcanons definitely apply to all of my characters and my continuity versions of canon characters. and like, no one has to agree with them or use them but it's also cool if someone does

#transformers #maccadam #tf #tf mythos #fan continuity #headcanon #speculative anatomy #anatomy #cybertronian anatomy #transformers oc #tf ocs #transformers prime #tfp #au #transformers au #rambling

[mane--attraction]

It's that time of year again when haunted houses are in full swing, and despite your best efforts, you are going alone to have some fun getting spooked. Might you get more than you bargained for, however?

Word Count: 5015. Yeah. This one kinda got away from me lol. Fun fact, this is now my longest fic ever. This was also supposed to be done for last year, but I clearly vastly underestimated how long this was going to be.

Mild knifeplay, "kidnapping," gender neutral but afab reader. Murdock x reader. Potentially inaccurate haunted house depiction.

MINORS DNI!

~~~

Dusk dapples the sky while you stand in line, waiting for the local haunted house event to open its doors, rubbing your arms to ward off the beginnings of a chill in the air. Despite living here a while, this is your first time you've built up the nerve to go. It takes up the entire fairgrounds, with multiple houses under one event. You had extended an invitation to Murdock, because you were sure it was right up his alley, but he declined, citing work. He's been away an awful lot this month, despite his best efforts, and you were hoping to spend more time with him out and about instead of just within your four walls and between the sheets. But alas, it seems like it's not to be, and you had reassured him it was alright, even as you tried to mask your disappointment.

You mostly relegate all that to the back of your mind, your excitement more prominent now that you're here. You hesitated to attend in the years prior because some of the houses were interactive, where the actors could grab you. It was one of the selling points you had used to appeal to Murdock, animatedly mimicking it in the air, although you wonder now that you think about it if that was a deal breaker for him; after all, thanks to his…line of work, would he have reacted negatively? The last thing either of you need, especially him, is legal action.

Regardless, you're not sure now why it was such a problem for you that you didn't even try the normal houses; and after all, it's not like the ones where they can touch you have free reign. Although you do have to fill out a liability form, so maybe that's why you over-thought it in the past. 

You're at the front of the line before you realize it, handing over your money—extra for the specialty houses—and signing the necessary forms. The woman in the booth puts on your wristband and gives you a map and a spiel that she's already had to recite multiple times, but you are eating up every word, grinning excitedly.

"Welcome to our little town of horrors, where the streets and fields are home to a great many spooky things, where the veil between the supernatural and our world grows thinner by the day. But beware: it's not just the ghost and ghouls that are out to get you… Good luck."

And with that, you're free to start exploring. You wander around for a little bit, gaining your bearings on the area, but it isn’t long before impatience overtakes you and you head towards the first haunted house. The smell of food is enticing, as are the Halloween-themed carnival games, but that all can wait. The best way to tackle this is head-on, even if you're sure these beginning houses are going to be pretty okay. This is, after all, just a local event, even if it does pull in quite the crowd. Plus, you’re starting at the tamest one, with plenty of kids out front, so you’ll be fine.

Let the spookening begin.

Your first house was actually a little underwhelming because of being geared so young, but you worked your way through the other two houses you wanted to try before getting to the “final boss” of the haunted houses tonight. You were sufficiently spooked, both through corridors and a corn maze, but the goal wasn’t “sufficient.” With slightly overpriced pizza sitting in your stomach, you start towards your final destination.

Excitement and nervousness, stronger than before, bubble together the closer you get, the previous scares coming to your mind’s eye, but you force yourself through it rather than chicken out. You didn’t come all this way just to back out. You do wish Murdock was here, though; you’d feel a lot better if he was. Things seem less scary with a man like him by your side. The screams from within startle you from your thoughts. You swear they're louder here.

The attendant checks your wristband to make sure you're allowed in, then waves you along into the corral with the next batch of "victims." You fidget with your hands and glance around at the rest of the event. It's only now you realize how physically isolated this house is from the others.

"First time?"

You turn to see a guy around your age with a group of a few others, probably his friends. You chuckle, your nervousness evident. "Yeah. I went through some of the others already, just this one left."

The guy grins, while the two girls resume some quiet discussion. "It'll be fine. They'll just push you and tug on your clothing a bit, maybe grab your hand, but nothing too bad."

"As if you don't scream every time," one of the girls pipes up from her conversation.

He huffs, only half insulted, and you can't help but giggle in tandem with the girls. "I do not—"

“Do too.” The girl who spoke grins. “I bet you’d scream real loud if we went to one of those newer places where they can drag you off somewhere”

“They actually allow that?” you interject, eyes rounding in surprise.

“Yeah, I heard a couple of the big popular places are adding that as a feature.” The girl pulls her coat around her, the wind kicking at everyone’s legs. “It’ll probably never happen here, though. Not with everything that’s happened recently.”

While it does genuinely take you a moment, you nod and go “ah” as if you aren’t in flagrante delicto with the culprit of crimes a few towns over. A culprit whom you were originally planning on bringing here— Thankfully, you’re almost to the door of the house, so the group’s focus is more on getting in than on you, and nobody seems to notice your smile growing a bit taut.

“Hey, why don’t you stick with us?” The other girl you haven’t spoken with yet bounces on her feet.

“Yeah, it’s more fun as a group,” the guy says. His buddy nods.

“Sure,” you say, the twisty feeling in your stomach loosening. “The more the merrier, right?”

Everyone in the group gives some form of acknowledgement, and then the attendant cuts in with their spiel about the theming—a mansion, run down with time after the owner and his staff’s mysterious disappearances…if that’s really what happened. Rumor has it that something terrible befell everyone inside—and they might think you’re to blame, if you’re not careful. They also bring up reminders about protocol while in the house. You've heard all of it at the other haunted houses here, and not much changes with the addition of physicality; as always, if it gets too overwhelming, there are ways out that all the performers know.

The buddy turns to you once the speech is done. “What’s your name, by the way?”

You introduce yourself, and he repeats your name. “Nice to meet you.” He gives his own name and sounds off everyone else’s. You try and commit it all to memory, even if you’re not sure how well it will stay.

“Nice to meet all of you.”

