#[through gritted teeth] posting my work to make myself get out of my comfort zone

[ascendingconures]

my abomination of an animatic i will probably never finish. The backgrounds are 3d, characters are done in 2d with Grease Pencil

#tma #michael shelley #michael distortion #gertrude robinson #blender #i want to finish it but its over 3000 frames and my 2d art skills are not as good as my 3d skill and my animating 2d in general is kind of. #rough #to say the least #and drawing humans is hard for me #[through gritted teeth] posting my work to make myself get out of my comfort zone

[whirlybirbs]

⋆    —–   CARHOP COOL, 3.

summary: you and steve talk. apologies are exchanged. steve wishes he had friends like you and robin a year ago. you might like steve. robin can tell. pairing: steve harrington x reader, post season three word count: 1.6k a/n: we love some good dialogue work & h.s. regrets/nostalgia, don’t we?  

                                       ⤌   PREVIOUS   ⋆   NEXT   ⤍

If he was being honest, you were the last person he ever thought he’d find himself next to on a summer night, perched on the bumper of your hatchback at the drive-in’s. 

Even more so, you’re the last person he would ever see himself having a big, ol’ honking crush on. 

High school hierarchy had established that you were both very different people and for the sake of keeping the metaphorical crown of Hawkins High King on his head, he’d stuck with what he knew. And that was being a huge dick and having good hair, mostly, but also keeping the chit-chat with the weird kids to a minimum.

Now, Steve’s realizing that you aren’t a weird kid and if anything, he’s the weird one. You seem to humor it, though -- frosty demeanor quickly melting with every passing minute spent in the setting summer sun in the back of your car. 

(Robin’s taking a suspiciously long time getting a bucket of popcorn. She’s been gone for fifteen minutes at least.)

“Okay, sure,” Steve drawls, leaning back on his palms and swinging his legs, “But if you had to pick...”

You grimace, pulling one leg up to your chest and screwing your brows. Steve’s face quirks into an amused smile, leaning to watch the way your thought process plays out on your face. He could care less about your answer to the trivial question, mostly interested and enamored with the fact you’re actually talking to him, never mind laughing at his jokes.

“This is hard.”

“Yeah,” he chirps, hair bouncing as he shakes his head, “See?”

“I dunno,” you lean back against the side of the trunk, turning to eye him critically, “And you said I had to eat it everyday -- but, does that mean every meal?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve rattles off, raising a finger with each word, “Breakfast, lunch and dinner. All three meals.”

“What about snacks?” 

“-- They have to be smaller bits of the Hawkins High meal of choice.”

You groan and Steve grins to himself. 

“I guess chicken patties,” you huff, giving in to his line of questioning, “That was, like, the best lunch they served, so --”

“Oh, amazing choice.”

“You think?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve waves, dropping his hand to his jeans and speaking as if he knows what he’s talking out, “Dress it up, dress it down, put it on a salad --”

You snort. You nudge him with the toe of your skate shoe. “What about you?”

“Uh,” Steve shrugs, “I packed my lunches everyday, actually --”

You blink. “Really? Steve Harrington carried a lunchbox around?”

He raises his hands. “I know, cool kid faux pas --”

You laugh at that, dropping your chin to your knee and shrugging a bit. “Who cares. You cool kids weren’t even that cool anyways.”

Steve dramatically blinks at you, laughing a bit as he pretends to be offended. “Uh, says who?”

“Me, the girl who had spitballs in her hair for three periods because of you!”

It’s different this time -- you’re laughing as you say, leaning to flick his ear. Steve makes a surprised sound, dodging the attack and playfully shoving you back.

“Hey! That wasn’t me!”

“You and Tommy H. shared the same brain cell, Steve.”

“Rude.”

Your jaw drops as you laugh, startling another grin out of Steve as you shove his shoulder. He laughs as you do, raising his hands in surrender. 

“I’m kidding -- I know, I... Listen, I was -- I was the worst in high school. Robin’s made that pretty clear,” he says, turning. His converse poke yours, knees pulled to his chest as he leans on the back stereo to face you completely. The Rolling Stone’s song Beast of Burden is playing through the radio, “And I know I was. I’m... I’m sorry. For being the worst. And the spitball --”

You move to open your mouth.

“-- And the perm thing,” Steve raises a finger, eyes gentle, “And, like, every other instance where I was mean.”

Your mouth closes and your lips turn up into a content smirk.

“... Apology accepted.”

Steve blinks.

“... Really?”

You raise a brow. “Yeah...?”

“Wow,” he says, doe-eyes glued to the look on your face, “I thought... Okay. Cool. We’re... We’re cool?”

You exhale quickly, laughing a little before breaking into a wide smile. “Yeah. We’re cool. I’m... I’m not good at holding grunges anyway.”

A lie. Steve calls it.

“Yeah, okay, Frosty.”

Your jaw drops again, spurring Steve to grin and shrug, turning to face the blank screen. More cars have started to congregate now with the sun setting almost entirely. Still, Robin is nowhere to be seen.

You lean around, popping into his field of vision. You look amused.

You are.

“Hold on, ‘Frosty’?” you peel into a laugh, “What, like the snowman?”

“No, like, uh, like the Foreigner song?” he asks, corners of his lips quirking as his voice hikes into a high croon. He’s singing the song, “You’re as cold as ice --”

“Oh, come on --”

“I thought you were gonna punch me in the mouth,” he says, shoulder to shoulder with you, “Seriously -- the other night at Roll-o’s? It was, like, absolutely terrifying.”

“... Really?” you ask, whispering a little.

“Yeah, god -- if looks could kill,” he chirps, “I’d be in a shallow grave.”

“I... Sorry,” you say sheepishly, “I thought -- I thought you were still an asshole.”

Victory fleets across his face. “Does that mean I’m not anymore?”

You shoot him a look in retaliation. “I’m still deciding.”

“Okay,” he grins, “Okay. That works for me.”

You both slip into a comfortable, friendly silence that’s different -- there’s no malice in the way you nudge his shoulder with yours when you spy Robin juggling two huge containers of popcorn, moving quickly towards you both.

You’re about to make a joke about her taking her sweet time when she blurts out:

“I have to go.”

Both you and Steve blink at her as she shoves the popcorn into your lap and Steve’s.

“What?”

She’s wide-eyed, moving to smush herself between the both of you. You and Steve share a look, leaning around her to connect your gazes. She’s zoned out, face contorted into a look of absolute horror. 

What? he mouths.

I dunno, you shrug.

“Tammy Thompson,” Robin breathes, “Works at the convenience stand --”

You both perk up.

“Rob, that’s good --”

You nudge her, beaming. “Did you say hi?”

“Oh, did I -- I made an ass of myself -- she didn’t even remember me.”

Your face falls. And Robin makes a pained noise into her hands. Steve grits his teeth and winces, silence falling across the three of you -- then he speaks.

“I mean, you’re not missing much,” Steve wiggles the popcorn, “She still sings like a muppet.”

Your jaw drops for, like, the upteenth time tonight. “Steve!”

Robin groans. “He’s right!”

“I know he’s right,” you groan, “But --”

“Oooooh, don’t you want me baybee --” it’s not Steve Harrington singing, it’s Kermit.

And you’re laughing. 

It’s not soon before Robin is too, cracking a pained laugh through her internal suffering as he continues to croon in a muppet-styled serenade, aimed at both of you with the kind of theatrics that would have gotten his a lead in the spring musical.

That seems to remedy the moping as she leans into you and scoops up a handful of popcorn. She shoves it entirely into her mouth.

“It was awkward.”

“Seeing people from high school is always awkward,” you say, trying to ease her worry, “Remember when we saw Farrah Goodman when she worked at Kroger’s?”

Steve pulls a face. “She was mean.”

“Vicious,” you correct, “An absolute bulldog.”

“Yeah,” Robin mumbles, “She tried to give us coupons.”

“Coupons?”

“Yeah, for adult diapers,” you supply, “And we were too scared to say no, so we just smiled and laughed and said, ‘oh we will be using these, for sure’, like assholes.”

“She was scary!” Robin cries as Steve descended into a round of laughter, “Did you ever see her deck girls during soccer games? She lived for bloodsport.”

“I can say,” Steve snorts, “I never went to a soccer game.”

“We know,” you groan, “It was our safe space.”

“Safe space?” Robin cries again, “Says you!”

“It was my safe space,” you offer Steve.

Silence settles between the three of you as you begin to munch on the popcorn, ignoring the fading of Robin’s remorse -- Steve breaks the silence with a quiet string of words that catch you by surprise.

“I really wish I was friends with you both in high school.”

When you look over at him, he’s looking at his hands.

Robin watches the exchange, eyes light with a budding curiosity for how you’ll react. She’s pleasantly surprised when your usual hardened demeanor towards Steve seems to be absent. 

“... Really?”

Steve swallows, nodding a bit. He looks up, catching your eyes. 

“Yeah. I mean, maybe then my Senior year wouldn’t have sucked. I would have had... I dunno, I would have had real friends and --” his words trail off, voice splitting into an emotion like regret, “And I woulda been happy, probably.”

It’s like getting punched in the gut.

In a desperate attempt to move past the feelings his words stir in your chest, you speak quickly. 

“... Does that mean we’re cool?”

It makes Steve laugh, if only a little.

Robin feels like she’s watching from the outside, grinning like an idiot.

“Yeah,” he says, finally, brown eyes glued to your blooming smile, “You’re cool.”

Oh, this is good.

#carhop cool #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #joe keery imagine #steve harrington reader insert

[our-jensen-ackles-love]

Wicked Games; 7.

Jensen x Reader 

Summary:  He was poison. She was the whiskey. They were wrong. But then again they were so right.

Word Count: 2291

Warnings: SMUT. cheating. annd some fluff. 

Author’s Note: If it sucks, sorry guys. It’s unbeta’d, so all mistakes are completely mine. As always, chapters are posted once and a week. And my kinkbingo storyline will begin sometime this week as well. 

KO-FI   Feedback  Masterlist  Series Masterlist  AO3

SIX;

“I don’t really know what I did,” he said with a sigh while you watched the way his body went rigid for a moment. “I mean, I am here to help.”

You chewed your bottom lip some more while thinking about how you could explain this to him. In your line of work, all men were dogs, it was just what came with the job description, but Jensen always seemed to give you a little extra attention. The kind that you still didn’t think you deserved.

“Well,” you sat back, but you kept yourself close to him. “For starters, you always have treated me like a person. Like you wanted to get to know me even if I was dancing around half-naked in front of you.”

That got a slight shrug out of him. “I mean, I can’t really explain that.”

“Can you try?”

He let out a soft sigh and shifted in his seat a little bit so that he could face you head on. “Well, I’m about to get brutally honest here for a minute, if that’s okay?”

You couldn’t help the small chuckle, even though your voice still had that slight strain to it that always followed a good cry.  “Jensen, you literally just sat here and watched me bawl my eyes out while recounting the time that I’m pretty sure I was my weakest. So, please, be as brutally honest as you need to be.”

His gaze shifted for a moment like he was thinking through what you had just said, but when those beautiful green eyes of his shifted back to meet you - there was something different morphing through them.

“You know the other day when I brought up getting married to my wife at a young age?”

Nodding your head, you scooted close enough that your knees were touching, but decided against saying anything. “Well,” he blew out some air, turning his attention towards the dark television. “We lost the baby just shy of fourteen weeks - which is usually the safe zone, apparently.”

This time you reached over and gave his knee a small squeeze, especially when his voice gave the tiniest little crack. His hand reached over and overlapped yours while he continued on, “At first, I thought that it was okay, that we could move forward in our marriage and just keep trying. But with every month things got more and more discouraging and I began to realize that I married her for all the wrong reasons.”

You had to fight the urge to say ‘duh’ because you knew that it wasn’t the time or place to do so, but you really hoped that he was getting to the point of knowing that just because two people are going to have a baby together, it doesn’t mean that they need to be married. That was just your personal opinion and not one that everyone agreed with, so you had learned to keep your mouth shut on the matter. And, again, you had to remind yourself that this just wasn’t the time to say such a thing.

“When our five year wedding anniversary came around, we thought of the idea of trying IVF. But something about the idea wasn’t sitting right with me, well, something about Dee wasn’t sitting right with me.”

Your head tilted to the side and you knew that your eyebrow was a dead giveaway to what you were about to ask. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, his eyes squinting a bit as he stared in the distance. “I just always felt like.. like she purposely got pregnant as a reason to marry me.”