And with that, you step over the threshold, and the door slams shut behind you. You jump higher than you think is warranted, but the scaredy cat in the group does in fact let out a yelp, which sets everyone off laughing. You collectively take a moment to consider the path in front of you: a narrow corridor, flickering with sickly yellow lighting, the remnants of pumped-in fog curling at the floor. 

You’re not entirely certain who steps forward first, but it definitely isn’t you. Despite knowing this is all fake and having already gone through other hallways similar to this one, it still has enough of a thrall to induce a silence that grows more tense the further you all get. The walls are eerily similar to how you would imagine a decrepit mansion to be, wallpaper peeling off in sheets, and you find yourself suspicious of every dark spot in the wall. Even the mirrors in the supposed foyer, cracked and broken, are suspect. The sounds of a creaking house and muffled howling winds are piped in; quiet enough to make you second guess where you are, but loud enough that it almost feels too loud in the enclosed space.

One of the girls lets out a shriek, pulling away suddenly from the wall, and you practically jump out of your skin. She giggles nervously. “It got me!”

Everyone else follows suit, letting out a laugh that normally would release tension. You can only speak for yourself when you think about how it didn’t much help. 

“Get out! The master is gone: Get out while you still can!”

The warning, shouted at a frightening pitch, kicks your group forward, everyone pressing together as the hall narrows more, then widens again, a bend ahead of you all. You feel a hand against your sleeve, and you jank it back quickly with a surprised curse. A cold breeze tickles your neck, and it takes all your willpower not to shriek, even though that is perfectly in spirit with a haunted house (pun not intended). “Please tell me someone else felt that cold air?” you squeak.

“Yeah, I did,” says the guy in front of you. You already can’t tell which one he is.

The wood beneath your feet groan as you all continue forward, the sconces flickering with the yellow light your eyes have gotten used to. You shove your hands into your pockets; the closer you keep your limbs, the less likely they are to be grabbed. The door handle beside your group rattles. It’s not fake. You all move a little quicker.

The floorboards creak behind you, and you feel like you turn as if in slow motion to see a man standing in the middle of the hallway in a mask, human-like but definitely not human. Every feature is exaggerated just enough to be unnatural, and in this place, it works a little too well. With his frame, he seems to take up the entire hallway; and if not physically, then with his presence. Your eyes lock onto him, and you stop walking, as if he’s frozen you in place. Everything else disappears: no sound, no sight except for this man. And there’s something about him…

The man lets out a guttural growl, the kind that sends genuine fear into the pit of your stomach. You’re the first to scramble to run the moment he shifts to pursue, pushing through the rest of your group, the spell broken, but everyone else soon follows suit, screams echoing in the tiny corridor. You're not sure where theirs end and yours begins. You whip your head around just long enough to confirm where the man is before you round the corner, and your line of sight is perfect to see him between everyone’s heads, the unsettling lighting warping the mask more. You swear you see a knife in his hand.

Finally, after a few minutes of running, one of the girls must have glanced back, because you hear her call out behind you, "He's gone!" Your feet don't quite get the memo, and you find yourself out ahead of the group as you slow and catch your breath. 

“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter to yourself. Why did that scare you so much? 

“Are you okay?” one of the guys asks. You nod.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” It’s half a lie, and you laugh nervously. “Just part of the experience, right?”

“Right.”

“We should probably keep moving though. Who knows when the next person’s gonna jump out at us.” Despite not being fully ready, you lead the group forward, trying to figure out what it was this time. It’s probably not that deep, but it feels important to figure out. 

However. Something occurs to you. 

That mask didn't look like it belonged in this house

Teeth bared in a snarl too wide to be natural, prominent eyebrows casting shadows over the eyes, more creature than human, despite being human-like. Surely it's just a mistake, but all the other houses have been meticulous with what they had to work with, so for a slip-up to happen now seems odd. Although, it could still fit, since it had been said nobody knew what happened to the occupants of the mansion. That doesn't quite explain, however, why his outfit—including an almost knee-length modern coat with pants—wasn't that of a servant, nor the head of the mansion…

“That was a pretty good scare,” says one of the girls behind you.

“Yeah, that felt so visceral,” says the other. "Wild."

“I have the heebie jeebies.” It’s that guy, the scared one. 

“You always get the ‘heebie jeebies.’”

He huffs. “Shut up—”

You slow down, falling to the back of the group. You swear you hear something that isn’t just the sound system, but maybe it's just your overactive imagination. After all, anyone would be on high alert after being chased. The guy you haven’t spoken to gives you a look that you almost miss, but you don't explain yourself. No point.

“I thought this was supposed to be more grabby.”

“Maybe we just haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“I know this place is big, but it’s not that big.”

“They probably just want to build up the spookiness,” you interject, even if you’re not fully convinced, yourself.

“Ah, that would make sense.”

You stop in front of another destroyed mirror, pieces scattered on the table under it. Your own face is almost unrecognizable, horridly lit and fractured in the reflection, concern and fear staring back at you.

“YOU WILL PAY FOR WHAT YOU’VE DONE!”

It comes from up ahead, and it snaps you from your trance, but instead of seeing your new acquaintances, you see…nobody. Everyone is gone. Even the voice you heard isn’t visible to you.

You swear you see a bit of the one girl's hair trailing behind her at the bend ahead, but you're much too far away already, and you're not sure they noticed you're not with them yet. It stings a little, even if you know they didn’t mean anything by it, but your nervousness overpowers that, the uncertainty of what lies ahead gnawing at you. You jog forward, just fast enough to hopefully catch up with the rest of the group—

You hear a loud THUMP somewhere behind you, startling you enough to jump. With the way the ground vaguely vibrates, whatever hit the floor must have done so pretty hard. You swallow thickly. “Guys?” you call out. No answer. You jog with more urgency now, your footfalls and heartbeat equal tempo in your ears. More than likely, they didn’t hear you because of ambience, but you fear they’ve gotten too far away in such a short span of time. You pick up speed—

—but there’s another noise behind you, a shuffling, that has you stop again, head whipping around to try and find the source. With the corners so dark, it’s impossible to tell if someone is there or if it was just an animal that found its way in. You stand there for a few seconds longer than you should, staring into the darkness. Something is up, and the lack of anything actually happening is making this so much worse than being physically pushed and pulled in different directions. You’re not a haunted house expert by any means, but this place has been far too quiet. Slowly, you continue to move forward, the faux fog growing thicker with less bodies to disturb it. The floor creaks uncomfortably loud. You don’t remember any mention about multiple pathways, so where the hell is everyone?

There's a tug on your hair, and you barely suppress a yelp, but you suppose it was an accident…although it was rather close to your scalp; how did someone get that close without you realizing after all this time…

Suddenly, there's a hand clamped around your wrist, jolting you, and you'd think it a coincidence if it wasn't for the one wrapping around your mouth, dragging you to someone and into the shadows. You scream, but it's muffled, drowned out by the suddenly overly loud sound system, and your efforts to struggle out of your assailant's grip are futile, holding you tightly against their body as they maneuver you with much more ease than you'd expect. It's honestly kind of scary how little you're affecting them. Their hands are oddly cool against your skin, and then you realize it's not their skin, but some material.

Leather.

A door slams open behind you, and you're dragged into a room. The outside noises are muffled, then dampened once the door shuts again, trapping you in the dim space with whoever has kidnapped you. You're still yelling, trying to stomp on their feet and throw your head back against their chin, but their shoes are too solid and they're too tall to headbutt. Your hands twist around to pinch or scratch, but all you get is fabric.

"Sweet thing," a man's voice growls into your ear, "you better cooperate, or else this will be a lot more difficult for you."

The person's hands shift, and hope surges that you'll get an opening, but before you can get very far in acting through it, you're forced to the ground face down, hips suddenly pressed up against you, and you freeze. He's rock hard.

"Or you can struggle all you like. Doesn't much matter to me." Somehow, you can tell there's a grin to his voice. "It just encourages me to try harder." 

It takes you a moment too long to try and buck him off, gnashing your teeth. "Get off of me! You'll be sorry!"

You feel the man throb, and he laughs lowly. "Sorry how, sweetheart? A pretty thing like you, at my mercy…"

The chill of metal against your skin startles you into freezing again, and something about it seems…familiar. The cogs take a moment to turn, but then they click into place. You know that voice. "Murdock?"

He's quiet for a moment, then chuckles. "Well, well. Smart cookie. Not that I expected anything less from my kitten.”

Considering the shock of it all prevented you from thinking straight, he's lucky you didn't panic more. "Wh— What are you doing here? I had thought—"

"I couldn't resist the opportunity." Murdock tosses something to the ground—a mask he was apparently wearing. "And work…ended much sooner than I thought."

The lighting is terrible, but your eyes focus on the mask, which stares back at you with a bared grin, more bestial than you realized, and a memory flashes: Being pursued down the hall, sickly yellow light flashing across its exaggerated features— "But how—"

He shushes you, hands trailing across your neck to expose it to him. "I have my ways, sweetling. Not everyone is as careful as they could be." He starts pressing startlingly soft kisses to your neck, although it isn't long before they become more insistent, and you bite your lip and shiver. "Yourself included."

His dangerous tone sets off a nervousness in the pit of your stomach: it’s the type of tone he uses when you’ve been misbehaving. “L-listen, Murdock, I carry that pepper spray with me, you know I’ll be okay—”

“Do I? After all, look at how easily I stole you away…”

Shit. He’s not wrong. "You—you’re just abnormally strong.” You swear you hear a light chuckle, but you ignore it and squirm in one more attempt to get free. “The others, they're— they're waiting for me—"

"Are they?" He can't hide the hint of possessiveness that creeps into his voice, and one of his hands presses into your back to stop you. "They can wait, sweetheart. We haven't had our fun yet."

The sharp tip of something presses against your center, and you yip, jolting forward. “Don’t you dare! I’m not about to replace these—”

“Alright, I won’t. Help me get you out of them, then."

His hands push their way under your coat to find the band of your jeans, and a half second after he starts, your brain jumpstarts again and you scramble to assist him, finding the waistband before he does and pushing it down your body. Murdock takes over when it rounds your ass, shoving the material to your knees with impatience. You try and kick them off, although it is very difficult in this position; he helps a little bit, but once you’ve gotten it off one leg, he grips your thighs, forcing you to stay still. Slowly, the cold metal of the flat of his blade trails over your skin: along your thigh, pressing against the underside of your ass, across and down to the other thigh…then it’s pressing against your core again, and with nothing but your underwear left to protect you, you can’t help but whimper.

“These are easily replaceable, though. Aren’t they, kitten?”

His knife pushes a little firmer against you, and your breathing shudders. It takes everything within you not to press back. “...Yes, sir.”

His grin is as clear as day in his voice this time. “Perfect.” 

It’s the only warning you get before a gloved finger hooks between your skin and the cotton, pulling it away just enough to allow the knife to slip through and slice. Your underwear offers no resistance, cut through like butter and exposing you in an instant. The cold only chills you for a moment, his groin back against yours and grinding roughly, and all you can do is fail to hold back your moan. He only does this for a few seconds before pulling back. His jingling belt gives away his intentions, and your blood pumps faster in anticipation.

“Do you think you’re ready? Hm?” There’s a soft sound and fabric going flump, and his bare hand is on your clit, rubbing intensely. You gasp wildly, nodding without actually knowing if you are or not. Murdock’s fingers dip into you, checking for himself. You don’t resist lifting your hips towards them, trying to guide them further in with a desperate whine. He just teases you, sliding back and forth and occasionally thumbing your sensitive nub.

“Please,” you whisper without thinking.

“What’s that?” Fuck, he sounds so smug, and you’d love to snap back at him for it, but him slowing to a snail’s pace is too distracting. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Please, Murdock!”

His fingers leave you, and you pout and whine quietly. However, his zipper popping open has you changing your tune. “One more try.”

There’s little hesitation from you. “Pleasefuckme!”

“Mm.” His head slides through your folds, and you gasp again. This time, his gloved hand stills you before you can move. “Music to my ears.”

That’s all the warning you get before he slowly slides into you, gripping your hips. You squeak, lashes fluttering as your breaths come out in puffs, adjusting to how almost easily he stretches you. He rubs at you a little more, and he sinks in the rest of the way. A low moan is his reward, followed by one of his own. Murdock hardly moves at first, simply grinding within you and rocking his hips in shallow movements. Then, suddenly, he draws back all the way and snaps his hips against yours, and you yelp in surprise. You aren’t given much of a reprieve before he does it again. And again. And again. And each time, you let out a shout, although you try to muffle yourself, thinking you hear footsteps in the hall. At any moment, someone from the staff could come in here. Does he know this?