As soon as the words were out there, you felt the way they were weighing heavily on the man sitting next to you. “Is there a reason that you feel that way?”

“I can’t really pinpoint it other than I am convinced that when she told me she was pregnant, the baby wasn’t mine. Or that she was really even pregant to begin with. She went to her first doctor's appointment alone and then the next one I was supposed to tag along too, but she started bleeding a week before that. At the time though, I was too focused on trying to fix everything while keeping my name from being dragged through the mud.”

“Jensen.”

His hand shot up in a preventive gesture. “I know, I know. It, it just seemed like it was the only way to make sure this wouldn’t bite me in the ass as I was trying to make a name for myself.”

You chewed your lip in thought, trying to put yourself in his shoes and you could honestly see where he was coming from. All too often in the media and tabloids, you would see these handsome, famous men being taken advantage of from something in their pasts. More often these days you were seeing this nobody women coming forward and swearing that one of their children was whoever's and demanding a massive child support check on top of their fifteen minutes of fame.

“So, is that why you always spend time at the club, waiting until your wife goes to bed to sneak back home? It’s simply because you don’t want to lay with her at night?”

“It’s deeper than that.”

You huffed, trying to be understanding, but growing increasingly frustrated. “How much deeper can you get?”

His eyes searched your face for a moment, but there was no hiding your frustration with him at the moment. You waited while he continued to look over your features like he was trying to work the words out in his head. With each passing moment, your annoyance started to waver as he pulled himself closer to you - stretching out those long legs of his while he fingers reached for your own.

“Jen- ”

His mouth pushed on yours roughly, nothing compared to the last couple of times that the two of you had kissed. You felt his tongue graze over your bottom lip, his silent way of asking for permission to which you gladly gave him the answer he wanted. Jensen’s body moved forward, pushing towards you until you were laying flat on your back with him hovering over you carefully.

When he pulled away, still keeping his face just a mere inches from yours, all you could hear was the way your heart was pounding away in your chest. His voice was nothing more than a whisper as he spoke down to you, “Want to know why I want to get to know you?”

“Yes,” you answered, matching his breathless tone.

“I have never felt the way I feel towards my wife the way that I feel towards you. Call it some unexplainable connection.”

If there was a way for your heart to burst, you were pretty sure that his words would be the cause of it. “What are you saying?”

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the base of your throat before answering. “I’m saying that I wished I had met you first.”

There were no words needed and you sure as hell should have pushed him off and reminded him that he was married - you didn’t need that small little factor hanging over your head. And yet, your arms reached up and wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling his mouth to meet yours once more.

You both let out something close to a moan as Jensen shifted himself again so that he was sitting upwards and you were suddenly straddling his lap with hands tangled up in the length of his hair. Pulling away, you caught an up-close look at those freckles that seemed to play peek-a-boo some days, but when his lips nipped at your jaw - your focus went to what was going on between your legs at the moment.

There was a moment where the two of you just took a moment to use your hands and lips to explore parts of each other’s body that had been forbidden. When your lips found that one soft spot on his neck, you knew that it was all over for the two of you.

There was about to be no going back from this.

Jensen stood up suddenly, holding you up by your ass as he pressed his lips into yours once more with such a force, you would be surprised if there wasn’t a bruise there in the morning. When he pulled away, he searched your face once more for a moment. “Bedroom?”

“Please,” you nipped at his ear causing you to feel the goosebumps to form under your fingertips laced around the back of his neck. “The door on the right to the kitchen.”

He held you close while he made his way through the maze of your furniture and through the threshold of your, thankfully, clean room. He paused the foot of your bed, kissing you once more, only a little bit more gently than just mere seconds ago before loosening his grip on your behind and lowering the both of you to your bed.

The familiar feel of your oversized comforter pushed into the warmth of your t-shirt. The unusual cool felt refreshing against your flushed body. Wasting no time, you reached down and tugged at Jensen’s shirt until it was a heap by the foot of your bed while he was quick to get as much off of you as he could, leaving you completely exposed before him.

“Damn,” he whispered while undoing his belt, eyes raking down the length of your bare body. “I’ve imagined this so many times in my head, but I never once imagined that you could exceed my fantasies.”

His praise made you feel more alive than you had in years. “Just hurry up and get those pants off.”

He shot you a smirk before yanking his jeans off followed by his boxers. You couldn’t fight the way you bit your lip at what was before you, in all its glory. You had given this man enough lap dances to know that he was hiding something glorious down there, but now that you had it within your grasp, you had to lean up and give it a taste.

Your tongue licked his base slowly moving upwards towards his tip while your eyes flicked up to meet his momentarily while he gritted his teeth through several choice words. “Baby girl,” he groaned. “You’re going to kill me.”

Smirking, you sat back a little, still looking up at him from where you were leaning on the bed. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is; when I know exactly what I want.”

This time his finger traced your lips, dipping towards your collarbone, making its way through your curves and traveling towards your hips, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Your breath hitched when he found exactly what he was looking for and judging by the low growl he let out, it was exactly how he wanted you to be. His finger circled your clit slowly and carefully, making you lose your train of thought for a minute while he toyed with you. It didn’t take long for you to feel that tightness pull at the pit of your stomach, but that was hard to say if it was because you had thought about this for what felt every night in the last week or if it was because that man knew how to work his fingers.

“I keep condoms in that drawer right over there” you whispered, forcing your eyes open to see Jensen watching you with a hooded gaze.

He grunted and made his way over to where you directed, thankfully you had something in his size - probably one of the freebies the club always gave out from time to time. You felt like you had blinked and he was hovering over you again, pushing your back into the bed with a little more zealous than before.

His mouth connected with your skin again sending your already sensitive nerves into overdrive. “Are you okay with this?”

“More than okay.”

That seemed to be all he needed as his mouth molded into yours while he aligned himself with you, pushing in softly at first as you adjusted to feeling him inside of you before he began to move. You groaned, nails digging into his back as you waited for him to find his pace, but his lips didn’t leave contact with your body. With every thrust, they found their way from your lips to your shoulder to your neck.

His hand moved up to cup your breast as he picked up his pace before sliding its way in-between the two of you until they found your sensitive bud. He hands worked magic while his cock did wonders to parts of you that you didn’t even know existed. In what felt like mere minutes, you were a completely unraveled mess beneath him.

Jensen’s undoing seemed to follow behind you closely as he held himself close to you, his breath hot in your ear. “God, I’ve dreamt about this from the day I laid eyes on you.”

While you knew in the back of your mind what had just happened was severally fucked up - his words made your heart swell. “I can honestly say the same.”

He gave a soft laugh before placing a ginger kiss on your ear and pulling himself away from you and stumbling in the general direction of the bathroom, that stupid little smirk still plastered on his face. You were too wrapped up in this euphoria that the two of you had shared that it was impossible to hear the way his phone was vibrating violently across the floor.

--

FOREVERS: @spnwoman @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @xalgaliareptx @shayrey @winchesterhound @yourvoiceislikearose @chocolateturtlepeanutopera @alexwinchester23 @earthtokace @hobby27 @pisces-cutie @babykalika2001 @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernatural-teamfreewillpage-d @itssmallerontheoutside-13 @aeonian-forever @mirandaaustin93 @queenslandlover-93 @spnbaby-67 @akshi8278 @gh0stgurl @closetspngirl @waywardrose13 @theselilwonders @lizzietheizzie @mogaruke @roonyxx @maddiepants @daughterofthenight117 @adoptdontshoppets @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @deansyahtzee @screechingartisancashbailiff @rainflowermoon @wishingbuttercup @sandlee44 @whit85-blog @1000roughdrafts

WG: @maddiepants @the-is13 @katymacsupernatural @squirrelnotsam @flamencodiva @winchest09 @cap-just-said-language @pretty-fortune @squirrelnotsam @winchesterprincessbride @mizzzpink @mayaslifeinabox @holylulusworld @waitwhatsrealityagain @beautifulbowleggedangel @brindz30 @janicho88

#wicked games #Jensen Ackles #jensen ackles supernatural #jensen smut #jensen x #jensen x reader #jensen x reader insert #Jensen x You #jensen x y/n #supernatural #supernatural cast #supernatural rpf #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural reader insert #fanfiction #fandom #fanfic #smut #18+

[isthisthingeven0n]

unexpected : s.s

had a request for some scotty loving and I was writing this at the time.  this is actually copied from my other blog, but rewritten obviously. (other blog is very different to this safe to say.) hope you enjoy. if you wanna request something feel free to drop me an ask or a message. or any questions to get to know me better 

Lying half asleep in the warmth of my thick duvet it serves as one of my few reminders of home. A time when life felt easier and my understanding of living was as big as my kitchen is.

 In the distance blaring sounds, but in my dazed state I roll over and reach for my phone hitting it repeatedly yet it continues. Shuffling my body about to cocoon myself further I allow my subconscious to delve deeper into the radiating comfort of the cotton as my imagination floats off into unknown realms.

A loud bang cuts me out of my daze, abruptly forcing me back into reality. Sitting upright I force my duvet from my exposed skin, wearing nothing but a vest and pj shorts. Rubbing my eyes I pick my phone up to use for light considering the dark that emits into the shadows still visible. Stumbling across my room and bumping into furniture I reach the front door, opening it with a loud yawn as someone stares at me, fully dressed with wide eyes.

“How are you still inside! We have to get you outside now! There has been a fire in the building.” The man yells in concern as he ushers me out of my own home, still half asleep all I process is the word fire and my bare feet pick up pace along the dust ridden corridors as the alarm continues to blare almost bursting my eardrums.

Reaching the ground floor I hear him yell for me to keep going, so with all of my energy being little I force myself through the main doors in a dramatic manner you’d see in films. To which I was greeted by every pair of eyes in our building, strangers focusing on the girl who was not prepared for the sudden occurrence.

Immediately my self conscious nature hugged at the few bits I was covered in, I wrapped my arms around myself and moved past the judgemental eyes of those who had time to grab a dressing gown or coat to cover their indecency whereas I remained exposed. Sitting down away from all of my neighbours I rested on the pavement curb as more officials arrived. I couldn’t help but grip onto my phone to stop my nerves getting the better of me, along with the cold.

Shaking profusely I couldn’t stop my teeth chattering as I held my knees against my chest, the goosebumps rising with each passing second. “Hey, you’re Y/n?” Lifting my head up a figure stood next to me, directly under a poorly lit streetlamp.

“Yeah, sorry do I know you?” I mumbled, still hugging my knees for some warmth and went back to resting my head against them as I tried to picture myself back in my bed with my feet protected by the extra blanket rather than being ridden with grit.

The figure groaned lightly as he sat next to me, “Oh no, I’m Scotty. I just heard them talking about someone still inside and your name popped up a lot. 

We sit still, focusing on everyone talking, discussing who it was who could’ve caused a fire. “So who did it?” I piped up, curious to know.

“They say it was someone on the fifth floor, the fire is out but it’s a safety procedure.” Nodding in response I couldn’t help but jitter, wanting to be back inside if the fire was out despite it being two floors above my own. “Here, you must be freezing.”

Turning to face him my eyes instantly noticed the large shaggy cotton material being wrapped around me. It felt like a giant towel that had just gotten out of the drier, the goosebumps rose with joy. Glancing back to the kind stranger I focused on his warm brown eyes laced with kindness followed by the light stubble around his face that he ran his hand over as he turned his head, looking back at the scene before us.

“So what floor are you on?” Wrapping his dressing gown tighter around myself the shivers were dying down, the tiredness kicking back in.

His eyes wandered about before he faced me in mid-yawn causing him to laugh lightly. “I’m on the fourth floor so I heard something going on moments before the alarm went off.” Unable to stop yawning he just chuckled again, a smile clear on his face as I resembled a lose one on my own. “So, you were the last one out.” Nudging me slightly he glanced me up and down in the dark blue fluff. “I can tell why.” Motioning to my incessant yawns.

Shrugging my shoulders I lifted my arms up, stretching out with exhaustion. “What can I say?” Turning to face him as I brought my arms down into my lap. “I like my sleep and I don’t expect to be awoken at 3 in the morning either.”

“Touche.” He muttered and we both returned to see some of our neighbours getting louder, more irritable in the cold. “See him?” Nodding to the bold man in the fisherman’s jacket. “He is having an affair with him.” Unsure where I am looking he lifts his hand, his cold fingers lightly holding my chin as he moves my head to see the man consoling a woman in hysterics.