Better question is, does he care? You’re not sure if you want to admit that it kind of turns you on.

Murdock starts a steady pace, not so intense as before but just as overwhelming. You’re panting already, struggling to keep quiet. He notices and chuckles. "Go ahead and scream." His command is uncannily punctuated by muffled screams from within the haunted house proper. "Do you really think they can hear you over everyone else’s, let alone the sounds from the haunted house itself?" His breath is hot by your ear. "Nobody's going to investigate, sweet thing. I have you all to myself, now."

That shouldn’t excite you as much as it does, holding back a whimper, yet you can’t hold back the way you tighten around him. He slows, as if making sure of something, then growls. “Oh, naughty thing. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

You clamp your mouth shut, hoping that if you don’t answer, he’ll leave it alone. But alas, your body betrays you once more, and Murdock stops, a certain something sharp that you forgot about dragging against your neck just enough for you to be aware of it, your breath catching. “Answer me, kitten.”

“Yes, sir.” The reply rushes from your lips with more neediness than you thought it would have.

“First you let your ‘kidnapper’ fuck you, now this?” he teases, clicking his tongue with mock disappointment. “Seems I need to learn more about my kitten.”

Your face flushes intensely. It’s no different than when he’s chased you out in the woods, and he knows this. He just can’t help himself…but also he’s more than willing to play into the role of pursuer. This you know well.

“Maybe I should be making you beg more for me to fuck you.” His gloved hand trails along your thigh. “But I’m much too impatient for that.”

His grip grows tight enough to bruise, his thrusts growing intense to match, and you let out a sound unlike any you’ve made thus far, wild and raw and overwhelmed with pleasure. Murdock laughs, triumphant and deep like his thrusts, and more than tinged with lust. It almost seems to settle into your bones.

“God. What a rush you give me.”

His pace is technically slower now, but that doesn’t matter with the way your eyes roll with every impact. You feel him lean over, but don’t know what’s happening until his lips reach your neck, kissing and sucking the skin he can find. Your moan is so whorish that it would embarrass you under different circumstances. His lips curl against your neck, although you barely comprehend that’s what’s happening. You try and reach your hand to your clit, but he beats you to it, only to rub so harshly that you practically sob out a cry. “FUCK!”

“If you insist,” he says, his strained voice giving away how much you’re affecting him. That hand travels back up to hold your hip in a vice grip. He lets out that same guttural growl from earlier, this time low and long, and with it directly in your ear, you nearly lose your mind, fluttering madly around him. You're so close—

"There it is. There we are." Murdock growls again, shorter but nowhere less effective. "Do it. Cum. Scream for me."

Despite being so tightly wound, you’re almost not sure if you can obey…until he groans and slams once more into you—and with a shriek, you are undone, clenching wildly around him and thighs trembling with an orgasm more intense than you expected. Murdock grunts in surprise, trying to continue fucking you through it. Your mind fractures with every attempted stroke, whimpering and babbling curses.

“Oh fuck—”

Murdock grunts once, twice, then he’s spilling inside you, cock pulsing harshly, the heat of him and his skin flush against yours driving you mad. He gasps and huffs and puffs, hand blinding finding you and rubbing again just enough to feel you clench around him harder. You keen loudly, practically a shriek in and of itself, legs threatening to give out as your body is kept on that intense plateau.

Eventually, the rush of cum slows, as does his throbbing inside you, and your own body is, mercifully, allowed to relax, still fluttering but not actively climaxing. The both of you pant heavily, catching your breaths as the two of you recover. His hands slide over your body, the strange dichotomy of skin and leather over and under your clothes. Murdock slips from you, and you’re too tired yet to be disappointed by it. He guides you in rolling you onto your back, and you don’t resist, grateful to give your legs a break from supporting you.

You blink almost blearily at where he ought to be, your eyes needing to adjust again to the lighting. You find your legs spread wide, almost folded in half, and his cockhead against your entrance once more. He doesn’t do anything at first, probably just taking you in. It’s a welcome, true reprieve. His bare hand brushes against your cheek, and you lean into it on instinct. 

While maybe the break ought to last longer, Murdock is true to his word and impatient to have you. As he slides into you again with an unabashed moan that’s matched with your own, it strikes you as always that he’s already—still?—half hard again. If there’s one guarantee about Murdock among the other guarantees, it’s that he doesn’t stay soft for long.

Now, you can see him, face closer to yours. Even in the dimness, there's no mistaking that hunter's glint in his eyes. "Hello, sweetheart," he says, a wicked grin on his lips. "Miss me?"

He's devouring your mouth before you can respond, head spinning while he takes over your senses. His thrust scrambles what few thoughts you had left, eyes rolling into your head with a loud moan swallowed by him. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and he groans into your mouth. Your mind tumbles again.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Murdock pants against your lips, watching your unfocused expression as he resumes pounding into you. All you can manage is a long whine. “How much more, hm? How much more can you take while I show you just how much I missed you?”

You don’t know. You can’t even think enough to be able to consider how much more. 

But you’re certainly about to find out.

#lemon #x reader #Murdock x reader #minors dni #gender neutral reader #afab reader #gn reader #cw knife #a year in the making folks #happy halloween~~ #murderplier x reader

[happyinjection]

♠️♥️High Card Short Story 10 “A Visitor at Sunfields” (1/3)♦️♣️

Sunfields has a visitor. Finn’s childhood, as told by Lindsey…

Original: https://twitter.com/highcard_pj/status/1667373520752607233

Author: https://twitter.com/poipheno

Artist: https://twitter.com/ebimoji3

Thank you always for your patronage. Please, have a seat. I’m afraid we don’t have much to offer.

Hey, you can’t come in here. I’ve always told you not to disturb our guests when they visit, haven’t I? They are not here for fun.

Come on, out you go, out out. We can play later, okay?

—Apologies. Sorry for the noise…..

Well, it is always crowded around here. Although the children have all kinds of personalities, everyone has a smile on their faces when they come here. That’s what I’m most proud of.

Yes, you got it right. Sunfields earned its name from the flower of sun… the sunflower. Every year, I grow sunflowers in my backyard. In the summer, when the fields of flowers come into bloom… they look very beautiful.

To make the children smile as bright as the sunflowers, is what the two former directors who had also raised me built this facility for.

That’s right, I was raised here myself… that being said, I still live here, but I was actually the first to graduate. I had other jobs as well, but since the couple has grown old and has no heirs, I took over the business early on. Err, I’ve been running it all by myself. I’m not very good at managing money, so it has been somewhat tough… ah, forgive me. This is not the kind of thing you should tell your guests, is it.

…..Yes, that’s true. He was the first child to graduate after I became the director. As a result I have a lot of memories with him, and I worry about him a lot.

When he first arrived here, he had been so tiny… I could never imagine him becoming the adult he is right now. He also spoke so little, and the other children would say, “I’ve never seen that kid smile.” On top of that, he barely touched his meals, so he was getting thinner and thinner…..

As you probably know, at that time he had no idea why he was here… or rather, no memory of it, so neither we or he knew anything about him. He kept some kind of a trump card, but then we also knew nothing about it.

But there is this one day when we were rehearsing a song together for Christmas. I was accompanying the song on a piano, but instead of singing, he was staring at me.

I have a policy not to force children to do things against their wishes, so I let him sit on my lap and not sing. At that time, I thought that if he was interested, he should take a closer look.

But then….. tink, tink, he began to hit some notes along to my chords. At first I thought he was just hitting them randomly, but he did it right on cue. They were just single notes, but it was a duet, so to speak.

It did not seem to be a song he knew… so I tried to make him sit properly on a chair, and then…..

I was really surprised!

He played a similar song smoothly!

Even the kids were also excited….. the rest of the children came from troubled households and none of them had ever taken piano lessons before, so… they kept cheering on him and he began to play more often.

I would never forget, the embarrassed smile he had on his face at that time. It looked exactly like a sunflower….. that was that child’s true face.

What happened after that was history. He started to open up to me, as well as the other kids….. because of his personality, he often got into fights with other children….. I’m not sure if I should say this, but it made me happy. That child is someone who acts on his emotions, rather than his thoughts.

Don’t get me wrong, though, he does strike me as a clever kid. Ahaha, is that surprising? He hated studying, so even now he is not the best at it.

Getting back to the topic….. to him who had no memory, ever since he was a child it never mattered at all. The one standing in front of me is just himself, who has formed bonds with everyone else.

Therefore, rather than searching for who he actually was, we build relationships with everyone from the ground up, create memories we would never forget for the rest of our lives… everything that we did together had been piling up.

So for him, Sunfields is his home. It may be inevitable for him to feel that way……

Yes. He considers Sunfields to be his own home and the other children his own family. It’s true that some kids eventually find foster parents along the way, but until they get used to it… they are free to get into my bed and cry until morning comes. Thankfully, they also see me as their own parent.

But, there’s a limit to what I can do….. you also need to create a real family outside of the orphanage. Among the children who have graduated, he is the one who keeps returning most often. Of course it makes me happy….. but someday I must tell him that that’s not how it’s supposed to go.

That being said, I can’t convey what I meant clearly either….. this is beyond my capabilities.

Eh?

…..Hahaha. I agree.

I can’t tell him this, but I’m very proud of that child. To me, every single one of them is special, but the more difficult they are to deal with, the harder it is to see them leave the family. Besides, he is kinder than anyone else. As he grew older, he began hanging out with kids outside who are a bit unruly, so he might be misunderstood, but….. he cares a lot about others, and there are not many who can be as compassionate as he is.

…..Ah, good grief.

See, he is back again. He never contacts me in advance.

♠️♥️♦️♣️

TL notes: I’m in no way a professional translator so if you find any mistakes, please do not hesitate to inform me right away. It’s been too long… life hasn’t been very kind. I still remember about the novel though, and there were a lot of interesting podcasts. Well, it is what it is lmao. SS update around 6/20!

#high card #highcard #short story #hcss #lindsey betz #finn oldman #translation

[heimdallsram]

Im such a sucker for your series 😭 its like my guilty pleasure, i can't wait to see their relationship develop,,, quick question (if thats all right,) do you have any tips on how to get heimdall's personality down? It seems like its a common wall that some of the fandoms writers are blocked by, i hope you can shed some insight on how you go about it👍

Of course! And I totally understand getting blocked by it, Heimdall is by no means easy to write; every scene he's in, it takes me a lot of thought. I'm not good with uppity, smarter than thou, asshole characters, but I usually do end up loving them regardless. I think it's a habit at this point, haha.

I've heard this analogy before, and I'm sure it's been spread around Tumblr many times, but a character is like an onion. There's the thinner outer layers, the ones they only want you to see that are usually vibrant, run over with color, but that is merely an illusion. When you peel to the deeper layers, they get thicker, shorter, more full of flavor and less colorful--unappealing, to some, or unappealing to themselves? That's for the beholder to decide. And when you get to the core, it's the best part for cooking, or writing, in this instance.

So Heimdall is an onion, much like any other character is an onion. A good reference would be, and don't laugh at me for this, Kratos. Kratos did not end up the man he has become without struggle and sacrifice; Heimdall, on the other hand, has not had to sacrifice or struggle to get where he has in life (from what we know of him in the game) at all. He's spoiled, been brought up by nine mothers who, by all regards, gave him the love Odin did not--but as we all know, you seek what you cannot have, and for Heimdall, that is both Odin's love and approval, and also... the desire to be useful.

It is a simple desire, when boiled down to it, but isn't that what most characters want? What they will never have? Freya wanted Baldur's happiness, selfishly, and his protection, but in the end, she could not have what she wanted; Kratos desired peace, but due to his curse and desire to protect Atreus, he could not have it until he struggled once more; Odin sought knowledge over death and the afterlife, but he paid the price for it through Ragnarök and through his countless marriages and children.

Heimdall's shallow, vain, bully-like personality is only a small part of what we are allowed to see of him. During his fight, and death, we see more of him, but only a fraction: he does not want anyone to control his fate, when he lives or dies. This is probably largely due to the fact that Odin goes to the extremes to get what he wants, even using his children to do so. I would not put it past him to have something to do with Heimdall's closeness to Bifrost, but that's something for later.