“Your neighbour I assume?” Still keeping hold of my chin he makes me nod, smiling through his stubble as he does. The silence returns and my eyes wander past the stubble covering a considerable amount of his face, working past the few marks that lined his nose and around his tired eyes.

“It looks like it’ll be another half hour guys.” The man just walks off after that, not giving us a chance to ask a question but the stranger from the fifth-floor stands.

As he follows him I can’t help but notice his tattoos and his loose shirt showing them off. “Like what you see?” He raises his eyebrow to me, and I’m grateful for the rush of heat that spreads through my body. 

“Just curious.” I trace a few of the outlines, and he explains the meanings or lack of with each of them. 

An hour has passed by, and we talk about our neighbours. The ones who keep us awake, or the elderly who don’t quite understand what is going on as they observe the scene in front of us. 

“So, tell me something about yourself?” He turns to face me, his brown eyes boring into mine. 

“What do you want to know?” I whisper back, turning my body so it faces the stars. Locking my eyes with his I raise an eyebrow as he hangs his face directly above mine, I can smell warmth on his breath.

He glances away momentarily, zoning in on the others. “Tell me about what you’d miss if the building had gone up in flames.”

Pondering the thought I tried to search for an answer in his eyes, in the emotions that glazed the surface. “I’d miss the little things.” I began as I reflected over the trinkets that laced my mantel piece, “I have this little snowglobe that belonged to my Nan when she was young. Inside it has this little ballerina, and when you’d tip the globe upside down it would cover her in glitter and snow.” Laughing lightly I can imagine myself back to being 5 and so fascinated by the sight.

“Sentimental things.” He inputs and I nod.

“Everything means something to someone. Like those people on floor one had time to prepare.” Turning my head I glance at those with considerably more belongings on them than the others. “See her? She is carrying an album, that’s Nina.” Focusing on Nina she clutches the album, tears glazing her cheeks. “She lost her husband last year, he was a soldier. That album is their entire relationship.”

My eyes wander around to someone else, “And him.” The one holding a single teddy bear in his grip, refusing to let go. “That belongs to his daughter, he lives two doors down from me. He is divorced, rarely sees his daughter but keeps her teddy ready and waiting.” Facing him again he looks at me with a small smile on his face, his eyes radiating care. “Everyone has something that is sentimental, and to you, it may be your tattoos.” 

“You sure are something else.” He shakes his head and I just beam.

“Better to be unique.” I shrug my shoulders which looks weird considering the fabric swamps them. “Thank you.” Motioning to the thick dressing gown I’ve grown attached to he just chuckles in response.

“So what would you save?” I ask in response and he answers quickly as if he has planned this all out. 

“My SD card. With all my videos on that I never posted.” I can’t help but laugh. 

“So you make videos? What kind?” He nudges me lightly, a chuckle sounds from him. 

“Not that kind, you weirdo.” 

We fall silent, the conversations seem to be drowned out by the tension growing around the two of us as my eyes dart from his lips to his eyes, his following the same action. “Third floor, apartment C.” I whisper to him as someone begins to near us, breaking the rising tension.

Just before he had the opportunity to say anything we were both called, our attention shifting to the same man from earlier. “Everything has been cleared, we can all go back inside now.” He huffs and walks away back to his wife, hugging her tightly.

Sitting up I tuck my bed head behind my ear as Will stands up in front of me. “Well,” He held his hands out, helping me rise to my feet. As I went to take a step forward I stumbled over the length of his dressing gown, falling straight into his arms.

“Quite the gentleman aren’t you Scotty.” I joke as he straightens me up, his arm wrapped around my shoulder as we head back inside after everyone else.

The two of us opt for the stairs as the queues form for the lift. As we walk we make light conversation, his dressing down acting like a train to a dress as it drapes across the previous two steps I’d walked up.

Reaching my floor all of the doors have returned to being shut, silence resumes as if nothing had happened but we all know behind closed doors everyone is grumbling, swearing or complaining about the suspect in floor five. “Well, this is me.” Hitting my door frame I lean against it, still wrapped in his dressing gown. “Oh wait,” I slipped out of it, the warmth being removed along with it as he held it in his grip, his fingers brushing past my own.

“Sorry you got disturbed so early in the morning.” He apologises but I shake my head in mid yawn.

“Not your fault, like you said it was your neighbour.” I state and he slowly nods, avoiding eye contact. “Right Scotty?” Leaning my head down below his I could see a guilty smile forming even in this poor lighting.

He lifted his head up as did I and merely held up the end of one of the ties to the dressing gown. Unable to hold back the laugh he covers my mouth with his free hand. The entire end of the once navy material was singed black and felt crispy to the touch. “I was trying to cook as I couldn’t sleep.” He whispered and the lump was rising in my throat, my shoulders falling and rising as I laughed internally.

Slowly he took his hand away from my mouth, “Next time you think about baking whatever it was, let me know. I’ll help ensure you don’t burn the entire building down.” I tell him and he smiles, tilting his head to the side.

“Might make for a good video, the two of us.” Raising an eyebrow to him he realised his mistake, “Cooking that is.” I began to etch further into my apartment, remaining quiet until only a slither was left between us.

“Well, you know where to find me.” I mutter before closing the door, resting against it with a cocky smile on my face as I head back to bed like everyone else, as if nothing had happened.

#scotty sire #scotty sire imagine #scotty sire imagines #scotty sire writing #scotty sire fluff #scotty sire x reader #imagine #imagines #writing #rom com writing #idek #vlog squad #vlog squad writing #vlog squad imagines #vlog squad imagine #scotty #sire #david dobrik imagine

[shianhygge-imagines]

In The Name Of Love [Wrench/Reader] Finale

Series: In the Name of Love Part 4/4 Chapter Title: At The End Of My Love Words: 4,462 words

Brief AN: So, I’m back from the dead. Since I haven’t written, nor posted anything in a while, I’m going to slowly start writing and posting again. The first order of business, was to finish “In the Name of Love” because it’s been two years(I think?) since I started “Project Wrench Your Heart,” and it’s among the easiest to write out of all my series. This ending, might have you all... really livid, but I’m rather pleased with it.

edit 28/8/18 16:52: edited for POV discrepancy, and reformating

|Masterlist|

In the Name of Love:     Part 1    Part 2    Part 3    Part 4

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

I want to tell you a story, my dear audience. It’s a story that anyone might be able to relate to - one about heartache. Specifically, this story is one about a young woman who fell in love with a man whose smile halted her breath, and whose tenacity would inspire her to walk with him to the ends of the Earth. It’s a story of how her love would quickly become her greatest weakness - a slow poison to eat at her mind, body, and soul.

I want to tell you that his love for her was pure, and that the two lived a life full of happiness. But that is never the case with most relationships. Despite all that she would say and do, his love for her faltered and wavered, doubts, fears, and lust consuming him while she desperately sought to save him. It wasn’t enough for him, so the young woman let him go.

Yet still, it hurt.

She loved him with all of her being. If he was in danger, she ran to his aid. Even when her life would tear at the seams, she ran to him. Even if he would hate her, she would run to him.

You would run to him.

You would help him.

You would save him.

And you would take his hate.

Because in the end, it was all for him.

“At the beginning of my love, there was only blind devotion, innocent and uncorrupted. I could only see the best in you despite your actions. I would make whatever excuse I could to keep myself blind.”

You knew that this story could only end in two ways. In one outcome, you and Wrench would both perish, losing your lives to the woman who had created such a large divide in your relationship. In another, you would rise victorious, having saved Wrench from Lydia and her deceit. The ramifications of both outcomes were dire enough that you stood, frozen, at your position in the darkening alleyway.

You had sacrificed so much for Wrench - losing your arm, your heart - and while you still held onto it yet, you were sure that you might even lose your humanity if everything went south.

Still, you waited patiently and silently as the sun set, casting the streets of east San Francisco into the dark. This was your job. Only you and Isa’s cohorts would be able to get this done.

Given that you only had one arm left to use, you’d armed yourself with a silenced pistol, extra ammo, a few grenades (of the explosive, smoke, and flash variety, and a hunting knife. In all honesty, you felt out of your comfort zone without your rifle, but having only one limb severely limited your lethality with a two handed weapon.

And then, just as the sun disappeared from the horizon completely, the screams started.

Despite knowing what would go down tonight, you flinched just the slightest. Those weren’t screams of rage, after all. They were screams of pure unadulterated terror.

You gave a count of ten before you sprinted out from the cover of the pitch black alleyway. In front of the safe house gates were three armed guards, each wore kevlar vests and held a Blume modified military grade rifle - their attention seemed to have been redirected when the screaming started, and had their backs facing you. All three seemed to have been frozen in place, no doubt horrified that someone had gotten past them. But none of them moved from their places, likely in terror.

And with your position, crouched not even ten feet away from them, it wasn’t difficult to hear why. Gunshots were heard followed by horrified screams, but unlike before, when it had only been screams, you heard begging and the sick sound of screams dying in throats. The squelches of something.

One of the guards shoved at another’s arm, “Hey, man. You go check that out.”

“W-what? Are you fucking insane? There’s a slaughter going on in there, and you want me to waltz in there and do what?” The shoved guard’s voice rose pitch after pitch in fright.

“Yeah, Wellington, if you’re in any condition to be telling Thomas what to do, maybe you should go in.” The last guard seemed about as willing to go in as the others.

“Oh fuck off, McCullum! I’ve got kids and a wife waiting for me.” Wellington snarled with a shack of his head.

“Hey! I’ve got a baby girl on the way! No way am I leaving my wife and child!” Thomas protested, before turning to look at McCullum, “And what about you?”

“…Boyfriend.” McCullum grunted quietly, crossing his arms and turning away. “…He proposed last week, but given how dangerous my job is, I didn’t answer him yet.”

“Oh yeah… that handsome doc working at the Children’s Hospital, right?” There was a sudden realization in Thomas’s tone, and by the protective glare on McCullum’s face, the guard held his hands up in surrender. “Hey! I’m not judging! You love him, and who am I to judge.”

“So we all got people waiting for us back home.” Wellington muttered, staring down at his gun and indecisively shifting back and forth on his feet. “But we also have a job. If we don’t go in, we might be out of a job. But if we go in, we might die.”

From you crouched position, you grit your teeth and clenched your hands. You wanted revenge. DedSec wanted revenge. Blume wanted revenge. But how many people, innocent people, were going to get stuck in the crossfire. The three men standing guard? They didn’t ask to be employed by such a corrupt system, but it was their living. Isa, Chikage, and their men? All they wanted was peace. You, DedSec, and Blume were the ones that dragged the others in.

You were already going to take the life of one or two individuals tonight. Did you really want to take three more?

Heaving a sigh at your sudden development of a moral conscious, you stood and holstered your gun, putting your hand up and walking around the car slowly. “Hey.”

All three men whipped around with their rifles trained on you, laser sights marking three points on your body, head, heart, and lungs, but none of them fired. Ignoring your instincts to duck for cover, you kept your hand in the air, “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

“What the hell do you want?” It was McCullum that interrogated you with a snarl, flicking the safety off the rifle.

You made a small motion with your head towards the safe house gates. “I need to get into that place.”

Wellington gave a mocking laugh, “Are you kidding me? We’re not going to let you in, kid.”

“Well someone has to go in.” You were playing this a little too close to the chest for you liking.

“Trust me, kid, you don’t want to go in there.” Thomas warned, and as if on cue, another terrified scream rang from behind the gates.

“Hmmm.” You mused in thought, “It sounds like your coworkers are dying, sir.”

“And you’re not moving from this spot.” McCullum warned when you took a step forward.

You were getting impatient now, so you dropped the whole act. “Listen, boys, I need to get into that place one way or another, and you’re kind of in my way. It’s obvious that all of you are unwilling to go in there and help, so why don’t I make you guys an offer?”

“And why would we listen to anything you had to say?” Wellington snarled, and from the glint of a street light, you could make out his trigger finger flexing just the slightest.

“I mean… you don’t have to. Just thought I’d throw it out into the open.” When no answer came, you took it as a sign to continue. “You see those cameras up there?” you pointed with your remaining limb at the two discrete lenses poking from atop the gate and covered by some foliage. “When everything is said and done, and all your coworkers are dead, your employers are going to investigate whatever happened tonight. All they’re going to find are dead bodies in the building, and you three, standing out here, not doing anything to help. Now tell me, without a potential culprit for these murders, who do you think is going to become the figurative scape goat?” Understanding seemed to cross their expressions, and you grinned, “They’re going to blame you three. And suddenly, your names will be blacklisted and wanted everywhere. Everything you hold dead will be forfeit. And everyone. But if you let me into that safe house, I’ll give you my name, and I’ll erase all trace of your involvement with Blume, whether it be your employment with them, or your presence here today. And then I’ll get you all jobs of your choice. I’m a woman of my word.”