Back on to the topic, though, Heimdall is complex. Add on to what we know of him and what we can see and analyze, he has serious depth that was not explored, as he was a means to an end, in a sense. And to a degree, he probably knew that behind his false sense of bravado. He has gone all his life serving Odin, never doubting him, the most loyal Aesir in all of Asgard. But that kind of loyalty will never come without a price. Heimdall has no life save to monitor humanity and the wall; he has no trust in those around him, save Odin, because he knows what they are thinking, what their intentions are; he opens up, momentarily, about Gulltoppr, but even then, it's the more shallow attention seeking version, because animals are, above all, honest. They cannot lie.

Can you imagine such an existence? Living with the knowledge that you have to know what everyone thinks of you, how they doubt you, constantly, without any way of controlling it? Heimdall would have to had learned that control, as nothing is ever innate. That kind of life breeds isolation, loneliness, and above all, once more, the desire to be loved, useful. His mothers are no longer in the picture by the time the game begins, so we can assume that Odin does not give him any attention as they would have. And we do not know, truly, if he was separated from them or left willingly.

So, forgive me for the rambling tirade, but my tips, with all regards to what I have said, would be this:

• Heimdall will have hidden anger and mistrust. How would he attempt to overcome that, if persuaded to do so? How would that affect him if he had someone to trust, a lover, a friend, involved?

• A father figure will have precedence when a mother is absent. Heimdall is loyal to Odin. How does he choose to reflect that loyalty? How does he deflect his doubt about his father even as the rest of his family suffers?

• Heimdall does not seem the type to consider Odin's other children family. Would he be deeply impersonal and snarky? The idea of a family would likely revolt him. Think of how he mocked Atreus to Kratos; this is the mocking of a wounded child who pushes his inferiority and experiences onto others. Heimdall will struggle with this.

• Odin, for whatever reason, inspires loyalty. Heimdall is the enforcer of that loyalty. How far would he go for Odin? What is he driven by? The answer is up to you.

• For the sake of fanfiction, would Heimdall be open to a partner/lover? I honestly do not think so. He has proven to be doubtful and mistrustful from the get go, but, but, but, he has shown to also be mischievous for his own gain. But with time, effort, and proof that you are not a liar? Maybe he would consider it, and for Heimdall I think that would speak volumes.

• In addendum to that: actions vs words. Heimdall is mouthy as hell. But notice, in the game, that his actions do not match his words. He taunts, jeers, yes, but while fighting Atreus, he is calm, waiting for openings, chipping at his esteem. While in the fight with Kratos, as he is close to dying, he is far from calm: he is not in control. His actions are wild, frenzied, but they are also alive, while brief.

• Heimdall does not come easy to write, especially if you are doing a deep dive into his psyche. If you are writing something short, concise, and purely self indulgent, I would say not to worry too much about his portrayal. Be accurate, to a point, but let your ideas take you away. If you want to be more serious, more dark and brooding, take the onion approach as I did. Think about how, at each stage, how he would reveal himself, be the tiniest bit more vulnerable.

• There is obviously creative freedom to be respected here. So, you can imagine Heimdall as you like, truly, but blending that line between Canon and fiction is... chef's kiss. You could take it anywhere: he may be secretly introverted within, unable to cope with living in a society like Asgard, so he seeks the wall instead; or, pushed aside for Thor and Baldur, Odin sees no use for him except to walk the wall and slowly exposes the doubt he harbors. Really, the possibilities are endless!

This is getting very long, as I seem to have a habit of doing, but my point is this: treat him like he's something new and undiscovered. Write him from a point of view that is solely yours, even if it may seem inaccurate. Look at him like a fascinating new creature that you wish to study, decipher, poke and prod at; figure out what makes him tick.

Figure out what secrets he harbors deep within.

I hope this was helpful, anon! And if not to you, maybe someone else will get something out of this. 💕

#gow x reader #god of war #heimdall gow #heimdall x female reader #heimdall x reader #heimdallsram asks

[cerenemuxse]

Bold of you to assume I wouldn't do a monster engine and bold of you to assume that the first vic- engine wouldn't be Edward. /j

Inspired by the aus of @ohjeeztrains and @gummybuggy

Monster engines are so damn cool.

I mixed in a bunch of animals because I said, "Fuck it. Hybrids ftw." It's so random. I chose dogs, horses, and rhinos. Yes, rhinos. I was going to add horns and I just realized I forgot but you know what, I think its fine like this. I tried fitting on horns earlier but it failed. It looks really odd. The specific breeds I chose for Edward originate from Scotland, because of course I go that deep. 💀💀💀💀

So he's based on the Clydesdale horses, the Gordon Setter dogs, the common rhinos, and the bull horns were from the Highland bulls. Can't do anything without wanting to do research.

The "leaders" (leading wheels) are based on rhinos and the "drivers" (driving wheels) are a combination of horses back legs and the dog paws. I was originally going to make them just horse legs but I started thinking about Emily, who would have "trailers" (trailing wheels). I really want them to be able to kick back but I'm not sure about Emily. Maybe she could kick forward like kangaroos. 💀 Girl stands on her damn trailers and her drivers kick forward, because that's where the power really is. Or she can do both.

I really took in the fighting aspect of it, simply because I find it interesting and it might be something they do more often than their engine counterparts, considering they're (basically) animals. They are slightly easier to tick off. Edward has a pretty good tolerance compared to the others. Basically, start biting or swatting at him and he won't be mad initially. But the longer the biting and swatting goes, the more he gets mad. He'll attack suddenly with a minor warning, which is low growling.

The long tail of nothing but hair looks harmless but its actually used a lot in fighting, too. It's pretty damn heavy so with enough force, it enough to knock another engine over. The ones with the long tails will also cuddle with said tails during the cold seasons or allow the Tank Iron Horse (oh yeah, they're called Iron Horses because why not) to cuddle into them. So now that i mention the name, let me explain it. Iron Horses refers to steam engines only. There's two main types of them: Tank and Tender. Tank Iron Horses have much thinner tails and tend to be small. If they're a Tender-Tank Iron Horse, it's definitely longer but not as thick as the Tender Iron Horses' tails. There's two forms. Regular engine forms, which existed first, and the Iron Horse forms. The Iron Horse forms were extremely unexpected when steam engines began running on railways. It's weird how they work. They can eat many things. Every single one of them is chunky as hell because I said so. They have cat-like instincts and all sorts of different species mixed in, which makes them weirder. Edward will squawk like a seagull. I might actually give him feathers, which i was debating but completely forgot. 🤡 Arthur probably has some mouse aspects to him as his class was nicknamed "Mickey Mouse Tanks." Rebecca could get swirly tail because her class is nicknamed "Spam cans," referring the cans "SPAM" is sold in, which is made of pork. Those tiny details. And I told myself I wouldn't let myself get so invested.