There was silence before Thomas spoke up, “Your name first.”

A sly smirk appeared on your lips, “Are you all in agreement? Because I’m not just going to give my name if all of you aren’t going to go along with it.”

Reluctantly, McCullum lowered his gun, and after a while, Wellington did as well. “Fine. But you better keep your word.”

“Hmm. Y/N L/N.” You mumbled, walking past them and through the gates. “And I’ll contact you all once it’s done. You should probably go home now. The authorities might arrive soon, so you’ll want to be far away.”

Without a goodbye, you strolled through the rest of the way and disappeared in the darkness.

“In the name of love, I would kill, I would steal, I would cheat, and I would lie. All for you. All for something I thought would bind us. But slowly, our love became corrupted. Was it because of me? Was I too obsessed with you? Was it because of you? Was it because you took advantage of my love and obsession? What happened to make you abandon me so? And yet still, I crave to be by your side?”

It didn’t take much to block out all the bodies littering the halls. It didn’t take much thought to block out the sounds coming from the shadows. The squelching and crazed giggles. Because deep in this mass grave, was your target. Your end goal.

“The Prince bids you good hunting.”

“Follow. Follow. Your damsel awaits.”

“Hehehe guarded by an ugly troll.”

“And a small snarling bitch.”

“Oh…”

“Troll’s dead, Troll’s dead!”

“Disgusting red. Don’t touch.”

“Don’t touch.”

“Don’t touch.”

“Don’t touch the bitch.”

“Don’t touch the damsel.”

“They belong to the hunter now.”

“The arrows will guide you.”

Those were among the voices that you could understand. Some were snarling, and some sounded borderline crazed. But you followed the giant red arrows leading you through the safe house anyways. You didn’t trust these goons, but you trust Isa and Chikage to keep their subordinates in line.

When you arrived at the heavy set of double doors, it’s steel complexion marred with a giant red X, you heard the giggling, louder than ever. To the side of the doors, propped up on the wall, was the corpse of a giant man with a shredded throat and multiple puncture wounds along his body. He was the man who held you down just as Lydia hacked your arm off. And you felt no remorse at his death, simply took in his face stuck in terror and turned away.

“X marks the spot.”

“The hunter found the treasure.”

“Time to kill the yipping bitch.”

“And take back the damsel.”

You took a deep breath in and waited ten seconds before exhaling, and shoving open a door, your pistol drawn to take aim.

The interior of the room was unfurnished save for a few left over tables and chairs, the paint along the walls cracked, and the ceiling missing panels. The room was dimly lit, casting shadows all over the room. And at the center of the space, stood Lydia, dressed in the same dark outfit that she’d assaulted you in.

“So, you really did survive.” An arrogant smirk was on her lips as she crossed her arms and straightened her posture to maintain a superior stance. “Too bad you were too late to save the others.”

“Where’s Wrench?” You demanded, grip firm on the pistol as you kept the firearm pointed and aimed at her.

“Wrench, Wrench, Wrench. That’s all you seem to talk about, you know? So fucking boring and predictable.” A mocking sneer twisted what would have been a pretty face before she stepped aside, allowing you to see that Wrench had been strapped to a chair and gagged. “He’s a bit roughed up, I’ll admit. And I might have broken him a little.”

A bit roughed up, yes. You could see the bright bruises on his unmasked face from where you stood. And the normally bright blue eyes of his were dull and lifeless. His clothes were disheveled and ripped, as if he’d been thrown around. But he was alive.

“Give up, Lydia. You’ve lost.” You gave it your best shot, but you were in no way as intimidating as Batman, what with only one arm, and dressed in streetwear.

“Hmmm… how about no?” Lydia drew her own gun - a hand cannon - and pointed it at Wrench’s head, turning the safety off. “You have nothing to threaten me with, Y/N. But I have lover boy. Oh… but he’s not your lover boy, is he? He’s still mine.” At your hesitance, Lydia continued to speak. “Oh you should have seen his face during this entire fiasco. He was so fucking happy that I gave him the time of day, and was all too happy to leave you. It was pathetic really. Wasn’t it Wrench?” a muffled whine of humiliation was her answer. “He wasn’t even a good fuck. Couldn’t get me off for the life of him.” Lydia released a long suffering sigh, “Not like Dusan. Now there’s a guy who was hot, wealthy, smart, and oh boy could he make me cum. But no matter. Don’t have to pretend anymore. I have what I want now. Dusan is still mine, after he left his girlfriend. And I single-handedly brought down DedSec. Now all I have to do is… tie up all the loose ends. Starting with lover boy here.”

“Oh? Are you scared of me, Lydia?” You had to get her attention away from Wrench. “C’mon, you’re scared of a one armed cripple? That’s just pathetic. Face me. One on one, just knives.” You holstered your gun and drew your hunting blade. “I know you like to use your machete, Lydia. And besides, what do you have to lose? I’m a cripple. And if you manage to kill me, you’ll only have made Wrench suffer more before you kill him.”

Lydia smirked, and brought out the machete strapped to her back, putting the hand cannon away as she waved the blade around. “Oh… I know you’re baiting me, Y/N. But you’re right. You’re an easy kill, and guns just aren’t personal enough. Fine. You have yourself a duel.”

It didn’t take a moment before Lydia was charging at you, swinging her machete with calculated aim. She wanted this duel to last - wanted to hit you in non lethal areas. It would hurt, and you would slowly bleed out, but you would last longer. Your eyes sharpened in concentration as you dodged the downward slice by dodging to the side, careful to stay on your feet because Lydia had the advantage in maneuverability.

Yes, you were baiting her, you were glad, in a sense that she caught onto your game so easily. It would make her too confident, too arrogant. It would be easy to get Lydia to slip up. So you bid your time, dodging the oddly angled attacks, getting a feel for the room and throwing some cheat shots at her.

Dodge her swing, get in close, quick slice to the abdomen, and dance back away.

Rinse and repeat.

Thanks to what Isa did, you felt like you could keep it up all night, but Lydia didn’t have that advantage, and you quickly began to notice that her motions were getting a bit lazy, there was less energy in her swings.

And then there.

Lydia faltered in her swing due to a misstep, whether it be from carelessness or fatigue, you took advantage of it. You went in and swing your hunting blade down, severing the tendon in her dominant hand, forcing her to drop the machete. She let out a harsh choked scream as she leaned forward to grab at any part of your body. Dancing to the side, you watched as Lydia overstepped, and with a well aimed kick to the back of her supporting leg, she went crashing down to the floor.

Quickly, you got to your knees, straddling the struggling woman, and taking out her hand cannon from her hip holster. With a look of distaste, you threw the hand cannon across the room before arming yourself, once more, with your hunting knife.

“GET OFF OF ME!” Lydia screamed, writhing on the floor and trying to hit you. Her attempts were weak and ineffective given that she was laying on her front instead of her back. The cut on her wrist was still bleeding severely, so she must have been feeling the effects of blood loss by now.

You didn’t lighten up on the pressure against her back, sitting firmly as you played around with the hunting knife in you hands. “An eye for an eye.” You muttered thoughtfully, before plunging the knife through her lower back, in the same place that you had been stabbed by her.

“W-what? Are you going to torture me now?” Lydia hissed in pain, “Well! D-do your w-worst! Dusan will avenge me!”

“You know,” you drawled in low bored tones, “I highly doubt he’ll care about you being gone.”

“No! He’ll get you! He’ll send people after-ARGH”

You interrupted her protests by twisting the knife just a little and pulling out. “You see… Dusan’s got bigger worries than getting vengeance for the death of his latest squeeze. He’s got to worry about DedSec.” You let Lydia go and went to stand, casually putting the hunting knife away in favor of your silenced pistol.

There was a slight shiver of satisfaction from the look of horror on Lydia’s face when she fully registered what you had said. “…no. NO! I killed them. I KILLED THEM ALL!”

Shaking your head, you took out your new cellphone and dialed a familiar number, setting it to speakerphone. The line rung once, twice, before the other person picked up, “Y/N! How is everything on your side?”

“Things are going great, Marcus!” You answered, savoring the look of horror on Lydia’s face. “How is everyone?”

“Well, they’re great! Thanks for having our backs, Y/N.” Marcus thanked, his voice sounding a bit remorseful. “Even though we don’t deserve it… Just… thanks. How’s Wrench?”

“I’m about to get him now. I’ll see you at the gates.”

“Sure thing. Be safe now.”

“Of course.” With a click the phone went dead, and you were left with the despairing wails leaving Lydia’s mouth. Flicking the safety off the pistol, you took aim at Lydia, “You know… I really wanted to make this last. Make you feel everything that the members of DedSec felt. But I realized that I would have done everything that you did to us. And I guess it’s a bit late to take the moral high ground, but for what it’s worth…” You gave a tiny smile at the woman. “At least I’ll never become like you.”

Lydia made to lunge at you just as you pulled the trigger.

She made no sound as she died. Just fell to the floor with a single bullet through her head.

A sigh left your mouth and your shoulders slumped in exhaustion. It was done. Now, all you had to do was get Wrench to safety.

Turning on your heels, you found Wrench, his shoulders shaking and tears falling from the eyes that stared at Lydia’s lifeless body. He didn’t speak as you untied him, as you ungagged him, or even as you supported him on the way out of the safe house. There was only silence and your thoughts.

Thinking back to the way that Wrench had stared at Lydia’s body, with tears streaming down his cheeks; with tears still streaming down his cheeks, you lamented that maybe he’d really loved Lydia after all. That he’d been in a one-sided love as you had. And almost bitterly, you wanted to take satisfaction that he’d experienced what he’d put you through. But it was so vindictive, that you couldn’t.

At the safe house gates, you saw that the three guards had taken your advice and left. In their place were the remaining members of DedSec, ready to receive Wrench, just like you planned.

“Wrench!” Sitara called out in worry, she and Marcus sprinting over. “Y/N… I’ve got him.” The woman assured you, pulling Wrench away from your side so that you could balance your entire body again. “Thank you. We can never repay you.”

As Sitara led Wrench towards Josh and Ray, who stood by as guards, you couldn’t help but see Wrench look back at you. Solemnly, you waved your arm in farewell, “Get better soon.”

“You’re not coming back with us?” Marcus questioned, peering at you through his lensless purple glasses. “Wrench might need you.”

Your face set in a heavy frown as you shook your head. “I’m not coming back to DedSec. And I’m not going back to Wrench.”

“But… he needs you, Y/N.”

“No…” you protested, crossing your arms to create a makeshift shield. “Wrench needs his friends. He needs you, Sitara, Josh, Ray, and even Wrench Jr. But he doesn’t need me.” Seeing the argument that Marcus was going to start, you firmly stood your ground and said what you needed to. “I love Wrench. From the bottom of my heart, I do. But the relationship that we had, that we have… it’s poison. For both of us. And in order for either of us to be able to function, I have to leave. So long as I’m around him, I’ll continue to tempt myself, and to make him feel bad.”

“So you’re just going to leave?” Marcus snarled, “Without saying goodbye to him?”

“I think he and everyone else heard me, Marcus.” You huffed, eyeing the group in the truck, who stared looking extra guilty. “But you know that I’m right. And you know that I’m right. So unless fate makes it so, this is the last that you’ll see of me, Marcus.” With one last nod towards the members of DedSec, you bid them farewell, walking down the street and out of sight. “I wish you all the best.”

One week later…

ZzzzzZttt

“So you are a woman of your word.”

You took a long swig of your drink and gazed, unimpressed at the man before you. “Yes, Mr. McCullum, that’s what I said last week.” You gestured towards the open seat at the cafe table. “Sit.”

ZzzzzZttt

It was the first time you saw McCullum since your first meeting, and in the day, dressed casually, you could finally make out what he looked like. Tall, probably in his mid-thirties, short beard and styled short black hair. He was a handsome fellow, that’s for sure, though his ice blue eyes were intimidating.

“I heard from Wellington and Thomas.” McCullum informed you, analyzing you critically. “They said you wiped their employment with Blume and got them jobs at Cybertech and Abstergo. You’re a difficult person to track down, Y/N.”