For other engines, I haven't figured it out.

Oh, and the "man-bun" is just the funnel. It slops up like Spencer's funnel does but depending on the height of the funnels, the slope is different.I think that's it. This was all improvised because damn it, this wouldn't leave my thoughts.

Not important, but the "NWR" logo was taken from James' ref sheets because I did not feel like drawing it. The 2 wasn't. I may have reference Edward's old ref sheets but the font is different to the one I chose for the engines. I also erased those layers so I don't even have access to it. Speaking of said design, this is the final palette for Edward's 1992-1995 rebuild. I also got brass wrong. Its not the same as Edward's eye color. Its much more yellow and it looks green when next to green colors.

I want to talk more about it but it'll start diverging into other characters and this post is already getting long. I don't like making posts long. ;-;

#EoSR but monster engines #ttte edward #my art #my concepts #og post wouldn't show up in tags for no reason #i usually ignore it but its bothersome because it means not everything shows up on my blog or anywhere #one of those drawings that i held off drawing due to the anatomy #i think i did pretty decent #i have been sketching a couple other monsters engine that were more similar to ohjeeztrains' #i didnt like how i was doing it so i changed it to this #this is the only concept of this interpretation so far #i have sooo much more in my brain than written here #no its not written anywhere else #ttte #ttte au

[ashthehermit]

Harry Potter & shallow worldbuilding

I probably shouldn't wade into these waters, but once again, I am demonstrating that my self-preservation instincts are poor, and that my family refuse to listen to my rants anymore. [TW: Harry Potter and all that entails].

I was a little confused when I saw the trailer for Hogwarts Legacy (source of ire for me, and many many other people).  I had thought that it was supposed to be set in Victorian England, but honestly, it looked a lot like it was still set in the 1990s (or the early 2000s, the films never came down on exact dates).  Perhaps this is because the movies - upon which all subsequent media has based its design - relied heavily on Victorian and early 20th century design elements.  Think Hogwarts' gothic architecture; the ministry's early London Underground tiles; and the entire interior of Grimmauld Place.  This wasn't in any way a bad thing.  Harry Potter, as a story, made good on a sense of whimsy and old British aesthetics.  The wizarding world, having no need of technology, would not modernise its aesthetics at the same rate as the non-magical world.  It was a design choice that was of great consternation to my mother.  We went to see Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, she whispered to me 'why do they have wheelie suitcases?  I thought this was set in the 1930s?'

It makes me wonder now, why doesn't the world in Hogwarts Legacy look much different to its predecessor?  I suppose that they are wearing vaguely Victorian clothes, but shouldn't we be looking at some 1700s aesthetics, or is the wizarding world caught in a perpetual loop of Victoriana?

Truth is, the Harry Potter universe has fallen foul of the problem that irks most fantasy universes once they are analysed for too long.  It isn't logically coherent.  Like the history of Westeros, the history of the wizarding world repeats itself perpetually, never looking or behaving especially differently.  In a series of children's books that were focused on the life of one teen, the cracks didn't show.  Sure, Voldemort was in power twice, and before him there was Grindelwald (for all intents and purposes, Voldemort but European).

J.K. Rowling's world building is fine for what it was in the beginning (again, the life of one teen in Britain), or as fine as it could be.  The world was not greatly expansive, but it didn't need to be.  The best parts of it were whimsical and extensions of the cheerier side of Britain.  There was the Knight bus, a purple routemaster.  The entrance to the Ministry of Magic was inside a red phone box, one of the great symbols of British tourism.  The primary setting was a boarding school.  One of the most popular elements is the house system, which is just a more complicated extension of your average school house system.  It is touted as a categorisation of identity, but it obeys all the rules of school houses.  Siblings going into different houses is rare (to the point that it's only mentioned once) because family groups always go into the same house (unless your school just doesn't care about houses).  The bigotry in the series is also British by design.  It ends up being a simplified version of classism, that features more in subtext than text.  This being said, there isn't a great deal of specificity in the world building.  I still don't know where Hermione's home town is.  I only know that her parents are dentists and they like to ski.  Where does Malfoy live, apart from in a manor that has peacocks in the garden?  These are the kind of flaws you notice when you have analysed the story for as long as I have.

The worldbuilding gets thinner the more expansive it gets.  The students from Beauxbatons are more or less French stereotypes, Fleur especially.  Durmstrang is the same, but Bulgarian.  Much has already been said on Rowling's shallow naming conventions (Cho Chang, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and now Sirona Ryan).  Without the crutch of something being British and vaguely quaint, the world loses all of its charm, and all of its logic.

Fantastic Beasts, for some reason, begins in 1920s New York.  Most of the richness of the setting is achieved by production design rather than the script (incidentally, flashbacks set in Hogwarts still manage to look like it's the early 2000s).  Conflict in the story is wrought from an American government that is more anti-muggle than the British equivalent.  If it is allegorical in any way, I do not understand it.  But let's not pretend Rowling's allegory has ever been any good.  Claims that Lupin's lycanthropy was a metaphor for HIV and AIDs only serve to lessen the character.  At best, it's an allegory for general prejudice.  The assertion that Lupin, at the age of six, was attacked by Greyback with the express intention of passing on AIDs, is well, it's dicey.  Rowling might have intended to create an allegory for stigma around 'blood-borne conditions', but failed to consider the extra baggage that that allegory might entail.  

The same is true for Fantastic Beasts, where the nonsense is turned up to twenty.  There's a group of muggles who somehow know about the existence of magic.  They name themselves after Salem, despite the Salem witch trials being appropriate for neither this setting nor this geographic region.  Any commentary on the nature of the Salem witch trials is hardly a commentary on the nature of America at large, but rather a commentary on a single Puritan colony.  Rowling takes pieces of Native American culture for her lore, with no understanding of the cultural legacy at play.