ZzzzzZttt

Another long sip of your drink as you watched the people go by from behind your sunglasses. “I did contact you, McCullum. You just overreacted.”

ZzzzzZttt

“Of course I overreacted!” McCullum snarled defensively, “You contacted my fiancé!”

ZzzzzZttt

“Ah. I should also congratulate you on the engagement!” you sent the taller man a bright and beaming grin, genuinely happy that someone you knew had a happy romance going on.

“Ah.. Yes…” McCullum coughed, a blush making its appearance on his cheeks, “Thank you, by the way, for the engagement gift.”

Your smile widened, “I’m glad you two liked it!”

“But… ah… isn’t an entire apartment a bit too much?”

ZzzzzZttt

“Nonsense!” You protested with a kind smile, “The two of you were living in the slums, and that just wouldn’t do. Though I suppose, you’re here to ask me about that job, now, right?”

“I… Yes…. I wanted-”

ZzzzzZttt

… The table fell silent as you glared at the cell phone in your bag.

“You know that I don’t mind if you get that, right, Y/N?” McCullum cleared his throat, staring as you took the offending object out. “It must be important.”

With a grimace, you unlocked your phone to find several unread messages:

Wrench 2:30pm

>> Y/N. I know that you’ve been reading these. Answer me.

Wrench 2:32pm

>> Please? Answer something?

Wrench 2:35pm

>> I’m sorry, alright? I never should have doubted you. I shouldn’t have betrayed you.

Wrench 2:37pm

>> It’s not the same at DedSec without you.

Wrench 2:38pm

>> And you just disappeared from our radar like that.

Wrench 2:40pm

>> I never got to say goodbye to you.

Wrench 2:42pm

>> I wish we could try again.

Typing a quick reply and sending it, you quickly placed the phone down and went back to addressing McCullum. “Sorry for that. Anyways, while I did get rid of all the evidence concerning your involvement with Blume, you gave a bit of a shock when you requested your ideal job.”

McCullum leaned forward in his seat, his ice blue eyes holding all the seriousness that his being could muster. “I was serious, Y/N. I want to work for you.”

A grin crossed your face, and you nodded, clearly elated at the prospect of employing McCullum. “Tell me, McCullum. What do you know about CyberMasque?”

“At the end of my love, I finally see what I must do. I tried so desperately for you to see me as I saw you. I didn’t want to give up on you. But your words, your actions… that in the end, when all was said and done, nothing had changed in your stubborn heart. I know what I must do now.”

Y/N L/N (Me) 2:44pm

>> Let me go, Wrench. Forget about me. Move on.

Wrench 2:45pm

>> I don’t think I’ll ever.

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-fi!

#shianhygge #shian imagines #watch dogs 2 wrench #wrench imagine #reader x wrench #wrench x reader #wrench #watch dogs 2

[genius-with-a-j]

Welcome to YouTube Incorporated

So I’m a big fan of @shamefulbirb and her Evil YouTube Inc. AU (if you haven’t seen anything of it, you should really check it out, she draws some amazing art and her AUs are beautiful) so I decided to write something about it. Essentially, this takes place in a universe where Google has taken over the world. This might be the first part of an ongoing story, but it could also be a standalone. I haven’t decided yet. 

It's a beautiful world.

It's a technologically-advanced world, a world where no one need worry about crime, a world where everyone knows that they're protected by Those That Watch.

Across the globe, things reflect the wonderful state of things and the benevolence of Those Who Help. Perfect neighborhoods sport perfect houses, all the same except for their color. The houses follow a consistent pattern down every block, always the same no matter where you are. Blue-red-yellow-blue-green-red. It's a pattern that any good citizen is familiar with and knows means comfort and safety. Inside each of these perfect, colorful houses, is at least one resident of the world now known simply as Alphabet, an appropriate amount of Alphabet approved furniture, and Alphabet technology.

Those Who Observe are kind enough to make sure that all of its residents have access to state-of-the-art technology and because of their generosity, every household has what is known as a Google IRL: a lovely android that can answer any question that its owners may have, and that can assist with anything that they may need. Each Google IRL is also loosely in the image of a particular celebrity, known by all of his adoring fans as Merry Markimoo.

Merry Markimoo holds the status of a Chosen One, one of the highest honors that a citizen of Alphabet can achieve. As such, he gets to live outside of the colored neighborhoods and is allowed to reside in a special zone known as YouTube Village. There, he has a giant estate and access to anything he could want for filming. He produces content for YouTube on a daily basis and his videos reach an audience of billions. Many of Alphabet's residents dream of living such a lifestyle and make videos in hopes of someday reaching the heights of their YouTube idols. Many others are content just to watch and be entertained. Either way is supported by the compassionate ones who watch. They make sure that everyone has access to the devices needed to access YouTube, as well as all of the other excellently designed social networks and websites that Alphabet is kind enough to allow its residents to access. Though they are known to be highly monitored, and there is a general awareness that anything considered not suitable for the world at large is removed from the Internet in its entirety, it seems like a small price to pay for access to such wealths of information and content.

After all, it's a beautiful world. Sometimes speech has to be regulated in order for it to stay that way. The residents just aren't as knowledgeable as Those Who Observe them, and sometimes need guidance to keep the peace.This is fine.In fact, it's more than fine. It's natural. It's normal. No one questions it or tries to fight the system. Why would they? Alphabet is a good place. Google, Alphabet's wonderful technology corporation, is a force for good. Everybody knows that both Those Who watch and Google itself only want what's best for their residents.

So they consume content, the way they're supposed to. They spend hours on YouTube, watching everything that the Chosen Ones produce, happy for their entertainment. They wake up every day and log on, excited to see what their favorite creators have in store for them next.

And nobody stops to wonder what it's like to be one of those creators. They already know. It's lovely, full of riches and everything one could ever want. They even get beautiful collars to wear, complete with a shiny red YouTube Play Button. The ultimate status symbol that comes with getting a million subscribers, something that every small creator dreams of getting.

Everything is beautiful. Everything is perfect.

Everything is fine.

"Hey babe, can you come in here for a minute, please?"

The cry rang out through the large house that was courtesy of YouTube Village. There was an odd quality to it, it sounded strained somehow. Like the person crying out was trying to mask fear with a sort of cheeriness that just didn't sound natural. Worried, the woman being called for--the new Mrs. Erin Douglass--quickly set her Chromebook aside and headed towards the bathroom where her husband of one month stood in front of the mirror.

"What's wrong, Jack?" she asked, her voice hushed. She had passed their terrifying android, Google IRL, on her way into the room. It was standing in the hallway, seemingly awaiting orders.

He turned his head to look at her, a huge grin on his face. She knew immediately that it was fake; she could see the strain in his eyes. She noticed there was a small cut on his chin, and it was bleeding a little bit. "I cut myself shaving," he told her through grit teeth, “and I made the mistake of saying a certain word."

Her eyes widened as the realization dawned on her. Unable to keep herself from making a face, she glanced at the bright red collar that her spouse wore. "It shocked you," she stated, crossing her arms. She had known for a while that it was something that the infernal device did, despite the fact that he had tried to hide it from her for the first few months of having it.

He nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said, exhaling through his teeth. "And it was a doozy."

She frowned. "I hate that they do that to you."

"Censorship is important, we wouldn't want to ruin this perfect world they've created," he told her, voice dripping with sarcasm.The giant fake grin remained, and she hated it. She wished he would stop smiling at her like that.

Sighing, she walked over to the towel cabinet and took out a washcloth. She wet it in the sink, wrung it out and then held it out to her husband. "Hold this on your chin."

He nodded and did as she asked. The grin faded a little. "Sorry to bring you in here, Erin. There's nothing you can do about this." He gestured to the collar with his free hand.

"I can support you," she told him earnestly. "I can't get rid of it, but I can stand here and tell you that it's going to be okay and that they're bastards—"

"Ow!" he yelped, dropping the washcloth. He looked at her incredulously.

She looked back at him, eyes wide. "Did they shock you? For something I said?"

"Yes! Apparently I'm not even allowed to hear curse words now." He bent down and picked up the washcloth, chuckling to himself. "They're playing hardball today, apparently." He looked at her, eyes twinkling. "To me, that seems like they really want me to make a video."

She couldn't help but smile. "It does seem that way, doesn't it?"

He nodded, and she could see the gears in his head turning. He stood there for a little bit longer, holding the washcloth to his face, and she waited with him. She wasn't going to leave him alone with his little YouTube prize from hell. She knew he appreciated her staying because he flashed her a genuine smile.

"I have a couple video ideas for today," he said, a gleeful ring to his voice. "I think I could get a couple good ones filmed. Heck, they'll be posted by tonight since YouTube does all the editing now that I'm 'Chosen.'" That distant, daydreamy look in his eyes faded after a second and he refocused, coming back to the present moment. He looked at Erin and his brow furrowed. "Babe, I know you have work to do, but—"

"I'll stay in the room while you film," she promised.

He looked relieved. "Thanks."

The bleeding stopped after not too much longer. Once it had, the cut was hardly visible at all. Erin knew that even it had been visible, it wouldn't show up in the finished videos. The YouTube overlords would see to it.

The second he was out of the bathroom, Jack got to setting everything up, a huge shit-eating grin on his face. She watched him chuckle to himself as he got the camera ready and did all that other YouTube stuff that she didn't know much about. There was a method to his madness, she knew, as he grabbed his Chromebook and pulled a bunch of stuff up, but she had no idea what that was.

Finally, after what felt like way too long, he looked at Erin. "I need you to help me keep track of what they shock me for. This is going to be a trial and error, I think. If you can just help me remember what words and phrases do it, that'll help me with some scripts in the future."

"Ah... okay," she agreed, her stomach sinking. She really didn't want to see Jack get shocked again.

"It might not happen at all," he said quickly, seeing her expression. "That's possible. I've gotten pretty good at dancing around their little algorithm, so I might get out scot free. I'm just trying to cover all the bases I can."

With that, he switched on the camera and smiled widely at it. "Yesterday I asked you what I should ask Google IRL. We all have one, courtesy of our loving, compassionate overlords, so we might as well use them, right? So I'm going to be reading your best suggestions, and I'm going to throw in a few of my own too. Okay Google!" he called.

The robot came in and Erin shuddered. She hated that thing. She glared at it as it mechanically walked past her and took its place next to Jack on the couch. She crossed her arms.Glancing at the screen of his Chromebook, Jack started. "Does Canada exist?"

The robot looked at him, its eyes unfeeling and cold. "No," it answered in a monotone. "The country formerly known as Canada is now part of Alphabet."

"Okay Google, do it be like it is or how it do?"

The android continued to look at him, its gaze steely. "That is not a coherent question, I cannot answer it."

"Okay Google, who stole my meme?"

"Memes are not property of those who create them. As soon as they are posted, they belong to Google. Therefore, no one stole your meme. They borrowed content from Google."

Jack grinned cheekily. "Borrowed, of course. Because no one could steal from a beautiful and powerful company like Google! It's just not possible. How kind of Google to let lowly peasants borrow its property. What a charitable conglomerate they are." Then he paused. "Alright, my turn! Okay Google, which one of us is more free, me or you?"

Google IRL glared at him and Jack's hand flew to his neck and he winced. Quickly, he glanced at Erin, who made a mental note: not a fan of asking about freedom."Being 'free' is a social construct that we in Alphabet disregard. We have no need for that word, as we instead have protection and safety given to us by Those Who watch."Jack smirked, though his eyes showed that the shock had jarred him slightly. "Ah, of course. I forgot how you feel about four letter F-words." He turned back to the screen and Erin could see him momentarily look for another question. "Okay Google, ya like jazz?"

"I have no opinion on jazz," the machine responded.

"Okay Google, is..." he spotted a question and his eyes glittered. He glanced at Erin, smiling slightly. "Is my marriage a hoax? I don't think it's real."

"Only you and your spouse know the answer to that question," IRL answered.

"And here I thought you were all-knowing," Jack shrugged. "Alright, well, I guess that's my turn again. Okay Google, define dystopia."

"Dystopia: an imagined place or state in which everything is unpleasant or bad, typically a totalitarian or environmentally degraded one," IRL answered immediately.

The YouTuber nodded thoughtfully, making deliberate 'eye contact' with the camera. "Imagined is an interesting word," he said, rubbing his chin. "Moving on!”

It went on for a few minutes like this, as Jack alternated between viewer nonsense and his own subtle jabs at Google. Erin just watched, making mental notes of when he got shocked. There was only one more incident, which occurred when asked Google IRL if it was “DTF.” Of course, after being shocked he remedied it with “Difficult to Figure Out” then made some joke about the “O” being silent. After he’d finally finished and turned off the camera, he asked Google IRL to go stand in another room, which it did, after a moment of unnerving blank staring.

“Was there a point to that?” Erin asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Besides just pissing them off?”

“Absolutely!” he agreed. Hurrying across the room he grabbed his Chromebook and started typing furiously.“What the hell are you doing?”

“Ow!” he complained, twitching a little with the new shock, though it didn’t seem to deter him at all. “Please, Erin, keep it family friendly.” After a second of silence, he seemed to realize she was still waiting for an answer and explained, “I had to figure out what I could and couldn’t say so I could release some merch.”

She blinked. That was not the answer she’d been expecting. “What?”

“Hey, a YouTuber’s gotta make a living,” he said, eyes twinkling mischievously. “What do you think about ‘You’re a YouTuber? Shocking!’ with a play button collar for the ‘O’ in shocking?’”

“That’s terrible and you’re going to get yourself killed.”

He shrugged. “Hey, they’re not all winners.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “How about ‘IRL: I Really Love... Google!’”

“How does that make your point at all? That’s just you being sarcastic.”

“Being sarcastic is my point!” Jack responded, chipper. “How about an acronym for Google? Hm... Great organization only gives... love...? Hm... well, I could do this as a YIAY question, I guess.”

She shook her head. “Why do you insist on poking the bear?”

“Because I live for the adrenaline rush!” After a second, however, his smile turned to a frown. “Hey Erin, I’m sorry you’re caught up in all of this. I don’t know that you knew what you were getting into when you said ‘I do.’”

“Oh, I knew,” she promised him. “And we’re in this together, Jack. As long as they don’t put one of those collars on me,” she added, teasing.

He grinned. “I mean I can help you set up a channel if you want.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, I’m good on the terrifying overlords over my shoulder and around my throat all the time, thanks.”

“Alright, but you’re missing out. These are state-of-the-art, very trendy.” He angled his head to show off the gleaming red collar, not losing eye contact.

“Hmm, as tempting as it is to put a literal shock-collar on for the sake of looking stylish, I think I have to pass.”

“Suit yourself,” he told her, shrugging. “It’s only uncomfortable most of the time.”

She shook her head again and he pulled her in and kissed her.

“Thanks for staying, Erin.”

“Yeah, yeah, Douglass,” she shot back affectionately. “Really I’m just in it for the bigger house.”

He pulled back, grinning again. “It is a nice house!” he agreed. “Now, do you want to help me design some merch or not?”

She sighed, but sat down on the couch as he plopped next to her. “Alright, Jack. Let’s pi—er, tick off our all-powerful overlords.”

He smiled and without another word, the two got to work.​

#tw: electrocution #jacksfilms #evil youtube inc #erin douglass #dystopia #google irl #i've been wanting to write this forever #i love this au #youtube #youtube au

[camgirlsurvivalguide]

How To Overcome Low Visibility

The bulk of the articles on this guide give advice on how to perform your best for your audience. Ways to talk, things to offer, how to manage your tokens, so on and so forth. But what about actually attracting an audience at all? What if it’s not that there are a few people at a time that you’re trying to entertain - what if it’s absolutely no one at all? What then?

This is a topic that I haven’t touched on much in this guide. It’s certainly not that it isn’t a relevant subject matter - I think that a great deal of the questions I get asked fall somewhere close to these concerns. It’s just that, while running the risk of sounding conceited, it isn’t an issue that I’ve personally had to deal with, so it’s been tough for me to offer sound advice on my own.

That said, I’m certainly not without knowledgable sources, so I took to twitter a couple days ago to ask for some advice from ladies who had come back from a low camscore, and combined those pieces of advice with some thoughts of my own. 

What is Camscore? A Review.

Camscore is a rating scale on MFC that is determined by some bizarre combination of tokens earned vs time broadcasted. How, exactly, is it calculated? I’ve been on the site for five years and I still couldn’t tell you - the gist of it is that it’s a good idea to make as many tokens as you can every hour and not just sit around on your phone or sleep because your camscore will be affected in a negative way. Every model begins with a camscore of 1000, and the tokens she makes will impact that score by either increasing it or decreasing it. Receive a tip bomb? Camscore goes up. Spend three hours on cam and only make 5 tokens? Camscore goes down. It’s a wise to try and maintain a camscore of 2000 or higher for visibility.

How do camscore and visibility go together? Camscore is the default sorting option for the way a member sees the main page on MFC - that’s to say, if a member doesn’t go into his settings and fiddle with stuff, the first “slot” on the main page will be the cam model streaming with the highest cam score, then the second highest, third highest, so on and so forth, moving from top left corner of the screen and gradually scrolling down the page. If I go to the MFC home page on my MacBook, I can see just three rows of room previews, eight previews per row - that’s just 24 spots visible without me having to scroll down the page. The lower your camscore, the lower your position on the first page, the further a member has to scroll to happen across your room preview, aka, the lower your MFC visibility. Right now the “first page” (aka no scrolling needed to see previews) of models have camscores between 10,000 and 6,000. 

The Low Camscore Vortex

We need tokens to raise camscore. We need members to tip to get tokens. We need members to see us in order to tip us. A higher camscore helps us get seen. 

This is the troubling part about MFC for a lot of models, and for a ton of reasons. The bottom line is that a low camscore - regardless of how you ended up with one - can make it incredibly difficult to make money. It can also make a lot of the advice I write more or less non-applicable. I suggest minimum hours and consistent shows - but for what audience? I suggest countdowns for stripping or for adding friends - but what’s the point when there’s hardly anyone in the room? If you’re used to sitting in front of the cam without any viewers, waiting for someone to happen by you, you’re stuck in a tough place; do you immediately jump on them and say hi (because talking is good cam modelling, as I suggest) - or do you wait for them to say something? What if they leave? Then what? In attempting to put myself in these shoes, I imagine camming would be incredibly stressful and really hard on the confidence.

That said, not totally impossible. While having a low camscore can start pulling you into the vortex, I’m hearing from credible sources (aka my bomb dot com cam lady friends) about some tips and tricks to help to haul yourself up and out.

Camscore Raising Tips

1. Log On Naked.

Okay, so maybe this isn’t applicable to my non-nude hopefuls out there ... but this is the piece of advice I heard pop up most often. Log on naked or topless to attract people in the room, and when you manage to get a small group of returning regulars, then try the countdown thing. Countdowns are great but if there’s no one around, they might look more discouraging than encouraging to potential tippers. 

2. Content hustle.

Offline tips count more toward camscore than online tips do, so creating content to sell in your MFC Share is a good way to entice potential tippers. Your videos do not have to be fancy: you can simply open your webcam recording software, make a recording of you doing a strip tease or cum show, and then upload it to MFC share. Pricing these fairly low gives members the opportunity to purchase a show from you, in the absence of you putting up a countdown for them to view a show from you live. Obviously that’s the goal, but in the mean time, short and simple video sales could help you boost your score.

3. The “Friend Add” perk

Here’s a work around to camscore: people who have you added as a friend will see you pop up at the top of your list, and they’ll also see your “news feed” updates when you post them. For this reason, offer perks to adding members as a friend, because it’ll encourage them to add you as a friend, too - and then you’ll show up at the top of their page. My suggestion: 50 tokens to get a “friend add” will allow them PM privileges and a photo gallery on MFC Share. When people tip, make sure to remind them to add you as a friend, too - and then make use of that “news feed” feature to post when you’re going to be logging online. 

4. Lovesense

I have zero knowledge about these things, other than that at least some members apparently do enjoy them. The Lovesense (and related toys) supposedly buzz or activate in reaction to the tip sound. Models will put “LOVESENSE ON” in the topic, so members know that when they tip, their girl is going to get a little vibration from them. Models replying to my twitter thread have said this was quite helpful, so it’s worth a shot!

5. Achievable goals

Start small. By keeping your tip menu and your content priced low, you’re allowing for a wider audience. People love to succeed. It’s better to offer your snapchat/videos/countdowns for cheap and slowly increase them as you’re able than it is to sit online and not sell anything at all.

6. The Grind

Like any cam advice, it seems that gritting your teeth and grinding it out is still very applicable in this situation. A few camscore champions mentioned that consistency is key, even when it’s difficult to attract an audience. One model said that she opted to work 10 to 12 hour shifts, daily, for a number of months in order to climb up the ladder. I would suggest a high degree of agreeableness would be beneficial: say yes to privates, say yes to custom videos, say yes to releasing new content as often as possible (obviously within your comfort zones though!). 

7. Non-Camscore Visibility

Camscore isn’t the be-all-end-all of cam success! Social media is a powerful tool, as is the power of association. Myfreecams runs social media accounts on instagram and twitter, and frequently reposts/retweets models who tag them in photos. Don’t be afraid to use other platforms to boost your member base - and, at the end of the day, don’t feel as though MFC is the only site that you can find success on. Some choose to leave MFC because of camscore and go to another site, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Some girls hustle entirely over twitter or snapchat (though ToS can make that difficult, obviously).

Here’s a strategy: offer your snapchat for free, or for relatively few tokens. On your free/cheap snap story, offer the opportunity to tip to join a snapchat cum show. This way you’re raising your camscore through offline tips without actually having to broadcast and risk lowering it. Tadaa! One model offered the following advice: in those paid-for snapchat shows, attach a link to one of your MFC Share videos to every snap. This gives a member the opportunity to swipe up and purchase an MFC Share video during every snap. At the end of the snap story, add more links! 

[imaginesofeverykind]

Ditch and Date || Teen Sam Drake x Reader ||

Characters: Teen!Sam Drake x Reader

Fandom: Uncharted

Request: Yup! [Can u pleaseeeee do some teen!sam fluff luv u♡♡♡]

Prompt: You are a typically nerdy girl, glasses and all. Life for you is pretty average at school, home and work with one exception, you are best friends with Sam Drake so life with him is anything but average. 

Tags: @rafeadderall @missdictatorme @dragonjedihobbit @shararogers @delicrieux (Message me if any of you want to be tagged in post to get notifications of when I update) 

Word Count: 2,127

A/N: Shit this is real cute 10/10 love Teen!Sam. He is just so cute and I want 12 of them. 

School had been a drag, it always was, it seemed to go on forever. Despite your incredible intelligence you always reverted your attention elsewhere, but because of this intellect when it came down to doing in class tests, assignments and exams you could breeze through them. Your ability to not listen yet maintain high grades pissed your friends off but they still loved you unconditionally. 

Upon meeting Sam, your parents and even teachers scolded you for throwing away such intellect by staying up late, running amuck with the only person in your life that made you feel some sense of excitement. Weary at first when you met him at a bookstore, he marched right up to you to tell you that the book you were reading was ‘bullshit’ and gave you a better book to read. Needless to say, the two of you got on like a house on fire. 

That was one encounter that made you smile when you thought of it, you being your bumbling self had no idea what to say when an attractive boy walked up to you...voluntarily... You always attracted the strange ones, but not Sam. Sure, he was strange in his own way but he wasn’t like any other guy that came up to you before. 

You remained in the middle of the classroom where the Advanced Math teacher droned on and on, today you were meant to start basics on quantum physics, given that it was only just a high school advanced math class they couldn’t delve too deep into the topic. 

Your mind was elsewhere, in fact you were thinking about Sam and the two of you would be doing tonight. Your parents had enough of telling you to stop sneaking out so they stopped bothering, knowing that this was the only thing you did rebellious unlike your older siblings who would party on school nights and go to exams with hangovers. 

Your gaze wandered from the cheesy math posters strung up on the walls to the windows on the opposite side of the class. You had clear view of the carpark just off to the side of your school and your eyes widened upon seeing a familiar figure leaning up against his motorcycle. Raising your hand immediately all eyes fell on you, as you pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose the teacher finally acknowledged you. 

“May I go to the bathroom please.” You had asked politely, you teacher sighed and nodded, she was stern with her words, “make it snappy Y/N we have a lot to cover.” You stood up and nodded, turning to one of your friends, “look after my shit for me will you?” they grabbed your arm to stop you from walking too far, “wait-wait, your ditching? Y/N you could get into serious trouble.” 