It gets even weirder in the sequels, which zip through countries so fast there's barely any time for worldbuilding.  There's a circus!  Why!  I don't know.

For no reason at all, there's a deer that chooses the outcome of an election.  In a baffling moment, Grindelwald (as played by font of virtue, Johnny Depp) tells a group of wizards that they have to kill muggles because they are going to start a world war.  He is wizarding Hitler, and that isn't a subtle analogy.  In that same scene, Queenie Goldstein, a character heavily coded as Jewish, joins wizard Hitler because he promises her that she will be able to marry her muggle beau.  The man that just gave a speech about killing muggles, is apparently all for marriage equality!  By all means, it doesn't make any sense.  It’s far from being respectful either.

There are of course attempts to make the wizarding world more diverse in Fantastic Beasts, but without any attempt to make these characters more genuine.  There's an Asian woman, but she's Voldemort's snake and she's going to be beheaded by Neville in a few decades.  The second film has Zoe Kravitz!  Yay!  But she's part of a needlessly convoluted tale in which a powerful white man hypnotises a black woman to be his wife, and then she dies?  I don't know what to make of that.  It's not good representation, and by gum it isn't good storytelling!  The Fantastic Beasts trilogy has all the perspective of Emily in Paris.

Hogwarts Legacy can hardly improve upon this worldbuilding, because it comes from an unstable foundation.  I might have been more understanding had the game been set in say, not Hogwarts, or even a Hogwarts that was fundamentally different from the Hogwarts that we already know.  The worldbuilding remains as shallow as it ever was, and with all the bigotry retained.  Of course, the main story is based on a piece of anti-semitic folklore, expanded upon in the books, and even more so in the game.  The problem being that Hogwarts Legacy can only make sales based on nostalgia.  It can't be that different from the world of the novels, because no one is bold enough to alter the world and alienate people who want nothing more than to experience their childhoods all over again.  As such, the shallow worldbuilding is laid bare over and over again, to the point that it is no longer a setting in service of a series of novels.  It now has to be a real, coherent world, which it fails at.  We have to examine the nature of Hogwarts houses, and the mechanics of time turners (thank you Cursed Child), and the reasons why house elves don't want their freedom.  

They'll never get freedom anyhow, because Hermione's attempts at activism are used for comedy.  The world at the end of Deathly Hallows is not greatly different to the world at the beginning.  Voldemort is dead, but we are not assured of any big changes.  The world returns to what it was.  For all that The Legend of Korra may not have lived up to its predecessor, it made an effective attempt at showing that the world had been altered by the actions of our heroes.  In the Cursed Child, nothing is different.  The story spends all of its time looking to the past and imagining increasingly unlikely alternate timelines (Cedric turns evil?  Ron marries Padma Patil?).  Hogwarts Legacy does not set up the world of Harry Potter, nor does it fundamentally alter it.  The status quo is preserved.  Like Westeros, it cannot change. The new game does nothing with the world, and acts in its detriment.  Anyhow, it’s not a good work of fantasy.  J.K. Rowling loves the status quo.   That much is evident.  Don’t buy this game!  Support trans people instead.

#hogwarts legacy #harry potter #jkrowling #fantastic beasts #cursed child #rant #I've no idea why you can use unforgiveable curses in it also #what was the goal #make it grimdark? #it's still a kids book lads #it ain't skyrim #can't believe i'm inadvertently praising skyrim #transphobia #I know people get tired of activism #but you should also know that it's just bad storytelling #the problems were there early on #and they just got more evident when there were stories set outside of the OG series #the people behind this franchise really want to lean into diversity as a promo #but they can only do it in this really shallow way #that reinforces the Cho Chang of it all #and emphasises how the MC of all of the works (barring game for obvious reasons) has been a white male in a similar vein #it's somewhat repetitive the kids might say #but good lord fantastic beasts was bad #so I can't believe the game is any good #and it sure doesn't have anything interesting to say about victorian england #antisemitism

[spaceorphanssecondbreakfastclub]

Reading Agatha Christie: A Murder is Announced

Lesbians!

Okay, now that I have your attention...

Miss Marple is back! In a book that I liked but didn't love. We're now in the 50s, and Christie is turning the corner into her later writings where Miss Marple is going to show up a whole lot more of her books as Poirot is slowly phased out.

The books premise is a good one -- there's a newspaper announcement that a murder is going to happen and the people of a small town gather at the time and place to see if it really happens. And it does! And of course the mystery unravels from there - as Miss Marple helps figure it all out.

The set up is intriguing and back are the plethora of side plots and web of characters and it is all kind of fun as Christie uses a lot of her old tricks in a new and interesting way. I think what brings this one down a little is that it does feel a little bloated at times, therefor feeling a little draggy. But it is rewarding to people who pay close attention as there are a lot of little details that really point you in the right direction if you're paying close enough attention.

The character work is a little thinner than it has been in the previous few novels, and some of the plot elements do strain a bit of credulity, but I feel like if you go with it and enjoy Miss Marple being at her best then it is a bit of fun. And the whole second half picks up a lot of speed -- making it an easy read once you really get into it.

I think what really stood out to me more than anything was the context the book kept itself in? There's definitely some post-war related things going on, and, as Christie was getting older at the time, some lamenting at the way things use to be -- as well as general grumbling about the youth of the day (which is funny now - but I know Christie is going to get even more grumbly as we go on). It's definitely a snapshot of what an older woman in England during the early 50s would be going through.

Which brings me to the whole lesbian thing -- something this book is known for is the fact that it does feature a pair of unmmaried women with a close relationship, living together, and subtly hinting at the fact that they are, indeed, in a romantic relationship. They aren't the main characters - but it's interesting that its here -- as Christie doesn't really do LGBT characters very often, and unfortunately, they're often villainized when she does.

It's also worth noting that there's a lot of conversations about what it is to be a woman -- and the expectations and realities of being one. It's an interesting commentary that I think wasn't necessarily Christie's intention but a byproduct of Christie seemingly using these books as a way to explore the female character.

Anyway - this is one that I'd recommend. There is a bit of humor and a lot of twist and turns and I ended up liking it more than I thought I would when it started. It's a solid Miss Marple book and a good examination of what life was like at that point in time.

#s.o. reads agatha christie #agatha christie #a murder is announced #books #book review