“Maybe I am, but my rides here and if I have to listen to Mrs.Quantum-physics-is-the-meaning-of-life any longer I just might shoot myself.” You whispered, gently taking your arm away from your friends grip and walking out of the classroom. Your heart beat fast as you passed the toilets completely and made a bee-line for the front doors. 

Double-checking that there were no teachers, you made a break for it and sprinted out the front doors and over to the car park, being mindful that you didn’t pass any of the windows. You waved to get his attention, he stood up from leaning and waved to you, “C’mon!” 

You shook your head, but gestured for him to follow you as you continued to walk away from the school building all the way until you reached the main road. He followed your lead, his motorcycle purring louder as he neared you. “Hello stranger.” He grinned pulling up beside you. “Fancy meeting you here... speaking of how did you know where I went to school?” 

Sam never picked you up from school, visited you or any of the sort as you never mentioned it to him before. He shrugged, a grin on his lips, “eh, I followed you this morning.” He admitted shamelessly, today in particular he was aching to do something and couldn’t wait until the evening. “Should I be flattered or creeped out?” 

“Both, now hop on.” He patted his seat for you to sit, you just laughed and obliged. The feeling of ditching and getting into possible trouble slipped your mind once you wrapped your arms around him and he kicked off the stand. “Where are we going?” You asked, pushing up your glasses. “Not sure yet, I’ll figure something out.” 

Pulling out on the road you hummed in content, feeling the cool breeze on your cheeks and blowing through your hair. Sam smiled to himself, ever since he met you, things for him didn’t seem so bleak. He was forced to grow up at a young age but being with you made him feel like an every day eighteen year old who only had slight problems to deal with. 

Problems like how to tell a particular person he had feelings for them. That person being you. And you coincidentally shared the same problem. Sam hadn’t driven very far, but he ended up stopping at the harbour just shy of the boating docks. It wasn’t overly loud but there was thickness to the noise echoing up the river from freighter ships not too far down. “You took me out of school to bring me to the harbour?” You poked fun at him, hauling yourself off the bike. 

“Hey, i’m pretty sure you’d prefer it out here than back there.” He retorted, kicking out the stand and stepping off the bike, his hair a mess from the wind and his nose red from the cold breeze. You laughed and walked up to him, fixing his thick locks to where they usually were, He sighed happily, loving the feeling of your hands through his hair. 

You noticed the smile on his face and his closed eyes, he always had loved it when you played with his hair. His eyes opened upon feeling your fingers move away, “wanna go for a swim?” he asked, a cheeky grin on his lips. You raised your eyebrows and eyed him, “it’s freezing out, besides that river is not sanitary, there’s probably waste and litter in it, I don’t feel like contracting any disease from it.” 

“Oh come on, Y/N. It’s fine, i’ve done it before.” Sam coaxed you, making you laugh and shake your head, “just because you’ve done it before doesn’t mean it’s alright to do it again... besides I don’t have any change of clothes.” He grinned at you, “I’m not hearing a No.” Of course his words made you smile, if anyone in the world got you to do anything outside your comfort zone it was Sam. 

His beautiful eyes looking pleadingly at you, because he too knew that he had the power to convince you to do anything. He exploited that sometimes but he’d never make you do anything too illegal, or if you were really uncomfortable he knew when to stop. It was scary sometimes, how easily you crumbled under his words and pleading gaze. 

It was similar to scolding a dog, they’d look at you like they committed the worst crime in the world and just want to love you. That’s exactly what it was like saying no to Sam. Your nose scrunched as the cogs ticked in your mind, you were most definitely not going to disappoint him, considering not once has he ever disappointed you. 

“Fine.” you gritted, deadpanned and glaring at him, he bounced up and grinned, it was hard for you to stay mad at him especially seeing his lopsided grin that made your knees weak. “You owe me, big time.” You pointed your finger at him but a sly smile crept up onto your lips as you started to strip off your clothes, and take off your glasses. 

“Uh.. w-what are you doing?” He stammered, trying to revert his gaze elsewhere from your clad body, you were just in your underwear now and you put your hands on your hips, “I’m not getting my clothes wet.” He chuckled nervously before doing the same, stripping down to nothing but his boxer briefs. 

You hadn’t quite thought your idea through enough, your were freezing and now upon seeing Sam you couldn’t look at him without blushing. Stepping to the edge, you peered down at the river water, you couldn’t believe you were about to do this. “Don’t think about it.” Sam’s breath hit your exposed neck, he was standing right behind you, and although it was definitely in Sam’s nature to just push you into the water you trusted that he wasn’t going to. 

“Trying not to - this was your idea y’know.” You rolled your eyes and turned your head, surprised that he was a lot closer than you thought. He chuckled, “Oh I know, but I’m waiting for you to get in.” You folded your arms and eyed him, “Is that so?” 

“Because if you don’t get in first I know you wont get in at all.” He was right, you were more than likely to stand around complaining than getting in if you didn’t get in first. “How about together, huh?” He suggested, you nodded in response and returned your gaze to the murky waters. His arms snaked around your waist before he pushed off without warning, the both of you dropping into the freezing cold water. 

“h-holy shit, that’s cold - that is really really cold.” You stammered, the coldness making you seize up. If it weren’t for the cold waters you most definitely would’ve blushed furiously at Sam’s arms around your bare waist. Sam however at laughed and pushed his flat wet hair out of his eyes. “If I wasn’t so cold I’d kill you Sam.” You grumbled, splashing water at him, your teeth chattered from the cold and your lips were tinted with purple. 

“Oh c’mon, it’s not that bad!” He exclaimed swimming over to you, a grin on his face. His warm hands gently gripped your upper arm and he looked at you with slight shock, “christ Y/N your freezing.” You scoffed and splashed water into his face, “no shit sherlock, it’s cold!” He laughed at your angry outburst, “hey maybe if you get angrier you might warm up.” 

“Ha ha, you’re actually so funny Sam.” You sarcastically grumbled, hugging yourself while your teeth chattered some more. He still laughed, he did feel bad for you but he also knew you were low key enjoying it. “I know I am... c’mere.” he gestured for you to come over to him, you reluctantly moved but instantly relaxed in his warm embrace. 

You blushed once you realised you were in Sam’s embrace with only your underwear on. Your hands rested on his bare chest and he simply looked down at you his eyes softened, he had hoped you couldn’t hear or feel how fast his heart was beating. The idea seemed a lot better in his head but executing it he couldn’t shake the nerves off, why would did he think that he wouldn’t be awkward with you practically naked and in his arms. 

Maybe it was his chance to make a move, finally show you that he’s had feelings for you for a while. He contemplated and the thought seemed to increase his body heat. You looked up at him with a smile, your teeth no longer chattered together as you started to heat up again, “what? What are you looking at?” 

“Your eyes are really pretty.” He whispered, he never truly took notice of them, after months of hanging out and usual shenanigans he never once noticed the colour of your eyes and how bright they were. “It’s taken you how long to notice that?” You smirked slightly, and even more upon seeing his flustered reaction. “N-no, well... I mean... your glasses -- I just never really looked at them before...” He stammered, making you laugh. It was like music to his hears as always. 

“What’s funny? I-uh..ah -- screw it.” Sam as flustered as could be leaned down, not caring that his blush was the most obvious thing in the world and pressed his lips onto yours. You flinched slightly, shocked at the gesture but soon kissed his warm lips back and wrapped your arms around his neck. He was relieved when he felt you kiss back and pulled away, resting his forehead on yours and a grin on his lips. You smiled up at him, a blush clearing your cheeks. 

“You think we could continue that somewhere else, preferably warmer.” You whispered at him, he chuckled, “I don’t mind, as long as I’m with you.” He said sweetly bringing a hand up to your cheek and caressing it. 

#U4 #Teen Sam Drake is the literal death of me #uncharted #sam drake #teen sam drake #imagines #one shots #Request #gotta find me a man like Sam Drake tbh

[thankyoufinnick]

I was looking back at an old review of Mockingjay from a friend of mine who’s a trauma therapist. It was very influential on me, in that I took literally her advice to not read Mockingjay and to write an AU conclusion to the trilogy instead. I had finished Mags’ Weapon and was over 100,000 words into Mags’ War before I let myself read or watch Mockingjay or be spoiled.

I swear no one will ever believe the things I came up with myself that happened to be canonical. DAMMIT.

Anyway. I was reading this part, where she says

I was bored by the PTSD in this book. It felt very textbook, especially as everyone had the exact same symptoms. It was like "flashbacks, check; nightmares, check; jumpiness, check; loss of concentration, check; total despair, check." It wasn’t that it was wrong, it’s that neither people nor mental illnesses are cookie-cut-outs.

And of course I went, OMG, my characters have all those! Idk why, I *know* I went to a lot of trouble to decide who has what when and why. But of course I had a momentary freakout. Sigh. But it’s all good, because it gave me an excuse to think about which characters have which symptoms and why.

Jumpiness

I wrote extensively about Finnick and Annie’s jumpiness in another post. I’ll just add that Cashmere is *not* jumpy, for reasons discussed at the end of that post. Cashmere likes physical danger, she knows how to handle it. She doesn’t want to die, in fact her survival instincts are quite strong. But loud noises do not set her off.

By no coincidence, I didn’t even *write* her first Hunger Games. You just a few sentence of watching the recap with her during her Flickerman interview afterward, and it’s a bit of a blur. She had way, way more traumatic things happen to her, like, her entire life up to that point, and her entire life after her Victory Ball up until the AU divergence in Mags’ War. (She gets about six good months to enjoy her victory before Snow breaks out the forced prostitution.)

It’s also worth mentioning that Annie’s jumpiness dies down with time, especially with treatment, and Finnick’s with time, especially as exhaustion and depression start to replace hypervigilance.

Nightmares

Cashmere also does not have nightmares. She has dreams, of course, but a nightmare to her is going to be dreaming her brother’s alive, and then waking up and finding that he’s not.

Finnick originally didn’t have nightmares, then I reread a bit of canon where he has nightmares. Okay, fine, I’ll give him nightmares, but VERY FEW, and not the same kind Annie has.

Annie has nightmares about being hunted, killed, tortured, tormented, etc.

Finnick has equally violent dreams, but they aren’t *distressing*. He’s a lot more comfortable with violence than Annie. (This comes straight out of me and my partner: I have way more frequent and intense violent dreams*, but mine don’t bother me, and hers bother her a lot, like for the whole rest of the day. She also has anxiety disorders; I don’t.)

* Given the things I read, write, watch, and imagine, I wonder why, lol.

So as Finnick gets older and starts to care about people and develop a sense of responsibility, he gets a few nightmares about bad things happening to people he cares about. And when he wakes up from them, he won’t be able to go back to sleep. But he has insomnia anyway, so that’s nothing new. As he puts it, sleeping isn’t nearly as much of a problem for him as not sleeping.

Flashbacks

Annie’s the one with super strong flashbacks. She’s the one who was traumatized for a very brief period of time, and she can’t stop reliving the events. She’s the one who when the smoke alarm goes off, *knows* she’s in her kitchen but *feels* exactly like she’s in her arena, and has to go hide in the closet while she relives watching her district partner being beheaded and hiding from the Career pack until the earthquake and the flood. She always knows where she is, but it barely even matters.

Finnick, for a while after his two Hunger Games, gets fairly low-level flashbacks from triggers. Rain after the first one, because the thing that got him in his first arena was acid rain, and fog (I just realized the fog trigger line went away as part of a major delete! Note to self to work it back in somewhere else.) after his second one, because of the poison fog. Mags :( <3. But they wear off, and aside from grieving Mags, they don’t bother him *that* much.

If I ever write the sequel to Mags’ Heir, there’s one scene where a smell that reminds him of one of his patrons sets him on edge, but he doesn’t know why. And for very specific reasons: his MO was to power through and deny that he had any problem with it. Only after someone else figures out that the smell set him off, does he realize he was gritting his teeth and powering through an otherwise comfortable and enjoyable evening with family.

The only event flashbacks Cashmere gets are when she sees Katniss. Other than that, her traumas were more along the lines of “my entire abusive childhood” than “the one discrete bad thing that happened to me.” So certain interpersonal interactions trigger extremely strong emotions in her, like fear of disappointing authority figures, that make her feel like she’s five years old again, but not specific events. (She never disappointed them or got punished in any major way. She just had no security and lived her entire childhood in fear of disappointing her caretakers.)

Johanna gets a couple quick flashbacks, one when she’s telling someone about a traumatic event, and her body unconsciously adopts the same posture, and one where she feels like she’s switching back and forth between the present and the past for just a few seconds.

Loss of concentration

Finnick has zero loss of concentration. Funny, because he spends half of Mockingjay unable to concentrate. But that does not strike me as a problem he has (quite the opposite).

Oh, wait, no, it happens once in the shower. He’s definitely under stress, and it strikes him as unusual, but it’s no more than what happens to most of us non-pathologically: you’re so deep in thought that you lose track of what you did in the last 5 minutes, and you can’t remember whether you’ve washed your hair yet or not. It bothers him so much, because concentration is so critical to his success as soldier and as spy, and he’s under so much pressure. Similarly, you’ll also see him, at the very end of Mags’ Heir, lose track of what day of the week it is (like you do), and come down very hard on himself, when the truth is, this means the pressure on him has finally let up and he’s gotten used to not everything being life or death, and it was a *healthy* thing to do.

Johanna gets it only as a side effect of medication or sleep deprivation caused by chronic pain, not as a PTSD symptom in and of itself.

Annie and Cashmere both get it, for different reasons. (And here’s where I especially feel like I didn’t just go through a checklist, but their symptoms actually emerge from their personalities and experiences.)

Annie gets distracted easily because she’s constantly straining her ears for something bad to happen, someone to attack, an earthquake to strike, anything. Every little sound sets her on edge. Sometimes this means she loses her concentration.

Cashmere’s more or less fine with the prospect of physical danger. Where she zones out is when people are talking. She has to read their body language and their tone of voice and try to figure out what they want to hear so she can not disappoint them. Sometimes this comes at the expense of being able to hear *what* they’re saying. This, of course, reinforces her belief that she’s stupid and can’t handle the simplest non-scripted social situation.

Total despair

I don’t know if anyone gets *total* despair. You get depression, negative thinking, catastrophic thinking, self-flagellation, pessimism...but this universe is just not as bleak as Mockingjay. (Considering all the bad things that happen, my partner teases me about torturing my characters, and I’m always like, “No, this is my kinder, gentler AU! It’s way worse in canon!”).

Cashmere in the Quarter Quell, maybe. 

Even Finnick at his most clinically depressed may have a very warped worldview around *himself* stemming from his endless self-sacrifice (trying to avoid too many Mags’ War and Mags’ Heir spoilers here), but he retains the ability to be satisfied that he accomplished something good for other people. 

Annie right after her first Hunger Games is in pretty bad shape, but her problem is primarily anxiety, with depression secondary to it. She’s scared to death, but she’s fighting to get better because she believes it can get better.

So I actually think most of the characters’ symptoms come from an interaction of their innate personalities, their childhoods, their traumas, and their lives after the trauma, and not just “PTSD causes these symptoms.”

Johanna’s the one whose personality I have the weakest grip on. She’s also the reason this fic has taken so long to write--I have such a hard time figuring out what she thinks, feels, and does. I finally got something together that I think I can post, but I’m least confident that she makes any kind of coherent sense. Oh well.

#hunger games #rape tw #ptsd #trauma #violence #psychology #writing

[find-your-rp-partner]

Looking for a OnexOne Longterm Roleplay Partner

Hello All!

I’m Courtney, I’m 24 years old living in the Eastern Time Zone of the US of A.  I’ll get down to the nitty gritty of what I’m looking for in a Roleplay partner.  I’m not at all interested in Fandoms.  I only am interested in roleplaying with original characters and ultimately in collaborating with someone on a story.  I’ve got a plot (sort of, wanting to develop it more with a potential partner) and I’m going to actually post a little taste of what I’ve written so far to see if that would give potential partners an idea of where I’m coming from.  But I'm completely open to coming up with something new as well.  

First lets get a few details out of the way.  Please be 18+ as smut and violence are inevitable in my stories.  Also, be comfortable roleplaying multiple characters, I have a Female and Male character for this story and I expect that you would be willing to develop at least two or more characters for this as well.  I only roleplay smut with heterosexual pairings however as that is what I’m most comfortable with.

Second, be open with ideas.  I feel like collaboration is an open sharing process and I never want any of my partners to feel too afraid to pitch an idea or contribution to the plot.  

Third, I only roleplay over Skype or kik as it’s the quickest when it comes to responses though since I work full time those responses typically are maybe 2-3 times a day.  But also it allows us to talk more freely.  If what you read below interests you feel free to hit me up at: Bakesalehottie2 on Skype or bakesalehottie2 on kik.

So here it is, I hope to hear from some of you!:

I have always wondered that maybe one day my dreams could become reality and that maybe one day, this world would change if not for the better.  My kind does not usually dream so big, my kind does not usually hope for a better tomorrow.  We are different in ways normal people cannot even imagine for we are destined to become better than the average man.  If there is a God, then why has he tainted us with this stain of superiority?  The truth is, if there were a God, he’d never let something as terrible as this fall upon one of his children.  We, the few who know of the cruelties of this world, thus far, deny his existence.  The few who have experienced the life with different attributes.  Some of us, if in the wrong hands, can be used as weapons.  Some of us can be used for good.  Though not many of us even realize we have a meaning.  After all, it seems like just yesterday that we were all normal in one way or another. 

I always have five minutes time in order to prepare.  It just seems to hit me, sort of like a shot of whiskey because it’s always a rushing pain up my nostrils which then in turn shocks my brain telling it to wake the fuck up.  But this happens every minute, sometimes every two or three seconds.  Over the years I’ve managed to pass it off as just a simple headache, but in reality it’s equal to having a migraine all the fuckin’ time.  I used to not be able to think clearly with it or even talk normally.  But with time comes experience and in any case headaches aren’t near as horrible as having your head split in two twenty-four seven.  Still, it’s no joy, receiving this jolt of electricity, because it’s code for a name.  This name is always random, never of the same race four times in a row, I can usually tell by the origins.  Yet nonetheless, it is a person, and it is a person whose life will end in five minutes.

Five minutes is hardly enough to time to make a decision for oneself let alone decide if you should save this life or not.  I have learned that not all the names I constantly receive are people I’m able to save.  But on occasion I will at random decide if this person sounds worthy enough of being saved.  This night I was feeling particularly generous, for a name had been transcribed into my thoughts that would not leave for the life of me:  Jacqueline Frey.  Seemed normal enough to me, but as I said, we were all once normal just yesterday.  Had I not been living in New York City at the time I wouldn’t have been able to sense this name so strongly.  It meant that she was nearby, so close that I could almost feel her pulse vibrating through my veins like the violent rampage of a chattering squirrels teeth on its lower incisors. 

Her heart rate was flying through the roof; whatever she was doing she was doing it with a lot of exertion of energy.  I grit my teeth, stepping out from the comfort of the alleyway to scan the street.  It was sunset, something I hadn’t noticed since I’d slept most of the day.  After all, I’d been up all night drinking; it wasn’t abnormal to have wasted away the daylight hours.  There were a few cars, but not much activity as far as life goes.  Yet I could feel the movement of others.  The stench of metal and shit was thick in the air, yet I wasn’t even close to a garbage dump nor was I close to any sort of factory.  Wrinkling my nose, I scuffed the ground beneath me and proceeded to head down the sidewalk.  Shoving my hands into my pockets I managed to let out a sigh of boredom, before something flickered across my eyes that was unexpected.  The pain was unimaginable, unlike anything I’d ever felt before.  Daggers were piercing my skull, thrusting deeper through the light membrane that coated its hollow shell and plunging into the most important organ in my body.

Needles seemed to follow, forcing my eyes shut and my knees buckling.  Biting down hard out of instinct on my lower lip I found my hands had crawled their way up into my tresses.  Vexatious amounts of blood were coursing through my cerebrum, my heartbeat was louder than ever in my ears and my veins felt about on the verge of explosion.  Only one thing was running through my thoughts, screaming to be heard.  A name.  Simon Blackwell.  After a moment I realized that whatever had been triggering this dolorific event had subsided and I no longer felt so distressed.  Yet nothing else but that name was transcribed into my memory.  Something was wrong.  This had never happened before, what did this mean?  Why was it so sudden?  And why did I feel as if this man was as close as Jacqueline had been?  Ignoring the blood that had collected on the inside of my lips I managed to push myself up off the pavement, stumbling towards the end of the street.  Something new was coursing through my veins, a new pulse that was causing my head to spin wildly and my senses to be thwarted.  This man was scared; his erratic heart was thudding inside my own body so wildly that even I could feel that fear, that desperate hope.  He was wild, maybe mad and for some reason, but either way his death was coming.

I needed an answer; I needed to appease my mind.  Otherwise this happening would haunt me for the rest of my times.  Trivial as it may be I was sure I could solve this matter.  Sweat was dripping from my face in what felt like gallons and my eyes were struggling to stay open, yet I pushed forward with all the energy I could muster.  Reaching for the edge of the building to my right was like reaching for the side of a cliff until a force struck me hard in the gut, taking the wind out of my lungs for a split second.  It felt as if my innards were being corn-holed as I was set back a moment in order to catch my breath.  Coughing up what felt like phlegm into my hands I gasped for air. Letting out an exasperated breath I clenched my stomach, tearing at the cloth around my stalky build, wishing that this would just go away, that this sudden moment of pure agony would leave me.  But it wasn’t allowing me freedom; it wasn’t making the next step forward any easier, only delaying me further.  Determined to conquer this I gripped the wall hard.  Swallowing back the pain my eyes snapped to attention and I leapt forward, turning on a swift heel and breaking an invisible barrier between me and the scene before my eyes.

The answers to my questions were disturbing in the least.  I’d heard stories of others like me, with abilities that had set them above the curve of society, but I’d never actually seen one of my kind for myself.  I’d only stumbled along the trail in search of more but always coming up short.  The picture painted before me now, though, was terrifying.  I’d never imagined that the first person I’d meet like myself would be a murderer, let alone a woman.  Jacqueline Frey was standing on the opposite side of the street, her delicate arm outstretched and facing me, her fingers coiled into a tightly wound fist.  Something about her stature was eerie, and I couldn’t stop myself from taking a long sideways glance her way.  Hazel eyes seemed set in stone beyond her long brunette locks, which appeared to be whipping about her angular face in a terrifying fashion.  Yet her appearance was nothing compared to the man quite close to me who was embedded in the brick of the building.  Simon Blackwell.  Yet not really much of a man anymore, his eyes were popping from his skull, hanging through his sockets by the veins.  His jawbone had been disfigured, set aside to the left of his cranium.  Blood coated the wall beneath his cerebrum and outlined the rest of his form with spurts outward as if he was the center of the universe.  His gut had been pummeled through, blood was still pouring out of his body though I couldn’t see why since most of his digestive tracts had been forced from him and his organs were spilling out onto the pavement.  Though the man was dead his picture was imprinted onto my lenses forever more.  For his fingers twitched and his muscles spasmed as his dark red blood stained the sidewalk and my coat as it continued to splatter the area about him.  I had to divert my eyes because soon the nausea I felt gurgling in my skull would purge my stomach if I didn’t look away.

Sure, I’d seen death, even like this.  But I never said that I’d been able to keep my lunch down while witnessing it.  I’d never had a stomach for battle, never had the eyes of a warrior, though I’d lived long enough to see some of the most barbaric wars I was still a coward when it came to the taking of lives.  All my life I’d avoided getting drafted because of my appearance, yet I’d still seen the horrors of mankind.  Still, it was hard to grasp the idea that this young woman was capable of harming another being.  For her frail body was muscular in a lean sort of way, her legs thick with visible tendons beneath layers of flesh as they were exposed underneath a pair of ragged jean shorts.  Now that I looked more closely at her figure I noticed the shadows cast upon the length of her outstretched limb and the indents it created in her skin where muscles were contracting beneath the surface.  Her jaw was set in a hard line as if she meant never to speak again as her hazel eyes were gleaming in the sunlight causing sparks of gold to crackle through her irises.  The invisible forces of air that was causing her locks to wave around her face died as she pulled back her arm in an even and silent movement that read across her countenance.  Only once did her gaze flicker over me and in that instant I saw the same killing instinct that had driven her to squash this Simon Blackwell like a tomato.  I knew this woman, but I couldn’t believe she was the same woman I’d met years and years ago.  That woman was dead, not by my hands, but by someone else’s, and this could not have been her.

“Bloody English.”

*P.S. I roleplay in both first and third person, this little tidbit was just better in first person.*

#rp partner search #rp partner ad #rp ad #rp search #original #skype #kik #submission